Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(62)
“Deep enough to drown, still.” That was Lord Pech, who had insisted on coming despite Balam’s pointed assurances that his presence was not needed and the equally direct reminder that Pech could not swim.
He was sure Pech had insisted on making the journey to spite him. The man had not forgiven Balam for stealing his captain away, although stealing was a rich word when Pech had insisted he was done with the Teek woman before Balam had sought to employ her. One never wants something more than when it is denied them, he thought.
“Aye, you can drown.” The captain grinned. “But you can drown in pond water, too. Don’t you worry, Lord. Skies are clear this time of year on the western side, and we’re close enough to break for island lands if storms threaten. I won’t let you drown.”
“Pity,” Balam murmured, and Pech glared over his shoulder. Balam smiled blandly at the petty little man.
Lord Tuun pointed a black-stained finger at the map. “Those are Teek islands. They are notoriously unwelcoming.” She was the only lord of the seven merchant lords Balam actually wanted on the voyage. They were kindred spirits, after a fashion. Both with powerful fathers, deceased. Hers recently, and with no male heirs, which was how she seized the title and privileges of lord, and his long gone but with the same benefits. But most important, she practiced the old magics. A stone sorceress, just as he was blood, and, more recently, spirit. Together, along with his cousin Powageh’s mastery of shadow, they made a formidable force.
“Mistress Tuun.” The captain had an annoying insistence on calling her “Mistress” even though her proper address was “Lord,” and every time he did it, Balam thought he saw the corner of Tuun’s slate-colored eye twitch. “As long as we stay to the shore, the Teek won’t bother us. If you trespass inland or, worse, try for the interior islands, the ones that don’t show on no map. That’s when…” The captain made a cutting motion across his neck.
Lord Tuun straightened. “I see.”
“Don’t you worry, neither,” Keol said, making a settling gesture the way you might to a worried child. “I’ll get you all there safely. And the others.” He pointed with his chin to take in the other two ships that ran beside them, one port and the other starboard. They were far enough away to avoid getting caught in their trailing wake but close enough to hail with a collection of symbol-marked pennants Balam had spotted near the stern. One ship ran heavy, weighed down with enough gold and jade and quetzal feathers to impress even the most spoiled Sovran. Each merchant lord’s house had contributed to the bounty, even the ones who had chosen to remain in Cuecola. This diplomatic mission was, after all, a joint effort supported by all the ruling houses. The other ship held his cousin Powageh and a contingent of personal guards and household servants for each lord. Powageh had wanted to travel with Balam and the other lords, but Pech had argued that one more might overturn the ship, and Sinik had said something about protocol, and Balam had not even had to discuss it with Powageh before his cousin simply muttered, “You owe me for this,” and retired with the servants. Balam almost envied xir. At least, Powageh did not have to hear Pech drone on about water safety.
“There’s shade and refreshments under the awning, and strong men to paddle us on,” the captain was saying. “I know this route well, and there’s land by sunset. Until then…” A beleaguered smile creased his sun-wrinkled face, and the lords shuffled toward the awning, as instructed.
Perhaps we are like children to him, Balam thought, and the idea so amused him that he chuckled quietly to himself.
Tuun bumped against his shoulder. She motioned him back toward the bow out of earshot. She was tall, a match to his height, with a long, sloping forehead and pale eyebrows against rich, soil-dark skin. Jade clinked softly at her wrists and ankles, and she wore a deep green dress that cut low at the neck and belted below her breasts. Not exactly seafaring attire, but who was he to argue? He wore his formal jaguar whites.
“Does Pech ever shut up?” Tuun complained, as he joined her on a bench at the bow of the ship. “How you failed to convince him to stay behind…”
“He came to spite me, I’m sure of it.”
“What did you do that would make that fool risk it all on the Crescent Sea?”
“He thinks I’m plotting.”
“Well, he’s right about that.”
He laughed. How could he not?
She pressed a tattooed hand adorned with rings to her stomach, her mouth twisting in discomfort.
“Seasickness?”
“Nothing I cannot manage, but I admit I am not wont to take up sea voyaging as a pastime anytime soon.”
“A shame. You would make a splendid pirate.”
She laughed, showing a top row of teeth implanted with tiny, rounded pieces of jade, turquoise, and pink coral. “Why, Balam, are you flirting with me?”
“Would it help my cause if I did?”
She studied him, her slate eyes tilted in speculation. “You’re a handsome man,” she admitted. “And wealthy.”
“Exceedingly wealthy.”
“Alas, so am I. And I’ve never felt the need for a husband before. I don’t expect that to change now.”
“Ah,” he said. “I assure you I am not in need of a wife. I was hoping you would consider a much more promising proposal.”