Half the World (Shattered Sea #2)(52)

“Nor will you. I hear you have that witch Scarayoi with you, the Walker in the Ruins.”

“You are as well-informed as a great lord should be. We call her Skifr, but she is with us.”

“Yet you keep her from my hall.” Varoslaf’s laugh was harsh as a dog’s bark. “That was well-judged too. And who are these young gods?”

“The back oars of my crew. Thorn Bathu, who killed six Uzhaks in a skirmish on the Denied, and Brand who took the whole weight of our ship across his shoulders as we crossed the tall hauls.”

“Slayer of Uzhaks and Lifter of Ships.” Brand shifted uncomfortably as the prince gave the two of them a searching gaze. “It warms me to see such strength, and skill, and bravery in those so young. One could almost believe in heroes, eh, Father Yarvi?”

“Almost.”

The prince jerked his head toward his willow-thin servant. “A token for tomorrow’s legends.”

She drew something from the satchel around her neck and pressed it into Brand’s palm, then did the same to Thorn. A big, rough coin, crudely stamped with a prancing horse. A coin of red gold. Thorn swallowed, trying to judge its value, and guessed she had never held so much in her hand before.

“You are too generous, great prince,” croaked Brand, staring down with wide eyes.

“Great deeds deserve great rewards from great men. Or else why raise men up at all?” Varoslaf’s unblinking gaze shifted back to Yarvi. “If they are your back oars what wonders might the others perform?”

“I daresay some of them could make the rest of your gold vanish before your eyes.”

“No good crew is without a few bad men. We cannot all be righteous, eh, Father Yarvi? Those of us who rule especially.”

“Power means having one shoulder always in the shadows.”

“So it does. How is the jewel of the north, your mother, Queen Laithlin?”

“She is my mother no more, great prince, I gave up my family when I swore my oath to the Ministry.”

“Strange customs, you northerners have,” and the prince fiddled lazily with the ears of his hound. “I think the bonds of blood cannot be severed with a word.”

“The right words can cut deeper than swords, and oaths especially. The queen is with child.”

“An heir to the Black Chair perhaps? News rich as gold in these unhappy times.”

“The world rejoices, great prince. She speaks often of her desire to visit Kalyiv again.”

“Not too soon, I pray! My treasury still bears the scars of her last visit.”

“Perhaps we can forge an agreement that will mend those scars and make your treasury swell besides?”

A pause. Varoslaf looked to the woman and she shook herself gently, the coins dangling from her scarf twisting and twinkling on her forehead. “Is that why you have come so far, Father Yarvi? To make my treasury swell?”

“I have come seeking help.”

“Ah, you too desire the bounty of great men.” Another pause. Thorn felt a game was played between these two. A game of words, but no less skillful than the exercises in the training square. And even more dangerous. “Only name your desire. As long as you do not seek allies against the High King in Skekenhouse.”

Father Yarvi’s smile did not slip by so much as a hair. “I should have known your sharp eyes would see straight to the heart of the matter, great prince. I—and Queen Laithlin, and King Uthil—fear Mother War may spread her wings across the Shattered Sea in spite of all our efforts. The High King has many allies, and we seek to balance the scales. Those who thrive on the trade down the Divine and the Denied may need to pick a side—”

“And yet I cannot. As you have seen I have troubles of my own, and no help to spare.”

“Might I ask if you have help to spare for the High King?”

The prince narrowed his eyes. “Ministers keep coming south with that question.”

“I am not the first?”

“Mother Scaer was here not a month ago.”

Father Yarvi paused at that. “Grom-gil-Gorm’s minister?”

“On behalf of Grandmother Wexen. She came before me with a dozen of the High King’s warriors and warned me not to paddle in the Shattered Sea. One might almost say she made threats.” The hound lifted its head and gave a long growl, a string of drool slipping from its teeth and spattering the ground. “Here. In my hall. I was sore tempted to have her skinned in the public square but … it did not seem politic.” And he stilled his dog with the slightest hiss.

“Mother Scaer left with her skin, then?”

“It would not have fit me. She headed southward in a ship bearing the High King’s prow, bound for the First of Cities. And though I much prefer your manners to hers, I fear I can only give you the same promise.”

“Which was?”

“To help all my good friends about the Shattered Sea equally.”

“Meaning not at all.”

The Prince of Kalyiv smiled, and it chilled Thorn even more than his frown. “You are known as a deep-cunning man, Father Yarvi. I am sure you need no help to sift out my meaning. You know where I sit. Between the Horse People and the great forests. Between the High King and the empress. At the crossroads of the world and with perils all about me.”