Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Read online

  “Yes, milady.”

  Aren stood beside him stone-faced.

  “We will leave this afternoon.” Lady Astrea twisted a small white cloth between her fingers. “Captain, if I may say…”

  Lore watched Lady Astrea fight to retain her composure, and he knew that if he had come this morning to relinquish his captaincy, such a thing would have sent her over the edge. So he stood and bore the burden of duty while his heart slowly died.

  The white cloth went still in Lady Astrea’s hand. She looked back up. “I do not know what I would do without you, Captain Lore.”

  Though it took every bit of strength he had, Lore bowed. “Yes, milady.”

  7

  The ship rocked gently beneath Rowen’s feet. It slipped through the dark water and pulled away from the dock. White canvas sails flapped above her in the cool breeze. A subtle hint of salt and fish hung in the air. She gripped the smooth wooden railing in front of her and stared at the people gathered along the dock.

  Most shuffled along, passing large crates and barrels lined along the wooden pier. A fisherman sat cross-legged on the dock, working on his net beside his boat. A rat scurried across the wooden planks. Hardly anyone glanced at the ship now slowly pulling away, save for a small group of people at the end of the pier.

  Lady Astrea stood by the edge of the dock, draped in a long grey cloak that hid most of her body. The hood was pulled over her face and hair, but Rowen could still see her eyes watching the ship sail away. Geoffrey stood behind her, his hands folded behind him.

  Lord Tancred stood on her right, a head taller than Lady Astrea and twice as wide. His tattoos gave him a fierce countenance, like one of the Nordic warriors of old. Prince Evander did not come.

  Torn, Rowen finally looked at Lore. Just seeing him there on the pier, growing smaller by the second, hurt deep inside. The wind tousled hair, sweeping it across his forehead. His cloak tugged and pulled at his legs and side. He stood still, his eyes on her. He never blinked and never looked away.

  The ache inside expanded. The strange feeling she had felt on the balcony that morning began to surface again. There had been no time to talk to Lore after their brief encounter. No time to think, either, or to process what he had said.

  Or had almost done.

  Rowen touched her cheek, feeling heat spread across her skin. She’d had time enough only to pack and reach the ship. But something had changed between them, something irrevocable.

  She looked down at the railing and took a deep breath. The ache deepened until her middle hurt. It was as though something was tearing itself in half inside of her. She placed a hand on her stomach. Yes, she would miss Lore. More than anything. He was more than her Captain, more than a comrade. He was a close friend, and still more. She couldn’t remember experiencing that kind of companionship with anyone before, not even with Calya. It went deeper, almost to her very soul. She just didn’t underst—

  Her eyes went wide. Rowen looked up. Her breath struggled inside her lungs. She found Lore and couldn’t look away. His face was a small blur now as the ship pulled farther from the dock. She gripped the railing, her fingers digging into the wood. Dizziness washed over her.

  Love comes in unexpected ways. Her father would tell her this with a smile whenever he’d spoken of how he’d found Rowen on their doorstep as a baby.

  Now she realized there was more truth to his words.

  All those months spent with Lore, working beside him, sparring with him, had changed both of them. The respect and admiration she felt for Lore had grown into something deeper, more permanent. Somewhere along their time spent together, their hearts had bonded.

  She loved Lore. Had always loved him. Only, she had not seen it. Until now.

  And now was too late.

  Her knees gave out from under her. Rowen held onto the railing. A quiet moan escaped her lips. She watched Lore’s form grow smaller and smaller. His eyes had never left her face. She felt his breath again on her lips. If only…

  Rowen slowly pulled herself up. She could see only his silhouette now, a shadow against the sand-colored walls and buildings. A moment later and the entire city of Avonai—and Lore—disappeared behind high rocky cliffs.

  He was gone.

  She stared at the gap between the rocks and watched the waves break into a foamy mist. A flock of white gulls crested over the cliffs. Men shouted to each other. The sails were adjusted, and ropes were tossed across the deck. A wave hit the side of the ship and sent up a spray of saltwater. Rowen closed her eyes. The ship rocked beneath her. Back and forth, back and forth…

  Word, if I had only known, I would have told him.

  “Thank you.”

  Rowen started and blinked. She turned and found Nierne standing beside her. The young woman wore a simple white tunic and brown pants. Bright red curls danced around her face. Her eyes were a dark grey, and there was a sprinkling of red dots along her nose and cheeks.

  Nierne looked nothing like a scribe. Her unusual color of hair and pretty face did not belong on someone who spent all day transcribing old books and scrolls. Rather, she looked like one of the young maidens who sold flowers along the streets in the White City.

  “Thank you for coming,” Nierne said.

  Rowen nodded, working her mouth to find words to say. Instead, her stomach lurched. She snapped her lips. Nierne continued to speak, but she could not hear what the young woman was saying. Nausea swept up her throat, leaving a burning trail of bile. She swallowed the bitter mix and looked back out over the sea.

  Her head now pounded, and the bright sunlight compounded the feeling. The rocking of the ship…would it not stop? She reached for her forehead and massaged the area just above her eyes. A cold sweat broke out across her body. Bile rose again. It forced its way up her gullet.

  Rowen dropped her hand and clutched her stomach. She swayed, then leaned over the railing. With one strong heave, everything inside came up.

  8

  Nierne stood at the bow, watching the shoreline until it disappeared beyond the horizon. Home. She was finally going home. She closed her eyes and pictured the Monastery: the bright tapestries that hung along the stone walls, her desk set against the window, the dusty smell of old scrolls in the library…

  Father Reth would not be there.

  A pang cut through her. Nierne looked away from the sea. Sailors scurried across the deck, some working the ropes, others adjusting the sails. The two men Lord Tancred had sent stood near the main mast. They were both of average height. One had a tattoo just above his left eye, and the other had one that looked like a snake along his neck.

  Across the deck and leaning against the railing was one of Prince Evander’s men. He wore a blue-green tabard and a smallsword at his side. He was short and stocky, reminding Nierne of one of the wrestlers she had seen in Thyra. The other Avonain stood nearby, talking to one of the sailors working the sails. He wore the same tabard and was a head taller than the rest of the men on the deck.

  Aren, the guard Lady Astrea had sent, stood by the stairs that led to the upper deck. His arms were crossed, and his hair was pulled back. He watched everyone with a grim expression on his face.

  Nierne looked to her right. Farther down the railing stood Rowen, clutching the wooden railing. At least her trip had accomplished something: She had found a true Eldaran.

  Rowen’s hair was pulled back in one long braid, her cloak fluttered in the wind. She looked like any normal human being. But Nierne knew better. Her gaze drifted toward the gloved hand that held the railing. She remembered the soft glow surrounding Rowen’s hand when she had removed her glove. The Mark of the Word, an outlet for the power that lived inside Rowen.

  Nierne wondered what it was like to have such power, power enough to stop the Shadonae. What did Rowen see when she touched someone? What did she feel? Nierne looked back up at Rowen’s face. Her face was pale, and her eyes were tightly shut. Did Rowen regret her decision to leave?

  Nierne turned and follow
ed the railing to where Rowen stood. Rowen didn’t seem to notice. Nierne took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  Rowen’s eyes flew open. She turned and looked at Nierne, confused.

  Nierne shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you for coming.”

  Rowen opened her mouth to say something, but then she snapped her lips shut. Her face grew even paler.

  Nierne scrambled for more words to say. “I know it’s hard to leave everyone you know and love…” Rowen turned away and looked out over the sea. She began to rub the area above her right eye. Nierne grimaced and clenched her hands. Why couldn’t she say anything right? Father Reth always had the right words for any situation.

  Rowen suddenly dropped her hand and clutched her middle. She swayed for a moment, then bent over the side of the ship and retched. Nierne stared at the water, then at Rowen. Dear Word, what had she said?

  “Rowen!” Aren rushed to Rowen’s side. “Rowen, are you all right?”

  Rowen turned toward him. “Aren. I’m-I’m—” She clutched the railing again. More retching followed.

  Nierne sighed. “She’s seasick.”

  Aren looked at her. “Can we do anything about it?”

  Nierne shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She looked back down at Rowen. “The best thing would be to have her stay on the top deck and—”

  “Already sick, I see.”

  Nierne turned and found a man not much taller than her standing a few feet away. His dark, grey streaked hair stood stiffly in little spikes across his head. A red jagged scar ran along his cheek, just above a patchy beard. Dark bushy eyebrows arched over sea-green eyes. He wore a stained white shirt with a black vest over the top.

  He saw Nierne look him over and smiled. His teeth were stained and rotting, and there was a gap in the top row. Who in the Lands was he?

  “Captain Drake,” Aren said.

  Her eyes went wide, and her face whipped back toward the short man. This was Captain Drake? The man who would be taking them to Thyra? He looked more like a pirate that an Avonain merchant.

  “At your service,” he said with a bow.

  Rowen held a hand to her mouth.

  Drake looked back up. “So we have a passenger who can’t stand the sea, eh?”

  “Yes,” Aren said. “Nierne was just telling me that Rowen should stay on the top deck.”

  “Nonsense. Take her down below.”

  “What?” The word escaped before Nierne could stop it.

  Drake looked at her again, his smile turning hard. “I said, take her down below. The woman will be more comfortable in a bunk than standing here on the deck.”

  “But I’ve heard that you need to get used to the rocking motion and that—”

  “Are you a sailor?” Drake stared at her now, all traces of a smile gone.

  Nierne hesitated. “No, but—”

  “Have you sailed before?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then you don’t know anything.”

  Nierne balled her hands into fists.

  Drake turned away from her and addressed Aren. “Like I said, take— What did you say her name was? Rowen? Anyway, take her down below. Get her comfortable. I’ll have Chef make her some fish broth.”

  Nierne wanted to blurt out “Fish broth?” but she kept her lips together this time. She might never have sailed before, but she did know a thing or two about the ocean. And she highly doubted that fish broth would help Rowen’s queasy stomach. Surely a captain of the sea knew that, right?

  Drake spun around and headed toward the front of the ship. Nierne glared at his back.

  “I’ll take her,” Aren said.

  Nierne shook her head. “It would be better if I took her, since we are sharing a cabin.” And since she will need to change, Nierne thought. She felt sorry for the sick woman beside her. Apparently Eldarans were not all-powerful.

  Rowen nodded her head weakly in agreement.

  “Then I’ll help you walk her there.” Before Nierne could say anything, Aren had his arm across Rowen’s shoulder, leading her toward the portal that led to the lower levels. Nierne caught up and helped Rowen from the other side.

  The stairs creaked and swayed as they moved down into the bowels of the ship. Rowen heaved a couple of times, but nothing else came out. They made their way through the dark interior, bypassing hanging hammocks and curtained-off areas.

  “I still don’t think Captain Drake is right,” Nierne said, breaking the silence.

  Aren shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t know much about the sea. However, the captain does. He should be here…”

  Rowen lifted her head slightly as if to speak, then dropped it again.

  “Captain?” Nierne looked across Rowen at Aren. “You mean Captain Drake?”

  Aren shook his head. “No, Captain Lore.”

  “Captain Lore,” Nierne murmured. “I remember him. I bumped into him.” Tall, with sand-colored hair and strange green eyes. Confident and polite. Not a man easily forgotten.

  “I told him—” Aren looked at Rowen and shook his head again. “Never mind.”

  They stopped at a door near the end of the ship. Aren opened the door and guided Rowen inside. Nierne left the door open to give the room a little light. On either side were built-in bunks, each with a thin blanket that barely softened the wooden planks beneath. Rowen sat down on the one to the right.

  Aren turned to Nierne. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  Nierne looked around the dark interior. “We could use a light.”

  Aren nodded and moved passed her back into the hallway. Rowen continued to sit on the edge of the bunk, clutching her middle. Nierne went to the two packs sitting on the floor and rummaged around for a change of clothes. Aren returned with a lamp.

  “Thank you.” Nierne placed the clothes she had found on the other bed and took the lamp from Aren. She hung it from a hook in the ceiling.

  “Anything else?”

  Nierne looked around. “No, that should be everything.” Aren glanced at Rowen again. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her,” Nierne said. Aren nodded, then reluctantly left the small room. Nierne shut the door behind him.

  Nierne pointed toward the clothes on her bed. “Here, I found something for you to change into.” Rowen looked up and nodded. “I’m going to go get you a bucket while you change.”

  Rowen tugged weakly at her shirt. “All right.”

  Nierne left the small room and went into the larger partitioned area. She remembered seeing a bucket near the steps. The wooden floor swayed beneath her feet as she moved past the canvas walls, barrels, and hammocks. She found the bucket and headed back toward their room. Inside, she found Rowen already changed. Her soiled clothes lay in a pile near the wall.

  “Here, if you need it.” Nierne placed the bucket on the floor near Rowen’s bed.

  “Thank you.” Rowen laid down on the bunk and shut her eyes.

  Nierne gathered up the soiled clothes. “I’m going to wash these for you.”

  Rowen opened her eyes. “There’s no need. I’ll—”

  “You just rest.”

  Rowen sighed and closed her eyes again.

  Nierne pushed the door open with one hand and made her way out. She talked to one of the sailors and headed toward the top deck with a scrubbing board and block of soap. She found a tub of rainwater and began to clean the clothes.

  The sun was now high overhead, and the sails flapped in the wind. Nierne stopped and closed her eyes, relishing the feel of the sun on her cheeks and the cool breeze as it tugged at the curls around her face. She could hear the bustle of people around her. Suddenly she realized how good it felt to be with people again, after all those weeks of traveling alone through the Ari Mountains.

  She sighed deeply, opened her eyes, and began scrubbing the clothing again.

  • • •

  Nierne helped Rowen up to a sitting position a couple of days later. “Here you go.” She held a wooden cup to Rowen’s lips. Rowen
took a sip, then laid back down. “How are you feeling?”

  Rowen shut her eyes and pulled her blanket across her body. “Fine.” Her face looked gaunt in the dim light.

  The cramped cabin smelled stale, with a lingering hint of something sour. A lamp swinging from the hook above the two bunks gave the only light inside the room. Nierne’s bunk was made, her blanket carefully tucked in and her pack resting at the foot of the bed. An empty bucket sat beside Rowen’s bunk. Overhead, the sound of boots thumped against the wooden ceiling as sailors moved across the deck.

  Nierne placed the cup on the floor and frowned. She still felt that fresh air would do Rowen more good than the stuffy, smelly innards of this ship. Rowen’s breath grew even. Then again, maybe she was wrong. Maybe Rowen should just sleep. Nierne stood. “I’ll let you rest some more.”

  Rowen opened her eyes. “No, wait.” She struggled to sit up.

  Nierne hovered back over Rowen. “What is it? Do you need something? More water? The bucket?”

  Rowen fell back against her pillow. “No, I just don’t want to be alone. I feel trapped down here.”

  Nierne nodded. “I understand.” She stepped back and took a seat on her own bunk.

  “Tell me about Thyra,” Rowen said.

  “Thyra?”

  “Yes.” Rowen folded her hands. She still wore a glove over her right hand. Nierne hadn’t seen her take it off since they’d left port. She wondered how comfortable that could be. “Tell me about your city.”

  “Well,” Nierne said, drawing her mind back. “It’s beautiful.”

  “How?”

  Nierne searched her memories. “There are many gardens throughout the city. Lush, green gardens. In spring they are filled with all sorts of flowers. The city smells like one large bouquet.”

  “Lady Astrea would like those gardens,” Rowen murmured.

  “The buildings are beautiful too.” A longing filled her, a longing for home. “Many of them are washed white. Large columns hold up the roofs and porches. Most have large doorways and windows so the sea air can flow through. The senate building is the most beautiful. It sits in the center of Thyra overlooking the rest of the city. You can see the tower from anywhere, even outside the city walls.”