The Perilous Sea (2 page)

The wind shrieked.

No, it was her, screaming with all the frustration she could no longer contain.

The sandstorm shrank away, as if afraid of what she might do.

She panted, like a runner after a hard sprint. About her, the radius of clear, undisturbed air had increased tenfold, expanding a hundred feet in each direction.

Numbly she spun around, searching for what she dared not hope to find.

Nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Then, the silhouette of a body in the sand.

CHAPTER
2

The Domain
Seven Weeks Earlier

 

“HIS SERENE HIGHNESS PRINCE TITUS
the Seventh,” announced the stone phoenixes that guarded the four corners of the grand terrace, their voices bell-like and resonant.

Titus stopped at the edge of the terrace, the celebrated garden of the Citadel before him. Elsewhere in the garden, there were informal, even intimate areas, but not here. Here acres of evergreen shrubs had been meticulously trimmed into hundreds of parterres, which when viewed from above formed a stylized phoenix, the symbol of the House of Elberon.

The evergreens, bred by the Citadel's master botanists, bloomed late in summer. And every year the color of the flowers changed. This year the blossoms were a deep, vibrant orange, the color of sunrise. Dalbert, Titus's valet and personal spymaster, reported that he had seen the phoenix emblems on Delamer's public buildings painted a similar hue of fire, often accompanied by a hasty scrawled
The phoenix is aflame!

The last time the phoenix was aflame, the January Uprising had soon followed.

In the space between the landscape phoenix's two upraised wings, a large white canopy had been erected, brilliant in the light of the afternoon sun. Under the canopy, a diplomatic reception was in full swing. Attendants in the Citadel's gray livery wove between guests in jewel-toned overrobes, offering hors d'oeuvres and glasses of chilled summer wine. A fine, ethereal music drifted on the breeze from the sea, and with it, the sounds of soft laughter and involved chitchat.

Titus inhaled. He was jittery. It was possible he was responding to the strain beneath the party's apparent gaiety, but in truth it was, as always, all about Fairfax, his powerful and incandescent elemental mage.

He descended a flight of wide, shallow steps, and walked the length of a statue-lined avenue, a retinue of twelve in tow. As he approached the canopy, the entire gathering bowed and curtsied. He might be without any real powers, but he was still, ceremonially speaking, lord and master of the Domain.
1

An exceptionally beautiful woman came forward, a smile on her face: Lady Callista, the palace's official hostess, the most renowned beauty witch of her generation, and one of Titus's least favorite persons on the face of the earth.

For he aimed to destroy the Bane, Lord High Commander of the Great Realm of New Atlantis and the greatest tyrant the world had ever known, and Lady Callista was very much a servant of the Bane. Not to mention, though he had no concrete evidence to support his suspicion, he had always believed deep down that Lady Callista had been the one responsible for the death of his mother.

“My lady,” he acknowledged her.

“Your Highness,” Lady Callista cooed, “we are delighted you could join us. Please, allow me to present the new ambassador from the Kalahari Realm.”

Titus was quite happy to see visible bags beneath her eyes. Life had not been easy for her since the evening of the Fourth of June, when Atlantis's most prized prisoner had disappeared from the Citadel's library. In the same library, on the same night, the Inquisitor, one of the Bane's most loyal and capable lieutenants, had met a sudden and unexpected end.

Lady Callista had the bad luck to be the last person to walk into the library before Haywood's disappearance. She had also been the one to order a pool of blood in the library cleaned up, when Atlantis would have very much liked to have a few drops of that blood, in order to find out who had been responsible for the death of the Inquisitor.

As a result, despite her years of service as an agent of Atlantis, she was watched as heavily as Titus, her movements confined to within the boundaries of the Citadel. Moreover, every week she had to meet with Atlantean investigators, each interview lasting hours, sometimes an entire day.

A distracted and distressed Lady Callista was one less threat to Titus.

Introductions done, Lady Callista left Titus to chat with the new Kalahari ambassador and those family members who had accompanied him to the Domain. Titus was never completely comfortable in such social situations—he suspected he appeared both stiff and ungracious. If only he could have Fairfax by his side. . . . She knew instinctively how to put people at ease and he was always much more relaxed in her company.

It should have been an idyllic summer in the Labyrinthine Mountains for them—watching the shifting of the peaks, exploring hidden waterfalls, perhaps even sneaking up to the phoenix aeries in the highest ridges, in the hope of seeing a fiery rebirth. Not that they were not going to work hard: their plans had included hundreds of hours of grueling training, just as many devoted to the mastery of new spells, not to mention a covert undertaking to find out where her guardian had ended up after disappearing from the Citadel's library. But the most important thing was that they were going to be together, as much as possible, every step of the way.

From the moment he stepped out of the rail coach that served as his private translocator, however, it became apparent that he would be watched every second of his holidays. A terrifying thing to realize, when he had her concealed on his person, in the shape of a tiny turtle, under the effect of a potion that lasted no more than twelve hours.

He managed to smuggle her out of the castle in a nerve-racking dash, leaving her, still in turtle form, inside an abandoned shepherd's hut. He meant to go back later to escort her to the safe house he had prepared, but ten minutes after he returned to the castle he found himself whisked off to the Citadel, the Master of the Domain's official residence in the capital city, from which he could not escape to the mountains with either ease or secrecy.

He and Fairfax had discussed dozens of contingency plans, but nothing close to this scenario, in which she would be stranded in the Labyrinthine Mountains by herself. For days he could scarcely eat or sleep, until he saw a three-line advertisement at the back of
The Delamer Observer
, announcing the availability of various bulbs for autumn planting: It was her, informing him that she would meet him back at Eton, at the start of Michaelmas Half.

He had nearly burst with relief—and pride: trust Fairfax to always find a way, no matter how dire the situation. From then it was one long, excruciating wait for the end of summer, for the moment when they would meet again.

The end of summer had come at last. He had permission to leave for England immediately following the reception. He did not know how he held himself together, speaking to group after group of guests. One minute he would be short of breath at the thought of holding her tight, the next minute dizzy with dread—what if she did
not
walk into Mrs. Dawlish's house?

“. . . before you will rule in your own right. I must admit I had hoped to see you at some of my briefings this summer.”

Two seconds passed before Titus realized he was expected to respond to Commander Rainstone, the regent's chief security adviser.

“According to court tradition, I should be seventeen before I take part in council meetings and security briefings,” he said.

And he was not due to turn seventeen for several weeks.

“What difference does a few days make?” asked Commander Rainstone, sounding vexed. “Your Highness will come to age at a most unstable time and will need all the experience you can muster. Were I His Excellency, I would have insisted that Your Highness be made familiar with the running of the state much sooner. ”

His Excellency was Prince Alectus, the regent who ruled in Titus's stead. Alectus also happened to be Lady Callista's protector.

“What would you have me know?” Titus asked Commander Rainstone.

She had been a member of his mother's personal staff, long ago, before he was old enough to remember anything. He knew Commander Rainstone primarily from her occasional trips to the castle in the Labyrinthine Mountains, to brief him on matters having to do with the realm's security, or at least those matters she thought he was old enough to understand.

Commander Rainstone glanced at the crowd and lowered her voice. “We have intelligence, sire, that the Lord High Commander of New Atlantis has left his fortress in the uplands.”

This was news to Titus—news that sent a frisson of chill down his spine. “I understand he dined here at the Citadel not long ago. So it cannot be all that unusual for him to leave the Commander's Palace.”

“But that event in and of itself was extraordinary: it was the first time he had stepped out of the Commander's Palace since the end of the January Uprising.”

“Does this mean Lady Callista should expect him for dinner again?”

Commander Rainstone frowned. “Your Highness, this is no joking matter. The Lord High Commander does not lightly depart his lair and—”

She stopped. Aramia, Lady Callista's daughter, was approaching.

“Your Highness, Commander,” said Aramia amiably, “I apologize for the intrusion, but I do believe the prime minister would like a word with you, Commander.”

“Of course.” Commander Rainstone bowed. “If you will excuse me, Your Highness.”

Aramia turned to Titus. “And you probably have not seen the new addition to the Defeat of the Usurper fountain, Your Highness, have you?”

Nearly five months ago, at a party not unlike this one, Lady Callista had administered truth serum to Titus on behalf of Atlantis—and she had done so via Aramia, whom Titus had considered a friend. If Aramia had any regrets concerning her action, Titus had not been able to sense it.

“I have seen the new addition,” he said coolly. “It was completed two years ago.”

Aramia reddened, but her smile was persistent. “Allow me to point out some features you may not have noticed. Won't you come with me, sire?”

He considered refusing outright. But a stroll away from the canopy did have some merits—at least he would not have to speak to anyone. “Lead the way.”

Defeat of the Usurper, the largest and most elaborate of the ninety-nine fountains of the Citadel, was the size of a small hill, featuring scores of wyverns being felled by Hesperia the Great's elemental powers. The long reflecting pool before it extended almost to the edge of the manmade headland on which the Citadel sat. Cliffs dropped three hundred feet straight down to the pounding surf of the Atlantic. In the distance, a pleasure craft, all its sails furled, bobbed upon the sunlit sea.

Aramia glanced back. Titus's retinue, eight guards and four attendants, had followed them. But now, with a wave of his hand, they slowed and stayed out of earshot.

“Mother will be angry with me if she knew what I am about to do.” Aramia reached inside the fountain and flicked the rippling surface. “And she won't admit it but she is quite frightened by all the meetings with investigators from Atlantis. They make her take truth serum and they are . . . they are not nice at all.”

“That is what it is like to run afoul of Atlantis.”

“But isn't there something you can do for her, after what she has done for you?”

Titus raised a brow. After what Lady Callista had done for
him
? “You overestimate my influence.”

“But all the same—”

“There you are!” came a clear, musical voice. “I have been looking for you all over.”

The young woman who approached from the far side of the fountain was eye-wateringly beautiful—skin the color of brown sugar, a face of almost exaggerated perfection, and a cascade of black hair that reached to the backs of her knees.