Stormsinger (Storms in Amethir Book 1) (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

He sings out of his loneliness.

There is no answer. There has never been an answer.

He is aware of those who, like him, traverse the deeps and celebrate the cycle of dry and wet and storms. He is aware that he is not the only being of his kind. Yet he is alone.

There are other songs. He feels the songs against his skin, pulsing through him, resonating with the loneliness inside him. Those who are like him--like, yet unlike, somehow--sing too, but their songs are subtly different.

He tries to mimic them, but how can he perceive how his songs are received? He can only know how their songs feel on his skin, in his innermost being. He cannot imagine what his songs feel like to others.

Yet he sings on. Someone will answer him. Someday, somehow.

Someone will answer his loneliness.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Captain Dzornaea." Kinnet smoothed her skirts and watched the back of the captain's head. When the captain turned to face her, Kinnet made herself smile.

"Stormwitch Ardelis." Kinnet appreciated how careful Arama was to keep her face turned toward her. "Is there trouble?"

Kinnet inclined her torso, keeping her gaze on Arama's face. "I feel...echoes. I think echoes. I..." She drew her brows together. "I am not sure."

"Echoes of...power?" Arama asked. "Of a storm? Is there something building?"

Kinnet spread her hands and opened her mouth. After several seconds, she huffed out a breath and clenched her fists. "Echoes. My feet feel them. Through the floor."

"Deck," Arama corrected.

"Deck. They shake." Kinnet shook her head. "Vibrate."

Arama scrubbed a hand through short, blue-black hair. "What do you think it is?" she asked at last.

"I..." Kinnet let her gaze go unfocused as she searched again for any hint of recognition. "I don't know. I have never felt this before."

Arama swore. "What can you do?" She scraped her toes against a coil of rope. Kinnet wondered if they itched. What would it be like to go barefoot all the time, as Arama did?

Kinnet lifted one hand to curl around the large sea-glass pendant that hung at her throat. "I will try to sense what causes the disturbance."

"Good idea." Arama didn't hide the annoyance in her expression.

Kinnet flinched. She knew what the captain must be thinking. Any stormwitch who wore as much sea-glass as Kinnet did must be powerful. Sea-glass wasn't cheap by any measure, and a chunk as large as that pendant would have come dear. Why couldn't the woman have intelligence that equaled her wealth? Well, Kinnet would show her. She was intelligent, as well as powerful. She had just never been given the opportunities so many others got.

Kinnet glared at her. "I must not be disturbed," she said. "And I will need a pitcher of water."

"Of course." Arama signaled one of her crew and gave the orders necessary. "Should I prepare to defend ourselves?"

Kinnet's gaze turned inward. "No," she said at last. "This is something...not made by humans. I feel..." She trailed off, then clenched her teeth. Why should she try to explain how the power felt? Not even a ship's captain could understand the way stormwitchery called to you. "I will inform you when I have learned anything."

She swung around, her skirts swishing around her, and strode away, hips rolling with the pitch of the ship. She would show Arama Dzornaea. She would do whatever was necessary to protect Prince Vistaren. She would gain the prince's trust and admiration. And then Pralith Menever and all those buzzing toadies at the college would see that Kinnet Ardelis was more than a poor deaf girl who could channel lightning.

CHAPTER FIVE

The first full day of their voyage was unremarkable. Vistaren talked to the sailors and attempted to stay out of Captain Dzornaea's way while studying the way Lo interacted with her. It wasn't as difficult as he'd expected. Arama was obviously fond of Lo, but she allowed no one to interfere with her duties. She would interrupt a conversation to stride across the deck and berate one of the crew members, or instruct the helmsman to change course. The first few times Vistaren saw that happen, he admired her dedication to duty.

After a while, he recognized it for what it was: an excuse to avoid whatever existed between her and Lo.

A captain's duties weren't as demanding as she made them look. Not on a diplomatic mission like this, at least. He knew she had logs to keep and reports to write, but as far as the routines on deck, they seemed to run themselves. Vistaren watched the helmsman adjust course twice without Arama's intervention, and the first mate didn't hesitate to issue orders regarding the sails and lines without the captain's supervision.

Nevertheless, Vistaren wasn't certain of his conclusion until he saw Lozarr reach out and rest a hand atop Arama's on the railing. It was startling how quickly Arama went stiff and turned her face away from Lo's. She said something that made Lo's shoulders slump. Then she stalked off, snapping orders. Baffled, Vistaren watched Lo as the general watched her walk away from him.

How could Lo's high regard for her elude her so? She was gruff and somewhat unrefined, but not stupid. Lozarr Algot was a kind, well-bred man who obviously cared for her. Vistaren understood that Arama didn't crave rank or glory. She just enjoyed what she did. She was as one with her ship. She loved her country. She served her king. It was admirable and praise-worthy. Was it possible that she feared love?

It wasn't that Vistaren couldn't sympathize. He was going to meet his bride, after all. He wasn't sure if Azmei would even like him. Would she understand his proclivities or make allowances for them? He wanted to like the woman he married, but he was under no illusion that he would ever feel desire for her. It was simply one of those sacrifices that must be made in Amethir's name.

But surely such a sacrifice couldn't be expected of Arama. She had no rank to speak of, and therefore no duties that would prevent her marrying for love. She clearly cared for Lo, and Lo just as clearly cared for her. Why not allow herself such pleasure?

"My prince is obviously further away than his gaze would suggest."

Vistaren jumped. "Lo! Don't sneak up on a body like that!"

Even Lo's smirk was gentle. "I spoke your name twice. Is it my fault that you were inattentive?"

"Certainly." Vistaren shook himself. "You've been to Ranarr before, haven't you?'

"A few times, highness. It isn't so different from Maron."

"No, but the etiquette is very different. I have studied, but I would hate to offend anyone. Especially my bride," Vistaren added lamely.

Lo didn't look at him. "Your bride is from Tamnen. The customs there are rather different from Ranarr."

"Yes." Vistaren cleared his throat. "I require your counsel, Lo. Advise me on how to speak to Princess Azmei."

Lozarr was a tall man. He didn't look away from Arama as he ran a hand through his hair. "I have no experience on which to base any counsel about wooing a woman, Prince Vistaren."

Vistaren couldn't help himself. He snorted. "You damn well know more than I do, Lo. I've never wooed anyone who wanted to be told how pretty he was, or how soft his hands and perfumed his hair."

Lo arched an eyebrow. "Nor have I, Vistaren." He leaned against the railing and directed the full force of his gaze at his prince. "As you obviously understand quite well."

Vistaren's cheeks heated. That had been unkind. "My apologies."

Lo held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded and looked away. "I am the last person to whom you should go for advice." His voice was low and rough. "I have never been wise about where I spend my affection."

Entirely ashamed of himself, Vistaren looked down. "She's worthy of it. But if she can't see--" He broke off as Lo barked a laugh.

"She sees well enough. Exactly what she wishes to see." Lo's voice was unwontedly bitter. "But I knew when I loved her that she had no basis for a love that didn't leave her. It isn't her fault."

Vistaren kept his breathing even. He felt stupid and young. Why had he thought he understood whatever was between Arama and Lozarr? He was twenty years old and only
just
unvirgined. What could he know of the complicated emotions that fed into that thing they called love?

Lo sighed. "I'm sorry, Ren. I'm not usually like this. I know she can't-- It just isn't..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "You're not like us. You can have something real. If you're honest with her, Princess Azmei will understand, and she'll find some way to be happy, just as you will." He rested a hand on Vistaren's shoulder. "It won't be perfect. Life itself is never perfect. But it'll be something."

Just two years ago, Vistaren would have been unable to breathe if Lo touched him like this. That had to mean he was growing up, didn't it? He wasn't throbbing with desire for a man who would never look twice at him. He was thinking instead of that man's happiness and how it tied to a woman Vistaren liked and admired. He was thinking of how he himself could find happiness with the woman his father and council had chosen for him.

No, it didn't help. Vistaren still felt selfish and inexperienced. He covered Lo's hand with his own. "Arama doesn't know what she's passing up."

Lo's laughter was sad. Vistaren didn't like it, but sad was better than bitter. "She does. But it's all right. Thank you for trying."

Vistaren looked out across the ocean. The water was impartial. Nonjudgmental. The sea would swallow peasant and king, general and privateer, without distinction. All that stood between them and impersonal death was one good storm. And storm season wasn't all that far away.

Vistaren's voyage had been planned carefully: he would leave Maron one full fortnight after the last rain of the rainy season. It would give the sailors shore leave without forcing him to travel during storm season. No one traveled during storm season if they could help it. Captains like Arama Dzornaea could outsail any storm the sea threw at her, especially with an experienced stormwitch like Kinnet Ardelis on board. But sailing during storm season was just tempting the gods to smite the proud. Best avoided.

Still. As Vistaren looked out across the swells, feeling the sea lift his long hair and tickle his cheeks, he wondered. What would it be like to see her in a fury? What would it feel like to ride the sea's wrath? He glanced around for Stormwitch Ardelis. Vistaren hadn't a smidge of stormwitchery. No member of the royal family did. But witchery, like love, was a power to be reckoned with.

Vistaren couldn't help but be curious.

CHAPTER SIX

Something was very wrong. At first Kinnet only had the odd echoes she could feel through the stormwitchery as proof. After speaking with Arama, though, she had retreated to the cabin provided for her. Using the sea-glass pendant as a focus, Kinnet had stretched forth her awareness, seeking whatever phenomenon might be causing those echoes.

She had found nothing.

That alone was a danger signal. Kinnet knew she was more powerful than most stormwitches. She had spent the past five years in a silent rivalry with Pralith Menever, the king's stormwitch adviser, and she knew she was realistic in her self-assessment. If she could detect no cause for those echoes, it was because whoever caused those echoes didn't want her to detect him.

And yet...

She hadn't lied when she told Arama the echoes weren't caused by a human. She knew the power signatures of all the major stormwitches in Amethir. If the echoes were the result of some human stormwitchery, she would be able to identify the power behind it. Since she wasn't, the only logical explanation was that the echoes were caused by some power that was not human but was somehow aware.

Who are you?
she thought.

She had abandoned the sea-glass pendant in favor of a velvet pouch full of sand. It was a mixture. That alone would displease many of her colleagues. But Kinnet had learned in the past several years that sand was most useful when combined. The very nature of sand was to swirl and tumble under the surface, to sink beneath a wanderer's feet, to shift with the tides. Sand worked better as a focus when mixed.

She slipped her fingers through the sand, eyes closed, awareness extended to the edges of her ability. She could feel the
Dawn Star
both around her and cradled within her as her awareness floated with the sea. She could sense the wind above her and the currents inside her. She could feel no storms.

Yet she sensed some strange pulse, almost a pattern but not quite. She felt a call throb against her from without. A seeking of some kind, a summons. But it made no sense. Who would be calling her?

No, not her. Kinnet settled her awareness deeper in the ocean and let herself float. She wasn't the one called. But the echoes, they were echoes of a call. The results of a deep longing. Deep called to deep.

She thrust her fingers into the sand and curled the fingers of her other hand around her sea-glass pendant.
WHO?
she demanded.

For a long moment there was nothing, only the feeling of her inquiry stretching out in all directions away from her. She was slipping away, losing control of her power, diffusing in the salty waters of the sea. And then--

Companion!
It was a faint cry. So faint she almost didn't hear it. But in the next instant, it came again, thundering so powerfully she felt it vibrate in her bones.
Companion!
There was shock and joy and a world of longing in that cry. It shook Kinnet to her depths.

"No!" she cried and pushed the pouch of sand away from her. She wasn't the answer to anyone's call. She was no one's companion. She was solitary, enough unto herself. She needed no companion, and no one needed her. That suited her well.

Companion--? The ponderous presence reached out for her, the joy turned to confusion and sorrow. Kinnet shoved it away. Whomever--whatever--sought a companion, it didn't seek her.

She rose from her kneeling position and dusted off her knees. She would rest and try again. Tugging her skirt straight, she glanced in the tiny, round mirror that hung on the wall over her bunk. Or perhaps she would wait until tomorrow.

The deck vibrated ever so slightly under her feet. Kinnet ignored it. The echoes undoubtedly had nothing to do with the prince. In a few days they would be in Ranarr and her duty to protect the prince would be discharged. She would worry about them after that.