Pirate and King, chapter eight

8

Nalderick stood at Majesty’s taffrail, long past the point when Karellon vanished over the northern horizon, smoke, lights and all. Icy wind whipped his brown hair and his long, black cloak, but the prince paid it no mind. He was too heartsick over the deaths of his father and grandfather… over the throne that should have been his, and the realm he ought to have ruled… to notice a trifling thing like the weather.

What to do now?

He’d bought himself some time and a little breathing space by escaping the City. Not alone, either. The dreadnought Invincible and the fast cutter Dart had abandoned the empire’s service along with Majesty. They sped through the skies nearby; Invincible keeping pace, Dart questing here and there, watching for sky-vines, wyverns or enemy airships. Both were islands of alert activity, with aerriors scrambling over the decks on ship’s business. All he had left in the world beside his sister Genevera, whom he dared not attempt to contact. Then,

‘Prince N, Lady Sheraza has left the healing cabin. She is approaching your position,’ advised Majesty, light and dry as an autumn leaf in his mind. ‘Orders?’

“Thank you, Madge,” replied Nalderick, over the airship’s deep hum and vibration. “I’ll see her.” His insides lurched suddenly, painfully, at the thought of explaining himself.

Sheraza. The last person he wanted to encounter right now, and the most important. He was a rebel. A fugitive, with nothing to his name but three ships full of fellow deserters… and an absolute determination to win back all that he’d lost. What could he offer Lady Sheraza but danger and probable death? His odds, simply put, were not good.

Being an elf, Nalderick soon heard her light steps and the brush of her hair and clothing through the wind of Majesty’s flight. He took a deep breath, clutched the rail with both hands, and then turned to face that oncoming girl.

Lady Sheraza had been terribly injured in the battle at Five Points, but there was no better healer in all the realm than Scander the halfling. Sheraza was pale but whole now, and as lovely as she was expressionless; every inch an Arvendahl female.

The girl’s long, night-dark hair blew free in the wind, while her vivid blue eyes held… what? Interest? Anger? Anything at all? Nalderick dreaded finding out as much as he hoped for good news... but he managed to keep himself under iron control.

The young prince smiled, bowing politely at her approach. She, too, had faced hardship. Had less now than he did, but Nalderick wouldn’t abandon courtesy.

“My lady,” he said, once he was sure that his voice wouldn’t crack. “I hope that you are feeling improved?”

(Hang it all! Feeling improved?!)

“That is, that you’re… better.”

Sheraza came to stand squarely before him, though she didn’t make eye contact. Not quite.

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“The fated sword has gone to another,” she said in a calm, level voice. “My plan to avenge my uncle’s death and reclaim his remains has failed. I have been healed in body, Prince, but I am left without purpose. What hope is there for Sheraza, now?”

Nalderick started to reach for her, then stopped himself. ‘Me,’ he wanted to tell her. ‘There is me!’ But he didn’t. Instead, Derrick mastered his heart rate and breathing. Said,

“It seems that we find ourselves in a similar situation, Milady. I have left Karellon, intending to seek my mother’s folk in Okuni. It may be that she’ll offer me shelter, while I work out what to do next.”

Sheraza drifted to the rail, looking across at a rippled expanse of high, craggy mountains. With him, yet not.

“Why am I here, Prince?” she asked. “You could have left me to die of my wounds or be taken by the justiciars. Perhaps you believe that having been ‘saved’, I will be grateful enough to fall into your bed.”

Derrick stopped breathing for a moment. Then (a bit raggedly) he responded,

“No. Not… It’s not like that. You are the bravest, most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Like me, you have no choice left but rebellion, for pride will not let you stoop before injustice, murder and theft. I…” he hesitated, then confessed in a rush, “I would battle to reclaim what was mine and remove that criminal’s line from succession, with you fighting beside me. I would make you my empress.”

Sheraza exhaled a pent breath, then turned her head to look up at Nalderick. For just a moment, she made solid eye contact; that brilliant blue gaze probing his face and maybe his heart. Whatever she saw there, Sheraza’s reply was simply,

“I have never been to Okuni.”

Nalderick found himself smiling. She hadn’t said ‘no’. She hadn’t rejected him outright.

“I have, twice. Both times to visit my mother and conduct state business. Trade contracts. Very boring, even with wine,” he rambled, enjoying that burning blue stare. But,

“My uncle’s death curse is very powerful. It will bedevil whoever is chosen as emperor,” said Sheraza. “I may be able to allay it, but only if I can retrieve and burn his body. That is my price, Highness.”

Sheraza’s gaze shifted from Nalderick to the horizon, and it was like the sun had set, draining color and life. She continued, saying,

“You think yourself in love, Prince, but what you hold in your hand is a shell that you’ve found on the seashore. Pretty outside, empty within.”

This time, Nalderick did reach for Sheraza, placing a hand on her slim, rigid shoulder.

“Not pretty, beautiful,” he whispered. “And it may be that life can return to this lovely vessel, again.”

Once more, briefly, Sheraza’s blue eyes lifted to meet his green ones.

“It would have to have been there, first,” she said to him, sounding like someone discussing the weather. Then, looking away, “You crave what your eyes can see, and your hands can touch, Highness, with little thought for what I am able to give or feel in return.”

Nalderick shook his head. Squeezing her shoulder a bit, he insisted,

“You speak of craving, of ‘thinking myself in love’… but I have been with many females, elven, human and fey. This is different. This is me. My heart and soul, if you’ll have them.”

Sheraza studied clouds, wind sprites and the Invincible, rumbling along close beside them.

“What would I do with a lump of raw flesh and a wisp of vapor? You need your heart more than I do, Prince,” she remarked, adding unexpectedly, “Even so, I will fight at your side. Whatever may come of it, I will cast my lot in with yours, though the price remains the honorable disposal of my uncle’s corpse. As for your bed and your throne…”

Sheraza twisted away from Nalderick’s grasp.

“If war has not scarred it nor death stolen it quite away by then, this shell is yours, Highness.”

“Done!” Derrick exulted. “A thousand times done!” He clasped both her shoulders, gently turning Sheraza to face him. “And I swear to find some way to bring light to those eyes and a smile to that beautiful face, so hear me all powers and people.” (His second oath in one day.)

“A fool’s errand,” she whispered, but softly and very much without scorn. “Keep to revenge, Highness. It’s a simpler quest.”

Maybe he should have listened, but just then anything seemed possible, and Nalderick’s heart was too full to admit common sense. Bending a little, almost in worship, he kissed Sheraza’s pale forehead.

“Forever,” he promised, meaning it.