The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [96]
“They escaped,” Neil repeated, relief coming like an eastern breeze.
“Yes,” she said, and her tone became inquiring. “I wondered if I was aiding in some crime.”
“I am no criminal, lady, I promise you that.”
She shrugged. “Vitellio is not my home and I hardly care if you violated some law of their country. But I admire the way you fought. I admire the way you went to your doom singing. I’ve read stories about men like you, but never thought to meet one. I could not leave you to the depths.”
“So you—how did you—?”
“Some of my men can swim. They dived with a stout rope and pulled you up, but by then you were senseless.”
“I owe you and your men my life.”
“Yes, I suppose you do, but I shouldn’t feel too uncomfortable about it.” She cocked her head. “Who was she?”
“Who?”
“The girl with the red hair. She was the one you fought for, yes?”
Neil didn’t know quite how to answer that, and he suddenly realized he shouldn’t. From the moment his body struck the sea, he had no certain idea of what had happened. Perhaps everything Swanmay said was true. Perhaps none of it was. Perhaps he was captive of the very people who had attacked him. They were, after all, from Hansa, or at least some of them were. Swanmay had a Hanzish look about her, though she could as easily be from Crotheny or Herilanz. Her flawless king’s tongue told him nothing.
Her ship, he recalled, was unmarked.
“Lady,” he said, reluctantly, “please forgive me, but I can tell you nothing of why I fought.”
“Ah,” Swanmay said, and this time her smile seemed stronger. “You’re not stupid, then. You’ve no reason to believe anything I say, do you?”
“No, milady,” Neil allowed, “none whatsoever.”
“Never mind, then. I just wondered if your battle was a matter of love or duty. I see now that it is somehow both. But your love isn’t for the girl on the boat.”
He could see her eyes again, and this time they did not seem blind at all.
“I’m tired,” he said.
She nodded. “You need time to think. I’ll leave you for now, but please don’t try to move. My physician says you will start to leak like a broken boat if you do, and you interest me. I’d rather you lived long enough to find a little trust in me.”
“May I ask where we are bound?”
She clasped her hands on her knees. “You may, and I will answer, but how will you know I do not lie?”
“I suppose I don’t.”
“We’re sailing west, at the moment, to the Straits of Rusimi, and from there to Safnia. After that, I cannot say.”
She stood. “Fair rest, for now,” she said. “If you need anything, pull that rope on the other side of the bed.”
Neil remembered Hurricane then.
“Lady? What of my horse?”
Her face saddened. “I last saw him watching us depart. We have no berth or provisions for beasts aboard. I am sorry. I am certain so fine a beast will find a good master.”
That was just another dull ache for Neil. Crow was destroyed, his armor damaged probably beyond repair, and Hurricane was lost. What more could he lose, except his life?
“Thank you, lady,” he murmured.
He watched her leave. For a moment, before she closed the door behind her, he caught a glimpse of a ship’s deck in moonlight.
He tried to pull his thoughts back together. He still had his duty.
Swanmay had said they were sailing west. Anne was supposed to be sailing east, toward Paldh.
If she was sailing anywhere.
Neil inspected his wounds as best he could, and discovered that Swanmay had told the truth about them, at least. The glowing sword had cut through his armor and two of his ribs. It hadn’t gone into his vitals, but it had been a near thing.
So he wouldn’t be walking, much less fighting, for a while. For the time being, whether she was lying or telling the truth, he was at Swanmay’s mercy.
In fact, he was already worn-out, and though he tried to remain awake to ponder the situation, the sea—the one familiar thing around him—soon lulled him back to sleep.
When he woke again, it was to the soft strains of music. Swanmay sat nearby on a stool, strumming a small cherrywood