That night, as Yethyr was getting ready for bed, I heard Vezemar take Kettir aside.
“Have you ever guarded someone before?”
“Yes,” Kettir said quietly.
“Forget whatever you learned at that position.”
“Are we…not alert for any threats to his person?
“At night, yes. During the day, the Prince prefers Lady Jaetheiri to guard his back. We take over occasionally and we have various managerial duties, or at least, I do, but for the most part, we are meant to conserve ourselves so that we are sharp when the sun goes down.”
“What happens then?”
Vezemar was gruff. “We guard the Prince’s door in pairs and pretend we are there to prevent assassins from entering his chambers.”
“And the truth?”
“We exist to prevent Spryne from puppetting the Prince.”
Kettir gasped. “You said that the Prince has never submitted to him.”
“He hasn’t. While asleep however, he isn’t aware enough to fight him. Spryne knows this and so will successfully puppet his unconscious body if we allow it.”
The Prince’s legendary will did have limits then. That was a relief for my purposes. I wondered if I too could puppet Yethyr while he slept. The damage I could do to his life…
“The last attempt was a month ago,” Vezemar was saying, “but we must be vigilant and always in pairs, never alone. Spryne has killed guards through the Prince before.”
“And there were no repercussions?” Kettir asked.
“Are you suggesting killing the Prince?”
“I just swore an oath before Maethe. Of course not.”
“I hope not. I can’t imagine Maethe would be pleased with anyone stabbing their charge in the back while they are locked in a battle of wills with a Highlord of Hell. To cut short such a contest before its climax…”
Kettir hummed thoughtfully. “If Maethe takes such an interest, I see your point, yes.”
“Grethyr’s death was troublesome. Grokar, Umbar, and I have had to cover the extra shift. Your presence will be a relief to us all.”
“What am I supposed to do against Spryne?
“Try to wake the Prince up. You should be safe from him. Lady Jaetheiri ties him down every night.”
That was news to me. When Yethyr set me down and I lost the ability to see through his eyes, I always assumed the rustling had just been her helping him get undressed.
I should have known. I should have known the moment I felt his sympathy for possessed Elfred.
“More importantly, she gags him as one necromantic word from Spryne can kill this ship and the next one too.”
One word from Yethyr as himself during the day could do that too, but I supposed none of the Brinn comprehended their prince’s true power or restraint.
I needed to worm my way under that restraint. That night, I focused on my connection with Yethyr’s body. Our bond was stronger as he slept. The ability to slip into his “dreams” was proof of that. I could see why Spryne succeeded in possessing him in such a state. If Yethyr held on to me while he dreamt, I probably could do the same, even with our current link as frail as it was.
Spryne did not try to puppet him that night. I wondered if Yethyr’s link with me was holding him back in some way.
Could my hold on him eclipse Spryne?
One night, I tried to flex Yethyr’s finger as he slept. After several hours of concentrating in the darkness without progress, I let it go. To move a man while I was leaning against the boat cabin wall, without physical contact, would require a stronger connection. It was pointless anyway. What was the point of controlling the man as he slept when he was bound to prevent such bouts of possession already?
So I was back to scheming other ways of influence.
I didn’t have much to work with. The party was split between the two ships—Yethyr and his now five Huntguards on The Finrider and the rest on The Wily Seal.
The ships never strayed far enough to leave my hearing. I could hear Kvelir shout orders, Tular and Dath steal brief moments to be alone; Dethur and Hegrir spar together, and Nisari work on some new windsong project.
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Day after day passed and it was almost alarming. I had been born in a city under siege. I had never known peaceful days before and I found myself struggling to trust the tranquility.
The Brinn hunters were restless. They frequently hopped between the ships when they were near enough and congregated together, especially in the evening.
Apparently, telling tales around the campfire was a critical ritual for any hunting party and the inability to start proper fires on the ship set them on edge.
They would make do with a lamp and huddle around it during their nightly feasts as if it were a roaring fire. They shared exploits grand and small, old and new. Even the struggles to kill rats on The Wily Seal were received with pleasure.
“Tell us of the Oredreirium, my lady,” Dath begged Jaetheiri one night. “I have so dearly wished to hear your tale.”
“There is nothing to tell. Besides, I hear you saw it in person.”
“The view was inconsistent on the Wall. Most of your exploits were blocked by the ruins. What little I saw plays over and over in my mind though. You’re so light on your feet! And so vicious! You never hesitated, never paused. One could think that you were trying to finish it before the sacred bells even chimed. It was a legend being played before all our eyes! When the Prince fell from the royal window, everyone’s heart stopped!”
Jaetheiri shot a glare at Yethyr and the Prince strangely smiled. To my confusion, he was pleased with himself.
“Yes, Jaethe. I would be fascinated to hear your telling of ‘my fall.’”
Jaetheiri tossed her head. “I will not speak of that day. It was harrowing and only zealots think of it fondly.”
Yethyr huffed out a laugh.
That night, Jaetheiri dreamed of Yethyr falling from a wall. He was younger in her mind, face free of the bone fragments that now lined his face. His skeletal armor was gone too. Instead, a black fur blanket fluttered about him as he fell.
There was a gleam in his eye that should not belong to someone in freefall.
Jaetheiri jumped after him and they both plunged into a pool of blood.
Suddenly, she was fighting in narrowing hallways or perhaps they were alleys. The malleable nature of the dream made it difficult to know for sure. All I felt was the ache of familiarity.
Yethyr was held in her left arm, but she still kept fighting with a dagger in her right.
“You would have won even like this,” Yethyr whispered in her ear with a giddy zeal I had never heard from him before. He sounded so young.
“Do you know what I would become in the Oredreirium? All titles, all pretenses, all sins stripped away?” He asked eagerly, hungrily, as if the answer was the only thing he lived for. “Do you know what you will become? All names, all falsehoods, all chains broken.”
His answer to his own question was swallowed up by her blurry unconsciousness.
That morning, as soon as she had removed Yethyr’s gag, she said, “I dreamed of you falling into the Oredreirium.”
Yethyr hummed. “Having regrets?” He sounded amused.
Jaetheiri began to untie him from the bed. I was becoming adept at recognizing the different rustling sounds of the process. “You were in my arms as I fought, which was impractical and would not have worked well in reality.”
“You still would have won.”
“That’s what you said in the dream.”
Yethyr chuckled. “I am relieved that at least some part of you knows my faith so well.”
“All of me knows your faith,” Jaetheiri said seriously. “When I doubt, and we both know I often doubt, it is not you or your faith that I call into question.”
They were silent. I suddenly wished Yethyr had been holding me so I could feel the expression on his face and see the expression on hers. Left in the dark, I could only guess what passed wordlessly between them.
“The path I carve up to Heaven…” Yethyr suddenly murmured.
“...is yours to walk,” Jaetheiri finished.
“Thank you, Jaethe.”
She helped him put on his bone armor and its deathsong composition started up again.
Yethyr picked me up, restoring my vision through his eyes. As he put me on his belt, Jaetheiri set her bone circlet back upon her brow. She always did it last.
Yethyr made his way to the deck to find two separate song projects being conducted on opposite ends of his ship.
At the bow, sat Wes and his deathsong. He had abandoned attempting to translate steelsong into Brinn notation. He decided he needed to understand how it worked with deathsong first. He would collect fish bones and try to puppet them. He got them to flop about on deck, so I figured it was progressing.
Yethyr had expected that however. What he had not expected was for Nisari to be tying chimes at the stern. They jangled of windsong. Yethyr could not hear it.
She did not even look up when he approached. “The sun shines on a glorious day, my prince.”
“Perhaps. When did you come aboard?”
“Hours ago. It could not wait.”
“What could not wait?”
“That impertinent boy, Kvelir has been pestering me, constantly I might add.” She screwed up her wrinkled face. “He wants to make his ship faster; he is concerned we are being followed. Good, I say! We should have faced them right there and then!”
Yethyr chose to ignore that opinion. “Well, is he right? Can you make the boat faster?”
“Oh, I can certainly make one boat faster. Temporarily at least. It is a simple thing to blow wind in sails, provided I have the stamina for it.”
“Then why haven’t you approached me about this?”
“Because I am one woman and can only bolster one sail at a time. We would leave the other ship behind.”
“If only another Aeromancer had volunteered,” Yethyr muttered drily.
Nisari ignored him. “But Kvelir is relentless. Relentless! Anyway, to get him to shut up, I have been working on these chimes that should help the airflow without my input. Emphasis on should. This is of course a test.”
Yethyr was fascinated. He examined the chimes and the notations Nisari had carved into them. He could not hear the windsong grow louder as the breeze brushed up against them as I did, but he wished he could.
He admired it. He reached to touch the markings.
“Don’t touch them! You’ll contaminate my airflow.”
He withdrew his hand, but not his attention. “How does it work?”
Before Nisari could answer him, there was a cry from above. Yethyr looked up to see a thrall clinging to the mast with one hand and shielding his eyes from the morning sun with the other.
“My Prince! There are Flazean ships downriver!”
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