In Arietta’s mind, she kept seeing her father’s death, the Shadovar prince looming over him, her father finally finding the courage to reach for his sword. The end had come too quickly to say Duke Farnig had died well, but at least he had not died a complete coward, and she hoped that Lord Kelemvor would judge him less harshly in death than she had in life.
When it came to her mother, Arietta did not know quite what to hope for. Elira Seasilver would be a difficult prisoner at best, and Arietta could not see the Shadovar tolerating such trouble for long. But would they react by throwing a valuable hostage overboard? Or by locking her in the Wave Wyvern’s cramped, sweltering brig? The first was a sure death and the second a fate worse than death, and it made Arietta shudder to imagine her mother facing either.
And it made her sick with guilt. It had been Arietta who had pressured her father to remain in Marsember, Arietta who had delayed the Wave Wyvern’s departure by charging out to help Kleef, and Arietta who had given the Shadovar cause to enter House Seasilver at all. Her thoughts had been filled with fanciful notions of duty and glory, and she could see now how silly she had been, how little she had understood the enemy’s insidious power. Ultimately, her father’s death was on her head-and if the Shadovar killed her mother as well, then that would be on her head, too.
Arietta caught a familiar whiff of decay and turned to see Lady Joelle’s little manservant approaching. She forced a pleasant smile and turned to greet him.
“Back so soon, Malik?” she asked. “It seems you left my side just minutes ago.”
“And so I did,” Malik replied. “But I see how you worry for the grand duke’s wife, and what friend would allow another to fret when it is in his power to ease her mind?”
Arietta eyed the little man warily. “Are we friends, Malik?” she asked. “That seems rather sudden.”
“Perhaps, but I am a shrewd judge of character,” Malik explained. “I can see that my kindness will not be wasted on you.”
“No kindness is ever wasted,” Arietta said carefully. “But you’re right, I do fear for the grand duchess. I see no reason for the Shadovar to spare her.”
“Never make the mistake of believing you know how the Shadovar think,” Malik said. He stopped next to her-just downwind, thankfully-and propped his elbows on the bulwark. “There is only one thing we can count on those dusky fiends to do, and that is to find us when we are the most ill-prepared for it.”
Arietta raised her brow. “And you think that will ease my mind?”
“At least it will help you see there is no use in this endless vigil,” Malik said. “The Shadovar will find us. They always do.”
“That doesn’t mean the duchess will still be alive.”
“But it does not mean she will be dead,” Malik countered. “And you can’t change her fate by standing at this rail all day. By now, the Shadovar have either killed the grand duchess or decided to hold her captive, and the only way to learn which is to find them-and the only way to find them is to wait until they find us.”
Arietta contemplated the assertion, trying think of a faster, surer way to locate the Wave Wyvern. But even if she had known how to track Shadovar across an open sea, an obvious rescue attempt would only place her mother in even greater danger. As much as she hated to admit it, the safest thing was to do as Malik suggested.
Finally Arietta asked, “You’re certain the Shadovar will find us?”
“In this world and this time, only a fool is certain of anything,” Malik said. “But the Shadovar have always found us before, and I see no reason for that to change.”
“How long have they been chasing you?” Arietta asked. “Since you stole the Eye?”
“Almost since we pried it from the idol’s head,” Malik confirmed. “We have been attacked twenty times in forty days. It is a wonder I am still alive.”
“And yet you are still alive,” Arietta observed, “no doubt because you and Lady Joelle are Chosen.”
“No doubt.” Malik’s tone grew resigned and bitter. “It is an undeserved curse that compels us each to do our god’s bidding in all things, and to risk our own lives for the benefit of everyone but ourselves.”
“And you resent the sacrifice?” Arietta asked, genuinely surprised. As a Chosen of Siamorphe, she had always found her position more of a boon than a burden-until now, at least. “How is that even possible? No god would invest power in someone who lacks devotion.”
Malik shrugged. “There are as many manners of devotion as there are gods,” he said. “In the end, all that matters is that we obey.”
“That’s a very bleak view of one’s calling.”
“I serve a bleak god.” Malik turned away, gazing out toward the western horizon. “And if I fail him, I will suffer.”
Arietta started to feel sorry for the little man, if only because she was just beginning to understand the true cost of her own faith. Until earlier that day, her devotion to Siamorphe had seemed a purely personal matter, requiring sacrifices from no one but herself. But in expecting her father to honor those same standards, she had gotten him killed and her mother abducted-and that left her feeling confused and regretful, overwhelmed by guilt and questioning whether she had been right to impose her beliefs on her family.
Her faith was being tested as never before, and she could not help wondering what kinds of sacrifices had been required of Malik, how much worse his suffering had been than her own. Arietta laid her hand on top of his and-despite its cold and waxy feel-gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“You won’t fail in your mission, Malik,” she said. “Once we have seen to the safety of the grand duchess, Carlton and I will be joining you and Lady Joelle-as will Kleef and his watchmen, I’m told.”
“Kleef will?” Malik’s eyes bulged. “Why would he do such a thing? Our journey is a descent into madness!”
Unsettled by the vehement reaction, Arietta removed her hand from Malik’s. “From what I have seen, the entire world is descending into madness.” She glanced amidships, where Kleef was allowing Lady Joelle to pull the stitches from his freshly healed wounds. “Besides, Kleef is a Helm-worshiper. What kind of Watcher would he be if he turned his back on a mission of such importance?”
“A living one!” Malik fell silent until Arietta looked back to him, then he lowered his voice to a near whisper. “You must convince the oaf to abandon this foolish plan. He will only be in the way.”
“In the way of what?” Arietta asked. “Lady Joelle seems quite eager to have him along.”
“Only until she tires of him,” Malik said. “Joelle Emmeline has a heart as fickle as a mountain breeze.”
His bitterness took Arietta by surprise. “Malik,” she asked, “are you jealous of Kleef?”
Malik’s face hardened in resentment. “And what if I am?”
Arietta had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Malik, it can never happen. Lady Joelle is a gentlewoman, and so stunning she could marry a king.” She shook her head in what she hoped would look like sympathy. “And, Chosen or not, you’re barely suited to be her manservant. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Manservant?” Malik’s eyes bulged. “What do you know? Joelle loves me. She has told me so twice!”
The sharpness in Malik’s voice caused Captain Greatorm, standing in his usual place at the helm, to scowl back over his shoulder. Arietta flashed the gnome an apologetic smile, then turned back to Malik.
“And I’m sure she meant it,” she said softly. “But not in the way you hope-and Kleef has nothing to do with that.”
“Having him gone will certainly make it more likely,” Malik countered. A sly grin came to his plump lips. “And it will be better for you, too. As long as Joelle is near, the oaf will have no eyes for you.”