Page 151 of The Sun King's Noon

Kaelen sagged against him. “The…tea.”

His eyes rolled, and he slumped onto the deck, unconscious.

“Kaelen!” Richard lifted his arm to slap, but a wave of tiredness slammed through him. It spread through all his limbs, weighing them down, and the deck tilted.

The tea.

Richard reached for his sword, fingers fumbling against the hilt as he heaved himself upright. The mast doubled in his vision and then trebled. He pulled the blade free and turned, swaying, to face the figure crossing the deck.

Flint strolled with his hands in his pockets.

“Flint.” Richard’s tongue felt too large for his mouth. “You—you?—”

He raised the sword, but his legs gave way, and he pitched forward. Arms snagged under his shoulders and eased him onto his back.

Flint loomed, his grin mocking.

“Careful there, Your Majesty. Wouldn’t want you cracking that pretty head.”

And it all went black.

CHAPTER 55

Consciousness returned in pieces. Richard’s head throbbed. His knees ached, pinned against wood, and the rope that lashed his wrists at the small of his back dug into his skin. A gag was wedged deep between his teeth, its knot tangled in his hair.

Again, he thought with some irritation. He must have lost consciousness more times in these past two weeks than he had in the past decade.

Wrinkling his nose at the stench of rotting fish and briny harbour water, Richard squinted against the sunlight. The world swam into focus. Mast. Rigging. And beyond it, the silhouettes of warehouses and mooring posts.

TheMaiden’s Promisehad docked.

Richard tried to stand, but a boot drove into the back of his right knee, and he pitched forward, smashing his shoulder into the deck. Rough hands hauled him into a kneeling posture.

“There. Stay there, eh? No one wants a fuss straight after lunch.”

The Estaran soldier wore the standard blue-and-white livery, the helm fashioned with stag horns. Five more soldiers were dotted about him.

Kaelen.

Richard glanced around, but a scan of the ship didn’t reveal the knight anywhere.

“Master Marek,” said the soldier by the railing. “If you could confirm?”

Richard’s eyes widened as a man came to stand before him. Master Marek. The same silver-black hair tied back from a thin face. The same man Flint had killed and thrown overboard. The ship’s captain.

How? Richard frowned at the merchant’s fine coat. It gaped at the front seam, and within the inner pocket an emerald gem glinted.

The siren’s heart.

Understanding arrived in a cold flood.

The unicorn heart granted Galdran passage between dreams and places. The siren’s heart, then, granted its bearer a different kind of trespass—the borrowing of another face. Flint had not merely seized the shard from Richard. He was using its power.

Marek’s mouth—Flint’s mouth—curved into a thin smile. “Well, gentlemen. He’s awake now. The ballsack who took me hostage and forced me to sail him towards Singers’ Teeth.” He pressed a trembling hand to his brow. “Had I not drugged him and steered the ship back, I’d be food for the sharks.”

The captain—bearded, a scar across his cheek—leaned a knee against Richard’s back. “The city owes you a great deal, Master Marek. We shall see this filth dragged to the Black Pier. He’ll go straight to the lower cells. Such men do not see daylight again.”

“You’re too kind,” Marek murmured, staring at Richard. “If I may beg an indulgence, Captain. A moment alone with him. I find I have a little anger yet to discharge.”