Free In Great Waters by Kit Whitfield Page A

and would not have to do with Europe any more. We could not stay allied with pagans, not stay at peace with them. Christendom and the heathens—could not treat together. There were wars, wars between the faiths. We have been apart from them for centuries, we are only enemies now. But they—they do not have as many seas between them and their rivals as we do. We needed deepsmen kings. Christendom did. Europe was alone again. Europe made a law that no landsman could—marry a deepswoman. The kings we have now, they are all the children of that first century, all from Angelica’s time. A landsman is not allowed to marry a deepswoman. But those children—they were born hundreds of years ago. They—they married each other. They are too close to all being brothers and sisters now. Their children are not always strong.”
    “So, Henry fight them, be king.” The news seemed good; it was hard to see why Allard appeared so uncomfortable saying it.
    “That is the point, Henry. Sometimes—your father must have been a landsman. Nowadays, nobles do not try to take deepswomen brides. The women swim away, take their babies with them. But we have sailors, Henry, men who are on ships, on the sea for many months. Sometimes, they go into the water with the deepswomen. It is not allowed, but sometimes it happens. Then there is a child like you. A bastard. Understand, Henry, you have the body of a king, but not a king’s parents.”
    “So, fight king.” Henry still didn’t see the problem.
    “It is not allowed, Henry. A king wants his own children to be kings after him, not a bastard.”
    Henry’s heart sank. Landsmen were already proving implacable; since he’d been on land, Henry had yet to gain a single thing, beyond salt, that he really wanted. If the king’s people were anything to go by, there was no hope. Perhaps he’d spend all his life stuck in this stupid room.
    “There have been bastard kings, Henry,” Allard said.
    Henry perked up.
    “But not many. They must fight for the throne. Understand, no king wants a bastard trying to take the throne from his children. But if a bastard can get a throne and keep it, then in five years, everyone will want to marry him, marry his children. He will be healthy, you see.”
    “Bastard king now?” Henry said. Perhaps if there was one already present, he might be inclined to help them.
    “The last one was in France, a hundred years ago. Jean le Bâtard. He was very strong. There was a great war. But now the king of France is healthy, and has three sons. Jean’s children married many princes. The queen of England, even, is his great-granddaughter. That is why she is strong.”
    A hundred years was too long to think about, but Henry gathered that this Jean le Bâtard had gone. The idea that you might vanish even if you were strong was new, and horrifying.
    “Do you understand, Henry?”
    Henry twitched. That word again. He didn’t want to understand. He saw well enough what Allard was talking about. This was a leadershipbattle. No one welcomed a stranger, but if the stranger proved strong enough to win, everyone would want his protection. It seemed simple enough. He didn’t see why Allard was so nervous talking about it. “Henry not fight king till big and strong. King not want bastard. Yes.”
    Allard took a breath, and nodded. “That is it, Henry. So you must be quiet, and careful.”
    “Outside.” Henry’s voice was peremptory. He had listened, and put up with Allard talking about the strong dying. Allard had talked so much that Henry felt sticky, covered in words. He wanted something new, something he could see and touch, to wash them away.
    “You will be quiet,” Allard said again.
    Henry braced himself on his sticks. “Henry heard you.”

    Going outside required a journey Henry had never made before. His room was high up, and to get down, there were steps. Henry remembered the jolts as Allard had carried him up them, and now he stood at the top, facing