Free Daughter of Blood by Helen Lowe Page B

Keep.
    â€œUnlikely,” Kalan murmured now, “but not impossible.” Listening to the activity above deck, he considered the other question he could not bring himself to ask: not on the ride from Caer Argent to Port Farewell, or on the voyage to Ij.He had glanced Tarathan’s way several times toward the sea journey’s end, but each time his will to ask had dissipated like the Halcyon ’s wake, creaming away southward beneath an escort of seabirds. Something had happened between the heralds and Malian in Caer Argent, though, he was sure of it—and almost certain that it had more to do with Tarathan than Jehane Mor, despite the fair herald gifting the Heir of Night a medallion.
    â€œKeep it,” she had told Malian, “for my sake.”
    â€œFor both our sakes,” was all Tarathan had added—but then he had kissed Malian on the mouth. Kalan had a fair idea what the Normarch damosels, and also Jarna, would have said about that. Nonetheless, his question had remained unasked.
    Outside, the Halcyon ’s gangway thudded down onto the Grayharbor dock and someone came up it, whistling. Time to move, Kalan thought—but he still took care over his armor, paying attention to every buckle and binding. In Emer, a knight learned how to arm himself, but it felt odd to be doing so without any of the comrades he had lived and fought alongside for the past five years. Kalan slid the longsword and scabbard with the hydra device onto his belt and buckled it on, realizing that it was almost the first time since he had fled the Keep of Winds with Malian that he could recall being alone. Yet the most disconcerting step was donning the crimson cuirass of Blood, the House that had expelled him as soon as his old powers manifested at seven years of age.
    â€œWhat are you, boy? Who? . . . None of our family ever had such powers! ” Kalan heard his father’s voice again, from that long ago day when he had been banished from family, Hold, and House. “You are no more son of mine.”
    No, he thought. Falk of Normarch was far more of a father to me, even if I was just one of a castle full of aspiring squires. Yet when he gazed down at the crimson breastplate and Derai-made armor, it still felt right, as though this was indeed his birthright, no matter how much House and family might wish to deny him. Kalan pulled his shoulder-length hair clear of his face with a leather tie—and hoped those inGrayharbor who had dealings with the Alliance really would see a Derai warrior and not an Emerian imposter.
    â€œSo you are awake.” The Halcyon ’s bosun greeted Kalan with a wink as he emerged onto the deck with his saddlebags and travel roll on one shoulder, and his helmet hooked over the other arm by its strap. “And ready for business, I see.” The man’s expression was friendly enough, but Kalan could see he was reevaluating former impressions. “Their honors said you were a northerner, but I had my doubts until now.”
    â€œI’ve spent some time in the south.” The ship must have crossed the bar at dawn, because despite a gray sky the day was already fully light. Kalan wanted to scan the port for any sign of Sea House vessels and take in details of the town, but instead nodded toward the hold, where wool bales were being hoisted clear and swung onto the dock. “And my horses are Emerian. How long before I can take them off?”
    The bosun glanced over the gunwale. “If you can wait until the tide’s high enough to use the lower ramp, that’ll make disembarking ’em easier. Otherwise we’ll have to use the hoist and your roan devil won’t like that.”
    â€œI’ll wait,” Kalan said, but checked on the horses anyway. They had objected to coming on board, Madder in particular evincing a strong desire to kick his stall to matchwood and hole the ship’s hull. Eventually both horses had adjusted to the enclosed