Free Across the Long Sea by Sarah Remy Page B

ship disembarked one by one. They walked the pier silently, and took the Selkirk’s weight, became shadows against the dimming sigils. One of the dark forms—­Sebastian, Mal thought—­bent the knee to Lady Selkirk before returning to tarred planks.
    Brother Josef grew silent. The last glowing sigil on the Selkirk’s shroud went dark. The sky was full of cloud. There was no light left, and only the slight scuff and sigh as the seamen loaded their burden onto the ship.
    And then it was done.
    C OOK SERVED A small feast of smoked fish and hard bread and rose-­hip wine in the bailey. The bonfire still burned; there was no need for torches but along the battlements. The wind still had not returned, and the night was pleasantly warm. Biaz played his fiddle; several men off the pier joined in a chorus of penny flutes, and there was dancing. The overwhelming scent of rose perfume was heady.
    It was a celebration, not of the lord’s passing, but of the new Selkirk’s assumption. Mal’s father was given to the sea; Mal’s mother taken her place in history. She danced among her ­people, and if she didn’t quite laugh, she did smile, and accepted many embraces even though Mal knew she hated being touched.
    â€œShe’ll do, my lord,” Brother Josef said. “She learned well what your father had to teach.”
    â€œAnd from her own father before mine,” Mal agreed. He stood on the edge of the firelight, and watched the dancers idly, and wondered how he’d make it another fourteen days so far from Wilhaiim and its king.
    â€œYou’re bored,” the priest guessed. He stood at Mal’s shoulder, tapping the toe of his sandal to the shrill of the pipes. “You’re wondering how you ever thought to pine for it, this life.”
    Mal was distantly surprised to find Brother Josef spoke true.
    â€œIt was never home,” he admitted. “My mother was home, and my brother, but my brother soon was lost to us, and my mother had my father.”
    â€œAnd now you have the ear of a king, and an entire kingdom at your disposal. Is it a fine thing, that much power?”
    â€œIt’s not boring,” Malachi said, and smiled.
    Joseph regarded him thoughtfully.
    â€œWe have a saying, in the desert.”
    â€œAye?”
    â€œGod blesses best the man who listens best.”
    Mal adopted an expression of polite interest.
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said.
    â€œHis Majesty’s been too long without issue. We forgave him Lady Katherine, because the ­people loved her, and because there were whispers of conversion. But my lady has been gone now for more than a year, and His Majesty grows no younger. It’s time he takes a wife.”
    â€œA theist wife,” Mal interpreted.
    â€œThe ­people will recognize no other kind, my lord. Nor should His Majesty.”
    â€œPerchance you have a woman in mind?”
    Brother Josef smiled. “You’re a clever man, my lord. We have, in fact, several.”
    â€œWe?” Mal let a flicker of irritation flatten his mouth. Brother Josef did not seem cowed. The old man was nothing if not self-­confident.
    â€œThe Elder Council, my lord. We settled the matter amongst ourselves over winter, but, as you can imagine, it takes some time to gather every signature. Even so, I have it on good authority that my brothers in Wilhaiim left the list of suggestions with the king’s secretary just after first thaw.”
    â€œHis Majesty has been busy, lately.”
    â€œOf course.” Brother Josef smiled, cheeks rosy with enthusiasm or embarrassment. Mal hoped it was the latter. For all the small port’s wealth, Selkirk’s Masterhealer hadn’t the prestige to meddle in the affairs of court.
    â€œEven so,” the priest pursued, “mayhap when you return home to the city, you might remind His Majesty that the security of the kingdom does indeed