A day later, they were streaming down the Saint James toward New London.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Vessels sailed or rowed toward docks where goods or people would be unloaded, or back toward the sea to find more things to bring home. The Diana<\/em> passed merchant quays where bags and boxes of rice and pepper plums waited to be sent to markets, where hardened crews finally dismissed from months of service dispersed to the larkhouses and pubs that lined the wharf, the shops waiting, eager as hungry fledglings, for their coins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The weather was fine, the sky unusually clear and dry for spring, so there were more boats than usual crowding into the river. The wind was perfect\u2014at their backs and off starboard, and they flew just enough canvas to make steady progress through the tangle of ships and barges toward the Crown Quay. Jackgulls darted among them, looking for scraps tossed by fishermen or for schools of fish feasting on the detritus that collected on the hulls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Each time Kit returned to New London, she remembered standing on the banks of the Saint James as a child, mesmerized by the jungle of rigging. Hetta Brightling, who\u2019d stood barely taller than Kit even then, had held Kit\u2019s hand as they watched ships sail downriver. Kit remembered the water, nearly the color of Hetta\u2019s favorite tea, light skipping across the surface as eddies whirled below. And she thought that she could . . . feel it. The first trembling in her chest, soft and low as a note from a cello. Slow and steady as water snaked toward the sea. And deeper than that, something brighter, thinner, hotter. With her mind, and with her hand, Kit reached out toward that line of power and, ever so gently, touched it . . . and felt the sea\u2019s answering shiver, like a ripple spreading outward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then she\u2019d been jerked backward, pulled away from the water, and when she blinked back to the world, found herself staring into Hetta\u2019s brown eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou nearly fell in,\u201d Hetta had said, her breath coming short.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s something in the water,\u201d Kit said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hetta\u2019s brow had knit. \u201cWhat? Did you find a treasure?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were often treasures along the river\u2019s shore, bits of pottery or coins hidden among the rocks and mud, lost a hundred or a thousand years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t think so.\u201d Kit had looked back at the river again, seen only the lapping of brown waves. \u201cI could . . . feel it. It was cold and slow, and then it was hot and fast.\u201d Those were the only words she\u2019d known to describe it. She put a hand to her chest. \u201cIt made a thump<\/em> in here. Like a heartbeat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She remembered Hetta had looked surprised. Kit hadn\u2019t been sure she liked the idea of Hetta being surprised by anything; Hetta had always simply known<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They\u2019d eventually realized that Kit was Aligned, that the \u201cthing\u201d she felt had been the river\u2019s own magic. But it wasn\u2019t until some months later, when Hetta had taken the girls to Bellamy Sands, a beachside village on the southern side of the Isles, that Kit had realized the river\u2019s low song paled in comparison to the roar of the sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now that song was fading in her ears as the Diana<\/em> moved toward the Crown Quay, the deep-water harbor that sheltered several Crown Command ships. The sails would be hauled down, the hold unloaded of prisoners, of prizes, of crew members who\u2019d almost certainly make for the nearest pub and the cheapest tankard of ale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit had other priorities\u2014namely, reporting to the queen and delivering the bounty they\u2019d obtained from the Amelie<\/em>. And as they neared the dock, Kit realized she wasn\u2019t the only one eager for news. A man and woman waited there, their polished uniforms crossed with the saffron sashes worn across their chests marking them as royal emissaries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLooks like they want to speak with you right away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit glanced back from her spot near the helm. Tamlin stood behind her, feet bare and chewing a chunk from a rusty apple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWas that the last one in the barrel?\u201d Kit asked, gesturing to the apple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tamlin grinned, swiped a freckled hand over her mouth. \u201cLikely. Cook threw it at me. It\u2019s sweet. Bit mealy, though.\u201d She took another bite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit lifted her brows. \u201cAnd still you eat it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tamlin lifted a shoulder. \u201cFills the belly. I guess you\u2019ll go with them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI need to report what we\u2019ve found. And responding to a summons from the queen is rarely optional.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOf course it is,\u201d Tamlin said as she chewed. \u201cIf you prefer the stocks to the deck. But you probably don\u2019t.\u201d She tilted her head. \u201cI don\u2019t think you\u2019d look good in manacles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot a good match with the uniform,\u201d Kit agreed. \u201cThey must have been watching for us, relayed a message from the watchtower. She wants to know what Gerard\u2019s about.\u201d Or there\u2019d been developments while they\u2019d been sailing, and those developments were secret enough that the queen hadn\u2019t wanted to reveal them in the mail exchanged between ships.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tamlin took a final bite, tossed the core into the water, and looked back at her captain. \u201cWhatever they say, don\u2019t forget your manners.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit\u2019s dark eyebrow lifted. \u201cI\u2019m as mannerly as my profession requires.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe cavort with sailors, pirates, and felons.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOnly on the good days,\u201d Kit said with a grin. \u201cStay with the ship,\u201d she added absently. Without waiting for a response, Kit climbed down onto the dock, severing her connection with the sea. She\u2019d have a hollow in her chest until she returned to the water. And that wasn\u2019t the only adjustment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The rigidity of the boardwalk echoed in her bones with each step. And while the air still smelled of brine and carried the slosh of water against wood, the sounds and scents of the city were layered over it. Humans and animals and woodsmoke and cooking. And instead of the creak of hemp against wood, there were hooves against brick, the call of gulls, a sorrowful melody played by a busker in front of the customs house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The emissaries stood at attention, hands clasped behind their backs, faces set in blank scowls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCaptain Brightling,\u201d said the one on the left. \u201cHer Royal Highness Queen Charlotte II requests your immediate attendance at the palace. We\u2019ve horses.\u201d He gestured to three enormous creatures that stared at Kit from the end of the dock, chewing their bits with gargantuan teeth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit Brightling had faced down typhoons, ships of the line, pirates, hunger. She didn\u2019t mind being aloft, wasn\u2019t nervous speaking to the queen, and had no qualms about leading her crew through storm or charge. But she had to work very hard to keep the dread out of her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s not that she was afraid horses. She wasn\u2019t<\/em>. That would have been childish. She simply didn\u2019t trust<\/em> them, and that was a matter of logic. They were larger than humans, had enormous teeth made for grinding, and could kill a human merely by lying on them. Putting one\u2019s life in the hands\u2014hooves?\u2014of a horse was simply bad planning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit shook her head. \u201cI prefer to walk.\u201d She was fairly certain she\u2019d kept her tone mild.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWalk, Captain?\u201d The emissary on the right looked horrified.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve been cooped up on the Diana<\/em>, so I\u2019d appreciate the fresh air. And it\u2019s a scant half mile to the palace.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVery well,\u201d said the one on the left. \u201cProceed inside. You will be met.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before they could change their minds, she turned on a heel and strode toward the road, giving the beasts a very wide berth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not because she was afraid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because she was wise<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Need more Kit? There’s still more! Read Chapter Three<\/a><\/strong><\/strong> here, or order <\/strong>THE BRIGHT & BREAKING SEA<\/strong><\/a> from your favorite retailer:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Amazon<\/strong><\/a> | <\/strong>Barnes & Noble<\/strong><\/a> | Audible<\/a><\/strong> | <\/strong>Apple<\/strong><\/a> | <\/strong>Books-A-Million<\/strong><\/a> <\/strong>Kobo<\/strong><\/a> | <\/strong>IndieBound<\/strong><\/a> <\/strong> A day later, they were streaming down the Saint James toward New London. Vessels sailed or rowed toward docks where goods or people would be unloaded, or back toward the sea to find more things to bring home. The Diana passed merchant quays where bags and boxes of rice and pepper plums waited to be sent to[…]<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":8092,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"template-fullwidth.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-8546","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8546","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8546"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8546\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8663,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8546\/revisions\/8663"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8092"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8546"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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