Prince of Storms Read Free

him a moment to realize that she meant into the binds.
    He’d come here to see what Ghoris knew, and now she was saying, see for yourself . She raised her arms and as she did so the ship jolted. He heard the great funnel at the prow clang as it dropped into feeding position.
    Taken by surprise, his guards would no doubt try to stop her, but it was all happening too fast. Ghoris thrust her hands into the membrane over the dais and the ship nosed steeply down. Normal light evaporated from the cabin. They dove into the Nigh. Shouts came from the deck below.
    The cabin door opened and one of his Chalin guards staggered in, calling his name.
    â€œWe’re diving,” Quinn said. “Sit down. Or fall down.” Already he was fighting off lethargy. He braced himself against the wall. The guard reached out for the support of the bulkhead.
    â€œYou must have your vision,” Ghoris crooned. She had dropped back into her seat, dripping with the slime of the Nigh, or appearing to.
    Sleep crept in like a slowly closing door, but he thrust a foot into the opening. Stay awake, stay…His guard staggered, then slid down the bulkhead, his consciousness drowning in the river.
    Ghoris sat in her pilot’s chair, swirling her fingers and staring at them in an unsettling way. “Ah, the future. It comes.”
    A gauze fell over his vision and Ghoris faded. At the same time a second and more vivid form stood up beside her. It was also a navitar, red-robed androtund. The second pilot reached for something. A cane came into his hand, and he leaned heavily on it.
    A quiet voice: “I never knew you for a navitar, yet here you are, half awake in the river.”
    Quinn recognized that voice from somewhere. The memory was a ripple on water, receding. The boy—that was what he seemed, a boy, by his soft features, his indeterminate sex—looked warily toward the cabin door. He was blind. Or blind to Quinn.
    â€œYet here you are,” repeated the figure in red. “How strange. And Ghoris, the old hag. I thought she was about done with the Nigh. Not many old navitars. Ever notice?”
    Quinn heard himself say, “They drown themselves in the Nigh.” But what were they talking about?
    â€œTrue.” The young man turned, looking for the source of Quinn’s voice. “Sen Ni finally gave up on you. I predicted you’d betray her.” He brought his cane down savagely on the back of Ghoris’s chair. “And you did.”
    Startled by the cane’s blow, Quinn reeled against the bulkhead, feeling half drunk. “Sen Ni gave up…”
    â€œOn you, Titus Quinn. Let’s have that clear. On you.” He swayed his head from side to side like an animal trying to catch a scent.
    The red-robed figure was hunting, his movements strong and fluid, while Quinn was weak, clutching the edge of reality with slipping fingers.
    Quinn inched along the bulkhead, using a hand to steady himself, his legs like pillars of cement. It was important to keep moving, to not be in the same place as before. “You are…a navitar.”
    The young man knifed his cane in Quinn’s direction, turning it. He peered into the air, blind but for the probing cane that was an extension of his hand, his will. “You know me, Titus Quinn. You are in my world now. The river belongs to Geng De, not to you. Isn’t that right, Ghoris?” Geng De glanced in her direction.
    She remained immobile, cocking her head, listening.
    â€œWeaving,” Quinn rasped as he moved away from the cane. “Navitars swear not to. Broken vows.”
    The cane slowly came around, following his voice. “Broken vows. Perhapsyou’ll not want to dwell too long on that concept. But yes, I’m different than the old woman. I am a child of the Nigh. You should have made friends with us, Quinn.”
    In a startling gesture toward the unconscious guard, Geng De swung around and shot a hand forward, grabbing