Princess at Sea Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Praise for Dawn Cook’s Truth series

  Lost Truth

  “The Truth novels have developed into a riveting series, with a small, likeable cast, innovative use of magic, and a fascinating setting . . . with her accessible plotting and sympathetic heroine, Cook provides a fitting denouement for an outstanding addition to the fantasy canon, while leaving the door open for a new chapter in Alissa’s saga.”

  —Romantic Times

  “An appealing fantasy that will charm fans of Elizabeth Scarborough and Tanya Huff. The heroine breaks all the rules . . . Dawn Cook is a talented fantasist who is a creative world-builder and a genius at creating complex characters.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Forgotten Truth

  “[An] enchanting series . . . a delightful blend of romance, action, and wizardry. Dawn Cook will appeal to readers of Robin McKinley and Patricia Briggs.”

  —Baryon Online

  “Cook’s solid third novel about Alissa . . . stands very well alone, showing as it does how many characters who exist in both times have grown and changed—or haven’t.”

  —Booklist

  “Forgotten Truth is an unabashed romantic fantasy . . . vivid detail and a charming, resourceful heroine enhance this light quest tale.”

  —Romantic Times

  “[Cook’s] got a great series on her hands, and I’m interested in seeing where she plans to take it.”

  —SF Site

  Hidden Truth

  “Every bit as good as the first title, and Cook is very skillful at weaving in sufficient backstory. Best of all is Alissa, whose faults and foibles make her particularly endearing . . . I look forward to reading more from the imagination and pen of Dawn Cook.”

  —Rambles Magazine

  “Cook’s use of mood and atmosphere really shines here . . . I look forward to seeing more from Cook, now that she’s proven she can tell a darn good story.”

  —Green Man Review

  First Truth

  “A beautifully told, simple story that looks unblinkingly at how prejudice unnecessarily reinforces misconceptions, misunderstandings, and hatred.”

  —Booklist

  “Admirable . . . an entertaining read.”

  —Kliatt

  “Readers will place this excellent tale on their keeper shelves.”

  —BookBrowser

  “A refreshing, humorous take on the coming-of-age quest.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Fun . . . sure to appeal to fans of Tamora Pierce or Robin McKinley. With characters to cheer for, vicious villains, and attack birds, First Truth had everything I need in a good read. I look forward to Alissa’s next adventure.”

  —Patricia Briggs, author of Moon Called

  “In her beguiling debut, Cook has woven together magical threads . . . courage and quest . . . a world rich with vivid detail.”

  —Deborah Chester, author of The Queen’s Knight

  “First Truth is well told and intriguing. The characters are complex and . . . definitely realistic. I’m looking forward to seeing what comes next.”

  —Green Man Review

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PRINCESS AT SEA

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / August 2006

  Copyright © 2006 by Dawn Cook.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without

  permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation

  of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-440-67823-3

  ACE

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To my dad,

  who not only taught me not to fear the water,

  but to love it as well.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to take the chance to thank both my editor at Ace, Anne Sowards, and my agent, Richard Curtis. Anne, for her patience and efforts in helping me bring this one back in line with the rest, and Richard, for everything else.

  One

  I kept my eyes on my cards and my breath slow when Duncan slid the red king I had discarded two turns ago under his sleeve, draped over the narrow table between us. His left hand holding the fan of cards moved in distraction, his right gripping the raised rim of the table when an especially big wave rolled under the boat. Behind him, the stacked tin plates from our lunch slid down the polished ash and into the wall with a plink. The light coming in down through the hatch glinted on them, drawing my eye.

  From my peripheral sight, I saw a bare movement as Duncan hid his cheating. His brow was tight in pretended worry when I looked back, and his mussed bangs hid his eyes. Lower lip curled between his teeth to make his narrow chin narrower, he discarded. “Your turn, Tess.”

  His voice was as guiltless as the rest of him, and I s
tifled my ire. He didn’t know I’d spotted his cheating; few could. That I learned to play cards with a cheater as good as he helped.

  Pretending ignorance, I drew a black priest, sitting straighter on the bench built into the side of the boat. The faint sounds of an argument came stronger over the creaking of wood and hum of wind in the sails vibrating up through my feet. One voice was high and excited, the other low and coaxing. They were at it again. I caught the accusing word “slavery” and winced.

  I laid down the priest with a soft snap, taking a moment to tidy the discard pile and wedge it where two sides of the railing about the table met. The tilt of the deck had strengthened, and the rhythmic surges had become more pronounced. From above came Captain Borlett’s confident call to reduce sail. The Sandpiper was a fast boat—especially with the wind coming from the angle it was—and the two accompanying warships were likely struggling to keep up.

  Duncan picked up the priest with a casual slowness. His thumb rubbed the side of his second finger, telling me he was close to going out. My pulse quickened, and I watched his long, unmarked hands move. They were deeply tanned and strong, having no calluses whatsoever: the hands of a thief, though he claimed he wasn’t. Twin rings of gold glittered on one hand. They were new additions. “Purchased,” he had claimed last week as he proudly showed them off to me, and I believed him.

  There had been many such changes lately as Duncan took the opportunity to remake himself, and I couldn’t help but silently applaud. His slow shift from vagabond to settled wealth had left me pleasantly surprised as Duncan developed an unexpected sensitivity in his appearance, which was amusing since I could see that parting with a coin so clearly pained him. I only hoped a smidgen of respect would come with it. Not that Duncan wasn’t worthy of respect, but his history showed an appalling tendency to be—ah—inventive in the ways he kept food in his belly and a pillow under his head.

  A new bit of color swirled through his brown trousers and long-sleeved shirt: soft golds and deep greens to match Costenopolie’s new colors, changed to reflect the addition of the Misdev line by way of marriage of their prince to my sister. I thought it looked grand. His boots were brand-new—and in my eyes, gaudy—picked up at one of the first ports we had called in and still smelling of the red dye he had insisted they rub into it so they would match his hat. The wind had left his hair tousled, but it was newly washed, and his cheeks were freshly shaven, thanks to the harbor we’d left this morning before sunrise.

  Duncan had always looked good—having a roguish mien that went well with his slight build, wide shoulders, and narrow waist—but now he’d accented it with a modest show of wealth that made him downright attractive. And even worse? He knew it.

  The self-proclaimed cheat met my eye, his lips curving into a sly smile when he realized I was watching him again. “Pay the table or fold,” he said, his casual voice matching the soft teasing in his eyes. Flushing, I pushed one of the sweets we were using as wagers to the center with the rest. Taking up a card, I stifled a start when I realized he hadn’t discarded into the pile but somewhere on his person. Chull bait, I missed it. If I lost now, I deserved it.

  The sound of my sister and her new husband’s argument suddenly grew louder, and I jumped at the loud bang from the stern of the boat. They grew muffled again, and a shadow came from the depths of the back of the boat, the confident, swaying movement telling me it was Haron. Going sideways in places to navigate the narrow aisle, he entered the small common room at the base of the hatch’s stairs. Sun-weathered face creased in irritation, the Sandpiper’s first mate stomped up the ladder, his shadow briefly eclipsing Duncan’s and my game. From him came a steady, irreverent mutter about it being damn foolish to have women on the water and how we were all going to die for it and that it wouldn’t be his fault.

  The soft touch on my bare foot as Duncan stretched his long legs jerked my attention back. In the instant I had been distracted, Duncan moved the card under his sleeve to a more secure location. I didn’t see it, but I knew that was what happened when he made a show of stretching, proving there was nothing under his arm at all. His cap had shifted position, though, and I would bet all my caramels that was where it had gone.

  Irate I’d missed it, I nevertheless kept my face impassive. Having allowed Duncan to distract me like that was inexcusable.

  “Are you going to discard, or not?” he asked, a hint of exasperation hiding his deceit.

  Eying the inculpable man, I slowly put one of my sweets into my mouth.

  “Hey!” Amusement lifted the corners of his lips. “You aren’t supposed to eat them unless you win them.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “Or I catch you.”

  For an instant, surprise showed, then his jaw clenched. “Burning chu pits,” he swore, hunching into himself and looking away. With abrupt motions, he began gathering his cards.

  “Duncan, wait,” I said, suddenly sorry when he snatched the cards from me. “I only saw it the once. Just the one you put under your sleeve. Everything else was perfect. And the only reason I knew to look for it was because you kept distracting me.”

  His brown eyes pinched. “You saw me move it?”

  I nodded, wishing now I had swallowed my pride and kept my mouth shut.

  “It’s the cold,” he said, looking at his left hand and flexing it. Thin lips pursed, he jammed the cards into the hard-leather box he kept them in. I said nothing, feeling guilty. It wasn’t the cold—the warm current that bathed the coast kept snow from lingering, especially here on the water—it was the poison that still remained in his hand.

  The not-so-long-ago prick from my hairpin had been an accident, but I still felt as if it had been my fault. I had been fleeing a palace takeover, and as a cheat running with me intent upon regaining a portion of the coins I had fairly tricked from him, he hadn’t known I carried poison, the weapon of choice in the ancient sect of hidden power I belonged to. He was lucky to have survived it, actually, seeing as he was overly sensitive to punta venom.

  I reached to touch his sun-browned hand. I didn’t know why. I hated his cheating, and here I was, telling him it was all right. My father would have said it was because I cared more about Duncan’s feelings than what was right and that I shouldn’t allow myself to be charmed like a fishwife or I’d end up one. A fine ending for a Costenopolie princess, even if she had been bought into the royal family.

  Yes, bought as a decoy, unknowingly raised thinking I was the crown princess until a suitor bent on claiming everything some damned Red Moon prophesy promised brought out the ugly truth prematurely. Looking for answers, I had fled, finding not only the real heir, but that the kingdom’s chancellor, Kavenlow, had secretly raised me to succeed him in his position as player. My crushing disappointment that I wasn’t to rule the people I loved had easily slipped into delight when I found I’d rule them by stealth as Kavenlow now did in a continentwide game of hidden conquest even the royals did not suspect.

  The prophesy, incidentally, had been fake, concocted by Kavenlow to ensure his successor would be raised knowing the protocol and studies of a princess, and it had been so full of romantic tripe as to choke the most quixotic daydreamer. Lord love a duck: A child of the coast destined to rule and conceived in the month of the eaten red moon will make an alliance of the heart to set the mighty as pawns and drive out the tainted blood rising in the south. There was no wonder my neighbors wanted to kill me.

  My sister had quickly, albeit reluctantly, married to forestall any more assassination attempts. She had gone further to make my royal status irrefutable, so whereas my breeding was from the streets, I was still a princess. I no longer had to marry whoever was best for the kingdom, and in the few months I’d been free of the kingdom’s demands, I’d found that freedom was heady, taking more strength to rein in than I was sometimes willing to exert. Especially when it concerned attractive, clever, bad-for-me men like Duncan, who liked to scheme and was as good at it as perhaps even Kavenlow.

  Seeing him no
w in his mix of worry and anger, I reached out as he stood to go. “Please stay?” I asked, taking his damaged hand, and he hesitated, his shoulders easing. It looked fine, the injury so deep that it only showed when he needed the greater finesse to move his cards.

  Duncan leaned against a support post to balance against the boat’s motion, his red hat brushing the low ceiling. Pulling from my grip, he watched with me as his hand moved in a gesture as smooth and even as royal silk, pulling a card from under his hat with two fingers and tucking it in the box with the rest. “It’s the cold,” he said, knowing it wasn’t.

  I made a face to try to break him out of his mood. “Don’t think so,” I said saucily. “I’ve always been able to spot you cheating.” I playfully reached out and took one of his sweets, popping it into my mouth and arching my eyebrows.

  “Hey!” he cried in mock distress. “I spent half a purse on those.”

  My tongue ran over the inside of my teeth to get every last bit of sticky amber. “Nuh uh. I caught you. I deserve at least three.”

  Lurching in time with the boat, he sat beside me on my side of the table. His brow smoothed when I didn’t shift away, and his hand went out to take mine. Unlike my sister’s, my skin was as dark as his, my fingers having faint calluses in places most people had smooth skin. A soft smile took me, seeing how small my hand looked within his. He was so close, I could smell the dye from his hat. I should have moved, but I didn’t.

  My pulse increased, and I watched his eyes. An eager feeling of daring lifted through me, and my breath caught. I let him turn my hand over, and he dropped a handful of caramels into my palm. “I bought them for you,” he said as he curled my fingers over them.