Airs of Night and Sea Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  Bond unbroken

  Lark sighed. Nothing would matter if Duke William had his way. She had no doubt he meant to stop her from winning her silver wings.

  She ran her hand over Tup’s back and found it dry. She put the blanket back on and swung the saddle up and over. As she buckled the straps, she said, “This is it now, my Tup. We go on to Arlton and hope we can find the Palace, and Baron Rys, without difficulty. After that . . . I can’t tell you.”

  Tup turned his head, and his shining black eye regarded her for a long moment. She stroked his cheek. “Aye,” she said softly. “Aye, my lovely, fine boy. Whatever happens, at least we’re together.”

  She leaped into the saddle, adjusted her boots in the stirrups, and they were off . . .

  Ace Books by Toby Bishop

  AIRS BENEATH THE MOON

  AIRS AND GRACES

  AIRS OF NIGHT AND SEA

  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.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

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

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (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.

  AIRS OF NIGHT AND SEA

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / January 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Louise Marley.

  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 : 978-1-440-65953-9

  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 of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  PROLOGUE

  DIAMOND’S silver wings beat against the hot summer air, lifting the dapple gray filly above the park, beyond the beech grove, and on toward the hills, where the first autumn chill gilded the grasses and bronzed the leaves of ash and oak. Her ears flickered as she flew faster, invigorated by the taste of freedom. The saddle and sand weights, though she carried them for the first time, were no hindrance. Her monitor, a Foundation gelding, flew slowly and steadily beside her, both he and his horsemistress keeping watch over the young horse.

  William of Oc and his Master Breeder watched from the paddock as Diamond darted above her monitor with an exuberant flick of her tail. Her coat caught the sun in brilliant spangles as she carved dazzling spirals above and below the old gelding. From the ground, William heard the horsemistress calling to her, trying to settle her.

  Jinson groaned, “Your Grace! She’s so hard to control!”

  William laughed and tapped his thigh with his quirt. “Nonsense!” he said. “She’s just spirited. Flying with a monitor bores her. I’m bored with it myself! I’ll fly her before winter.”

  “Duke William, I can’t recommend it,” Jinson protested. “She’s so young, and you’re too heavy—”

  “I’m not too heavy,” the Duke said. “I’ve not eaten more than one meal a day for weeks now.” He held his hand up in the sunlight. The fingers were so thin his bones showed beneath the skin. He liked the effect. He liked looking gaunt and hollow-cheeked, and besides, the paucity of food diminished the swelling of his chest, as well. “You see, Jinson?” he said. “I’m ready. And so is she.”

  “But—Your Grace—you’ve never flown, and if you can’t control her—” Jinson began.

  William slapped his quirt across his palm. “Enough of your whinging, man! If I can’t control her, I’ll fall and die. Then you’ll have something else to complain about.”

  “My lord, I didn’t mean . . . It’s not as if I want you to . . .”

  William caressed the quirt in his fingers, and eyed Jinson. He said in his silkiest tone, “I don’t doubt your loyalty, man. Why, if something should happen to me, the Council Lords would probably banish you to Aeskland.”

  Jinson paled at that, and William chuckled. The winged horses turned back toward the paddock, the gelding trying to hold the lead, Diamond swerving this way and that, sparkling in the sunlight like her namesake stone. William’s heart beat faster at the sight of her. She delighted him in ways he had never expected, and the affection he felt surprised him.

  Jinson said, “My lord, if you’re not successful—that is, I’m worried the Council might—” He broke off when William threw up his hand.

  “Damn it, Jinson! And damn the Council.” His mood darkened instantly. “That lot of foolish old men can’t see past their own great noses. I’ll pass the tax without them.”

  Jinson subsided with an obvious sagging of his shoulders and mouth. “Come now, Jinson,” William chided. “They can’t have it both ways. They’re always quoting my great-great-great-grandfather at me, and he did exactly what I’m t
rying to do. He levied a tax to build a flying school. It’s precedent, and the Lords of the Council love precedent.”

  Jinson kept his eyes on his boots as he said, “Yes, Your Grace.”

  William turned away from him, knowing his unvoiced thought, irritated by it. It was true that his ancestor, that long-ago Duke, had faced little opposition to his tax. The Academy of the Air had been a popular undertaking. The people of Oc had been convinced that training girls properly to become horsemistresses, protecting and preserving the bloodlines of the winged horses, would strengthen their little Duchy, both in its own principality of Isamar and in the larger world. They had been right. His ancestor had been a wildly popular leader.

  William switched his quirt impatiently against his trouser leg. Why could no one see? It was time for something new, a new day, a new bloodline. These damned weaklings in the Council, so married to the past, to the old ways . . . Wait until they saw him fly Diamond! That would bring them to heel. Even that damned Philippa Winter—wherever she had fled to—would have to bow to his will. In fact, he had a good idea how to force her to come back. He could kill two birds with one stone—deal with that Hamley brat, who managed to stand in his way at every turn, and bring Philippa back to pay for her crimes.

  He looked up into the hard blue sky. The gelding, a black called Sky Baron, flew with deliberate wingbeats. His rider, Felicity Baron, had protested this assignment, but William had cared nothing for that. Mistress Baron was getting a bit long in the tooth, in any case, and surely her mount was past his service at the South Tower. Both of them should be damned grateful to be living at their ease in Fleckham House, nothing expected of them except teaching a beautiful filly to fly.

  He hated Mistress Baron’s doubtful glances, but at least she did what he told her to do. He had some very persuasive ways to remind her who was master in the Duchy of Oc.

  These cursed horsemistresses! The thought of their insolence made his heart pound beneath his embroidered vest. Sometimes at night he could calm himself only by picturing them, a whole line of them, bending the knee to him as he rode past. When his own Fleckham Academy was built, they would curtsy properly to their Duke. None of this insulting nodding of the head, as if that showed sufficient respect.

  He thrust his irritation away as he watched Diamond come to ground, her wings fluttering as she glided, forefeet flashing silver as they reached for the grass of the park. Her hindquarters collected, then settled as she found her balance. She cantered toward the paddock, wings still spread wide. Baron’s canter was too slow for her, and she dashed past him. She galloped, head high, white mane and tail streaming, toward William, leaving the old gelding to trot behind.

  Diamond skidded to a stop a few feet from William and stood, tossing her head and stamping her pretty forefeet. “Get back, Jinson,” William said. Jinson backed away so that Diamond could come close to William, blowing through her delicate nostrils. William put his hand on the cheek strap of her halter, murmuring, “Beautifully done, my girl, beautifully done! We’ll show them, won’t we? We’ll be flying before you know it!”

  She threw up her head, pulling away from him. She sidestepped, shaking her head so her bridle jangled, then came close again. It was, William thought, like a little dance, a flirtation. It had become a habit with her, as if she couldn’t quite make up her mind.

  He worried about it sometimes. She didn’t press her nose against him the way the other winged horses did with their bondmates. He wished she would nuzzle him, nose at his pockets for treats, simply stand close to him, as he wanted to stand close to her. She was so restless, pawing at the ground, sometimes showing her teeth when he tried to stroke her.

  They needed to fly, he thought. They needed to rise above the ground, leave all distractions below. In the air there would be no problem. In the air they would be utterly alone, just the two of them.

  Diamond could hardly pull away from him when they were aloft.

  ONE

  PHILIPPA Winter stood beside Winter Sunset in a high pasture of southern Klee, letting the mountain breeze cool her hot cheeks and dry the sweat from Sunny’s wings. Fields of lavender spilled down the steep hillside at their feet. On the opposite hill, black-faced sheep grazed in the sunshine, so close Philippa could have tossed a stone among them. Their occasional bleating was the only sound except for the whisper of the wind blowing up from the sea. Sunny stood still, listening to the peaceful quiet.

  Philippa encircled her bondmate’s neck with her arm. “Sunny, my girl,” she said. “It may not be home, but it could be worse.”

  Sunny arched her neck to touch Philippa’s face with her velvet muzzle. Philippa laughed and stroked her. “A little lonely, yes. But it’s a beautiful spot.”

  A shepherd raised an arm in silent greeting, and Philippa inclined her head in response. They had become friends of a sort, she and the odd assortment of people who maintained this remote estate. When she had first arrived, weary from the long flight, weighed down with sadness, she had hardly spoken to anyone. Her silence had made no impression. The staff at Marinan were a silent lot themselves and used to solitude. But that had been more than a year ago. Since Baron Rys’s captain had brought her to this mountain estate, she had grown familiar with its denizens, human and animal, and she had come to know every hill and valley of Marinan, the Ryses’ ancestral home.

  The family rarely came here now, having a bigger and better house in the capital city and another on the northern coast. They left Marinan in the care of an elderly housekeeper named Lyssett, two taciturn shepherds, and two narders to till and harvest the lavender. The sweet scent of lavender permeated every corner of the old house. Even the sheep’s oily wool, brushing against stray branches in the lavender fields, picked up and held the scent.

  These people had lived at Marinan all their lives. The young people had long since moved to livelier places, but these faithful retainers would never part from Marinan until death did it for them. The narders carried the lavender oil and seeds to the capital for sale and returned home immediately afterward. The shepherds left the hills only for the occasional festival, or to carry wool to market. Lyssett, to Philippa’s knowledge, never traveled at all except to the bottom of the long, precipitous lane to meet the mail coach. It was a circumscribed life, serenely undisturbed by the outside world. It was, in fact, the perfect place for a hunted person—and her winged horse—to hide.

  A stall had been cleaned and provisioned for Winter Sunset before they arrived. The narder who showed Philippa to the barn and the stall would say only, “M’lord’s orders,” when she asked him any questions. Her first few days at Marinan, she was afraid to leave Sunny alone, even to sleep, but by the time they had been there a week, she understood that no stranger or random visitor ever climbed the lane to the house, and that no one except the narders and the shepherds and Lyssett occupied Marinan. When she mentioned Baron Rys, the look of respect on every face convinced her that these good country people would never betray her. All that had been needed to transfer their loyalty to her was the word of Rys’s captain, given to Lyssett when he delivered Philippa and Sunny over to her care.

  Soon Philippa and Sunny were flying every day without fear of discovery. They avoided the lowland villages, where people’s tongues might be set a-rattle at the sight of a winged horse, and flew instead into the mountains, where they could come to ground on steep hillsides, in secluded meadows, in hidden valleys lush with oak trees and linden and tall, sweet-smelling pines. When they had set a pattern of being gone for many hours each day, Lyssett began to prepare a packet of bread and cheese and fruit, and lay it on the table next to Philippa’s place at breakfast.

  For that entire summer, and into the swiftly falling mountain autumn, Philippa and her mare reveled in the peace of Marinan. Sometimes Philippa, lying in her solitary bed at night, longed for news of the Academy of the Air. But she had come perilously close to losing her bondmate, and if isolation was the price she paid to avoid that tragedy, she willingly
accepted it.

  The occasional betraying dream of Deeping Farm, of violet-eyed Larkyn Hamley—and, foolishly, of her brother Brye—disturbed her sleep from time to time. She would wake then, and shake herself in remonstrance. It was merely weakness, the sort of nonsense possible only in sleep. She would close her eyes again, comforting herself with the knowledge that Sunny was safe in the barn just across the yard.

  When winter closed in, with its snow and ice and long hours of darkness, she and Sunny rested, venturing out on only the clearest days. Spring found them both feeling as sprightly and restless as fledglings. And now, as a second summer wound down, Philippa began to feel as if she were thirty years of age instead of forty. She felt strong, relaxed, and refreshed. She also felt idle, as the days slipped away, one after another, and for this she experienced a twinge of remorse. She tried to help in the barn, and in the fields when she could, but not one of the Marinan retainers encouraged this industry.

  Esmond Rys’s appearance came as a surprise, the first visitor Philippa had seen in all her time at Marinan. She had noticed the elaborate meal preparations Lyssett was making, and the extra effort being expended on clipping hedges and raking gravel walks, but it didn’t occur to her that the staff was expecting their lord.

  The season was perhaps midway between Estian and Erdlin. It was hard to judge, as the Klee had different holidays. They didn’t worship the entwined gods of the Isamarians, but had some singular deity whose festival was held at midwinter. Philippa, an avowed skeptic, had never paid much attention to such things. She had lost track of the calendar, taking each day as it came, sun or rain or wind or snow.

  The sky on this day was a clear blue, the sun just beginning its descent into the west. Philippa was sweeping the aisles of the barn, sprinkling fresh sawdust from a wheelbarrow. She and Sunny had flown to one of their favorite spots that morning, a long flight to one of the high mountain pastures where a shepherd’s hut stood near a tiny, sparkling pond, and the lush grass reached Sunny’s knees. Philippa let Sunny graze while she dabbled her bare feet in the clear water and let the mountain sun toast her cheeks. She even dozed a little, there in the grass, before taking wing again for Marinan.