Starborn. Katie MacAlister

glancing at it when she slipped the thong over her head so that the whistle hung between her breasts.

      “It’s a ghost whistle?” she asked, looking at it askance.

      “It is a talisman,” the captain said abruptly. “A most important one that—no!”

      He lunged at Allegria when she raised the whistle to her lips, clearly about to sound it, but in his incorporeal form, he simply dissolved into nothing when he ran through Penn, causing the horse to rear up.

      “The only one who may use it is Quinn the Mad!” the captain’s voice came from nowhere. “For anyone else to do so is to court disaster. Heed me well, Master of Kelos—it won’t be easy to convince Quinn to help you. Do not waste your time offering the talisman to lesser beings.”

      And with that, the captain took himself off to wherever he went when he wasn’t busy patrolling Kelos and ensuring that the spirit citizens who dwelt there abided in peace. Hallow eyed the pipe, and took the reins from Allegria, telling Penn to walk on. “Why do I have the feeling that the captain’s talisman is going to give us endless grief, rather than resulting in locating the third moonstone?”

      Allegria smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Because you’re not only the most brilliant of men, but you’re also well aware that everyone who lives in Kelos is a bit twisted.”

      He pursed his lips.

      She laughed and patted him on the leg. “Yes, that includes us, although we’re not nearly so bad as the captain. I assume we’ll go find Quinn the Mad once we have the other stones?”

      Hallow hesitated a few seconds before answering.

      “I think perhaps we’ll head south rather than west.”

      She frowned. “To this Cape of Despair place?”

      “Yes.”

      “But you don’t know for certain that the talisman will lead us to the third stone. The captain didn’t come right out and say Quinn had it—which is just like him, speaking in riddles instead of answering the question put to him. Hallow, I want to find that third stone just as badly as you do, but at least we know the locations of the other two. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy to convince Sandor to give up the stone she holds, but I’d much rather have the two stones we can set our hands on than chase after the third, which may or may not be in the possession of Quinn.”

      “Exodius told the captain where the stone was,” Hallow argued. “Or at least he left a clue that I could follow, although I really wish the captain had seen fit to tell me that three months ago when we started the search in earnest. Still, he told me, and handed over what is obviously an ancient talisman. I believe we must tackle Quinn first. It’s only a few days’ ride to the coast, and with luck, we can find a ship sailing to Aryia from a nearby port.”

      “You’re putting a lot of faith in the captain,” Allegria warned him.

      “No.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’m putting my faith in Exodius. Which is far, far more worrisome, my heart. Now, do you think if I was to wrap the reins around the brake, you and I could go into the back of the cart, and indulge ourselves in a little sport celebrating the fact that we’ve been wed almost six months?”

      She laughed, her dark eyes lighting so that the little gold flecks in them glittered like sunlight. She pressed her lips to his, the warmth in them instantly lighting little fires of desire.

      “I think that would be an extremely ill-planned idea, although I appreciate the thought. Perhaps later, at night—Hallow! You can’t possibly mean to—anyone who rode up could see us!”

      He lay back on the soft furs and blankets that lined the bed of the cart, his heart singing a little song of happiness while Allegria sat astride him. He had no idea whether or not the captain was sending them on a chase that would end in success or sorrow, but he was content to face whatever befell him with Allegria at his side.

      He just really hoped for a success. Sorrow they’d had in abundance.

      Chapter 3

      Deosin Langton was bored almost to the point of insensibility. Racin’s yammering didn’t help matters.

      “Your death will mean nothing to me. Nothing to my queen. It will be completely trivial.”

      Not a man who was at all comfortable with inactivity, Deo yawned, and idly scratched a spot on his left pectoral. He wondered if something had bitten him under the silver harness that crossed his torso, tried to remember if he had seen signs of fleas on the rat that rode on the shoulder of the guard who delivered his meals, but decided that of the two, the rat was likely the cleaner.

      “I grow tired of asking you questions. Give me one reason why I should not gut you where you stand. Er…lie.”

      Now there was an itch on his back. He shifted a little on the cot, making a mental note to ask the woman who brought him water and took out his chamber pot to arrange for his bedding to be washed. No doubt the guard was the one with fleas.

      “You think your silence will save you, but it will not!” The man who stood at the door raised his voice until it echoed around the stone cell in which Deo had lived for almost an entire year. Deo paused at that thought, distracted, and glanced over to the opposite wall, where he’d used a sharp piece of flint to scratch out a tally of weeks spent imprisoned. He counted. “Kiriah blast it, I forgot last week!”

      “Nothing can save you, not your silence, not my queen’s pleas, not even your beloved twin goddesses,” ranted Racin, the captain of the Harborym, watching him with black eyes that were now tinted red, a color that almost perfectly matched his skin. “You will die as surely as the rest of your kind.”

      Deo made a neat mark next to a row that closed out that month and decided that his boredom warranted a little reward. He turned and gave Racin a long look. Nothing had changed about Racin in the last almost-year. He stood a good two heads taller than Deo; his body bound by leather and steel, his face twisted with anger. Long black hair slithered across shoulders bulging with muscles that were grotesque, a parody of mankind. Deo knew well how the use of chaos magic changed the body—he, himself, showed the signs of consuming chaos—but the changes wrought to Racin were extreme to the point of making him an abomination.

      He certainly had the personality of a body louse. Deo opted for a raised eyebrow to express his disdain. “Ah. Was that you speaking? I wasn’t paying attention.”

      Racin’s lips drew back in a snarl, giving Deo much satisfaction. There were few things he liked more than baiting Racin, although his mother had begged him to cease doing so after the last time.

      The last time was delicious. And look what it got you! A new domicile, new attendants, and the respect of the Speaker.

      Deo frowned to himself even as Racin ranted in front of him.

      Speaker? What did that mean? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the chaos magic that spoke in his mind just what it meant, but in time he remembered his promise to Dasa. There would be no more deaths of innocents. Not at his hands, anyway.

      He eyed Racin, who was now gesticulating with one hand, little flecks of spittle flying as the monstrous man heaped verbal abuse upon Deo’s head. “Who is the Speaker?” he asked.

      “—just as soon as I learn how it is you have mastered that which eludes me—what?” For the time it took to count to six Racin stared at Deo, his eyes glowing hot with ire as he narrowed them. “I am the Speaker!”

      “Of what?” Deo thought for a moment; then, aware of the scars on his back from numerous whippings made by countless tutors who believed the only way to teach was to beat facts into him, he made a face and corrected himself. “Rather, to whom?”

      Racin seemed to swell. His chest puffed out until Deo was concerned