Across the Long Sea by Sarah Remy Read Free Book Online Page B

far more like her ladyship. You run deep, the both of you.”
    Mal considered the moon. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”
    â€œAye, because a man who runs deep will always do right.” Biaz waited.
    â€œNot always,” Mal said. “But this time. You needn’t worry, Shannon. I don’t intend to accept the title.”
    The housecarle exhaled, relieved. “I didn’t think you would, my lord.”
    â€œSelkirk isn’t home, hasn’t been for most of my life. My brother’s too deeply a part of its walls.”
    Biaz’s mouth tightened. He glanced over his shoulder with much the same furtive peek Liam had used earlier. “Rowan, my lord? The maids claim he walks the lower halls, but I’ve never—­”
    â€œMetaphorically,” Mal corrected. “Rowan’s not here. The ghost in the lower hall is Cook’s lost lad. But don’t tell her; it will break her heart. Let them think it’s Rowan.” He left the window at last, considered his father’s shell. “I only meant my brother went down in my place, when he was supposed to be sitting the sea lord’s chair.”
    â€œBecause your father insisted on an heir at the helm.” Biaz glanced at the body on the bier, crossed himself quietly.
    â€œAnd I was useless as a palsied infant on the water. It should have been me. The keep hasn’t forgotten.” Mal grimaced. “The fire in the temple didn’t much help, after.”
    Biaz chuckled, wry. “Why do you think Master Josef is holed away in his cell? It’s true you’re not his favorite.” His glance brushed Mal’s yellow ring, jerked away again. “So, the title?”
    â€œWill go next to my mother,” Mal replied. “I’ve the king’s blessing. I imagine she’ll be pleased.”
    Biaz’s dark brows rose.
    â€œShe’s just lost her husband, my lord. I misdoubt she’ll find much pleasure in it at all.”
    Chastened, Mal nodded.
    S ELKIRK ’ S SEAT WAS more high-­backed bench than chair, notable only for the thick, blue cushion on the plank, a concession to the sea lord’s gout. Mal lowered himself onto the cushion, felt the press of wood beneath the goose down, and thought the padding had done his father little good.
    The hall was empty but for a fair-­haired lad tending the hearth. More benches were stacked against the graystone walls, awaiting dawn and breakfast. The boards were scrubbed clean; two long-­limbed dogs chewed bones beneath the table, quietly content.
    Mal rested his head against the seat’s high back. He closed his eyes, listening to the snap and pop of embers in the chimney. He dozed in his father’s chair, dreamless, oddly content as the hounds at their supper.

 
    Chapter Three
    S ELKIRK’S M AS TERHEALER FOUND Mal in the kitchens, breaking his fast under Cook’s watchful eye.
    Mal abandoned his fish stew, brushed crumbs from his shirt, and rose.
    â€œBrother,” Mal said. “Good morning to you.”
    The Masterhealer was broad and squat, and looked nearly as old as Selkirk’s temple. He was completely bald but for a few short hairs around his ears, and he had the desert eyes of one who was born to the faith. The sleeves of his otherwise simple robes were embroidered with delicate vines. He wore the Rose on his breast.
    â€œWe haven’t met,” Mal extended a hand. “Brother Joseph, is it?”
    The Masterhealer nodded. He ignored Mal’s hand, bowing briefly instead.
    â€œYes, my lord. No, my lord. We haven’t met. I replaced Brother John some fifteen years ago when he finally succumbed to the lurgi.”
    â€œSit,” Mal offered, and returned to his stew. Brother Joseph, after glancing at Cook for permission, settled at the boards. “I remember Brother John; he was very kind. He taught me my sailing knots and the quickest way to gut a fish.”
    Brother