by Claire Luana
“Okay,” Cal said, shoving his blond hair out of his eyes.
“Mother, are you strong enough to swim?” Hale shook her gently. “Mother, we need you to be strong for a while longer. Don’t let that bastard Evander win.”
That seemed to bring her back to herself. Her gaze focused, and she met Hale’s eyes. “I can swim.” She took her cloak off and quickly stuffed it in her pack before donning the pack again and tightening the straps. Hale raised an eyebrow at Cal, and they quickly followed their mother’s example. The cloaks would be heavy when waterlogged.
The ship was listing now and Hale and Cal had to help their mother up on the railing. She looked back, her tan skin glinting in the firelight. “We stay together,” she said before diving into the water almost as gracefully as the sailor boy.
Hale and Cal’s entrances were considerably less elegant. Hale tucked himself into a ball and crashed against the water with a great splash while Cal half-flopped, half-dove. They surfaced and bobbed in the water, each accounting for the others. From here, the damage to the Nightingale was the stuff of nightmares—its once-glossy flanks burst open in ragged holes, its proud rigging limp and tangled.
Hale turned from the sight and followed Brea and Cal towards the breakwater. Another boom sounded, a cannon shot bursting from the nearest Aprican schooner. “They’re still firing,” Hale said, panting as he looked back at the Nightingale. But they weren’t firing at the ship. The little rowboat bearing most of the Nightingale’s crew was blasted into the air in a column of water and boards and bodies.
“All those men…” Cal said, floundering for a moment, his eyes reflecting the flames billowing from the wreckage of the skiff.
“Can’t…do anything for them now…” Hale panted. “Shore…” Briny water lapped into his mouth and he sputtered, coughing.
Brea was the first to begin the swim towards shore once again, slipping silently past them with measured strokes. There was nothing for him and Cal to do but follow.
Hale knew he had reached the breakwater when he bashed his shin against a submerged rock. He let out a spluttered curse, treading water and trying not to make any more sudden movements. The breakwater was a ring of man-sized granite boulders piled on top of each other. It was intended to keep unwelcome ships and excess waves from the city’s harbor. Tonight, it had saved their lives.
Hale turned and offered his brother a hand, hauling him onto the rocks. Brea had already climbed onto the nearest rock and was wringing water from her curls. Her face was pale in the moonlight.
“Are you cold, Mother?” Cal asked, not that there was anything they could do about it.
“I will be fine, my son,” Brea said with a hand to Cal’s cheek. “Let’s get moving. It will warm us.”
They picked their way carefully along the boulders of the breakwater, traversing the curving arc that led to shore. For a few minutes, Hale’s mind grew numb to anything but the squelch of water in his boots and the gentle lapping of the waves. From time to time, Cal would look back at the blaze that still roared merrily over the wreckage of the Nightingale. Hale didn’t want to look back anymore. Forward. Keep moving forward.
The breakwater met the shore along the city’s wall. A guard tower was posted there, standing like a tall sentinel in the darkness. Men’s voices emanated from within the open air of the tower’s balcony, words drifting down like ash on the breeze.
Hale held up a finger to his lips and pointed down towards the far side of the breakwater, where the rocks met the beach outside the city’s stern walls. He went first, his eyes locked on the tower above, praying no stray soldier poked his head out to survey the world below.
“Ow!” A muffled cry sounded as Hale stepped on something soft. Something that was most definitely not a rock.
“Captain?”
“Aye, who the hell else would it be? Not enough that ye blew up me ship, ye have to break me hand too?”
“We didn’t blow up your ship,” Hale hissed, peering in the dark. The captain wasn’t alone. The small sailor boy was with him. They were crouched in the dark, the captain’s pant leg rolled up while the boy wrapped a bandana around a wound. “We just happened to be there when the boat blew up. Are you injured?”
“A scratch.” The captain waved away Hale’s concern. “’Tis nothing.”
The boy shook his head in exasperation.
“Captain.” Brea had caught up. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“That makes two of us.”
“How do you plan on getting out of the city?”
“I’ve contacts…”
“Take us with you,” Brea said. “There’s still a diamond ring in it for you if you help us get out of Se Caelus. Big enough to buy a new ship. Hire a new crew.”
The captain seemed to ponder this, exchanging a conversation in a look with the boy. A dark expression crossed across the boy’s face, but the gleam in the captain’s eye at the mention of the egg-sized diamond seemed to dissuade him.
“Fine,” Captain Brimmer said. “I know a trader who runs caravans to Tamros. He’s leaving tomorrow. I get you on his caravan, and the diamond is mine.”
“You get us on the caravan and safely to Tamros, and the diamond is yours.”
“Only a fool makes the same deal twice,” the captain said. “At least when it almost got him killed the first time.”
The sailor boy seemed to agree, glaring at Hale with those green eyes.
“A rich fool,” Brea said softly.
Chapter 6
The darkness clawed at Hale as they made their way through the labyrinth of rundown buildings and houses nestled against the Se Caelus walls. He wrinkled his nose as they slipped between leaning shacks and stepped over piles of gods-only-knew-what. How did people live like this? Disgusting.
His clothes were stiff and scratchy from the drying salt; his boots were still squelching with seawater, rubbing his heels raw. Hale looked over his shoulder at the harbor, the wreck of the ship still smoking, casting a tangerine glow upon the dark water.
“I told you we shouldn’t have left the horses.” Cal grumbled next to him. His brother’s blond hair was plastered to his forehead, hanging in his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care enough to brush it aside. Perhaps Cal was numb with the shock of all of that had happened that night.
“We couldn’t have known the boat would get blown up,” Hale said.
A hissing noise came from the captain, and when Hale looked up, the man made a sharp gesture across his mouth, signaling them to be silent. Hale glowered at the man, wishing they didn’t need him. There was no way they could trust this smuggler—everyone knew pirates had no honor. Hale was sure that it was only his mother’s diamond ring that was keeping the man from turning them over to the Aprican guard, and perhaps even that wouldn’t be enough. If Evander set a sizable reward for their capture, what would stop him from turning on them? Hale would have to keep an eye on the man. If…when…the captain tried to double-cross them, he’d be ready.
As the night wore on and the rubbing in Hale’s boots gave way to full-on blisters, they joined a small but steady stream of people leaving the city. It seemed that they and the captain weren’t the only ones made nervous by the change in leadership. Hale watched those around them from the dark recess of his hood. Where would these people go? Stay with friends? Families? Try to make the journey to Tamros? The road was notoriously dangerous, as the Tamrosi government was unstable and lacked the coin or backbone to deal with the warring bands of brigands who preyed on travelers in the woods. These people were embarking on a difficult and dangerous road.
“Hale,” his mother said, and Hale’s head snapped around, looking for her. There. They had taken a turn off the main road, up a side street. He turned and hurried to join his mother and Cal.
“Captain Brimmer says the caravan gathers at a large inn up this road. It’s not much farther,” she said.
“An inn?” Hale asked hopefully. He didn’t think he had ever felt this weary in
his life.
“I doubt we’ll have much time to rest,” Brea said apologetically. “The captain thinks the caravan is leaving at dawn.”
“Maybe we can sleep in the wagons,” Cal said hopefully.
“Ye lazy asses can sleep when yer dead.” Captain Brimmer had stopped and turned, fists on his belted hips. “Which’ll be soon if ye don’t pick up the pace. We miss this caravan, good luck getting to Tamros without getting yer milky white throats slit.”
Hale bristled, stepping forward. “Don’t use such language in front of my mother.”
Brea put a hand on Hale’s chest. “Hale, it’s fine. Not everything’s worth a fight.”
“Listen to yer mother, young pup,” Brimmer said. “Or yer not gonna last very long out there in the real world.”
Brea sent a long-suffering look the captain’s way. “Can we just get there?”
“Fine by me.” The man turned on his heel and continued marching up the hill, a slight hitch in his step from the gash on his leg. The redhaired boy, Griff, stared at Hale a beat longer before turning to follow. Why was that boy always staring?
Brea wrapped her hand around Hale’s arm, tugging him forward. “Soon this will seem like a distant nightmare.”
Hale swallowed his retort. He hoped his mother was right. Because he had a sinking feeling that their nightmare was just beginning.
Hale longed to put his hands on his knees and gasp for breath when the inn came into view, perched like an eagle at the top of the hill. His pride didn’t allow it. Perhaps in the future he would do a bit more endurance work, in addition to lifting weights with the guards. The inn was a wide U-shape of red stucco buildings curling around the central grassy courtyard. A row of wagons paralleled the stables, hitched to pairs of brown horses standing patiently, munching from feed bags strapped to their noses.
The captain swaggered forward through two double doors into the lobby of the inn, the rest following quickly behind. The room housed a small desk, chair, and cozy couch across from a fireplace, which was blazing merrily. The aroma of meat wafted in from the common room, which was visible through the hallway. Hale’s mouth watered. He was starving.
“Here to see Sim Chiron,” Captain Brimmer said to a pretty brunette behind the desk.
The woman took them all in with bright unflinching eyes. “He expecting you?”
Hale resisted the urge to straighten his wrinkled, stained shirt.
“No, but we’re not here to cause trouble. Want to join his caravan, if he’ll have us.”
“He’s finishing breakfast,” the woman said, pointing down the hallway and turning back to her ledger.
The captain turned to them, adjusting his hat over his brow. “Let me do the talking, right?”
Hale wasn’t sure what he expected a trader to look like, but Sim Chiron was not it. Even more surprising was his reaction when he caught sight of Captain Brimmer.
The man was on his feet in a blink, the coffee in his mug jostling onto the table. “Captain Brimmer, you treasonous snake. The last time I saw you, you traded me a dozen barrels of sugar full of weevils!”
The captain had his hands up. “That was never me intent. And I’ve brought ye something far more valuable to make up for any grief I may have caused ye.”
The man turned his appraising eye on Hale and his family standing awkwardly behind the captain.
“Can’t hurt to hear me out before ye kill me, right?” The captain grinned, the gold in his teeth glinting in the morning sunlight.
The man barked a laugh and came around the table to clap the captain on the back in a hug. “You do keep things interesting. All right. Join me for a cup of coffee. That lady too. The rest of your men can grab some breakfast from the kitchen.”
Hale opened his mouth to protest, but a look from his mother silenced him. He settled for glowering at the man.
“Come on,” Griff said, turning on his heel. Hale was hungry. It couldn’t hurt to get a meal in him.
After retrieving a cup of pungent coffee and a plate of questionable eggs and gnarled bacon, Hale, Cal, and Griff sat down at the table nearest to the others. The captain appeared to be talking up Hale’s mother to the caravan trader. The man was as tall as Hale, but much thicker in the middle, with the blond hair of an Aprican pulled back in a ponytail. Perhaps he might have been a soldier, back in his youth. He had a hard look to him, and his left ear had a notch taken out of the lobe.
“Do you think we can trust him?” Hale asked Cal in low tones, his eyes narrowed.
“Don’t think we can trust anyone,” Cal said glumly, shoveling a bite of eggs into his mouth. “No offense, Griff.”
“None taken,” Griff replied. The lad had almost finished his whole plate already. Where did he put it? “What’s your plan once you get to Tamros?”
“None of your concern,” Hale replied, pulling apart his bacon with a savage bite. Who knew bacon could even be this tough? Had the pig done hard labor in a work camp?
“So…no plan then,” Griff replied.
“Have you been to Terrasia?” Cal asked, referring to the capital city of Tamros.
Griff nodded once, his smooth face going stony. “Once. I don’t intend to go back.”
“That bad?” Cal asked with dismay.
“We don’t have to settle there,” Hale said, taking a sip of coffee and practically gagging. How was it possible to even make food this bad? “We could go on to Alesia.”
“I’ve heard Maradis is nice—” Cal said, but he was interrupted by Brea, who appeared at their side.
“They’ve agreed to let us come.” She paused. “But there’s a complication. A few complications.”
“What?” Cal asked.
“You two will be working for Sim Chiron until we get to Terrasia.”
“Working?” Hale said, his tone laced with horror. “Like common folk? Why?”
Griff snickered but did his best to cover it with a cough. Hale glowered at him.
“He said that his men don’t wait on anyone. If we want to go, we will do our part. I, for one, think it will be good for you.”
“I’m sure you do,” Hale muttered.
“You said there were a few complications?” Cal asked.
“The new king has set up a roadblock on the Tamrosi border. Anyone who crosses, anything that crosses, will be searched.”
Hale swore. “Bloody hell. We’re doomed then, aren’t we? If this slop is the last meal I have, I’m going to have some serious words with the Sower when I die.”
“I think we know it’ll be the Huntress coming for you,” Cal said. “You’re far too pretty for her to spare an eternity of torment and suffering.”
“Boys, please.” Brea sighed, rubbing her temples with a hand. “Now, Sim Chiron has indicated that he has at times had to transport certain…items of a sensitive nature in his wagons. He has space where we can hide while we pass the border check.”
Hale raised his eyebrows appraisingly. “What is the sensitive nature of the items?” He mused.
“Drugs,” Griff said quietly. “Don’t cross him.”
Hale’s eyebrows went up even higher. “This trip just got interesting.”
“I don’t think you’ll get to sample the merchandise,” Cal said.
“Hale—” Brea said with a warning tone.
“Mother, relax,” Hale said, standing and laying his hands on his mother’s sagging shoulders. “I’ll behave myself. I’ll be just as boring as Cal for the whole rest of the trip, I promise. And when we cross the border, I’ll cuddle some drugs in a tiny false bottom on a moving wagon like a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong?”
Brea dropped her forehead against Hale’s chest. “What could go wrong indeed.”
Chapter 7
The caravan consisted of six covered wagons pulled by teams of horses, eight men, three women (including one very pretty girl), and a spotted brown dog. After Sim Chiron had finished his coffee, the caravan set off at an amble up the road from the inn. Hale’
s family walked alongside the wagons, which seemed incredibly inefficient to Hale. What were wagons for if not to ride on?
“I swear I’ve done more walking in the last twenty-four hours than in my entire life.” Hale grumbled under his breath, dancing out of the way of a spray of gravel kicked up by the nearest wagon.
“That’s cuz you’re a spoiled ass,” Cal said, but Hale could tell his heart wasn’t in it. His gaze was fixed on the ground before him, his steps slow and shuffling. Hale glanced at his mother, who walked mutely alongside Cal. Her hair was wild and one cheek was streaked with dirt. For a woman normally so meticulous about her beauty routine, it was an alarming admission of defeat.
Hale sank into brooding silence beside them, watching the scrubby scenery. The adrenaline of their flight from Se Caelus had dimmed, and the stark reality of their situation was beginning to set in. No home. No allies. No income. No more lavish parties, no more carousing with friends, no more attracting ladies like moths to a flame. No more Hale Firena. Not really. He was still standing, but Hale Firena, what that name meant—the privilege and prestige—that man was gone, surely as if he had been shot in the skiff, rowing for shore. Who was he, if he wasn’t Hale Firena? He didn’t know, and even if he had known, he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer.
And then there was his father. The reality his mind danced around, recoiling every time it so much as touched those roiling emotions. His father was dead. Surely he could muster some sorrow, some sadness that the man who had given him life, had given him his name, had left this world.
“You two!” Chiron barked, pointing at them from the wagon ahead. The man had buckled on a sword belt and wrapped his neck with a gray and white checked scarf. He looked even more intimidating out here than he had sitting in the inn’s common room. Cal and Hale exchanged a look and jogged over to meet the man.
