Air and Ash

by Alex Lidell

  “Why, that is all we wished to hear in the first place.” Bald pats Domenic’s shoulder and turns away, then twists back and punches Domenic’s jaw as an afterthought. “A pinch of a memory aid.” He chuckles at his joke and, accepting the reins from Red, swings into the saddle. The horses neigh and pick up a gallop, eager to be away, and I raise my free arm to shield my eyes from the flying sand.

  I toss the pistol into the waves. My head hurts, a throbbing pressure behind my eyes. I want to sit down and cradle it, but instead, I double back to check on Clay.

  My brother is still on the other side of the wave break, occupied with his metal toys as if nothing had happened. I hope that in his world, nothing has.

  Returning to Domenic, I find him working his wrists free of the rope. Good enough. He and his debts can take care of themselves from here.

  As for me, I don’t think I can stand much longer. Turning my back on Domenic, I brace my arms on my thighs and gulp mouthfuls of air as the beach swims before my eyes. Storms and hail. I hate my body.

  “Are you unwell?”

  I look up.

  Domenic crouches in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking out the sun’s glare. Blue eyes frown as he takes hold of my elbow. His grip is firm, as if he is used to using his hands, and the steady pressure beneath my arm is a great deal more stable than my own balance. “Your face is white as foam.” He frowns at me. “Sit.”

  My body obeys, though I only go so far as to lower myself to one knee. With the energy burst of the fight melting away, I want nothing more than to crawl into a dark hole and nurse my aches in private. “I’m fine.” I sound more confident than I feel. At least I’ve retained control over my voice. I pull my elbow free from his grip and immediately feel the loss of support I shouldn’t have needed in the first place. “Would be even better if you left.”

  Ignoring the request, Domenic reaches out to brush my hair away from my face. I stupidly wore my hair down in deference to the dress, and by now it’s a tangled red mess. I wince as Domenic’s firm fingers press the lingering bruise on my left temple. He shakes his head. “That was a stupid thing you did, going alone against two armed men.”

  My eyes snap up to him. “You’ve got to be jesting.” I push his hand away from my face. “The bruise is not from today, and the proper response for my protecting your hide is ‘thank you.’”

  Domenic winces. “Thank you.”

  I rub the heel of my hand over my eyes and sigh. “I little changed the course of affairs. Those two sought to deliver a message, not leave a corpse.”

  “You spared me several fractured ribs or worse.” He pauses, his handsome eyes studying me. The gaze is too piercing for comfort, though, as if Domenic is trying to unravel a puzzle. “May I ask why you did it? We know nothing of each other.”

  “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” I say, but his gaze remains on me, expectant. I shrug. I’m too tired to make up something wise and mysterious, the way Mother would. The truth it is, then. “Because I want to live in a world where thugs don’t get away with beating bound men.”

  His face twitches. In thought, perhaps. Or in surprise. Or maybe he just thinks me odd. I don’t know. If I’ve just made myself sound the fool, I’m too exhausted to care properly.

  A corner of his mouth rises in a hint of a smile. “You are a dreamer.”

  I’m an officer in the Ashing navy and the king’s daughter. I shrug. “I have my principles.”

  Domenic cocks his head again, the sea breath messing his hair. “What if I deserved it?”

  “Did you?”

  The thoughtful humor flees from his face like a toppled wave, and I regret asking the question. I’m about to tell Domenic that he owes me no answer when he sighs, tightening his jaw. “My father forged my name on his gaming tab a year ago,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “I’m yet to make the debt whole. Please accept my apologies for having endangered you in addition to myself today.”

  “The collectors will not take truth for an answer?”

  “I don’t know. I never told them.” Domenic’s lips press together. His loose shirt billows from beneath his coat, and the ends of the leather lace flap like small flags in the wind. When he speaks next, the words are distant, like a thought often visited but seldom said aloud. “The old drunk has no funds to pay. A beating would only prevent him from earning what he can. Plus, I wish none of this in my mother’s sight.”

  “I understand,” I say softly.

  He arches a brow. “Do you?”

  I give him a half smile despite myself. “I understand the part about keeping things out of Mother’s sight.” I rub my hand over my face. “I understand that better than I wish I did.”

  Domenic laughs. It’s a deep, genuine sound. But it ends sharply as his eyes focus on something beyond my shoulder. “You, there! Stop!” He bellows. “The current will pull you under like ballast.”

  I spin, my stomach dropping as my eyes register the reason for Domenic’s shouting. Clay is no longer behind the wave break. He is wading chest deep in the ocean.

  Chapter 6

  Clay is drowning; he just doesn’t know it yet. The sea is treacherous here, with rocks that trap feet and currents that bend and hold victims beneath the surface. A tall wave crashes over Clay’s head. He yelps as if realizing where he is.

  The dog whimpers. She’s too pregnant to go into the waves after her master.

  “You deaf, man?” Domenic roars over the waves as if cutting through the fog of battle. He grabs a stone and skims it over the water, clipping Clay’s shoulder. “Get yourself back ashore.”

  “Bloody imbecile,” I yell at Domenic as Clay jerks and the balls spinning above his palm fall into the waves. Kicking off my shoes, I sprint into the ocean. Frigid water rushes into my clothes. My breaths come in quick, short bursts. Clay can’t swim, not even in calm currents. My feet slip on the stones and my dress drags behind me like a wet sail. But I keep my focus where it belongs. On my brother.

  Clay stops howling at his now-empty palm and clamps his hands over his ears. He twists frantically round and round, moving deeper with each step. He’s looking for his lost toy, and he won’t ever stop. And there is nothing but water around.

  “Ahhh!” Clay claws his face. “AHHH!”

  It feels like years before I manage to reach him, and even then my relief is half-felt. I make myself stop within an arm’s reach of him. Clay is strong, and he is scared. He can—he will—fight. I must be calm. Must keep him calm.

  “It’s all right now,” I say softly and touch his shoulder. “Will you come with me?”

  He slaps me. Salt spray hits his scratched face. He slaps himself.

  “Clay.” I call. “Clay. No. It’s me.”

  “I will help.” Domenic wades up to us. The water hitting my chest only reaches his waist.

  I block his path. “You’ve done enough,” I hiss before softening my voice. “Come, Clay. I will find new spheres for you. Take my hand.”

  Clay hits me.

  My head explodes with pain, and I gulp salt water before regaining my balance. “Clay…”

  Domenic shoves past me and weighs Clay with his gaze. The next instant, he grabs my screaming brother in a bear hug and hauls him to shore.

  Clay’s frightened wails jump across the waves, cutting my heart.

  Clay sits on the sand and rocks back and forth like a wet pendulum.

  I kneel beside him. My body shakes with cold, and my head hurts so much, I might pass out right here on the sand. “Clay.”

  He jerks away, his arms covering his face.

  “I’m so sorry, Clay,” I whisper.

  He ignores me. His dog, now quiet, curls up beside him. When I try to reach for Clay again, she growls.

  Right. I step back, rubbing my face and trying not to cry. Clay had been within a breath of connecting with me, and now I am back to the basics of keeping my twin alive. Of earning his trust. I pound my fist against my thigh and shudder as the
wind pierces my wet clothes.

  “Are you both all right?” Domenic asks.

  “We had been before you came.” My eyes sting. Stepping away, I wring the water from my hair and dress, which clings to my body like a soggy sheet. The clouds are shifting to uncover the sun. At least it will get warmer soon. At least…at least I’m not Clay. I lower my face. We’d worried about my getting sick when Clay’s symptoms first showed, but four years have passed since.

  Sand squeaks behind me as Domenic steps close and lays his coat over my shoulders. He apparently had the foresight to throw it off before plunging into the water.

  The residual warmth wraps around me, mixing with the musk of sea salt that clings to the fabric. The relief is so great that, for a moment, I can do nothing but soak in the heat and scent. When I can force my body to obey again, I reach up to slide off the coat. “We’re fine.”

  “Keep it.” Domenic catches my wrists, his strength contained to a gentle touch. “You are shivering.”

  “Yes. I noticed.”

  Domenic catches my eyes. When he speaks, his voice is soft, as if calming a skittish horse. “You came to my defense against two armed men. A coat is the least I can offer. Plus,” a corner of his mouth twitches as he reaches around my shoulders to straighten the collar, “it looks better on you anyway.”

  His coat looks better on me? Why would— Oh. My face heats, Domenic’s words finally penetrating. Me. He is complimenting me on my looks. Apparently, the man finds that wet-rat look appealing.

  “I mean no disrespect,” Domenic says quickly.

  My blush deepens, which I didn’t think possible. “No, I didn’t…” I stutter like a bewildered rabbit. “I mean, thank you. For the compliment. And the coat. You can have the coat back.” No, not a rabbit. An idiot. I turn away from him. I’m not used to flattery. Ashing men don’t compliment an officer of His Ashing Majesty’s navy on her appearance.

  Domenic clears his throat. “So, do you improve the world often, then?”

  “What?” I turn back and blink.

  “When I asked why you helped me, you said you wanted to live in a world where thugs don’t get away with abuse.” He walks around to kneel beside Clay’s dog, rubbing the beast’s ears. “That seems a bit grand a mission. Don’t you think?”

  “No.” I shrug and sit down. “One battle doesn’t win a war, but it’s still a part of it.”

  Domenic studies me again but busies himself in petting the dog when he catches me looking. The dog rolls on her back, throwing her paws into the air. Obediently, Domenic rubs her belly. “Ah. You’ve pups coming, don’t you, girl?”

  I’m on my feet instantly, my heart pounding. “Now?” The word comes in a croak.

  Domenic throws his head back and laughs. The bloody bastard. “You will take on armed thugs with your bare hands, but the notion of puppies sends you into a panic?”

  “I’m regretting my earlier actions more and more each minute.”

  He makes a noise in his throat, though I’m certain he’s just biting back a chuckle. “No, not now. But soon, if I remember anything from the farm. You may breathe again if you wish. And once you do, you could tell me your name.”

  I hesitate a moment. My father is ashamed of Clay and I hardly present the image the Ashing throne would wish to show foreigners, but I think giving my name is safe enough. Even if Domenic remembers that the king in the small kingdom of Ashing has a pair of irrelevant younger children, he unlikely knows anything beyond that. Given Clay’s absence from all public functions, few outside the palace believe he still lives here. In a way, they are right. “Nile,” I say, wringing out my hair and braid. “And I’m not scared of puppies. I’m scared of what Clay will do if the bitch dies in delivery.”

  Domenic’s face softens. The question I know he wants to asks hangs between us.

  I sigh. I seldom speak of my twin. There is no place for such talk on duty, and at home there is no one to speak with. “Clay is Gifted. He has some control of the magic that attracts metal to him, but it’s hard to say how much.”

  “Ah.” He averts his gaze. Few Gifted live anything resembling a normal life. “I’ve seen Gifted of course, but from afar. I’ve never met one. Has he always been…like this?”

  I shake my head. “The magic usually lies dormant until another illness or injury weakens the body’s defenses,” I say, settling down a few feet away. “For Clay, that was a fever four years ago. We’d had thirteen years together before it happened, before the magic awoke.”

  Thirteen years of having a friend in a world of subordinates and superiors.

  “Nowadays, Clay acknowledges no one,” I say into the silence. “But I’m certain he knows me.” I hug my shoulders with my hands, the memory of our friendship salting the hurt of its loss. The one guilt I feel over wanting to leave Ashing quickly is that Clay must stay behind. Just as our time together is the one grace of my imprisonment ashore. A chance to bring my brother back to me. “I think, though, that if the magic was dormant once, there is no reason it can’t return to slumber again.” I turn to stare at the sea. A cure is somewhere out there. “I’ve heard the Diante are making headway in understanding it. In the Metchti Monastery.”

  Domenic winces, and I know what he will say before he speaks. Tales of the Diante having one thing or another have been around for decades. When you close your borders to foreigners, said foreigners quickly develop a healthy imagination as to what you might be hiding. I happen to think the Diante are hiding a cure.

  “I think we will not soon find out,” Domenic says diplomatically. “The Diante Empire is so determined to stay neutral in the Lyron League–Tirik Republic conflict that it refuses entry even to ambassadors.” He shakes his head. “It baffles me how the Diante don’t realize that they’d be the Republic’s next target if the Lyron League falls.”

  “The Diante have been self-contained and self-sufficient for three hundred years,” I fire back. “They likely believe they can weather a Tirik offensive.”

  Domenic raises a brow. Maybe women in Felielle don’t have opinions on military matters. In Ashing, everyone has an opinion. On everything.

  “The port is seething with people this time of day,” I say, changing the subject. “I am surprised those thugs were able to grab you.”

  He tenses, but after a moment, his shoulders settle, shifting beneath his shirt. “I avoid the main docks in Ashing. The youngsters are courteous enough, but the market takes pride in overcharging sailors, while most eateries crawl with women and royals selling wares of equal disrepute.”

  Not the description of our main port life I would have offered.

  Domenic rubs his forehead. “My apologies, that was inappropriately crude. I meant to say that with six kingdoms in the League, there is always someone trying to position a cousin or nephew to a post they’ve no business occupying.”

  “Because the privilege of a royal birth leads to certain incompetence?” I arch a brow. “Perhaps you’d find a happier home in the People’s Republic of Tirik. I hear they are all about tearing down royalty.”

  “That is uncalled for.” His nostrils flare, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together. “The Republic murders people in the name of liberation and sows fear while calling it freedom. My words implied that there is little incentive to labor when promotion relies on relations, not skills.”

  I don’t bother responding. It’s an old argument, put forth by more than one commoner. The king and Captain Fey expected me to labor more, not less, than my peers. But nothing I say will convince Domenic of it. It is one of many reasons I’ve not had a friend since Clay.

  I glance at my brother, who has settled to muttering, “I will not lose any more children! Don’t do this,” in our mother’s voice. Ever since my youngest brother Shayn died at sea, we hear this declaration each time my father draws up orders for either Thad or me.

  I pull off the coat and hold it out for Domenic to take. The wind hits my wet dress, and I fight off a shiver. �
�Thank you. I believe my brother is well enough to walk home.”

  “Keep it. The weather is chill yet.” Domenic rises and offers me his hand, pulling me easily to my feet. “May I escort you and Clay home, Nile?”

  “We can take care—”

  “Nile,” Clay says loudly in our mother’s Felielle inflection. “Nile is prime for marriage.”

  My cheeks heat again.

  Domenic laughs and steps away. “Stay safe, my friend.”

  “Nile. Nile is a princess and prime for marriage,” Clay repeats. “Prince Tamiath is a good man. His wish for Nile’s hand is an honor. We must accept. Ashing needs to strengthen ties with Felielle. Ashing needs Felielle.” Clay’s tone changes again to the king’s. “Ashing needs Felielle.” It changes again to one I fail to recognize. “Ashing needs Felielle.”

  I jerk around. “Clay, when did you hear this?”

  “Ashing needs Felielle. Ashing needs Felielle. Ashing needs Felielle.”

  My hands tremble. I twist to study the masts, counting the ships flying Felielle colors. There are several. More than usual. My body tenses. When my gaze returns to Domenic, I see the sudden tension in his face. He’d read the implication of Clay’s words. And in my sudden accounting of vessels.

  Domenic backs away from me.

  The coat, still in my hand, hangs between us like a poisonous snake. I let it fall to the sand.

  Chapter 7

  Three hours later, I stride to the king’s anteroom. My breath comes quickly, as if I am heading to battle. I’m not. I’m going to examine the barrel of a pistol already aimed at my head.

  “Nile!” my mother’s voice spins me to a stop. “What in the Goddess’s name are you wearing?”

  My pressed uniform trousers snugly wrap my thin waist, and a white silk shirt buttons high up my neck. It isn’t comfortable, but it is familiar. And right now, I want any advantage I can get, protocol be bloody damned. “Not now, Mother.”

  She tsks. “How is anyone to see the woman you are when you dress like a boy? More importantly, how are you to see the woman that you are?”