by Alex Lidell
I consider the tide and wind. “An hour or so. It would be wise to stay deeper than we usually might as the quake may have changed the shallows. A longer row for the boat crews, but better that than risk harming the rudder, or worse, running the ship aground.”
Indeed, all hands are already on deck, the boat crews at the ready. Hauling barrels of water from Crystal will be brutal, but the men in the work parties will be the first to drink their fill. The thirst in their eyes gives them a wild aura. Thatch Lawrence and Ana, who will each command one of the boats going ashore, inspect the vessels, ensuring that water casks stacked inside are intact. Well, Thatch Lawrence does. Ana goes through the motions. A tension that has nothing to do with thirst hangs over both middies.
“Lice giving you any more trouble?” I ask Catsper.
The marine grins at me. From the corner of my vision, I see Domenic stiffen as Catsper stretches with a predator’s lazy calm. “No. I half wish there were. I think I’d enjoy squashing any critters that came my way.”
A too-familiar clearing of the throat snags my attention. I turn to see Domenic leaning casually against the shrouds, his attention on me. I wonder what he makes of the distanced morning between us, whether he might be glad for it.
As our gazes meet, Domenic nods toward the ratlines. A small, barely perceptible demand. Go up.
Storms. That’s what he wants to say to me after last night? Go climb the shrouds? Never mind that I was just thinking about the need to cool things between us. This isn’t what I want, Domenic trying to resolve my nonexistent fear of heights. Especially when the truth is so much more damning.
I shift my weight, exaggerating my limp. Leave me alone. My leg hurts.
His jaw tightens. I know you are lying.
“I could be wrong, but your excuse seems to be wearing a bit thin,” Catsper says with quiet dryness. “Or were you planning on asking me to actually break the ankle for you?”
I give him a filthy gesture and make my way to Ana’s boat. If she isn’t going to check it properly, someone needs to.
Catsper keeps step beside me. “If you are looking for other people’s jobs to do, I have a few Spades who’ll gladly give you their latrine-cleaning duty.”
“We call it a head on a ship.”
“Well, that changes everything.”
I haul myself into the boat. My blood is hot, and I’m grateful for a chance to shove things around without anyone taking great notice.
“Why are you doing Lionitis’s job?” Catsper demands quietly.
“Because the alternative is a potential problem with water casks.”
“Horseshit.”
“No. Truth.” I sigh and lean back against one of the casks. Catsper hops over the side in a smooth arc and lands lightly beside me. Waiting.
Catsper is surprisingly easy to talk to. Maybe because little seems to surprise him. Ever. More likely because I’m not thinking about his lips when I look at him. Plus, he keeps his mouth shut without being asked. “Ana suspects my identity, and is little inspired,” I tell him, surprised at the relief my words bring. “In her mind, I’m a hypocrite who abandoned my family. She does not wish to hear me talk of duty, so I’m rather certain my suggestions on checking casks would be little welcome.”
“She told you she suspects.” The marine’s voice snaps, and my relief withers. I’m no longer glad for the privacy of the ship’s boat. “When?”
I frown. “Yesterday.”
“Then why in the name of storms do I only learn of it now?” he growls, the contained tension of his body as volatile as gunpowder.
Luckily, Catsper isn’t the first irate officer I’ve ever dealt with. I put my hands on my hips. “Why should you?”
“Because I can’t protect you if I don’t know what I’m protecting you from.”
Not the words I expected. “Protect me?” I realize I sound like a daft parrot and shake myself. “Why the hell are you protecting me? And what from?”
“You’ve at least half a brain. Look at my uniform and work it out.”
For an abysmal moment, I wonder if my mother’s reach has somehow extended to the backwaters of Siaman, but no. I look at Catsper. A Spade lieutenant in the black uniform of the League’s most elite fighters. Catsper’s duty is to win the war.
“You need to train with me,” Catsper has said upon learning of the Second Fleet’s destruction.
“She already trains with you.”
“More. You know a lot, Ash. If you are captured, too much is at stake.”
Right. Catsper is protecting me because he believes me important to the war effort. I rub the bridge of my nose. “I’m flattered.”
“I don’t care.”
I shrug. “I’m not the princess of Ashing anymore, Catsper,” I say without heat. Not an argument. Just simple truth. “The facts in my head must not make it to the Tirik, but as for the rest of my life… Nile Ash is not worthy of a Spade’s protection.” Without waiting for his answer, I pull myself from the boat.
Ana smiles brightly. At Catsper, not at me. It dawns on me that the elongated conversation with the marine Ana fancies did little to ingratiate me with her. The stiff set of Domenic’s shoulders says he isn’t thrilled about it either. A historical moment, really, of Ana and Domenic being of one mind. I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t running on thin ice already.
“I have seen little of Rum today,” Ana says. “Is he well?”
Catsper stares at her coolly. “He’s busy.”
Ana blinks in obvious confusion, and Catsper uses the pause to put a hand between my shoulder blades and maneuver us past. His usual stony expression gives no hint as to whether the action is intended as a jab at me or Ana—provided Catsper is aware of what he is doing at all.
Ana’s face darkens. “I do not believe we’ll require the Spades on a water run, Lieutenant Catsper,” she calls after us. Her tone is perfectly respectful, a mix of courtesy due a higher rank outside her chain of command and assertion of a weighed opinion. It is also a transparent attack, launched blindly. Catsper was abrupt with her, and she’ll deny his Spades early access to water. Idiot.
“When I desire your insight, I’ll ask for it, Lionitis,” says Catsper.
Ana’s brows narrow. She touches her hat in acknowledgment and then turns and walks to Captain Rima.
I curse softly though I little worry for myself just now. The problem with blackmail is that once you make good on your threat, the benefit ends. She will not reveal her suspicions on account of Catsper’s rudeness. She will wait for a desired time to play such a card.
Catsper’s face is unreadable. He leaves me, and a few steps later, he is beside Thatch Lawrence, talking softly. I catch the words Kederic and stay alert, on Catsper’s lips. Thatch Lawrence looks pale, but nods dutifully to the marine.
Rima walks toward the pair, his hand on Ana’s shoulder. “Mr. Catsper.”
The marine straightens and inclines his head toward the captain. “Sir?”
“I wish to maximize the room in the boats for our water reserves. The middies shall choose several of the strongest men to take with them. Unless you believe your boys will be able to haul more than men of Johina’s and Mic’s size, I’d prefer to keep them shipside.”
“Aye, sir.” The marine manages to sound bored. “I’ll recall the detail.”
Ana and Rima both smile, but their smiles are nothing alike. Except I don’t think Ana sees it.
Chapter 9
There is more waiting once Ana’s and Thatch Lawrence’s boats depart for Crystal Oasis. Rum comes up on deck, looking as friendly as always. I’m tempted to growl right back at him, but I know he’s as miserable as the rest of us. Except he doesn’t know that water is soon at hand. I’ve a little water left in my canteen, and I shake it before him. “You can have this if you promise not to bite me for it,” I tell him.
Rum whimpers.
Guilt twists me. He thinks I’m teasing him. I open the canteen and hold it low, letting the awful beast lap
the remainder of my ration. Once the canteen is empty, Rum gives it a final sniff and swaggers away.
“Ungrateful monster,” I mumble.
With Rum gone and no one paying much heed to me just now, I open my magic slightly, just enough to let the worst of the building pressure release. A small swoosh of wind answers, doing a small dance around the deck before scampering off across the waves. It’s no candle extinguishing the Diante healer had set as my target, but it’s better than anything I could even contemplate before. I’ll pay for this in convulsions later, but that can’t be helped. Only concealed. I reach for the magic again, this time tweaking it so my stream of air hits chosen targets across the deck. I won’t be showing off my skills anytime soon, but—
I freeze, my attention riveted to the figure climbing up the companionway ladder. Dressed in a full uniform, Kederic moves slowly across the deck. His left arm is bound tightly to his body and he uses his right hand to grip the rail as he walks.
Several Spades spread out around him as if by happenstance. Not just him, I realize; they spread around me too. And the twins. Over the whole damn deck. Now that the middie’s reappearance brought the marines’ subtle guardianship to my attention, I realize they’d been at it for days. Ever since the assault on Kederic. Catsper is taking no chances.
“How are you feeling, sir?” I ask, touching my hat.
Kederic nods at me. Though suffering lines his face, there is also a fierceness of purpose in it. “I heard we had a lice problem while I napped.” A corner of his mouth twitches. “I also heard we’re unlikely to have one again. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help evict the creatures, but I’ll try to make up for it next time.”
My answering grin is cut short by movement along the shore’s silhouette. The boats are pushing off, the seamen rowing for all they are worth. In another ship, I’d think their extra diligence an effort to impress the officers or answer the plea of a thirsty crew. But on the Aurora, sailors don’t do that. On the Aurora, I think something is wrong.
I am at the rail, waiting for the boats to come close enough to discern what’s happened. I count heads and find them short. Ice slithers down my chest. Then there is shouting. Ana’s boat pulls by the Aurora first, her voice calling for a hoist to be rigged. In her arms, she cradles the ashen body of Thatch Lawrence.
No.
The crews of both boats are shaken, even Mic and Johina, who shove less experienced hands from their way and tie a makeshift harness around the middie themselves. I watch Thatch Lawrence lifted into the air and hear Rima’s voice ask the question I’ve not dared voice.
“Is he alive?”
Ana’s voice is admirably stable. “Barely, sir.”
“What happened?” Rima demands. His nostrils flare. Either he’s a superb actor, or he really has not ordered a murder.
“An accident, sir,” Johina says quickly. Earnestly. “A slipped water cask pushed Mr. Thatch Lawrence into the water and his leg got caught in the roots. By the time we managed to pull him out…” His voice trails off, the apple in his throat bobbing as he swallows.
No, Rima never ordered his henchmen to kill Thatch Lawrence. Deaths bring too much attention from the admiralty and in the end, Rima needs an obedient crew, not a dead one. I think Rima wanted the middie frightened enough to be malleable, and Johina had sorely miscalculated. That’s why he and Mic are fretting so over the accident.
The hands place Thatch Lawrence on the deck. His chest rises occasionally, but the rest of him flops limply. Under Ana’s direction, two seamen take him below. I start to follow.
“Ash!” Domenic’s voice cuts my steps. “Get this water unloaded, if you please.”
I touch my forehead and change course, ordering men into work parties and setting an orderly means of all drinking their fill without ripping open more barrels than we must. Grudgingly, I concede that Domenic is right to have kept me here. There is nothing I can do belowdecks now, and this isn’t the time for questions. But that time will come. And from the hard cast of Catsper’s face, I know I’m not the only one waiting for it.
I’ve no chance to speak to Catsper or Domenic the rest of the day, and when I come into my berth that evening, Ana is sobbing into her knees.
Part of me is glad for it. If not for her childish manipulations, Catsper’s Spades would have been on the boats. The better part of me kneels beside her instead. We aren’t friends. But we used to be.
“Ana.”
She looks up over her hands. Her face is puffy and red. Tears stream down her cheeks and wet her shirt. She tries speaking, but no words emerge. Only hysterical gasps.
My heart drops.
“Thatch Lawrence… He died, didn’t he?” I whisper, though I already know the answer. Fourteen years old. So full of promise and life. So eager to learn everything he could. Blinking my own stinging eyes, I put my hands on either side of Ana’s head, feeling her convulsions of grief through my palms. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
She jerks, her voice a rising thunder. “An apology won’t bring him back. Won’t undo what you did.”
I lean away from her.
“This is your fault!” Ana shouts. She stands, her teeth clenched together. “Your fault, you hear. You killed him, Nile.” The words grow garbled and choked. “You talked us into crossing the captain. You should have known better. Of all people, you should have known better.”
Hugging herself, Ana runs from the berth while I recoil from the blow.
The day is mockingly perfect. Plenty of drinking water, clear skies, seas smooth as ice, a warm brisk wind filling the Aurora’s sails. Domenic insists on sweating in his uniform jacket, but everyone else wears shirtsleeves. Including Captain Rima, who swaggers across the deck without a care in the world.
The menace rolling off the captain is so palpable that my pulse quickens in response. He even grins at Catsper, showing the marine a full set of crooked teeth. You’d think the bloody man had just won a battle against the Tirik fleet instead of killed a fourteen-year-old boy. The crew is quiet, though Johina and his ilk are reclaiming their usual enthusiasm at an accelerated pace. None of the middies talk, not even Kederic, though he stands as tall on the quarterdeck as his injuries allow.
The Aurora, with the Hope under her wing, is heading back west across the Siaman Sea to where it meets the Ardent Ocean and another current, called the Diante Corridor. I’m enough of a mess that when Domenic catches me alone in a momentarily isolated passageway, I let myself collapse into his arms.
“It isn’t your fault,” he says firmly into my hair, as if he can see right through my mind to the accusation Ana’s voice had branded there. His breath is warm, and his hands stroke my back in long soothing strokes. Where my cheek presses against his chest, I feel the strong, steady rhythm of his heart. Despite myself, my eyes begin to sting.
Domenic takes my chin in his hand and forces my face up toward his. “Not your fault,” he repeats. “You understand?”
I nod without believing it.
He sighs. “We keep going forward. We have to keep going forward. Right, lieutenant?”
I swallow, collecting myself enough to rise to the expectation and demand of Domenic’s words. In Ashing, I had thought a man would make me less of a warrior. But Domenic is doing the opposite, pushing and shoving me to stand upright when all I want to do is curl in on myself and sob. “Catsper’s transport may not be coming as planned,” I say. My words sound flat, but at least they take root in real thoughts instead of viscous grief, and as I speak them, I begin to slowly reclaim my mind. “It depends how far the earthquake reached. If we lost more ships, there might not be one to spare to collect a training unit.”
Domenic nods. “We’ll speak with him tonight. In the Cove. All right?” Boots sound against wooden planks, and Domenic steps away smoothly without daring to wait for my reply. “Get back on deck, Ash,” he calls over his shoulder. “You’ve work to do.”
It turns out Domenic wasn’t just talking for the sake of ship’s ears
when he ordered me back to deck. Shortly after clearing the companionway ladder, I find Domenic standing beside the mainmast, a spyglass slung over his shoulder and a determined set to his gaze.
“There you are,” he says.
My body tenses. “Aye, sir?”
Domenic tilts his face toward the shrouds, a barely noticeable movement that chases clear all my thoughts.
Annoyance and terror filling me in equal measure, I remain rooted to the deck.
“Ash,” Domenic calls again. This time, there is nothing subtle about it.
I rub my ankle, then cross my arms, meeting his gaze with a hard one of my own. I’m not fish bait. Let me alone.
He furrows his brows and swings his looking glass from his back, holding it out to me. “Take a turn at the lookout platform, if you please,” he says, loudly enough for all to hear.
I freeze. No. But it’s too late. He’s said it. A clear order from the first officer given before the crew. And the last seaman to refuse Domenic’s order was Rory, who’d declined to mount the rigging in a storm and was flogged for it. My chin jerks toward Domenic.
Dominic’s expression is confident and reassuring. He wants me to climb up, to conquer my fear of heights after an unfortunate fall. And he has no notion of just how wrong he is.
Damn you, Domenic. Damn you to the ocean’s depth.
I walk toward him. One slow step after another. My hands are damp with sweat, but there isn’t a choice now that he’s given an order. No choice at all. I take the offered glass and for a moment meet his eyes, letting anger, fear, and betrayal show in my gaze. I’d asked him to lay off this and trust my judgment, and he refused.
“You’ll be all right,” he says quietly.
I say nothing. My voice will give me away if I try. My chest is tight, and my stomach clenches into a rock. I settle the glass across my back and walk to the shrouds with the fierce determination of an animal. Others’ attentions are on me now. Curious. Confused. Excited by the smell of fear and boiling blood, even without understanding its cause.
