by Alex Lidell
“Quinn?” The prince cocks a brow. “The Quinn from a nation who wants to destroy our continent in general and kill royalty in particular?”
“He has officially defected,” I counter. “There’s no going back to the Republic for him. The salient point is that Quinn is familiar with both the Gifted and the sea. That, and I believe he is a good man, if a bit politically misguided.”
“Misguided?” Tam throws up his hands. “He’s Tirik!” He shakes his head with resignation. “Well, at least he won’t have any conflicting loyalties inside the Lyron League. We’ll ask.”
I nod my thanks. “And Catsper?” In the past several weeks, the marine had sent me a few short messages from his station on the Hope. The latest of them described Kederic’s budding command skills, compared the runty size of Hope’s weevils against the superior Aurora breed, and inquired as to how he should have the fetters he’d commissioned for my coming wedding engraved. The coward that I am, I failed to rise to the bait of the question. “I should ask him myself, though, or he will never let me live it down.”
He shakes his head. “The Spades aren’t letting anyone go just now. Give it a month or two until the supply channel with the Siaman Sea is well established and the updated reports on the state of the Tirik forces arrive—make the inquiry then.” He gives me a sympathetic smile and stands. “We should get to bed. Going ashore tomorrow will be interesting enough without adding sleep deprivation into the mix.”
Despite my best efforts, the night passes with little sleep—and not just because of Domenic. In the four weeks it took Falcon and Hawk to complete repairs and make the painfully slow voyage to Ashing, other ships have come and gone from the mainland. Even the Aurora, which I last saw setting sail under Lieutenant Kazzik’s command for one of the Eflian ports would have arrived well before now.
All that means my father already knows most everything about the Battle of Siaman and today’s conversation will focus solidly on scrutinizing me. With that to look forward to, it’s little surprising that the morning begins with a convulsion, and by the time I’m washed, dressed, and ready to face the world, I’ve vomited twice. I am contemplating doing so for the third time when a commotion outside my cabin door shakes the bulkheads.
I open my cabin door just in time to see Domenic flatten Quinn out on the deck with an uppercut to the Tirik man’s jaw.
“Explain your presence, sir,” Domenic growls at the Tirik captain, who wisely chooses to stay down where he fell.
Quinn wipes the trickle of blood from his mouth. “Do you imagine me to be an assassin, sir? Or a thief?”
Domenic braces his palm against the bulkhead inches from Quinn’s face and looms over him. The tight muscles of Domenic’s back tremble with a violence I’ve seldom seen. “I imagine you to be Tirik. “
“How clever of you,” Quinn says dryly.
Before I can gather my wits, Tam strides into the passageway, one brow arched in question at the commotion.
“I see you two have met.” Tam’s voice is dry, but loud enough to grab the men’s attention. “Nonetheless, allow me to offer official introductions for their sentimental value. Mr. Dana, allow me to introduce your partner, Mr. Quinn. Quinn, Dana. You two will find your charge standing behind you.”
Quinn pulls himself to his feet and gives Domenic a cold look. The Tirik’s effort is wasted. Turning toward me, Domenic straightens to his full height, unfurling his broad shoulders. His expression is stoic, like an officer reporting to a new ship. Only the slight twitch of his hand hints at a human being behind the hard facade. That, and the intensity of his stare.
A million emotions rush through me as Domenic’s attention settles on my face. Relief. Fear. Desire. I force them all beneath my own cool mask and schooled voice. “Mr. Quinn,” I make myself turn toward the other man, though tearing attention from Domenic takes all my strength. “Thank you for agreeing to take the post. I imagine the duty is unlike any you’ve envisioned for yourself.”
“Nothing about the past few weeks is as I’ve envisioned, ma’am,” Quinn says with a courteous bow. Beside Domenic’s large frame, Quinn’s average height and slender build make him seem smaller than he is.
“I’m sure.” I swallow and shift my focus. “Mr. Dana. A word in private with you if I might.”
A retreat of one step puts me right back in my cabin. Domenic follows my course a heartbeat later, shutting the door behind him but taking no further steps inside.
I wait.
He does too.
When I can bear the tension no further, I finally speak. “You stayed.”
His brows flick. “Did you imagine I would leave you unprotected?”
Stepping toward him, I put a hand on Domenic’s chest. Despite him doing a bloody good job imitating a statue, Domenic’s heart is beating so hard and fast beneath my palm that it’s a miracle he can stand still. “Dom—”
A knock at the door has him jerking away as if my palm were aflame.
I draw a calming breath before calling, “what is it?” more snappily than I intend.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am.” A middie with a stack of papers edges into the cabin and touches his hat. “The captain thought you might find these newsleafs of interest. They came aboard in yesterday’s dispatch exchange, but he only had a chance to review them this morning.”
Dismissing the boy with a nod, I pull the first of the printed sheets from the stack and curse as my eyes race over the text. I’d been worried about my parents and Domenic. I should have been more concerned over the dead.
“What’s wrong?” Domenic is at my shoulder at once, all traces of chill replaced with concern.
“Please find Tam, Aaron, and Quinn,” I whisper, staring at the headline and illustration.
Captain Rima, his face drawn with sharp, confident strokes to evoke an air of courageous suffering, stares back at me from the page.
A Hero’s Return, the text beside the portrait reads.
Captain Valeus Rima, the skilled commander of the joint fleet frigate Aurora, returns home after a near brush with death.
“The Aurora was stationed in the Siaman Sea during the earthquake,” Captain Rima told the Lyron Herald. “Upon learning of the earthquake’s damage to the continent, the strategic importance of the archipelago’s resources became clear to me at once.
I immediately dispatched a segment of my crew to commandeer a nearby merchant vessel and use it to contact the Diante empire, with whom the Lyron Admiralty has had a long-established correspondence.” Having dispatched his subordinates to summon aid, the brave captain proceeded to the most dangerous of missions—pitting his lone frigate against the coming Tirik fleet. It was a desperate attempt to delay the enemy until reinforcements arrived—and it worked.
“It was a challenge,” Captain Rima admitted to the Herald. “The mission was suicidal, and much of the crew was understandably frightened. For me, though, the training the League Admiralty instilled in me took over. We had a job to do, and by the Gods, we’d do it, or die trying.”
Unfortunately, not all the Aurora’s officers shared Rima’s unwavering bravery. Before the battle, Captain Rima was forced to relieve his own first officer of duty for insubordination and assault.
It is this warrior’s attitude that allowed the captain to survive his fall into the sea during the last minutes of the Battle of Siaman. Despite being wounded, Captain Rima fought his way to a friendly vessel.
We thank the Gods, fate, and skill that returned our hero home. And we thank the League Admiralty for their foresight in establishing a relationship with the elusive Diante Empire.
Admiral Wolo of Eflia North announced that he plans to personally award Captain Rima the Order of Bravery, one of the highest honors in the joint fleet.
Chapter 31
I shake my head, staring down at the newsleaf as the newly arrived Tam, Aaron, Quinn, and Domenic all finish reviewing the text. “But Captain Rima is dead,” I say numbly. “Gone overboard with a shot of Aaron�
��s pistol. I saw it. We all did.”
“We never looked for the body,” says Tamiath.
“He went overboard,” I repeat, as if that should explain everything. “We don’t look for bodies at the bottom of the sea.”
Except Rima hadn’t gone to the ocean floor, but had swum to another Lyron ship, claimed himself a survivor, and returned to the continent. With the time it took the Falcon and Hawk to get to port, he had plenty of time to poison the water.
“The Lyron Herald.” Tam taps the header. “They are Eflian, but the owner, Lady Madeline, has been in Felielle for years, worming her way into my mother’s inner circle. The Herald even operates a printing press in our capital.” His voice twists with ill-concealed disgust. “Madeline tells Mother whatever she wants to hear, and Mother thinks Madeline the embodiment of brilliance.”
“Of course.” I shut my eyes in dread-filled comprehension. “Lady Madeline—she is Rima’s wife. Once Rima managed to survive and get to shore, he returned to his long-standing priority of protecting his own ass. Hence, this.” I wave my hand over the newsleaf.
Thad’s words from ages ago return to me. Truth is irrelevant. Perception is what matters.
“How will this protect Rima?” says Aaron.
I sigh. “Between Rima’s trying to weasel out of orders and accepting payment from Quinn, the joint fleet admiralty could charge Rima with treason. By recasting the events to give the joint fleet credit—a heroic joint fleet captain, a joint fleet ship, the joint fleet admiralty’s supposed relationship with the Diante—Rima entices the admiralty to stay put. They have been fighting for respect and greater status for years. Rima’s fiction grants it to them in one single swoop. The joint fleet won’t want to raise a hand against Rima now.”
I scan the other newsleafs. Some reprint the Lyron Herald’s details, others just state facts: the Tirik had the Aurora, Falcon, and Hawk trapped and would have taken the Siaman Sea if not for sudden aid from a Diante squadron. Speculation varies as to how the Diante became involved, but all agree that Rima’s Aurora was the only Lyron frigate in the Siaman prior to the Tirik attack, and that the Diante arrived carrying members of Rima’s crew.
Keeping my self under control is an effort, and I avoid punching the bulkhead only by reminding myself that my hand will break before the hull does. “I never sent a report,” I say, remembering Tam’s offer to include my own correspondences with the dispatch boat making full speed to the mainland after the battle. I’d been too upset and declined. “All anyone from Falcon, Hawk, or any ship could report were observations from the actual battle, not what Rima did or didn’t do before the battle happened.”
“If I might say something?” Quinn’s soft, confident voice cuts through the cabin.
“No,” says Domenic.
I scowl at him. “Yes, Mr. Quinn?”
The ex-Tirik captain clears his throat. Unlike me, Quinn speaks with academic detachment, as if these twisted accounts are of little surprise to him. Propaganda is commonplace in the Tirik Republic, and I’ve been naïve to think the Lyron League much different. “There is likely a piece to this we are not yet seeing. The joint fleet admiralty might be little inclined to prosecute Captain Rima, but what stops me from forcing the matter by disclosing the payments I made to the captain, or Nile from detailing the actual engagement with the Diante?”
“Your ongoing safety stops you,” Tamiath says with a sigh. “If you pit your word against Captain Rima’s, Mr. Quinn, by the time the League finishes interviewing you, you will be either dead or broken enough to confess making the whole thing up. My naming you a Felielle subject protects you from being questioned as an enemy prisoner, but open your mouth and the joint fleet will find a loophole deep enough to drown you.”
I pale, but Quinn nods with little surprise.
“As for Nile,” Tamiath continues, “she has been lying to everyone since setting foot on the Aurora. Discrediting her will pose little difficulty for the League. Especially when the cronies in Rima’s crew come forth to collaborate their kinsman’s version of the events.” Tam put up his hand, cutting off Domenic who has already opened his mouth to speak. “And before you ask, Mr. Dana, recall you are legally a mutineer. The only place you would be able to provide evidence of Rima’s character is at your own court-martial, which we are working very hard to avoid having.”
Quinn still looks dubious, but I rub my face and set my shoulders square. “We may not be able to discredit Rima directly,” I tell the men, “but my father and Thad are a different matter. We tell them the truth today and go from there.” My memory blinks to another false article, the one that ended my career in the Ashing armada, and my voice darkens. “Whatever else, those two are plenty experienced handling newsies and alternative facts.”
With that, Aaron remains on the Falcon while a pair of seamen row Tam, Domenic, Quinn, and me ashore. Soon I am setting foot on the cracked remains of what was once a pristine pier.
Domenic shoulders his way to walk directly behind me, a hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Seriously?” I hiss at him. “We are in Ashing.”
“If Mr. Quinn and I are here for decoration, get us pretty uniforms,” says Domenic, refusing to relinquish the post. “Until then, Your Highness, allow me to do my job, please.”
I glower.
Tam snorts and quickens his pace.
An escort of palace guardsmen greets us formally at the pier’s edge and ushers us to the palace, moving quickly past the ongoing repairs. Storms, but I little expected this much destruction. Crumpled houses, upturned stones, shattered storefronts. At least the wind dancing across the low shrubbery is soothing, plying us with its salty charms. “Is it this bad in all the kingdoms?” I ask one of the guards.
“The coastline,” he says. “Inland was spared.”
Felielle is intact, then. Tamiath lets out a breath. He must have left before full reports of the damage came in.
My pulse quickens as we near the palace, the trepidation of facing my father striking against the lies Rima has spread in my absence. However angry Father and Thad are with me, I think they’ll help. If not for me, then because it would look good for Ashing to say that its princess negotiated a Diante alliance.
“This place is like a ship run aground,” Tamiath says as we step onto the first of many breezeways connecting the Ashing palace structures—mercifully, all intact. Whitewashed walls and columns separate the open space into clean, ordered lines.
The elderly clerk meeting us in the antechamber of my father’s study smiles as I walk in, and ruffles around in his desk drawer before standing. “A letter came for you several days past, my lady,” he says as if no time has passed since our last meeting. The entire room looks the same, in fact. Leather chairs, low table, refreshments. “Do you wish to have it now? His Majesty will be a few minutes.”
I thank the clerk and take custody of the envelope while he offers Tam wine. Domenic and Quinn position themselves at the walls.
Breaking the unfamiliar seal, I find the now-familiar copy of the Lyron Herald newsleaf. The note accompanying it, written in a loopy hand, freezes my blood. Quinn had been right to predict that Rima would want to insure himself against my transgressions.
My darling Nile,
I expect you’ve read the news by now, but I include a copy here for your benefit. Should you choose to lie and contradict the reported facts, I will be forced to reveal your abominable Gift to the world. My congratulations on your coming nuptials.
Your humble servant, Captain Rima.
“Storms and hail,” I murmur, extending the note to Tamiath.
His face darkens as he reads the words. Seconds later, Tam picks up a candle and burns the note, putting out the paper’s smoldering remains in his own wineglass just as Thad appears to invite us into my father’s study.
Chapter 32
Whatever I thought I was prepared for when I walked into Father’s study, his arms wrapping tightly around me was never on the list. We’v
e not hugged in years, and I am uncertain what spurred his affection today. “Storms and hail, Nile,” he says, stepping back quickly as if remembering himself, and surveys me.
I study him too, even as my heart bleeds from Rima’s words. Father stands as tall as he always has, his chest wide and powerful like Thad’s, but there is more silver around his temples than I remember, and the crow’s feet touching his eyes are etched more deeply into the skin.
“I am glad you are alive,” he says gruffly. “If only because I can now strangle you myself.”
That sounds more like him. I bow. The window is open, and a familiar breeze flows inside to ruffle my hair, which I wear down over my shoulders. With whitewashed walls, shelves with workbooks and hanging charts that watch us from their ordered spots, my hair’s red is the only bright hue in the room. Not a single painting or plant in sight. A junior officer’s tiny cabin has more personality than the Ashing king’s workspace.
“What happened in the Siaman?” Thad asks without further preamble, once he and Father exchange greetings with Tamiath and everyone settles into chairs. “We received no report from you and nothing from anyone explaining how the hell the Diante ended up in the middle of our mess.”
A fair, perceptive question. One I want to answer. And can’t. The threat from Rima’s note tunnels through my mind. I probe the words for loopholes and find none.
Rima can make my Gift public knowledge. If he does, there will no wedding and no pardon to save Domenic’s life. Tam brushes my knee in silent support, as if he knows my decision, understands that Domenic is more than I can risk.
“I’ve little more to offer on that account, I’m afraid,” I say quietly.
Father frowns, his face taking on the familiar grave expression of Ashing’s ruler and protector. One who does not take kindly to elusive words or leaps of logic. “Were you not with the Diante when they arrived in the Siaman?”
