by Alex Lidell
After a heartbeat, Tam nods to Rima but doesn’t bother to rise. “We’ve indeed not met, but your reputation precedes you, Captain,” he says coolly.
“Tamiath, really, where are your manners?” Leanna chides, her brows narrowing in a flicker of displeasure at her son before she gives Madeline an apologetic look. “Captain Rima is the hero of the Battle of Siaman and the protector of your bride all these months. It is an honor to meet you, Captain Rima.” Leanna says the last to the captain directly.
Rima waves off the compliment with murmurs of his unworthiness of all the attention. “I was just doing my duty,” he says, holding out a chair for his wife before joining us at the table.
“The newsies will always be newsies,” his Lady Madeline puts in, laughing softly. Her message to me and Tam is quite clear: And they will write what I pay them to write.
A servant appears with more tea and milk. Cups are filled and stirred, an uncomfortable silence saturating the room. Tam’s mother forces a smile to her lips as she eyes me intently. “Do tell us about yourself, Nile.” A command.
“What would you like to know, Your Majesty?” I ask.
Lady Madeline gives Queen Leanna a supportive look. “I, for one, am incredibly curious as to how in the Gods’ name did you end up in the Siaman Sea,” she says, as if making good on a promise to help uncover the secrets of the queen’s daughter-in-law-to-be.
“I overheard plans of a marriage to Prince Tamiath,” I answer truthfully. “Not having met him, I feared what such a match might mean for me and chose to go into the open sea instead.”
“And what changed your mind?” Queen Leanna asks me, her brows narrowing on her son in suspicion. Leanna might be fooled into thinking Madeline her friend, but she knows Tamiath better than to believe him enthralled.
“Love,” I reply promptly, then spread my hands. “And politics, of course. An alliance between Felielle and Ashing would benefit my kingdom.”
“It would have benefited your kingdom sooner if you’d not run off,” says Leanna, her gaze plainly stating that she has plenty of other causes she’d have preferred to receive this benefit.
“How fascinating,” says Lady Madeline smoothly. “Do tell us more about your family, Your Highness. You’ve two brothers, do you not? I remember Prince Thad well, but I confess the name of the other escapes me. Kay, is it?”
The corners of Rima’s mouth twitch in a suppressed smile.
“Clay,” I say icily, finally catching on to the game. Queen Leanna might think that Madeline and Rima came to support her quest to uncover secrets about her son’s marriage arrangement, but the couple’s real plan is to remind me of the stakes and demonstrate to Tam and me how close Madeline and the Felielle queen have become.
“Clay, such a nice name,” says Madeline, her voice still smooth as silk. “Why has the world seen so little of him, though? He isn’t ill, I hope?”
“My twin is Gifted.” It’s an effort to keep my temper leashed.
“My condolences,” Rima murmurs piously, while Madeline smiles at me like a cat closing on her prey.
“How fortunate for Ashing to have a healthy, marriageable daughter despite such tragedy,” Lady Madeline tells the queen. “Nile’s mother must be so grateful.”
I walk out of the tea parlor an hour later, ready to do violence. With a hand on my shoulder, Tamiath guides me down the corridor, where Domenic and Quinn peel away from the wall to follow our progress. Bear, upset at having been left out of the tea parlor audience, prods my shin with his nose. Bear’s mother may have been large enough to reach my waist, but the pup has a bit of growing to do yet.
A familiar throat clears behind us. The three men and I turn at once to find Captain Rima alone, rubbing his sling-supported arm. The air around Tam and Domenic vibrates with fury, while Quinn studies the scene with academic curiosity.
“Prince Tamiath, might I have a word with you and your bride in private?” Rima asks mildly, ignoring Domenic, Quinn, and Bear altogether.
With a jerk of his head, Tam leads the procession down a set of steep stairs and through several narrow corridors into a sarcophagus-like alcove. A single beam of sunlight streams through a high window to illuminate a marble bust of a long dead king. Stopping in the shadow around the statue’s pedestal, Tam twists to the captain. “What the bloody hell are you doing in the palace?” he demands.
Rima opens his good arm innocently. “My wife and your mother are dear friends. I could hardly refuse the queen’s invitation.”
“Get out of my city,” Tam snarls at him. “We will allow your lies to stand, but I want you out of my sight. Understood?”
Rima sighs. “I’d love to, Your Highness. Unfortunately, I find myself at the physician’s mercy while I fully recover. Given that it was your man’s misfire that caused the injury, I’m certain you will agree that modest assistance from Your Highness with my physician’s bills and recuperation costs are only just.”
My fingers curl into a fist. Tam grabs my wrist before I can bury my knuckles in the captain’s nose.
“A million gold should cover the expenses, I think,” Rima says, running his finger over the marble bust’s edge. He examines the dust before rubbing his fingers together to dispel the dirt. “I thought it would be prudent to come to you instead of Queen Leanna with my concern, since, while the queen is generous, she is a woman and does ask many questions. This way we can help each other. A joyful wedding for you and medical care for me. My next physician’s bill comes due in two weeks. I would appreciate the funds by then.” Before either Tam or I can respond, Rima bows, turns on his heel, and strides away.
Chapter 38
“This Captain Rima, will he make good on his threats?” Aaron asks quietly as we fill him in on Rima’s new demands.
“He killed a midshipman and beat another to death’s door, all for wounded pride,” I say, inviting the men into my room. The canopied bed, marble fireplace, and carved armchairs of my suite feel as though they belong to someone else. Someone who is used to dresses rather than uniforms filling her armoire. “As he and Lady Madeline took some pains to remind us upon our arrival, they have both the queen and the press under their influence.”
“Plus, Rima has done this before,” Domenic adds quietly. Our faces turn toward him, and a flash of grim vulnerability skitters across his eyes. “The reason I served under Captain Rima is because he purchased my family’s debt and used my continual service to counteract the accruing interest.”
My heart pauses, but I don’t dare bring more attention to him than the words already do. I want to pace, but the precious rug is a work of art, and I can’t bear to step onto it with my boots. Damn Felielle and their ornamental idiocy. I rub my temple to relieve the growing pressure in my head. When the throbbing continues, I slap my palm against the wall.
“Yesterday, Rima demanded silence. Today it’s money. Storms know what he’ll want tomorrow,” I hiss. “We were fools to think Rima would let go of his advantage. “
Bear whines.
Domenic whirls on me, his eyes worried.
“I’m fine,” I snap at man and dog both. “I’ll be better when we sort out a way to castrate the bastard.”
Bear yaps softly in disagreement as green lights flicker in the side of my vision and familiar panic courses through my veins. Ignoring the damn rug, I stalk across the room to my bathing chamber to enjoy my convulsion in private.
Over the next two weeks, as Rima’s deadline for payment approaches, we try and fail to divine a means to castrate Rima’s extortion plan. My one hope is that the wedding will necessarily take some of the wind from the captain’s sails—at least as far as Domenic’s pardon is concerned. Once I know that no noose hangs over Domenic’s head, I’ll be able to think better. Aside from the wedding preparations, the only other area to see any meaningful progress is my magic training, which emboldens Quinn to press it even further. We go so far as to find a small riverbank about an hour’s ride from the palace that offers both access
to small sailing craft and privacy.
Quinn, Domenic, and I occupy that riverbank now. Domenic crouches several paces in front of me, his wet shirt clinging to shifting muscles while a wooden practice blade sways in his hand. A tattoo peeks out from the wide open collar of his shirt and my fingers tingle with the want to trace the ink.
Domenic raps the flat of his blade against my shoulder.
I grunt.
“Pay attention,” Domenic snaps, his mouth tightening. The somber expression is somewhat marred by his hair, wind-tousled into a semblance of a porcupine. Domenic is neither Catsper nor Aaron with a blade, but the finer points of swordsmanship are of little consequence since I’m bound to a tree.
Standing on the sideline, Quinn shakes his head. The aura of a captain’s authority—and disapproval—clings to his straight shoulders and thoughtful, guarded eyes.
I reel my mind back into focus and press the wall of wind against Domenic, forcing him to retreat farther, step by step from where I sit. A trail of sweat trickles from my temple and into my ear, tickling the inside ridges. The wind shifts with my undulating thoughts, and Domenic curses as the force of the gale knocks him to the sand.
I cringe. “Sorry.”
Before the word leaves my mouth, Domenic is already back on his feet, striding through an opening wide enough for a horse. I scramble to even my wind out, but it’s too late. Another stinging rap of the blade lands on my shoulder.
Domenic tosses the practice sword to Quinn. “Are you ill, Nile?”
“No.” I release my magic and sag back against the tree trunk. Domenic is now wet and sandy, with river water sloshing from the tops of his boots. Like the sand, the excess of water is my fault. Thirty minutes back, the three of us rigged a small boat that I attempted to propel from shore while Domenic steered. I capsized the craft before Domenic made it four hundred yards.
And now I’m gloriously failing an exercise I’d mastered days ago.
Domenic turns to frown at Bear, who reliably alerts of my coming convulsions before even I know they ride the winds, but the dog is happily gnawing a stick. Twisting back to me, Domenic starts to undo the rope binding my wrists.
“One more time,” I say.
“No.”
“Domenic—”
“No.” This time it’s Quinn speaking up. “Mr. Dana is correct. We’ll try another day.” The rope comes loose, and Quinn offers me a hand up. Except for the minor problem of his political allegiance, he is the kind of officer I’d gladly serve under. Firm without being cruel, and confident in his choices while forever observing and iterating. He turns to Domenic and motions toward the beached boat.
Domenic nods, watching while Quinn trudges across the sand to deal with the vessel.
My shoulder tingles, and I rub out the soreness. “The one thing worse than you and Quinn being at each other’s throats is the two of you teaming up.”
Domenic says nothing, focusing instead on rinsing his shirt off in the river before pulling the wet garment back on. His movements are slow, as if he is fighting his own muscles. Domenic’s gaze flickers to Quinn, who is cleaning up the boat and out of earshot.
Whatever Domenic wants to say, I’ve the sinking feeling I won’t like it.
“I’m sorry I turned the boat over,” I say on the odd chance that it’s the dunk in the river that has Domenic on edge. “But it’s too cold for wet clothes. If you’re wearing a soaked shirt for my benefit, you little need to bother. I like you without it just fine.”
“What a relief,” Domenic says tightly.
I cross my arms. “You say it as if it’s a bad thing.”
“You say it as if it’s a good thing.” Domenic closes the distance between us, each step heavy as it presses into the sandy ground. Fire dances in Domenic’s eyes, the muscles of his jaw tense and unyielding. “I promised to protect you, but my very presence is placing you in peril. Prince Tamiath isn’t blind. Neither is Quinn. You think he fails to notice that your performance improves when I’m not involved in an exercise?”
“I lost my focus today,” I say quickly. “I won’t again. I’ll make sure I don’t. And I’ll be more careful when Tam—”
“It isn’t just Quinn and Prince Tamiath and you.” Domenic tucks a stray bit of hair behind my ear. His own hair is tussled from his dunk in the river, and his salt-and-brine scent is plain even far from the ocean. “My presence is a liability. Ammunition that Rima and people like him can use against you. And it’s time to ensure you have every advantage to succeed as Felielle’s princess.”
Ice crackles along my spine. “What are you saying, exactly?”
Domenic’s throat bobs as he swallows, but his shoulders straighten. “You need to find a replacement for me, Nile.”
I snap back on my heels, my mind ringing as if a great gun had gone off too close to my ears. “What? No.” I wonder if I misheard. I must have misheard.
Domenic’s gaze flickers to his hand, wrapped knuckle-white into a fist. “I’m sorry.”
I taste blood and realize I’ve bitten my lip. The world spins around me like a carnival’s twisted looking glass. “What did I do wrong?” I whisper. “Why don’t you—”
Domenic lays a finger against my lips. “Meeting you has been the greatest turn my life has ever taken. You are a dreamer and fighter. While the world navigates known paths, you chart new ones. Great ones. I knew it from the day I met you on the Ashing beach.” His voice drops, his words barely audible over the breeze. “I think I fell in love with you before I ever learned your name.”
My mouth dries, his words echoing through me. I reach for his face, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against mine, but he catches my wrist with one hand. “Please.” That’s all I have to offer him, and my breath catches on the word. “I’ll… Please. Don’t leave.”
Domenic leans over and kisses the top of my head. “I’m leaving in two weeks,” he whispers into my hair. “Right after the wedding.”
Chapter 39
My mind is still ringing with Domenic’s words that evening, my impotence to stop him from leaving blinding me to the changes in Tamiath until he appears unannounced in my rooms. Instead of entering, Tam stands at the doorway like a schoolboy, his face white and his hands clutching an envelope.
“What’s happened?” I ask, ushering him inside and shutting the door.
Tam enters with uncharacteristic clumsiness, tripping over the edge of the expensive rug before I grab his elbow and steer him to the sitting area, where he sinks onto one of the cushioned chairs and cradles his head in his hands. “He’s going after Aaron.”
“Who is? How?”
“Rima.” Tamiath stares at the floor. “The deadline for his payment is tomorrow, and he’s… he’s taking extra steps.”
I pluck the envelope gently from Tamiath’s fingers and pull our the message, angling the page so the light from the window illuminates the writing. Instead of the expected note in Rima’s loopy hand, I find a printed newsleaf with the words DRAFT sprawled boldly across the text. A picture of Aaron, drawn as skillfully as Rima’s had been on a different newsleaf, stares menacingly from the upper left corner. I read the text quickly. Short and to the point, the article describes how one man’s horrific judgment and sheer incompetence led him to mistake the heroic Captain Rima for an enemy combatant and fire a near-fatal shot. The text ends with a call to charge Aaron with attempted murder.
I put my hand on Tam’s bicep and find the muscles trembling beneath.
“It’s an opinion piece, not a charging document,” I say with forced calm. “It has no power to do anything.”
Tam shakes his head. “It’s a threat, Nile. The only reason to send me a draft of an article demonizing Aaron is to demonstrate the author’s knowledge of Aaron being someone of significance to me. Rima isn’t threatening to get Aaron charged with murder; he is threatening to expose us.”
“How would Rima know?”
Tam pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mother. She’s suspected t
he truth about Aaron and me for years. Likely she let hints of it slip with her close personal friend Lady Madeline. The viper is likely baiting Mother into divulging all sorts of derogatory information, and Queen Leanna is too self-centered to even notice.”
I want to tell Tam that there are other possibilities, that perhaps Rima is simply gambling on Tamiath’s wish to protect his lieutenant—but even I little believe it. Not with knowing how Rima operates. I turn the page over to find a small note on the back, noting plans of turning the draft over to the Lyron Herald for printing tomorrow evening. A postscript advises that the draft, along with unspecified others, is a copy from a sealed packet in the Lyron Herald’s office—to be opened should something unfortunate happen to the Rimas.
It seems Captain Rima likes to insure his funds.
“I’m going to do it,” Tamiath says, looking at me with a silent plea for understanding. “I’m going to pay the bastard tomorrow.”
At sunrise the following morning, Domenic, Tamiath, and I file wordlessly into the small alcove with the marble statue, where Rima first issued his demands. A messenger to summon Captain Rima to the spot was dispatched an hour past, and Quinn holds position at the end of the corridor to watch for the captain’s approach. Heavy silence hangs over us like fog, and the minutes ticking by are infinitely long. Tamiath’s strong and beautiful face is drawn, and I pray to the storms that I’m hiding my fear better than Tam is concealing his shame.
Finally, Rima’s footsteps echo down the stone.
Domenic steps away from the statue to make room for the captain, who gives Tam and me a mocking bow upon arrival. “Your Highnesses, what a pleasure,” Rima says, straightening. The captain’s arm is still in a sling, and today the cloth is gold in color. Like coin. Beneath the sling, Rima wears loose trousers and a thick shirt, the ample cloth concealing his scrawny, chicken-like frame.
