War and Wind

by Alex Lidell

  “Brotherhood,” I say clearly, my voice ringing true as if calling through the fog and report of guns. “I choose brotherhood.”

  Tamiath swallows. “Brotherhood,” he whispers before finding his voice. “I choose brotherhood.”

  The priestess picks up a knife, its razor edge reflecting the candlelight. “The third requirement has thus been met. Rise, then, and let your blood meet.”

  I get to my feet, my fingers fumbling as my gaze rivets to the knife’s edge. A silly, ridiculous thing to fuss over. My peripheral vision tells me that Tamiath has already complied with the first part of the request, and I will my hands to hurry.

  Tam’s strong fingers encircle mine, and he gently pushes my hand away as he works my sleeve loose. With my forearm bare, he finds my eyes. “Look at me, brother,” he whispers.

  I do as he instructs and, when the priestess opens our veins and presses the wounds together, my brother wraps his arms around me and whispers his welcome to a family forged of choice and love.

  A warmth spreads from his touch down my skin, a contentment so deep, it settles into my very bones. There is one part missing, though, and I squeeze Tamiath encouragingly. “Complete the family,” I whisper back to him. “I want Aaron as my brother too.”

  He nods to me and pulls away, facing the retreating priestess. “One more moment, if I may?”

  She nods and stops.

  Tamiath turns to address both the priestess and his lover together. “I’d ask to put Aaron’s name on the contract that is still empty.”

  Aaron’s face drains of color. “Are you insane?” he whispers. “When your parents see that—”

  “They’ll have no choice but to accept it,” Tamiath finishes. “Just as they will have no choice but to accept my blood brother as legal family.” Swallowing, he turns to face Aaron full-on. “It will be difficult. My parents will be furious. Nile and I must still act out a wedding, fake a marriage until the Felielle people are ready for the truth. But for what it’s worth, I’d like for the ring Nile gives me that day to mean something. I’d like it to be yours.” He pauses. “The important question is… Will you join with me, Aaron?”

  A smile tugs at my mouth, and I watch, mesmerized, as Aaron’s dirt-streaked face fills with joy and terror while he accepts Tam’s outstretched hand.

  Chapter 41

  The three days between our secretly exchanged vows and my family’s arrival at the Felielle palace are heart wrenching. Tam, Aaron, and I go through the motions of pretending nothing is amiss while bracing ourselves for the looming confrontation—scheduled to erupt within hours of my family’s arrival, when we reveal the contracts to both sets of royals. Domenic spends his time with a legal advocate. Quinn, observant enough to sense that something is brewing and experienced enough to stay the hell away from it, blends into walls and furniture.

  When the trumpets announcing the Ashing royal family’s approach finally sound, it’s all I can do to keep down my breakfast. Tamiath and I stand together on the balcony to watch them approach the gates, after which I descend to the courtyard to welcome my parents in person. Mother smiles warmly as she steps free from the carriage, and I shamelessly fold into her embrace. To my surprise, the five weeks since I saw her last have felt longer than years at sea.

  “Nile.” Father’s voice is cool and contained. Like Thad, he is dressed in somber blue, with minimal embellishment and decoration. The only gleam to his clothes comes from polished shoes and a golden belt buckle.

  I separate myself from my mother and bow to the Ashing king. With a tightfitting blue bodice and wide skirtlike pants of deep purple, I’m already something in between Ashing and Felielle. A child of both kingdoms that fits into neither. And the morning is about to get exponentially worse. “Father,” I say evenly. “How was your journey?”

  “Fine.” His jaw is tight.

  I turn to Thad.

  He turns his back to me.

  “Very mature, Thad,” I say to my brother’s shoulder blades before twisting back to our mother. “Where is Clay?”

  Thad snorts and walks a few steps away, as if even speaking about Clay is an embarrassment to him.

  “In the back carriage,” mother tells me. “An attendant will wait until the crowds are past to show him out. Or you could, if you’d like.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I would like to see Clay very much, but there is something Prince Tamiath and I need to speak with you about first.”

  Standing outside the royal meeting room, I lean my head back against the cool, hard stone. Inside, Tamiath has both sets of families sitting around the table, and I hear the murmurs of polite conversation. I touch my messenger bag, the two parchments crinkling beneath my fingers.

  “Are you all right?” Domenic asks formally. Standing several paces away, he eyes me and Bear warily. The fact that he’s speaking to me at all is a sure sign that I look more frightened than I wish I did.

  I straighten. “Quite all right. And there is no need for you to take time away from your preparations to stand outside a door.”

  Domenic puts his hands at the small of his back. “You are up to something.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” I murmur.

  His voice drops, his eyes flickering with gut-wrenching worry. “Will you tell me?”

  “No.” My voice is cooler than I intend, but there is little to do for it now. I take a deep breath and clear my mind the way I do before battle. The fear that vines through my chest hits an invisible wall that separates it from my thoughts.

  “What are you doing?” Domenic is no longer collected but towers over me. “I know that look, Nile. What are you doing?”

  I push past him, open the door, and go inside.

  Seven people seated around an elongated wooden table turn their faces toward me. Two kings. Two queens. Two crown princes. Tamiath.

  Tam stands and pulls a chair out for me.

  “Kind of you to join us, Your Highness,” Tamiath’s father, King Hallord, says dryly. Despite my three weeks at the palace, it is the first time Tamiath’s father has bothered to acknowledge my existence. Hallord looks like a king from a child’s picture book—tall, gray haired, bearded, with a gold crown perched atop his head, and dark, calculating eyes. “Tamiath has been keeping us all in suspense. If the happy couple could now oblige us with an end to this dramatic gathering, I would be most appreciative.”

  Well, if you put it that way. I reach into my messenger bag, pull out the marriage and brotherhood contracts, and lay them flat for both sets of royalty to see. Then I take the offered chair, cross my thighs, and start silently counting down the heartbeats to apocalypse.

  The wooden table is apparently heavier than it looks, because King Hallord’s attempt to overturn it as he thrusts himself to his feet ends with only a slight clattering of the wooden behemoth. What Hallord lacks in furniture-turning power, he makes up for in the murderous blaze coming from his eyes. Across the table from Hallord, Thad’s face is turning a steady shade of purple, all the way down to dark, flaring nostrils. Beside him, Father sits like a statue of ice. As for my mother… It takes me a moment to realize that she is smiling. Subtly and only with her eyes, but smiling.

  Queen Leanna is not smiling. Her severe face regards her son with nothing short of disgust. I’d once thought the two queens a bit similar, both wanting their children to be something we are not. Now I realize the two women could not be more different. My mother’s love was never contingent on my choices.

  Picking up the brotherhood and marriage contracts, King Hallord crumples the parchments into a wad that he throws to the floor. “I want these two pieces of fiction burned,” he growls. “After that, you, Tamiath, will declare Aaron a sodomite and rapist. Publicly. He will be executed the morning following the wedding, which will be consummated that very night before four witnesses of my choice. It is only out of great respect for Ashing that I am permitting this marriage to go forth at all. Do not make me reverse that decision.”

  Hallord’
s opening broadside is well aimed, loaded, and fired. Tamiath inhales sharply at the mention of Aaron’s name. The pleased gleam in Queen Leanna’s eyes tells me she helped aim that bullet into her son’s soul. As for that second volley, about permitting the wedding to proceed out of respect for Ashing, that one is for my father’s benefit. A reminder of Ashing’s standing beside Felielle that has Father’s hand tightening with concern.

  Tamiath opens his mouth to speak, but I silence him with a hand on his shoulder. This whole plan was my doing, and I shall be the one in the eye of the storm, holding the line. Plus, I’ve more weapons in my arsenal than Tam does. It may have taken Domenic’s bravery to finally open my eyes to the deadly value of truth, but that pyre has been building log by log ever since my father started rewriting history.

  I meet Hallord’s gaze, my own level and evaluating. Not a common seaman cowering before her captain, but an admiral eyeing her opposite number across a violent sea.

  Rising, I pick up the two parchments and smooth them out on the table. Seven sets of eyes track my every move. “With due respect, King Hallord,” I say mildly, intent on my work even as lightning crackles inside me, “you will permit the wedding to go forward because you’ve little other choice. Copies of these contracts exist, ready to become public if need be. Given your people’s sensibilities, I imagine you little wish for the Felielle throne to receive such attention. You will be doing nothing to harm my brother Aaron for the same reason.”

  Hallord scoffs, dismissing my words like a bit of excrement clinging to his shoe. “You let me worry about public opinion, girl. We’ve dealt with greater lies than those written here.”

  I tip my head at Hallord and smile. “No doubt. I’ve observed the prowess with the newsies. In both kingdoms.”

  My father’s stare burns into me, and I turn my head slightly to meet the gaze head-on, neither of us giving one inch to the emotions brewing beneath our skins.

  “I’m done with these games,” says Hallord, striding toward the door. “You two will burn these contracts, or Aaron’s death will be gruesome enough to give your children’s children nightmares.”

  “The problem with rewriting history, sir, is that it doesn’t actually change the facts,” I say to the king’s back. My voice is cold. Deadly. I steel myself to play my final card, the one I’ve desperately fought to conceal, even while knowing deep down that the need for the truth would come. “The joint fleet didn’t hold the Bottleneck Juncture—Ashing and Diante ships did. And I’m the one who brought the Diante alliance into the fold.”

  Silence cracks as my words sink in. Hallord pauses midstep.

  Tam’s gaze burns into me. What the hell are you doing?

  I give him a tight, apologetic smile. “Domenic is right,” I tell him softly. “We can press your father with the contracts, and current theatrics aside, the wedding will happen. But left unchecked, Rima and Madeline will sink ships. And there is but one way to ensure Rima doesn’t endanger another crew or sabotage the war. That message is mine, not Domenic’s to deliver.”

  “What are you talking about, Nile?” Father demands sharply.

  “She is talking absurd fiction, is what,” King Hallord replies for me. Returning to the table, he braces his palms on the polished wood and leans in to tower over me. “If you are going to lie, girl, do me the honor of conducting basic research and at least trying to make your words believable. The Diante would no sooner talk to a woman than I’d put one aboard a ship.”

  “The idea does have an odd sound to it, does it not?” I say agreeably and, pulling out a chair, invite myself to sit down. “Odd enough to make Captain Rima’s version of events more comfortable for the newsies.” My voice drops. “The problem is that the truth little needs to sound believable. It simply is what it is.” I turn to my father. “Admiral Addus sends his best.”

  “Addus?” Father’s eyes widen slowly in understanding. “Storms.”

  I turn my face back to Hallord, his hands still braced on the table beside me. “The question, sir, isn’t whether you or your people would find my story believable. The question is whether you are willing to destroy the goodwill of the first person in a decade with whom the Diante are willing to speak—never mind support militarily.” I brace my own palms on the table in a mirror pose to Hallord. “The question is whether the Divine Squadron’s decision to fly an Ashing flag might be a much greater matter than you wish to admit.”

  My father taps his finger on the table, studying me thoughtfully. “What I believe my daughter is saying, Hallord,” he says mildly, “is that the Diante are under the impression that a special relationship might exist between them and Ashing specifically.”

  “What I’m saying, Your Majesties,” I cut in smoothly, addressing both kings at once, “is that when Prince Tamiath approached Ashing a few months ago to discuss my hand in marriage, Ashing needed Felielle’s support and goodwill. Today, all of you need mine.”

  Silence settles again, this time broken by Bear’s sudden whining.

  I shoot the pup a silencing look, my stomach clenching. Not now, not now, not now. “That earthquake changed the field of battle by making the Siaman Sea important,” I say in softer tones as I reclaim my seat and try to predict just how much more time my damn body is going to grant me. “The Lyron-Tirik conflict is at Diante’s doorstep now, and Lyron needs to sustain a dialogue with them. Right now, that means you need me.”

  Bear barks, his tail in the air and his front legs bent low to the floor.

  Tam shoots me a concerned look, even as my own pulse starts to race and angry glares turn in the pup’s direction.

  “If that were true—” Hallord starts to say, but I’ve no time to let him finish the thought.

  Pushing away from the table to stand tall, I release the tether on my magic and let a swift breeze race through the room. After ruffling hair, paper, and clothes, the wind narrows into a forceful stream that shoves King Hallord away from me and into an empty chair.

  Thad turns his face away in disgust, and Queen Leanna covers her mouth with a delicate hand. The others just stare.

  “Captain Rima, Lady Madeline, and the Lyron Herald used the knowledge of my Gift to blackmail Tamiath and me into supporting Rima’s version of events,” I say over Bear’s howls. “We can add that to the stack of lies that all end today.”

  Phantom green lights begin to flash in the edges of my vision, and I step back from the table. Letting my Gift be known is one thing; letting the world watch me flounder on the floor like a dying fish is another. “The terms of my goodwill are conveniently spelled out in the contracts. Now, my dog needs to pee. Excuse us both.”

  Bear is jumping on me by the time I get the door open. When I step into the hallway, Domenic takes one look at the dog and shoves me into an empty room as convulsions start to take their hold.

  Chapter 42

  I take it we are getting married next week after all,” I say dryly the following morning as Tamiath escorts me into the Tulip ballroom, where a formal reception to welcome the bride-to-be’s family is in full swing. After my unceremonious departure the previous day, the monarchs had spent hours unraveling the situation. Ultimately, the potential advantage I presented in the quest for a Diante alliance trumped everyone’s concerns over Tamiath’s choice of pillow mate, and the two families agreed unanimously to move forward with the wedding.

  Rima and Lady Madeline had been instructed to depart Felielle in the middle of the night, while an accidental fire consumed the Lyron Herald’s Felielle printing press.

  As for my Gift… “Have Their Majesties reached a verdict?” I ask Tamiath softly, bracing myself for the inevitable.

  Tam shifts his weight, his eyes lowering in regret. “Just this morning, yes.”

  I sigh. “Spit it out, Tam. I knew what would happen the moment I opened my mouth yesterday.”

  “I think you knew what would happen earlier than that.” A note of gentle accusation modulates his tone. “I think you at least suspected tha
t you might need to divulge your Gift before you asked Aaron to find a priestess.”

  I shrug.

  “Why did you not tell me, Nile?”

  “It wasn’t a type of weight that becomes lighter by sharing,” I say curtly. “And suspicion is not the same as certainty. What did Their Majesties decide?”

  “The kings of Ashing and Felielle respectfully request that your ability remains secret for the comfort of both kingdoms’ subjects.”

  “And?”

  Tam swallows but meets my gaze steadily. “You’ve been officially barred from going to sea, Nile. The decision is equal measure bigotry, concern for the crew, and fear of you losing control and killing yourself before your connections with the Diante Empire can be fully exploited. Both the monarchs have spoken, and there is nothing I can do to overturn the ruling now. I’m sorry.”

  Despite knowing this was coming since I started the gambit, actually hearing the words still takes my breath. I raise my chin and fight back the stinging that prickles my eyes. I nod, not trusting my voice.

  “It may not be forever,” Tam whispers. “Just until…”

  “Until I can prove I am seaworthy, which can never happen since I won’t be allowed on a ship in the first place.” I put up my hand to stop Tam from uttering false comforts. I’d made a choice, one that will save Domenic and Aaron and the wedding and ships and crews yet to come. One that has other consequences as well. I must take vinegar with the sugar. And I can’t talk about this just now.

  “How do I look?” I say, stepping back and twirling before him. My gown of blue chiffon floats behind me as I move, as if the cloth and the air around me are one.

  Tam nods in melancholy understanding and forces himself to smile. “Exquisite.”

  “As does the hall,” I say, clinging to the silly subject matter as I would a lifeline. The Tulip ballroom really is remarkable. Hundred-candle chandeliers swing from the cathedral ceiling, their lights reflecting in the polished wood of the dance floor. Garlands of fresh tulips, for which the room is named, stream over window arches and drape on the sills. On the refreshment table, flower-shaped ice bowls hold punch, while more candles float in shallow crystal troughs.