War and Wind: TIDES Book 2

by Alex Lidell

  Quinn raised it, quizzing the sea. The Aurora was, in fact, heading away from the Bottleneck instead of toward it. He tapped his hand against his thigh. Of all the crossings, Rima had to pick the one when Quinn had a People’s Commissioner on board for this little game.

  Quinn wondered whether the situation had aught to do with yesterday’s Lyron dispatch ship or the phantom wind that was making the Aurora buck like a horse with a burr under its saddle. If he didn’t know better, Quinn would think the Aurora had a Gifted air caller onboard, given the oddness of the weather and the ship’s motions. He’d transported enough poor Gifted souls to know what they could do to a ship, and the uncontrolled gale so focused on the Aurora’s hull was too familiar a motion to ignore. But of course the League would never allow a Gifted on board, so it was unlikely. But then, everything about this whole cruise was unlikely.

  “Aloft there!” Quinn called. “Are there any sails in sight?”

  “None but the Aurora, sir. I’m quite certain.”

  Quinn nodded, mindful of keeping his face unreadable. At Commissioner Jaquis’s insistence, the Hope carried double the number of Gifted she was suited for. Jaquis wanted to make his mark by demonstrating how much more efficient the Hope became under his care, but the resulting conditions on the lower deck turned Quinn’s stomach. As unique as the Institute’s treatment was, it would prove useless if the patients died en route.

  “What have we here, Mr. Quinn?” Commissioner Jaquis’s cool voice reached over the Hope’s small deck.

  Quinn waited until the commissioner was close enough to converse with in a soft voice. The Hope might be playing the part of a Lyron League merchantman, but that did not mean actual sloppiness was to be tolerated. “The Aurora has made a course change, sir. One that will lead her away from the Bottleneck Juncture.”

  Jaquis’s brows pulled together into a single bushy line. “I was under the impression, sir, the Aurora was ignorant of the juncture being our intended destination.”

  Quinn inclined his head. “That is quite correct, sir,” he said calmly. “The Aurora’s captain is unaware we wish to pass through the Bottleneck to the Ardent Ocean. He is paid to escort the Hope toward the Diante port, which is one of the three routes the Bottleneck Juncture connects. We typically make our departure signal just short of the Bottleneck, veer away to the Diante port, and change course again once the Aurora clears the Bottleneck.” Quinn stalled for a moment to give the commissioner time to picture the situation. Things would be easier if Jaquis actually understood the geography. “The Diante port and the Bottleneck Juncture both lie due west, sir. And the Aurora has just turned east.”

  Jaquis snorted. “This is a shakedown. The Aurora’s captain wants a higher fee.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Pay it and let us be about our business. I want the cargo delivered sooner than later.”

  Do not ever call my charges “cargo” again, Quinn wanted to say. But he was too smart to wage war over words. “Commissioner, if the Aurora wished to increase her fees, I imagine she would have made the demand before changing course.” Quinn’s clasped hands tightened behind his back, but he let none of the tension enter his voice. This was his seventh trip in the Aurora’s wake, and Quinn had a fair idea of the kind of man he was dealing with on the Lyron ship. “If not for birth and family money, Captain Rima wouldn’t be allowed near a naval ship, much less into uniform. If he is risking his profits—he will earn nothing should the Hope refuse to follow—it is because he fears staying his original course.”

  Jaquis wrinkled his forehead in thought. “Or he may believe greater earnings lie due east. Perhaps from another source.”

  Quinn gave the People’s Commissioner a begrudging nod. “Agreed. Rima is either running from danger or else sailing toward an advantage. In either case, we’ve little time to make our choice."

  “I see.” Jaquis brushed his upper lip. “What are my options, Captain Quinn?”

  There was only one choice, if they were to be responsible. “We’ve three options, sir. We can follow the Lyron frigate as she directs. We could abandon the Aurora and proceed to the Bottleneck Juncture alone. Or we can turn back to the Diante shore.”

  “And what would you have us do?”

  “Turn back,” Quinn answered without hesitation. “The Hope’s mission is humanitarian. We must assume that a danger lies behind the Aurora’s course change, which would make continuing on our present path foolish. Following the Aurora on a merry cruise through the Siaman is likewise impractical with a deck of invalids who may not survive the added days of the voyage. I recommend we turn back and not attempt the passage again until further exploration.”

  Jaquis bristled like a rooster, his face filling with indignation. “You would have us retreat, sir?” he squawked loudly, so others on the deck were obliged to bury themselves deep in tasks to avoid the appearance of having heard anything. “Are you unaware of the war?”

  “With due respect, Commissioner,” Quinn said patiently, “the Hope is not a ship-of-war. She is a modified merchant vessel delivering Gifted to a treatment facility. Endangering the very civilians we are at sea to help would be the height of folly.”

  “Unacceptable.” Jaquis’s face flushed, making some of the crew flinch away. “I will not discard my mission based on the superstitions of an overbred Lyron captain who can see nothing beyond a coin purse. Lay a course for the juncture, Captain Quinn.”

  Quinn felt the burn of many eyes. Making for the Bottleneck Juncture was a mistake, but if Jaquis forced him into said course, Quinn was determined to make the most of it. He had to assume the danger of some sort waited near the Bottleneck. And if he took his crew into the fray, he would extract every ounce of advantage their lives—and deaths—would win for the Tirik Republic.

  Ral Quinn, after all, owed everything to the People’s revolution. He’d been an orphan with a knack for numbers. The Tirik Republic gave him an education, honing his talent into skill, and offering a chance at a naval post once reserved for noble blood. So as much as Quinn hated the likes of People’s Commissioners in general and Jaquis in particular, Quinn loved the promise his nation strove for.

  “Helm,” Quinn called out, his voice clear and sharp. “Bring us due east and close with the Aurora.”

  “Captain! You—” Commissioner Jaquis cut his protest off as Quinn turned toward him and met his gaze full force.

  “The Hope is a merchant vessel, Commissioner. I will not be taking it alone into the Bottleneck Juncture.” He squinted at the sea before nodding to himself. “We will capture and use the frigate Aurora for that purpose. If you wish to join the boarding party, sir, I suggest you arm yourself.”

  Chapter 16

  The sun reflects off the ocean and sparkles in grains of beach sand beneath my feet. Domenic’s face turns to me, sending a warmth through my chest. The water and fresh wind have mussed his hair, and his friendly eyes watch me intently. It’s just me he is watching—not a princess or a pawn piece or an officer or a common seaman. And just me is enough.

  “You will take on armed thugs with your bare hands, but the notion of puppies sends you hiding?” he asks. His eyes laugh.

  I look down to find Domenic petting Clay’s dog. She trusts him, this stranger whose coat I wear. The coat smells of salt and sea and him. A familiar smell. His presence is solidness that fits into my soul. I’m not sure if we’ve just met or have known each other for some time. But I want to stay with him. And so I will, for a bit longer. Until I leave.

  “You could tell me your name,” Domenic says.

  “Nile of… Just Nile.”

  “Nile! Storms. Can you hear me?” The familiar voice is tinged with panic. “Wake up.”

  A dog barks and whines. But it’s not Clay’s dog. I dig my feet into the sand, rooting myself to my beach, where there is no pain.

  “Nile. Wake up.” Calloused hands run over my exposed skin. “Goddess, she’s cold as ice.”

  “She’s soaked,” says a second voice, al
so familiar and arrogantly sure of itself. “Take off her wet clothes.”

  I’m shifted again, painfully, and someone begins trying to undo my sopping shirt and trousers. Something about it feels wrong, but my mind is too muddled to sort out what specifically is the problem—until I feel a brush of air on exposed skin.

  And suddenly I’m not on a beach anymore. I’m on deck, before a grating, and I know what will come next.

  Not again. Not again. Not again. Panic. Blind, hot panic rolls through me. My body thrashes against the coming bonds, and I scream into the palm that suddenly covers my mouth.

  The arrogant voice curses. There are four hands on me at once now, forcing the remainder of the clothes off me, off my back, as I buck and fight and lose.

  But instead of agony, something warm wraps around my naked body. It smells of salt and sea and him.

  “Easy,” the first voice orders. The warm air tickles my ear. “Listen to me, Nile. You are all right, and you need to open your eyes. Now.”

  The demand, the plea, is so visceral, it hooks into my consciousness. The smell grows. The pain does too. Pain and cold and hunger. I inhale the salty musk of here and look at the world.

  I’m in the cargo hold where Domenic and I used to hide, a coat wrapped around my naked shoulders. Domenic. I smell him beside me, though it takes another heartbeat before I realize that he is cradling me against his chest, his forehead pressing into my hair.

  I stir.

  Domenic pulls back far enough to see my face, his own drawn in fear. “Nile. Thank the Goddess.” He brushes my hair from my cheeks.

  I lick dry lips. The only dry part of me. “What’s happened?”

  A second figure comes into view and squats beside me. Catsper’s hair is loose and falls to his shoulders as he surveys me with a soldier’s professional gaze.

  “You attempted a single-handed mutiny yesterday,” says Domenic.

  Catsper thrusts a flask into my hands. “And then sometime in the middle of the night, you apparently decided to brew up a small storm to keep yourself entertained.”

  I try to remember. The screaming. The ship’s bells. Hunger. Fear. Convulsions. The truth. “It couldn’t have lasted long,” I say. “I fell unconscious.”

  Domenic flinches and glares daggers at Catsper. A deep bruise blossoms above Domenic’s right brow, and I’m willing to wager its details match the marine’s knuckles.

  “Rima had people watching the bilge where Johina threw you,” Catsper said, ignoring Domenic’s condemnation. “He just let up this evening. You’d have been in greater danger if we came earlier.” Catsper rises and starts toward the door. “I need to ensure he’s still otherwise occupied. Welcome back, Ash. Try not to do anything stupid.”

  I study my hands while Catsper’s footsteps recede above. The memory of my dream still wraps around me, and I want Domenic so badly, it rips me up inside. Until I remember reality. The events on deck. Domenic knows. I’d felt him watch me call the wind. He knows I’m Gifted. A lying, Gifted, dangerous—

  “Nile.” Domenic’s voice orders. “Look at me. Please.”

  I try to push away from him, though I succeed no more than a wet gerbil might. The coat covering my naked skin, however, succeeds at moving a great deal better than I had. My face flushes as cold air brushes my exposed shoulders.

  Domenic’s arms tighten around me. “It’s all right. Your clothes were wet, and you were shaking.” He nudges the coat back into place and exhales slowly. “Talk to me, Nile. Say something.”

  “It wasn’t the cold,” I rasp, but my voice is strong despite its roughness. “The shaking. I wasn’t shaking from the cold. Not just from the cold. You know that, don’t you? And when Catsper said I brewed up a storm, you knew what he meant.”

  Domenic swallows. Nods. “Aye.”

  I try to read him but can’t. “Does the whole ship know?”

  “No. Not unless they watched your face like I did. In the wake of the great quake, a rogue gale is easy to swallow. Certainly more logical than thinking a Gifted had hidden aboard all this time.” The accusation in his voice is soft but stinging.

  I recoil.

  “No.” Domenic grabs my shoulder and pulls me to him until my cheek rests in the hollow of his shoulder and his strong arms drape around me protectively. “No more running. No more lying to me. Goddess, Nile,” he whispers, his voice breaking with an odd mix of comfort and fury. “Tell me everything and bloody trust me to understand.”

  My heart pounds against my rib cage. My thoughts and words and feelings tangle in my mouth. But I have to speak the truth now, before I lose my resolve.

  And so I do. I tell him everything. From how it started, to the Diante woman’s wisdom, to meditation exercises, to my actions during the quake. When I get to the convulsions that kept me rooted to deck and the lies I fed him about my hurt ankle, Domenic’s face drains of blood. He stares at the deck, jaw tight as I recount my terror of the climb, of the impossible choice, of my feet returning to deck.

  Domenic curses softly. His fingers stroke my back with a featherlight touch.

  I cringe away, and he stops at once, his eyes pained.

  “You asked me about Gifted on ships, and I was… Goddess.” His neck muscles tense. “I was so focused on keeping from throwing myself all over you that I spoke without thinking. I should have known better because you don’t say things idly. Not like that.” He curses and sweeps his hand over my face, taking hold of my chin. “You’ve my full attention now. No more half-truths, all right? Not between us.”

  Domenic’s words fill my blood. Fill my world. My heart and breath quiver.

  “I presume you two are talking once again,” Catsper says behind me.

  Domenic clenches his jaw and looks over my shoulder with stony calm. “Among other things, yes. What is the situation on deck? I felt the ship alter course.”

  “Rima called for a course change back east a quarter hour ago. The Hope has been signaled to follow. Ash, enough lounging around.” Catsper tosses me a rolled-up set of clothes. “See if you can manage to dress yourself.”

  Domenic reluctantly lowers me to the deck, and the two turn away as I force my body into motion, slipping one foot, then another into a loose set of Spade trousers and biting down a whimper as I maneuver my shoulders into a shirt. In a moment, Domenic’s hands are on the fabric, helping to maneuver the cloth into place.

  “I presume you did not, in fact, go mad but rather that Rima’s reading of Sparrow’s dispatch was somewhat creative?” says Catsper behind my back.

  “Give her a moment,” Domenic growls.

  “If you’ve found a way to stop time and wind, take all the moments you want,” says Catsper mildly.

  Reality hits me like a pistol shot, and I stop feeling my aches and wounds, stop feeling even modesty as I turn back to the men while still buttoning the tunic. “The letter was from my older brother, Thad. The earthquake destroyed the shorelines of both the Lyron and Tirik continents,” I say quickly. “For now, the only place large ships can safely approach to take fresh water is the Crystal Oasis in the Siaman. Everyone is heading this way now—the private armadas, the joint Lyron League fleet, every ship the Tirik can spare.” I pause as Catsper hands me a biscuit. A moment ago, I was ravenous, but now my heart beats too quickly for food. “Whoever controls access to the Crystal Oasis will have the winning hand in the war.”

  “And controlling access to the Crystal Oasis means controlling the Bottleneck Juncture,” says Domenic, following along with my words.

  I nod. “Thad was writing on behalf of the Lyron Admiralty. Our orders are to sail to the Bottleneck Juncture with all speed and hold the passage… Did you say we’ve turned east?”

  “Yes. Away from the Bottleneck,” Domenic says, his face hardening. “If fact, our exact point of sail will make us slaves to countercurrents in half a day’s time. Once we enter those, we’ll be unable to turn around. It will take weeks to circle the current and reach the Bottleneck again.”

/>   Catsper stands, his hands in his pocket. “So in landsman’s terms, you two are saying that Rima is ensuring the Aurora stays clear of the action. And that in twelve hours, there will be no reversing course?”

  My hand clamps into a fist. “A single ship at the Bottleneck can turn the battle. Even if we lack the broadside of the coming vessels, we can delay their passage through the juncture long enough for reinforcements to arrive. And they are coming—ships, soldiers, anyone the six kingdoms can stick onto anything that floats and send this way.”

  Catsper cocks a brow. “We are lacking proximity to the Bottleneck.”

  My mind spins as if I’m back in Ashing debating contingency plans with captains and admirals. Playing out the war. I lean forward onto my elbows and study the two men. “Then we need a ship of our own,” I say. “And we need to head for the Bottleneck without Rima’s blessings.”

  Domenic chuckles without humor. “Mutiny. You don’t think small, Nile. I will give you that.”

  Catsper squats on his heels. “Much of this crew loves both Rima and their own asses. And the former are leading the latter to safety. The best my boys can do is kill off half the hands for you—and you’d still have no command and control of the ship. And there is the small inconvenience that, in the best-case scenario, everyone involved will be executed as mutineers.”

  I smile thinly. “I wasn’t talking of the Aurora. Does there not seem to be another vessel presently in our wake?” A small, fat ship with maybe six guns at the most—that’s including the small chaser gun. But still a ship. “I propose to press her into service.”

  Chapter 17

  “Something is wrong,” says Kederic as he climbs stiffly into the hold where Domenic and I are scheming. Along with Catsper’s Spades, my plan requires a solid contingent of seamen who could maneuver and fight the Hope after we take her. The last four hours of night saw my friends quietly conscript fellow mutineers with surprising efficiency.