War and Wind: TIDES Book 2

by Alex Lidell

  Releasing Kazzik, I shove my way back to the companionway. The captain’s cabin is one level up, right below the main deck. If the Tirik put him there, he’s promised them something already.

  I race to the cabin. No bar on the door, at least not from the outside. I step back and kick.

  The door flies open. The cabin is empty.

  I curse, the blood boiling fire beneath my skin. The traitorous coward is somewhere. He has to be. And when I find him—

  Something slams into me from the back. My sword clatters to the deck, and I follow it down, my assailant riding me to the ground. The force of the impact rattles through me. I twist beneath the attacker, turning to see Rima as he pins down my shoulders.

  The next heartbeat, Rima’s knee descends on my ribs.

  I hiss in pain and fury. It’s hard to breathe.

  Rima releases his knee and straddles me instead. His fist rises high above my face, his eyes burning with hate.

  I feel more than see his body shift to put power behind the strike. Rima’s weight squeezes air from my chest, but thanks to Catsper’s training, the pressure is familiar. Uncomfortable but not debilitating. And counterable. I arc my hips up violently, dislodging Rima’s balance before he can swing.

  The bump throws Rima forward. He braces out on his arms to prevent his own face from planting into the wood. The weight that once pressed the air from my chest is gone. Rima is still atop of me, but light, unbalanced.

  I trap his right arm and leg. Bridging, I twist myself to his trapped side.

  He gasps as we flip.

  It is Rima flat on his back now, and me on top. “How things change,” I growl as I pin his hands with my knees. The excitement of triumph that should fill my soul is not there. Only the rough burn of treason. “Why?” I demand. “Why did you betray us?”

  His lip curls. “I betrayed you? What world do you live in, chit? The Lyron League betrayed me long ago.”

  I let him struggle beneath me. “The Hope was Tirik. You knew as much when you escorted her through our waters.”

  “There is no Lyron and Tirik in the Siaman passage,” Rima snarls. “Just some desperate merchants who think the world owes them. Trade in these forsaken backwaters is sparse enough. I deserve gratitude for helping one more ship cross the passage. One more exchange of pitiful goods between forsaken people.”

  I study the self-righteous fury on his face. “You don’t even know, do you?” I shake my head in disgust. “Don’t even care what the Hope carried.”

  “The Hope didn’t pay for questions.”

  “No, the Hope paid for Lady Rima’s lifestyle.” Revulsion fills me. Rima’s entire mission, likely his entire career, was about dark money. It had always been about money. The danger Rima put his own crew through to make Hope’s meeting points, the innocent merchantmen we failed to defend, the kidnapped Gifted in the hold he never bothered learning about.

  “Oh, look at yourself, chit.” Rima smiles despite his struggles. “You aren’t a woman. And you aren’t a man. Royal money, and the only berth you could find was in the Siaman. You are worse than useless.”

  I slam my elbow into Rima’s jaw.

  He laughs, spitting blood. “Did you not know, Highness? The Siaman is for the rejects. The sons of drunks, and boys too young to shave. And you failed at it even with that for competition. Can’t haul a rope. Can’t manage the smallest of work crews. Gods, you could not even stay away from the grating for a few months, could you? And that was all you, girl. No one helped you fail there. All you and your incompetence. Having you aboard was little better than sailing with a cripple.” Rima bucks hard.

  My balance wavers. He’s a traitor, my mind shouts, struggling to drown the echo of Rima’s words. Don’t believe him. He thrives on lies. Finish him now.

  But Rima isn’t lying, not about my failures. Or my disease. Captain Rima speaks more truth than he knows.

  Rima’s hand twists free, and his fist connects hard with my jaw. The startling shock of the punch dazes me for an instant before the pain explodes through my face. I struggle to breathe through it, but Rima’s already knocking me off him.

  I scramble to reclaim my position, but it’s too late.

  Rima’s on his feet first while I’m still on my hands and knees. His boot cracks into my ribs.

  I cry out, toppling to the side. Agony crushes me. Agony and lights. Green lights.

  Chapter 24

  Storms.

  My heart races, my stomach clenching with fear. A convulsion is coming. Right here. Now. In the middle of a fight for my life. I roll away, seeking nonexistent shelter. Somewhere above us, the air is thick with the clash of swords and fists and pistol shots. Catsper’s Spades fight to take control of the Aurora as Hope watches from afar. The Divine Squadron is engaging the Tirik ships, giving the Falcon and Hawk some breathing room. Outside, a battle is raging between fleets.

  But down here in the captain’s cabin, Rima and I are alone.

  I try to rise, to run, but I can do no more than flop on the deck as Rima grabs my discarded sword and stalks toward me.

  I shout. The sound joins dozens of others and melts into them. My right arm spasms painfully and strikes against the deck.

  Rima’s boot steps on my hand. The blade above me glistens, hovering impossibly large over my convulsing body. Rima smiles, savoring the moment.

  Terror rushes through my veins and rings in my ears. I wish the jerking spell took my mind, as it sometimes does, and wrapped it in cotton. I wish I could watch my death with an odd detachment instead of feeling every instant of the horrible now.

  But my mind is very much present. It screams inside the prison that is my body. It wants to fight. It wants to live. I feel my magic roaring its agreement, begging to be let loose. The realization hits me like a pistol shot—I may not have control of my limbs just now, but my magic, that’s still mine.

  The chair behind Rima crashes first, falling from a phantom wind my magic calls to it. Rima twists around, seeking the culprit over the tip of his sword. But there isn’t any for him to find.

  The air spins around itself tight and fast. It lifts the chair from the deck, the papers from the desk, the books and medals from the shelves. And it whirls them all.

  I focus with desperate intensity on my magic, controlling its flow even as my body flails and my lungs refuse to breathe.

  Rima’s eyes are wide and wild. The typhoon blows his hair back from his face, and he raises his forearm to block the debris.

  I wish I can do likewise. The inkwell flies from the desk and strikes my face. I feel the liquid slither down my shirt as my body tightens and flails. The destruction costs me, and the control on my magic slips its leash. Instead of holding off Rima, my conjured wind wrecks something in the back of the cabin. No. Forget the ink and debris. Focus on the magic. Keep it alive. Keep it controlled.

  “You.” Rima points his sword at me through the wind. “You are doing this, aren’t you? What manner of demon are you?”

  My body screams. I make myself ignore its protest, pouring all my desire to stay alive into regaining my magic’s control. Focus, Catsper’s voice instructs in my mind. Focus, Ash.

  “You are an abomination,” Rima growls.

  Yes. Yes, I am. But I’m an abomination with teeth and claws.

  “I made Dana scream when you ran,” Rima tells me. “And I keep wondering whether you’ll hate me or thank me for it.”

  My blood boils, and I ride the anger’s edge to find my grip on the elusive magic. The second I do, a wind gust slams Rima’s chest, lifting him off the ground. A high-pitched crash betrays the shattering of the stern window as he slams into it and slides down to the ground. The glass shards rain down on us both.

  Rima moans.

  I do too, realizing as I hear my own groan that my body is mine again.

  Rima moans again, twitching on the ground in a daze.

  My own physical state is little better, but I manage to crawl to a pistol I spot on the deck.
Gripping it with both hands, I brace my shoulders against the bulkhead and point it at Rima.

  We sit like that. Rima, staying down, half-conscious but aware of the pistol pointed at his head. Me holding the weapon trained on him, unable to do anything more. Even my magic is taking a rest.

  Time ticks slowly. Seconds pass. Minutes. More. On the decks above, the sounds of fighting calm. Rima’s eyes meet mine, and I know he’s heard the difference as well. Neither of us knows which side holds the ship now. So we stay as we are, and wait more.

  Footsteps sound just outside the cabin, and I tense, my hands tightening on the pistol’s grip.

  “Nile!” Domenic’s voice booms through the walls.

  My chest tightens. “Here,” I try to yell, but the words come out as a croak.

  Domenic appears in the cabin a minute later, his blood-stained clothes and hair giving him a wildness I’ve only ever imagined on Catsper. He coolly takes stock of the room, starting with me sitting against the bulkhead and ending with Rima kneeling on the deck.

  “The Tirik have surrendered,” Domenic tells us both, stepping inside and reaching for the pistol in my hand.

  “No.” I keep my grip on the weapon. It’s an effort to focus. “The Aurora or the entire Siaman?”

  “Both. Three of Tirik’s five frigates are sunk, and the other two are under Hawk’s and Falcon’s control. Marines and soldiers from Hawk and Falcon are sweeping all the ships now, to ensure we’ve no surprises.” Domenic crouches beside me, his face taut with concern. “The mystery ships flying Ashing colors turned the tide.”

  “I’ll explain that to you later.” It hurts to talk, and I’m fairly certain I’ll be throwing up before too long. “Don’t you dare,” I add, seeing his hand reach for my gun again. Rima is mine.

  Domenic’s hand changes course in midmotion and brushes my hair away from my face. The warmth of his skin seeps through the layers of blood and dirt between us. “What the hell are you doing, Nile? One moment you’re on deck with other boarders, and the next I can’t find you at all.”

  “What happened after Catsper and I left for the Hope?” I ask, my attention on Rima.

  Domenic shrugs, tugging his threadbare shirt straight. “I was arrested. I’m under arrest still.”

  “You don’t look it.” I try to smile, but the humor fails.

  “I will look it again soon enough, I’m certain.” His voice is smooth and confident, but I see the tension in his bunched muscles. He jerks his chin at Rima. “When the Tirik got through the Bottleneck and found the Aurora, the good captain let me out of irons to assist with the fighting.” His tone hardens. “And now the fighting is over. Give me the pistol, Nile. And go up on deck.”

  “Are you—” My words turn to a gasp as Domenic’s body falls limp around me, a trickle of blood snaking from his head and down his neck. Scrambling away, I see Johina stand over us, the bloody handle of a pistol in his hand.

  No.

  A growl escapes from deep inside me. I turn toward Johina, rising to my feet as I squeeze the trigger of my pistol. The weapon bucks in my sluggish hands, the shot burying itself harmlessly in the wooden bulkhead. Tossing the now-useless pistol to the ground, I lunge at Johina.

  My fist connects with Johina’s jaw, sending a jolt of pain through my knuckles as the man stumbles back. His eyes widen.

  For an idiotic heartbeat, I think Johina’s surprise is a fruit of my assault. I realize how wrong I am when hands grab me from behind. Cold sharp metal presses into my neck as a skinny arm surrounds my middle. “Be still, Princess,” Rima purrs into my ear. “I’d hate to sever your throat by chance. Johina, secure Dana like the prisoner he is, and tell whoever is in charge of the Aurora now that I wish to see him.”

  Chapter 25

  I draw a careful breath. My attention swings to Domenic, who stirs as Johina binds his hands and leaves him slumped against the bulkhead. Alive. He is alive. That isn’t much, but it’s something. “What do you want?” I ask Rima.

  “Quiet.” He says nothing more as Johina leaves.

  Agonizing heartbeats pass with Rima’s harsh breath at my ear and Domenic’s pained struggles just paces away. The wind flows into the cabin through the broken window at Rima’s back, the sounds of the sea beyond it deceptively soothing. Then footsteps, and Johina returns with two men. They wear Felielle soldier uniforms and are both athletic and absurdly handsome. Too handsome for the grisliness of the scene.

  Idiotically, I wait for them to excuse themselves and leave.

  “You are in charge?” Rima demands. “You are no sailor.”

  “Indeed I am not a sailor,” says the taller of the two, a tan man with muscled shoulders cutting a clean angle to a slim waist. From his stance and uniform, I presume he is an officer from one of the Felielle soldier units the Falcon and Hawk carried. The man raises a manicured brow. “As the issue at hand does not appear to involve seamanship, I believe I’ll do. Might I inquire as to who you are and why you are holding the lady at knifepoint?”

  Rima snorts. “I’m the captain of this ship, and this piece of excrement is one Princess Nile of Ashing.” He pauses to let the words sink in and smiles as the Felielle man’s eyes widen. “You will pen a document giving me possession of the Aurora as compensation for my service to the League. Then you shall let me leave unmolested with my chosen crew. In return,” he gives me a slight push, “you may take the princess—such as she is—back to her parents and fiancé.”

  I try to speak, but Rima’s blade at my windpipe quiets me.

  The Felielle soldier tilts his head as if weighing the offer. “I must point out, sir, that we are in the midst of a war,” he says smoothly, the lapels of his waistcoat lifting in the breeze. “I fear that even if you were to take the Aurora, there is no place for you to go.”

  From the corner of my vision, I see the second Felielle man, this one with short-cropped curly hair, reach for a pistol and slide around the perimeter of the room.

  Rima’s body shifts, a second knife dropping from his sleeve into the hand that encircles my body. Tearing open the neck of my shirt, he places the tip of the new blade on my exposed collarbone. A high-pitched pain, like a sudden pinch, crosses my skin, and I feel the seeping blood from a shallow cut.

  “I will keep track of time in her flesh.” Rima announces. “That was minute one. I suggest you deliberate the logistics very, very quickly.”

  The Felielle’s jaw tightens.

  Rima’s breath is quick against the back of my head, his desperation palpable. The dangerous desperation of a man who knows that there is nothing but a noose waiting for him should he put down his knife. A man with nothing to lose. Except that Rima had never kept the spoils of his business for himself.

  “What of your wife?” I ask, my voice soft as to keep my throat from the knife. The second Felielle man, the one who was creeping along the perimeter of the cabin, is out of my sight now. I have to keep talking, keep Rima’s attention to buy him time. “Will you leave her behind and defenseless?”

  Rima shifts his weight.

  I wonder whether Rima feels the rapid beat of my heart. “She’s a famous face in all the courts. Once her funds are traced to the Tirik…”

  “She knows nothing!” Rima snaps.

  I rather doubt that, but Lady Rima has clearly been his blind spot for years. “Truth little matters, sir,” I whisper. “Perception does.”

  Rima’s hand trembles. Another crack in his armor, another pinch of disorientation.

  I seize my chance and, grabbing one of Rima’s knife-holding hands, slam the back of my head into Rima’s face. Rima’s other blade cuts into my skin again, but it was never positioned for a grave wound, and the bite is distant and irrelevant.

  The others move at once.

  The Felielle man who has been speaking with Rima lunges toward me, his body wrapping protectively around me as he pulls me away from Rima. As soon as we are clear, the second Felielle soldier, who had been sliding along the perimeter of the cabin, di
scharges his pistol.

  I hear the fall of a body into water and a wounded scream.

  Two screams. One cut off quickly and the other ongoing.

  I scramble free of my protector’s arms and spin around. Rima is gone, fallen out the open window with the force of the attack, and the ongoing screaming… That’s Johina. On his knees before the fractured window, his hands covering his face. Rima wasn’t just his captain and benefactor. He was close kin. Storms, I’d be little surprised if Rima’s machinations supported Johina’s family as well as his own.

  Johina’s screams stop in a sudden menacing moment. The man rises, enraged grief-streaked eyes taking in the room. Me, standing on wobbly legs beside a bulkhead. Domenic struggling against his bonds. The tall Felielle man surveying the scene with professional caution. His shorter companion, holding a smoking pistol.

  Johina’s hand moves so quickly, I don’t see the pistol he pulls from his waist until it’s in his hand and pointed at Rima’s killer.

  “Aaron!” the man who’d saved me yells, his warning morphing into a strangled cry as Johina fires at his friend.

  I thrust my hands forward, a guide for the hard burst of wind I throw across the room.

  The gust cuts into Johina’s eyes just as the boom of the pistol echoes through the cabin.

  Johina flinches back, the gun in his hand jerking as it belches the iron ball.

  A red gash streaks across Aaron’s temple, the bullet continuing on to bury itself in debris.

  A heartbeat later, the tall Felielle fires at Johina, who falls dead to the deck.

  I sag to my knees, the last bits of strength failing me. Beyond the shattered window, Falcon, Hawk, the captured Tirik frigates, the Diante Divine Squadron, and the little merchant ship Hope all fly Ashing colors.

  It’s over.

  The tall Felielle man who’d pulled me away from the late Captain Rima extends his hand to me. “You’re Gifted,” he says with more curiosity than condemnation.

  I rub my face. “I’m Nile.”