War and Wind: TIDES Book 2

by Alex Lidell

  “You, Aaron, Domenic, Catsper,” I say tightly. “A medicine woman in a Diante village. Rima and Johina knew, but they are dead.”

  “Were you going to tell your parents?” He spreads his hands. “The world?”

  “No, of course not.” I sit too, my muscles taut. If word of my magic got out, my parents would hide me away with Clay. There would be no going to sea, certainly no wedding with Tam. No pardon to save Domenic’s life. “It would end all this.”

  Tam nods patiently. “And the convulsions?”

  “What do you want me to say, Tam?”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “Are you concerned?”

  Of course I’m concerned. The bastard knows it and is leading me on. I rub my temples. What if the Felielle Admiralty is right? What if I fall to a spell in the middle of something vital and put the whole damn ship in danger? What if I was wrong about Prince Tamiath, and this conversation is the beginning of the end? “If you think I don’t belong aboard ship, just say it.”

  “You do belong on a ship,” says Tam. “A sniper can remove you from action just as quickly as a jerking spell. And more permanently. I’m not minimizing the danger, just putting it in perspective. Battle, war—none of it is safe. Plus, did you not keep a ship from capsizing? Did your Gift not save Aaron’s life?”

  I throw up my hands. “Then what—”

  “The Felielle are used to royalty being under a bodyguard’s protection, Nile, especially female royalty. It will look nearly invisible to them. But the right people can get you out of sight if a convulsion strikes, help you keep your magic under control. If you are powerful enough to keep a ship upright, you are powerful enough to tip it over as well. Plus, it will give you a spotter when you climb the rigging, with no one the wiser as to why. Surely the freedom to get around the ship safely trumps self-consciousness over having a guard?”

  I stare at him, the words sinking in slowly in the silence.

  “He’s annoying when he’s right, isn’t he?” says Aaron.

  Tamiath snorts. “The challenge is finding the right people, and I dislike the notion of disclosing your Gift more than we have to. I could certainly find good men in Felielle, but my circles run with land troops, not seamen—and I presume you’d rather not trip over your own guards in action. What of Ashing?”

  I think of Thomas. And Mother. “I’ll have a spy on my staff quicker than I can call the wind.”

  Tam taps his long fingers against his cup. “We’ll think on it. All of us.”

  After five days of repairs, the Falcon and Hawk finally set sail for Ashing. The captains take the journey very slowly, not stressing the ships more than they must. My passenger status on the Falcon would drive me mad if not for Aaron and Tam’s physical training, but I feel like myself again only when we approach the mainland after three weeks sail. At that point, I claim a spot on the deck to catalogue the earthquake’s damage.

  It’s…horrid. Even before training a glass on the shoreline, I see the ocean’s wounds in the changed colors of the water. Once brilliant blue and turquoise, the new waves rustle in polluted browns and grays. Tree trunks and other large debris float aimlessly on the water’s surface, while the changes in the ocean’s floor alter the known currents. The Falcon’s captain sends a guide boat out before the ship to continually check the depth, further slowing our approach to port.

  I shift my glass to the Ashing coastline and cringe. If the rest of the Lyron and Tirik coasts looks like this, no wonder the fight for the Siaman archipelago was so vital. We will need the islands’ timber for repair, the Crystal Oasis’s fresh water for our barrels, the vegetation for food and medicine. All things we once had aplenty that are now gone or too far to get easily.

  “We’ll be dropping anchor tomorrow and going ashore the day after that,” Tam says, coming over to the rail to summon me for dinner. “After calling on your parents, we will proceed from Ashing to Felielle over land. Are you prepared?”

  “Of course not.” Giving the wounded coastline one final gaze, I close the looking glass and follow the prince down to our cabin, where Aaron and food already await. The thick aroma of beef stew saturates the air. “I’d rather face a hundred guns of a Tirik frigate than explain my running off to my parents. With the Tirik, there is a chance of victory.”

  “You are a Felielle bride now.” Tamiath holds a chair out for me before sitting himself at the round table beside Aaron. “Your parents can yell, but they can’t force their will on you. Not anymore.”

  “We aren’t married yet. If my Gift comes out—”

  “It won’t.” Tamiath’s gaze grabs mine, strong and reassuring. His hand slips across the table to rest atop mine. “I understand what it is like to hold a secret that can destroy your life, Nile. And I’m not going to let it happen to you.”

  I swallow. “It’s not you—”

  “You’ve managed to conceal your magic aboard a ship where you can’t spit without hitting three people.” Tamiath’s voice is firm. “We can manage it for a few days in the Ashing palace.”

  “I’m going to rather miss this housing arrangement, though,” Aaron drawls, lacing his hands behind his head. “Being your chaperone has been the height of pleasure. Especially at night.”

  My face heats, and Tam rolls his eyes at us both.

  Comfortable. Tam and Aaron are so comfortable together, it still strikes me in the gut every time I see it. I take a sip of stew and pick up a ship’s biscuit, tapping it against the table to evict the weevils before dipping it into the liquid. “How did you two meet?” I ask.

  Aaron throws a quick glance at Tam before answering. “My father was the palace master at arms, so Tam and I trained together as boys.”

  So straightforward. A fairy tale. Or fate. Me, I met Domenic at a beach, violent debt collectors on his tail and my Gifted twin at my side. By the time we saw each other again, with me lying and him wearing a mask of cruelty, the ship of straightforwardness had long sailed.

  “It was not as smooth as Aaron makes it sound,” says Tam, studying me.

  “Tam…” Aaron says quietly. “She little wants to hear a saga.”

  But Tam turns to me, disagreement with Aaron plain in his face. “I was a spoilt royal prick,” he says, brushing his fingers along his lover’s wrist in silent apology. Beyond the window, the waves caress the Hawk’s hull with equal tenderness while the sun kisses the horizon. “And I little appreciated the training master’s son wiping the sand with my hide every day. Instead of training harder like a smart lad, though, one day, when I was eleven, I decided to play dirty.

  “I ordered the servants to let me into Aaron’s rooms. Broke all his things. Including a portrait of his mother, who’d died the year before.”

  My eyes widen, my spoon forgotten in its bowl.

  “It gets worse before it gets better,” Tam says darkly. “I ensured Aaron knew who ruined his home—knew and could do nothing. It would be my word against his, and the servants wouldn’t dare contradict the prince. It was a crude variation to a trick I’d seen my mother use against courtiers who’d displeased her—the woman makes up in pettiness and power what she lacks in wit—and I was proud as a peacock about it.”

  “What happened next?” I ask quietly.

  “Aaron found me in a swimming hole and knocked two of my teeth out.” Tam throws Aaron a look of shy admiration. “My guards, who knew exactly what I’d done to deserve it, let it happen. So I went home howling and so full of humiliation and indignation, I did the one thing that no one could undo. I told on them all.” Rising, Tam pulls out a bottle of wine, which he pours into three glasses. “The next day, I learned what it really means to be a prince.”

  My breath quiets, my gut telling me exactly what came next even before Tam speaks.

  “Aaron and the guards were all punished in the public square,” he says, looking down into his untouched wine. “I watched Aaron’s father cry as it happened. Finally understood what I’d done. I still don’t know why Aaron didn’t throw me o
ut of the infirmary when I walked in to see him.”

  “Oh, I would have, if I wasn’t so bloody scared of contradicting you,” Aaron says, his voice tinged with humor that speaks of wounds cleanly healed. “So there I am, bleeding and miserable, when the little prick of a princeling shows up with sweets. Good ones too: chocolate truffles, little lemon tarts, berry pies. The kind of things I had maybe once a year. I swear he robbed the kitchens blind. He gives it all to me and runs off, and then comes back with more the next day. And the day after that. After a week, I started to look forward to it.” Aaron stares glumly at a weevil peeking out of his biscuit, and hands the hard tack to me for help dislodging the critters.

  “After two weeks, Aaron offered to share,” Tam says in quiet wonder. “After what I’d done, he offered to share. I was so stunned, I nearly started bawling. And instead of laughing, Aaron stuffed me with half a pie. He knew the risks better than anyone and befriended me anyway.”

  “I had a belly ache from the sugar,” says Aaron. “Eventually, we started talking and discovered we actually liked each other’s company. When I was ready to return to training, we decided that we were only allowed to lose to each other. So if any of the other boys scored on one of us, the other would be challenging him a minute later.”

  “Made you popular, no doubt,” I say.

  Aaron chuckles and runs his fingers over Tam’s forearm. “Oh, you’ve no idea. Tam’s mother tried to beat the friendship out of him when she found out how close we’d become, but it was too late by then.”

  “Because you weren’t royal?” I ask.

  “Because she could sense what Aaron and I only understood when we were a little older,” says Tam. “And she hated us both for it.”

  “Luckily, we were smart enough by then to keep our private games private,” says Aaron, digging into his food. “And when Tam reached his majority and became an officer, he made me his lieutenant and aide. It surprised no one.”

  “Especially not my mother,” Tam said, taking a deep swig of his wine. Yes, the wounds of the past may have healed for Aaron, but Tamiath… Tamiath still hates himself. Still thinks himself unworthy of the man beside him. He clears his throat and looks up at me. “Like I said, it wasn’t a clean start.”

  I swirl my own wine, which I’ve been sipping throughout the men’s story. And maybe it is the alcohol or the late hour or Tam’s brutal honesty, but I tell my story too. From Clay falling ill, to the the Faithful’s destruction and cover-up, to my life aboard the Aurora. But mostly, I talk about Domenic.

  Aaron’s face grows harder with each word I utter, and when I finish, after the moment of silence that hangs between us in the air, he wheels on Tamiath, his green eyes flashing. “You forced her into this marriage with a threat to her lover’s life? Are you insane? That wasn’t our agreement.”

  The fury in Aaron’s quiet voice throws me back, and it takes a heartbeat before I recover my wits. “He didn’t force me into anything, Aaron,” I say, meaning it. Tam gave me all the facts he could, many of which—too many—are beyond any of our control. “I made my own choice. For this insane scheme to work, we all have to.”

  The following day, I finally get to be of use to the Falcon’s crew through assisting them in preparations for docking and reprovisioning. Boats go back and forth between the Falcon, Hawk, and Hope in an attempt to come up with a single list of supply requisitions. By midday, our efforts read more like a work of fiction than anything else, with each ship adding mistakes as readily as goods to the ledger. The Falcon’s captain and I finally lock ourselves in his cabin over dinner and come up with a clean copy I’m certain will pass the dockmasters’ standards when we go ashore tomorrow morning. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve contributed in a naval sense, and I feel a pleasant fatigue as I return at the end of the evening to my cabin.

  And find Domenic waiting there for me.

  Chapter 30

  For a moment, I think I’m drunk on fatigue. I step back, hit the solid bulkhead, and step forward again. My heart pounds, the beat echoing through my body.

  Domenic is on his feet in an instant, filling the cabin with his presence. He crosses to me in two large strides, his powerful hands cupping my face. His shirt is ripped, patches of smooth skin and glimpses of tattoos peeking from the holes. Safety and need crackle from him like bits of lightning as his thumb traces my jaw.

  “Nile.” The soft rumble of his voice caresses me, shattering the protective walls around my heart like glass.

  I fling myself against him, burrowing my face into his muscled chest and inhaling his sea and brine scent. The heat of Domenic’s body saturates mine, as his arms obligingly wrap around my waist and hold me against him.

  I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Beneath my feet, the ship rocks on the waves, pulling the rope tethering it to the anchor while I cling to Domenic. Beyond the grand window, dusk’s red and orange hues crown the clouds and spill into the cabin.

  After a minute, Domenic grips my shoulder and pulls me away from him. His chest is heaving as if he just ran, and the lingering rays of the sun catch in his eyes, making them sparkle with a starved intensity that tightens my muscles into cords.

  “I didn’t think I was going to see you again,” he whispers.

  I don’t want to talk. Making a grab for Domenic’s neck, I pull him toward me.

  He doesn’t budge, holding me off by my shoulders even as his throat bobs in apparent pain.

  A shiver runs down my spine. “What’s wrong?”

  Domenic’s hands reach around to the back of his neck, gently unhooking my hold. Bringing my fingers to his chapped lips, he brushes a kiss over my knuckles. “I understand you are getting married,” he says softly.

  My chest tightens, squeezing my ribs. “It… It’s complicated.”

  Domenic shakes his head. “No, it isn’t.” He raises our clasped hands, sentinels between our two bodies. His voice is quiet as he speaks. “A Felielle lieutenant came to my cell on the Hawk this morning. He asked for my parole, a promise that I will not flee pending my court-martial, if he releases me from custody. Once I gave my word, the man offered me a guardsman’s position protecting Prince Tamiath’s bride, who requires someone with knowledge of both the sea and of her…special attributes.”

  I let out a long, slow breath. “And was the lieutenant’s name Aaron?”

  He nods. “I explained that such an arrangement would be very short-term, given the rather accurate charges against me. The man, Aaron, seemed to be of a different opinion.” Domenic’s face hardens. “Are you marrying Tamiath to secure my pardon, Nile? Is that why you agreed?”

  I am going to kill Tam, I decide. It’s only a question of how.

  The sudden silence between us threatens to pull me under like ballast, and my hands tense inside Domenic’s. I long to tell him the full truth of it, but the secrets are not mine to share. “I have my own reasons.”

  Domenic’s eyes flash. “Do not lie to me, Nile,” he says too quietly. “Not again. Is my life part of the arrangement?”

  I step back from him and cross my arms over my chest. “What if it is?”

  “Then undo it. Now.” Domenic paces a few steps, like a wolf circling his territory, then stops before a chair. His fingers curl around the chairback in a bone-white grip. “I do not need you to ruin your life for the sake of mine. I do not want you to do it. Call off the marriage you so feared that you abandoned your throne, rank, and family to avoid it. I won’t let you do it, not over me.”

  “Let me?” My jaw tightens, my teeth scraping together. “Let me? Who died and made you my keeper?”

  “Who made you mine?” he spits back.

  “The prince of Felielle,” I snarl, not caring that I’ve just pulled the rank of my birth on Domenic until the words hang between us like a pistol shot.

  Domenic is the first to break the impasse, stepping back and offering a perfect bow. “Of course, Your Highness,” he says evenly, each note of his icy voice polished to perfection. He st
raightens before me, places his hands behind the small of his back, and stares straight ahead into the bulkhead. “I am your loyal subject.”

  I run my hands over my face. “Domenic, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  No answer. Not even a twitch of muscle to let me know he’s heard me.

  “Please,” I whisper, but I might as well be talking to myself. Fine. Bloody fine. I hadn’t expected to see Domenic at all, didn’t think Tam would wish us anywhere near each other. Domenic will be pardoned, and that was going to be enough for me. It should still be enough for me.

  And maybe… Maybe I’d been stupid and selfish and naïve to imagine that Domenic would desire me at all now that I’m betrothed. The storm of problems that sail along with that are great enough to wipe out a fleet—and that’s before we even start with the issues of my Gift. I shake myself like a dog, shedding my illusions of the depth of Domenic’s affection.

  “You are not obliged to take the post,” I say with a voice too calm and cool to be mine. “The acceptance of your parole is not contingent on your agreeing to follow me around. Please accept my apologies that the lieutenant who made the offer failed to make this clear.” I swallow and raise my chin, summoning the trained face I use on the quarterdeck. “You are free to return home to your parents if you wish, or seek other employment on land. The choice is entirely yours.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” says Domenic, that mask of impeccable politeness I’d seen him wear on the Aurora sliding perfectly across his face.

  Nausea rises in my throat, but I manage to keep my face unmoving as I clear the way to the door, a dismissal which Domenic accepts without hesitation. Once the door closes, I curl up on my cot and stay there until whenever it is that Tam returns.

  “It did not go well?” Tamiath runs his palm over my shoulders and back. The gesture is meant to be soothing, but the thought of anyone feeling my scars and ruined flesh makes me cringe away.

  I sit up, pressing the heel of my hand into the bridge of my nose. The world keeps turning whether I’m ready for it or not. “It is likely Mr. Dana will not be taking the position,” I say, summoning a businesslike tone. “Would you be open to offering posts to Catsper, the lieutenant of the marines on the Aurora? And…Captain Quinn?”