by Alex Lidell
I swallow a curse. Lying to Father and Thad is nearly impossible under any circumstance, much less without preparation. Having not read the reports Father and Thad did receive, I am navigating without map or compass. “There is a detailed account of the events in the Lyron Herald,” I say with forced lightness, as if nothing about this conversation is worth their time. “It’s accurate.”
Thad’s jaw tightens. “The Lyron Herald can’t accurately report a recipe for apple pie, much less a fleet engagement. Is there a reason we are dancing instead of hearing a bloody report from a woman who’s trained her whole damn life on how to deliver one?”
I swallow, jolts of fear and shame tingling in my chest. I have to do better. For Domenic’s sake. “I was with the party that went to press the merchantman Hope into service,” I say, making myself meet Thad’s eyes. I can’t bear to meet my father’s. The half-truths and outright lies taste bitter on my tongue. “The Hope then traveled into the Diante West Corridor, where we met with the Diante Squadron and delivered a letter from Captain Rima on behalf of the joint fleet. I do not know what was inside the letter. The Diante agreed to come to Lyron’s aid. I know little more, Thad. The Diante are not fond of women.”
“The Hope was Tirik,” Thad snarls. “You didn’t just press her into service, you boarded and took possession of the damn ship. Did that slip your mind?”
My voice chills. “The Hope was a small merchantman, while the Aurora’s boats carried a complement of Spade marines. Taking control was a nonevent.”
“It’s an event when—” Thad starts, getting halfway out of his seat to lean toward me and snarl.
“Oh, shut up, Thad.” I’m on my feet in a heartbeat, snarling right back at him. “Last we spoke, shortly after your creative interpretation of Faithful’s orders, you informed me that I was more useful to Ashing on a marriage bed than a quarterdeck. Your wish has been granted. Tamiath and I are getting married. That you are no longer happy about losing me from Ashing’s officer core is your problem.”
Thad’s dark eyes flash, his face turning first white, then furious red. “You play vengeful games when the survival of your own kingdom is at stake?” he yells, fully on his feet now, as am I. “The purpose of your damn life is to serve Ashing, you spiteful, traitorous wen—”
“Your pardon, sir.” Tam’s quiet singsong voice snaps like a whip. “I must remind you that you speak to my bride and the future princess of Felielle.”
“Sit down, Thad,” my father says in a voice so cold, I shiver. “Nile, get out.”
I open my mouth to throw a final insult at my brother, but Tam wraps a protective arm around my shoulders and guides me to the door. I am desperately glad for the gesture until we walk out of the study and right into Domenic, whose jaw tightens as he takes in Tam’s arm.
Untangling myself, I storm out of the antechamber and into the wind.
Chapter 33
I make it a hundred yards before Tam, Domenic, and Quinn surround me on the empty breezeway. This part of the palace being on a hill, the troubled shore of the ocean is visible. My eyes stay riveted to the water even as the men speak quietly around me. From the snippets of conversation, I know that Tamiath has filled Domenic and Quinn in on both Rima’s note and the audience with Thad and my father.
“If I’d sent a report to Ashing with the early dispatches, I could have prevented this,” I say, digging my nails into my skin.
“If you could predict the future, many things would be quite different,” Tamiath says firmly. “We’d no reason to suspect Rima was alive, much less busy changing history through the news. More to the point, Rima would have leveraged knowledge of your Gift to protect himself no matter what. He might have been forced to go about it another way, but that’s all.”
“Are you going to keep rattling off excuses for my ignorance, or do you have a solution somewhere in there, Tam?” I wince in apology over my tone and say more softly, “What are we supposed to do now?”
Tamiath sighs, his handsome face sympathetic. “I can’t decide whether I find your simple honesty naïve or refreshing. This isn’t the open sea, Nile, where you are a world unto yourself. It’s politics and image and power. Given the fact that Rima received a commission to begin with, I wager it is not his first round with manipulating perception. As for what more we are to do about this, the answer is nothing.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Tam puts up his hand.
“Our marriage will ensure Felielle supports the Ashing Kingdom’s standing in the Lyron League and keep Mr. Dana from being executed for mutiny. As for the other, if the worst that comes from Rima’s unfortunate lack of death is your hurt pride and an Order of Bravery unjustly pinned to an idiot’s chest,” Tam says, splitting his gaze between Domenic and me, “then we will take it. We’ll have the wedding as quickly as we can and keep our mouths shut. We cannot fight every battle we wish we could, and I propose that Mr. Dana’s life, the Ashing-Felielle alliance, and the commissioning of Nile as the first female officer of the Felielle armada is more important than taking Rima’s bauble away. Agreed?”
Domenic draws a breath, then bows. “Yes, my prince.”
Tam twists to me, waiting patiently.
“I don’t like it,” I say finally.
“It’s despicable,” Tam agrees. “But focus on the things you can control—which, apparently, include the wind itself.” A wry smile touches his face, though his eyes remain worried as he strides on, hair ruffled by the breeze.
“It is very difficult to dislike Prince Tamiath, is it not?” Domenic’s voice makes me jump.
I take a breath, choosing my words as carefully as if I were picking eggshells. “He is a good man. Different from what I expected.”
Domenic rocks back on his heels and turns his head to watch the horizon. “Does he make you happy?”
I step toward Domenic, meaning to simply grab his attention, but my hand closes around his wrist before I can stop it. The thump of Domenic’s heartbeat pulses beneath my fingertips, my own heart quickening in response. Ahead of us, Tamiath walks on with a soldier’s quick step, while Quinn, sensing a private conversation, suddenly finds a whitewashed column endlessly fascinating.
“You want to know what I feel?” I say to Domenic, my voice just above the wind’s whisper. His face turns to me, and my mouth dries, the words tumbling into the void between us. “My father just threw me out of Ashing. I’m about to join a people who think me a misguided idiot for loving the navy. Magic courses through my blood with every heartbeat, convulsions riding its wake. Meanwhile, a bastard named Rima is rewarded for his cowardice while a man I care deeply for…” I break off, swallowing as I struggle to control my voice. My eyes sting. “You want to know what I feel? Scared. I feel scared, Domenic. Scared and cowardly and alone.” I tip my face up, fighting the moisture threatening to fill my lids.
Domenic’s hand twists out of my grip, and I stagger back, my own weight threatening to collapse me to the ground.
Strong fingers grip my chin. “Not cowardly and not alone, understand?” says Domenic. “You’ll have me at your side for as long as you wish.”
“Last night—”
“As your friend,” Domenic adds quietly.
“Dom—”
“Stop.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Goddess, Nile. You think it doesn’t lash me bloody to say those words? You think it takes anything less than every damn ounce of self-control to keep from wrapping you in arms? But the currents of reality don’t flow the way I wish. I agreed to protect you, and that means protecting you from myself as well. Prince Tamiath… He’s a good man. One who can and will make you happy. I’ll do nothing to compromise that. All right?”
I nod, my cheeks moist.
“Say it,” says Domenic. “If you want me to stay, I need to hear you say it.”
“All right,” I say, though the words taste sour on my lips. “You are my friend, Domenic Dana. And I’m yours.”
“Good.” He takes a breath, his s
houlders tightening the way they do when he braces himself. “And one other thing.”
“No.” I cross my arms. “Whatever you are about to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
“On the Aurora,” he says, ignoring my protest, “I once told you that if faced with a choice between you being safe and you liking me, I’d choose the former. That goes double now.”
While Tam sets up travel arrangements to get us and his men to Felielle, I seek out my twin, Clay. Predictably, I find him in a back courtyard, small and hidden from passing eyes. Coarse grass covers the ground, and the hedges are manicured into geometric patterns. A cube, a sphere, a cone. Shapes that catch Clay’s attention. We’ve a single gardener who tends to this oasis, one whom Mother trusts never to leave behind a set of metal shears or carry nails that might accidently spill from a pocket. Nothing metal that might hurt Clay if his magic attracts it by accident.
The magic in my veins stirs as I approach, as if my twin’s presence makes it restless. I pause, a burst of excitement brushing my mind. My magic is reacting to Clay’s. It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s happening. Just like Price’s unusual Gift. Perhaps more is possible than any of us know. Clay and I are twins. A matching set connected in the womb.
“Hello, Clay,” I say to my twin’s back as he plays with a pack of puppies under the mother dog’s supervision. I remember the bitch, who now looks at me with considerate chocolate eyes, from the beach. Dismissing me with a snort, the dog rises and trots over to the edge of the clearing where Domenic and Quinn are stopped.
Clay appears as ignorant of the guardsmen’s presence as of mine.
“Clay?” I repeat.
Nothing. No response.
My chest tightens. It’s my own fault, though. I’d set myself up for failure sneaking up on Clay from the back. I should have approached him from the front, where he’d have no choice but to see me. I don’t know why I didn’t. No, that’s a lie. I’d wanted to see whether anything changed, if perhaps Clay’s magic senses mine the way mine rises to his. We are twins. Who knows how magic works with twins.
One of the pups separates from the pack and gallops at me with paws too big for his body.
I scoop up the beast and carry him around Clay, so I can see my brother’s beautiful doll face. “Hello, Clay.”
Nothing. Not even an echo.
My magic roars its fury.
“He’s gotten worse since you left.”
I jump at the sudden sound of my mother’s voice and wait for my heart to restart beating before turning around and setting the puppy back on the grass. The queen is a bit thinner than I recall, but still stunning in a flowing gown. Despite Mother’s guilt-instilling words, her gaze is warm.
I want to throw my arms around her like a little girl, but after this morning with Thad and Father, I limit myself to clasping my wrists behind my back. “Mother,” I say formally.
She takes the three steps separating us and wraps me in an embrace so tight, it borders on unladylike.
Relief floods me, and I press my face into her shoulder, only to remember myself and jerk back before her fingers can feel the ridged skin of my back through my gown’s thin fabric.
Hard accusation fills Mother’s gaze as we separate. “You’ve no notion what you’ve put us through,” she says, her lips trembling. “Thinking you were kidnapped. Stolen. Violated.”
I sigh carefully. Everything on land is a game, words and appearances used as weapons. Ones that can do a good deal more damage than great guns. “Mother. You didn’t really think that. Not with my sea bag and clothes missing. When someone wishes to kidnap a woman, they rarely stop to pack first.”
Lips pursed, she takes out a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabs at her face. “It could have happened! At sea or on whatever Goddess-forsaken path you might have taken. I had no way of knowing where my little girl was for months. I could not know whether my child was even alive.”
Translation: I had no spies on your ship. That is unacceptable, and you shall ensure that does not happen again.
I reach out and take her hands. “I’ve not been a little girl for some time.”
Mother’s smooth fingers massage my calloused ones, and she frowns, turning my palm over to inspect it.
“Mother…” I say in warning. If she is about to lecture me on appearance with Domenic close enough to hear, I think I might bolt.
She clicks her tongue, but when she speaks, her voice is different. Deep and quiet and intrusively genuine. “Did working with your hands, being on that ship in the middle of nowhere… Did it make you happy?” she asks, her eyes truly seeking an answer. “Did you discover there is more to Nile than the sea?”
I swallow and step back. There is that word again. Happiness. Happiness and I resolved to just be friends an hour ago. “I…” Words escape my grasp like slippery eels. “Tam and I would like to have the wedding soon. Six weeks. I know it’s in Felielle, but I thought you might wish to help with the planning.” Yes, a cowardly course diversion, but sometimes avoidance is the better part of valor.
She raises a brow. “What I wish to do, dolphin, is to speak to those two gentlemen over there in guardsmen’s uniforms about how they plan to keep you from cutting your leash and running off in the middle of the night like a feral cat. But alas, I shall save that for another time when I can intimidate them suitably.”
In the corner of my vision, I see Domenic turn away quickly in a coughing fit. Brilliant. All I need is for my mother and him to team up.
I rub my face and study my mother’s lovingly cunning eyes. How can someone I love manage to drive me insane within moments? A talent. Mother has a mystical talent for knowing just what to say to drive me to madness. “I’d like to have a moment alone with Clay, please,” I say firmly.
She pats my cheek. “I love you, dolphin. Always. Even when you foolishly think you know better than your mother. I do not enjoy saying that I told you as much, but had you listened to me, you would have met Prince Tamiath long before now. And he is as good a match for you as I’ve imagined.” Before I can reply, she turns in a perfect whoosh of skirts and strides away.
Something warm and wet slithers over my foot, and I turn away from my mother’s retreating form to find the puppy who was milling about me now peeing onto my leg. I shudder in disgust and am about to jump back with a squeal when I realize Clay is watching. Watching.
The magic in my blood spikes as my eyes meet my twin’s. “Clay?” I whisper.
“Clay,” he repeats, mimicking my tone perfectly. A pair of metal balls rotate around each other in the air a few inches away from my twin’s face.
I move toward him.
The puppy whines, interposing its small self between me and Clay.
Ignoring the dog, I stare into Clay’s eyes that look right back into mine. Want. Give. Touch, the magic inside me sings without words. Wind picks up around me, rustling the hedges.
“Nile,” Domenic’s voice calls in warning.
My lungs burn. Realizing I’ve forgotten to breathe, I gulp a too-big mouthful and choke. However it’s happening, the proximity to Clay is playing havoc with my magic.
And I couldn’t care less. Not even as a window shatters somewhere, the shards raining down onto the grass. Not when Clay is looking at me. Reaching out, I take Clay’s limp hand in mine.
The world spins, the magic inside me breaking free of its tethers. Wind swerves into the clearing, bending the hedges and choking my lungs. My heart, racing moments ago, slows. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. A clear steady beat to the tune of another’s body.
A voice curses behind me. Familiar. Male. The scent of sea and brine fills my nose. I know I should recognize the person who now crouches at my side, his muscled forearm raised against the wind, but the name escapes me.
“Nile!” he bellows into my face.
I ignore him. He doesn’t matter. What matters, the only thing that matters, are the clear eyes of my twin that now hold mine.
“Nile?” Clay asks in
a voice I’ve not heard in four years. His own.
Elation and magic course through me—through us—drowning out the dog’s insistent barks and the men speaking quickly beside me.
“…Yes, her twin.”
“…Gifted. Both.”
“…Separate them. Now.”
The last command fills me with panic. I hold tighter to Clay’s fingers. Thinking clearly is hard. So hard. Our pulse quickens. Clay, I try to say, but the word won’t come. It’s there, in my mind, but it can’t find its way out.
The dog yaps like mad.
“Nile, stop,” Clay says, as if my lack of speech has returned the power of his. “I want you safe.”
I flail as someone tears me away from my brother and tackles me to the ground. Deprived of contact with Clay, my magic roars its agony, as if all the skin on my palm is torn away with the separation.
“Clay!” I scream.
The dog howls as green lights flash before me, and I dissolve into convulsions until the world darkens.
Chapter 34
I awake in a bed. Not my own. It takes me a moment to recognize Tamiath’s guest bedroom, decorated gently with the blues and greens of the sea. My dress has been exchanged for soft oversized trousers and a tunic that smells of Tam. My face heats as I wonder which of the four men before me took care of that. Or why it needed to have been done.
“You are in my quarters,” Tamiath says in response to my questioning gaze. His voice is hard, and he crosses his arms as he speaks. “It appears you lost control of your magic, your mind, and your body when you touched your Gifted twin. Dana and Quinn physically forced you apart from Clay and brought you here. How much do you recall?”
I sit up, rubbing my throbbing head. My arms scream their protest at even that slight motion, as if I’d just spent hours carrying boulders. “I was with Clay, my magic spiked, and when I took his hand, he seemed to recognize me.”
