by David Estes
This isn’t happening. It can’t be. I haven’t even had a chance to explain, to tell him that I’m the one who allowed her into the bird’s nest in the first place, which is why she felt comfortable going there. I haven’t told him that she was full of courage, trying to help save the ship when the sail ripped. I haven’t told him anything.
“For her brazen and illegal actions, she will receive eighteen lashes, to be administered first thing tomorrow morning.”
My breath catches, along with half the people’s on the ship, as gasps rise from the crowd. She will be spared! My father has chosen mercy over death. I glance at Jade, fighting back the biggest smile of my life. I can see a smile tugging at her lips, although there’s fear there too. She’s about to receive the beating of her life. Watching her be whipped will be heartbreaking, awful, the worst thing ever, but at least she won’t be at the bottom of the ocean, or in some sharp-tooth’s belly.
“Your actions yesterday were heroic, Son,” my father says, shocking me once more.
Hobbs’ head jerks toward my father, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sir, I really wouldn’t characterize them—”
My father raises a hand to silence him. “Although your heart was in the right place, attempting to save one life at the potential cost of others, including your own, was a mistake. Not to mention disobeying Lieutenant Hobbs, your superior officer.”
Here it comes. Here it comes.
“However, given the extenuating circumstances, what with the storm and the fact that Lieutenant Hobbs was only onboard the Mayhem in…an advisory role…I see no reason to punish you.”
His words are drops of rain, light and refreshing in the heat. Is he really proud of me? An airy thrill zings through my chest, surprising me. Do I still want his pride? For the longest time, it was all I ever wanted, all I ever needed—to be forgiven for failing him, for failing my mother. But knowing what I know now, I shouldn’t want his pride, shouldn’t need it. And yet…I can’t help but bask in it.
“In fact, you shall be rewarded,” he continues.
Rewarded? Surely, this can’t be. He’s never rewarded me for anything. I wait in eager anticipation.
“Sir, I really must obj—”
“Shut it, Hobbs,” my father says, and I grin, enjoying the way Hobbs’ frustration is growing red on his face.
“Given the strain and the danger that this bilge rat girl has put you through, there is only one reward that is appropriate under the circumstances.” His tone has changed and my smile fades away. I’ve seen that look on his face before, malicious and absolute, full of hard lines and blazing eyes.
“You, Lieutenant Jones, shall carry out the punishment on the prisoner.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sadie
Gard’s asleep when we bring the prisoners, but snaps awake in an instant when we rouse him. In the scant light, the dark parts of his eyes are huge, just thin circles of white surrounding them.
He orders us to take the prisoners to an empty, rarely used tent. The prison tent. During a few of the battles with the Soakers growing up, one or two of the enemy would be captured, rather than killed. According to Mother, it wasn’t our first preference, but it still happened.
We used to hear their cries light up the night as they were tortured for information on the Soakers’ future plans.
We push the prisoners inside the empty tent, their arms tied tightly behind them. We’ve lashed their feet together, too, so they can only take small half-steps. For good measure they’re tethered to each other. If they try to escape they’ll be dead in an instant.
The inside of the tent is bare, save for a thick pole running up the middle, connecting with thinner poles that arc down the sides and provide the enclosure’s structure. The center pole will be the prisoners’ home while in the camp. While another Rider and I hold a sword to each of their throats, two other Riders cinch them to the pole. They’re still tied to each other. They don’t complain, just stare at us. The one calling himself Feve meets my narrow eyes with a glare, while Dazz’s, the pale-skinned one from ice country, eyes are softer, more curious.
Gard storms in, Remy in tow.
Although the war leader’s giant form has to be intimidating to the two foreigners, they don’t show it, just watch him with what appears to be a mix of anger and interest.
I meet Remy’s eyes. Well done, he mouths. I respond with a nod.
While we stand at attention and watch, Gard paces back and forth in front of the prisoners, his boots stomping the dirt floor, his black robe swirling around his feet, making him appear even larger.
The one called Feve—who I can see, in the light of the torches planted inside the tent, has strange dark markings curling from inside his shirt and around his neck—furrows his brows deeper with each of Gard’s stomps. Dazz’s hands are clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles white and blotched with red. Why have they come? They look poised to fight, but if that were the case, why would they surrender themselves?
Stopping suddenly, Gard says, “You killed two of our guards.” His thick brows are like caterpillars over his eyes, casting them in shadow.
“They tried to kill us first,” Feve says.
“You snuck up on them.”
Dazz shakes his head. “Maybe we should’ve done things somewhat differently, but we approached directly. We never raised our weapons.” Right away, I notice a significant contrast in the way these two speak. Feve’s words are rounder, everything slightly longer. Dazz’s speech is tighter and sharper.
“So you don’t deny it?” Gard says.
“Deny that we defended ourselves?” Feve says, mockery in his tone. “Oh no, we did that all right. Pretty searin’ well, I’d say.” A question pops into my mind: Could one of these men have killed my mother? A slash of anger scathes across my chest.
Echoing my temper, Gard moves forward, surprisingly quick for such a large man, and clamps his meaty fist around Feve’s neck, lifting him from the floor. Because they’re connected, one of Dazz’s arms gets pulled up the pole to follow Feve.
The Marked one’s face turns red as he chokes, but he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t try to stop Gard from killing him.
Ten heartbeats pass. Twenty. Feve’s skin is sky-red.
Thirty heartbeats. Gard throws him to the floor where he grabs at his throat, wheezing, coughing, and finally hocking a clump of spit in the dirt.
Gard waits patiently while he composes himself. “Did you both participate in the killing?” he asks once Feve is sitting up again. Did you kill my mother? I want to ask.
“Just me,” Feve says. “I’m sure Dazz here would’ve, but I was too quick. I killed them both before he could even draw his…fists.”
When Dazz fires a glare in Feve’s direction, Feve smirks, the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile from either of them.
“There is only one punishment for murder in our country,” Gard says. “Death.”
“You kill him and you’ll have to kill me too,” Dazz says, his voice filled with tiny daggers.
Feve’s head turns toward his companion, and I swear I see a look of surprise flash across his face.
“Gladly,” I mutter under my breath, but nobody hears me.
“Now why would you say that?” Gard asks.
“Because he’s my brother.” Feve’s eyes widen and there’s no doubt this time that he’s as shocked as the rest of us. Silence fills the tent, expanding from the prisoners at the center and pushing outward in waves until I swear the tent is bulging with it.
They sure don’t look like brothers, I think. Clearly, Gard is surprised by the statement too, his eyes flicking from Feve to Dazz with narrow eyebrows.
“You don’t look like brothers,” he says.
“Well, we’re just the same.”
“As much as I’d like to kill you both,” Gard says, “our law only requires the death of he who committed the crime. But I’ll gladly let you watch.”
“Now hold on just one minute,�
� Dazz says, his voice rising. “Your men attacked us. We did nothing wrong.”
“You trespassed on our lands and killed two men. Someone must pay.”
Dazz cringes. Feve says, “What if I were to tell you that we have you surrounded by a hundred men, pointers nocked and ready to fly at the first sign of our lives being in danger?”
I gasp and hold it, picturing men, some brown, some pale, creeping through the forest, weapons in hand. We’ve always feared our enemies on the sea, but what if we should’ve been focused in the other direction?
As the need to breathe again grows stronger, there’s a commotion outside the tent. “Touch me agin and I’ll smack that grin right offa yer face quicker’n you can say prickler casserole!” a high-pitched voice shouts. It’s round and long, similar to Feve’s, but different still, more raw and pronounced.
The tent flap flutters and a brown-skinned face appears, wearing a scowl deeper than a well. A girl’s face.
There’s a guard on either side, forcing her to walk in a straight line as she does everything in her power to wrench away from them, despite how skinny she is. She only stops when she sees our other prisoners. “Uh, oops,” she says.
“What happened?” Dazz says, his mouth hanging open. Next to him, Feve rolls his eyes.
“We kinda sorta mighta got caught,” she says.
Behind her, another brown-skinned girl is pushed inside. She looks older, her jaw hardened, her frame slightly larger, her muscles more defined. Other than that, they could be sisters. “We’re ’ere to rescue the lot of you,” she announces, bashing a shoulder into the guard on her left side, who flinches, pain flashing across his face.
I gawk at the two girls, blinking hard in wonder. Because…they remind me so much of myself, except…brasher, less polished. Tough but a little unpredictable. More mouthy for sure.
But that’s not the end of it. Two more souls stumble inside, flanked by at least five more guards. There’s another guy who must be from ice country, his skin every bit as white as Dazz’s. He’s thicker and shorter than Dazz, but softer, like the difference between an apple and peach, and wearing the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, so out of place for the situation.
The fourth new prisoner is another brown-skinned guy, but with no markings. His demeanor breathes calmness and control, his face unreadable, his steps sure and unforced despite the sword at his back.
Gard has stepped aside to let the new prisoners enter, watching silently and with one eyebrow arched as they’re lashed to the pole. A strange clump of brown and white.
“Welcome to the party,” Dazz says as the other pale-skinned guy is tied next to him.
“Of all the searin’ stupid things…” Feve mutters.
“Like you can talk, o’ wise one,” the skinny girl says, “it was yer idea to get yerself caught in the first place!”
“Shut it! All of you!” Gard snaps. Silence ensues once more, but it’s less absolute, filled with ragged breathing, occasional coughs, and lots of scuffling and scraping as the prisoners try to get comfortable.
Gard steps forward. “And these are the hundred men that had us surrounded?” he says, directing his question to Dazz.
“Uhhh…” Dazz says.
“I see,” Gard says. “Then the one you call Feve must die at dawn.”
Everyone starts yelling at once.
~~~
It takes a whole lot of screaming and the swords of each of the Riders to restore order. I’ve got the tip of my sword up against Dazz’s neck, and Remy’s next to me with his blade pointed at the smiley white-skinned guy. He’s not smiling anymore.
“This is burnin’ crazy!” the muscly girl exclaims when things have quieted down. “You steal our children and then git all hot and bothered when we come askin’ questions? That’s a load of tugblaze if you ask me.”
Things have been so strange and out of control that I’d forgotten what got us here in the first place.
We are only here to understand why you steal our children. Dazz’s words on the edge of camp—the words that stopped me from killing him right then and there.
I stare at him now. “Or don’t you know?” he says. “Is your so-called war leader keeping it from you? He trades the Cure for the Heater children. He tried to buy my sister to marry his son.”
His words bounce off my face, numbing my skin. None of it makes any sense. It’s the Soakers who trade for the children. That’s why my mother rode to ice country, as my father foretold. And what’s all this about Remy marrying this pale guy’s sister?
“Enough!” Gard snaps. “Enough of the lies! They won’t save you now.”
“Wait,” I say, my mind ticking over everything that’s just been said, trying to make sense of it. “We have to understand.”
Gard’s eyes narrow for a second, but then he nods once. Carry on.
“Why do you think we’re stealing the Heater children?” I ask.
“Not stealing—trading. But I guess it’s more or less the same thing. Your”—he waves his arms around the tent at all of us, at the Riders—“warriors attacked my village, burning and frightening the people half to death.”
“We killed the king,” I say, nodding. So far I don’t disagree.
“No,” Dazz says. “I captured the king.”
Gard suddenly strides forward, his expression wide. He grabs Dazz by the top of his shirt, turns his face toward the light. “Wait…I know you.”
Dazz’s eyes flash with recognition. “And I you,” he says. “You’re the one…” He trails off.
“Who saved your ass and left you with the girl,” Gard says. “Your sister.”
“And the king,” Dazz says. My eyes dance back and forth between them, trying to make sense of a story I wasn’t a part of.
“The dead king,” Gard corrects.
Dazz shakes his head. “No, you’re wrong.”
“I know when I’ve killed a man,” Gard says sternly, but there’s no anger in his voice, only certainty.
“Oh, the man was dead,” Dazz agrees. “But he wasn’t the king. He was only a puppet figurehead—the captain of the guard. I injured the real king and saved my sister. The sister who you”—the word shoots from his mouth like a knife—“wanted to force to marry your son, using my life as leverage so she’d obey him.”
“No,” Gard says. “I swear that’s not true.” Not a lie, just not true. There’s been a change in Gard’s tone over the last few minutes. He’s no longer accusing the intruders; rather, trying to get to the truth. “I would never…It’s the Soakers who were taking the children from Goff, trading for them. They must’ve been the ones who wanted your sister.”
“It’s true,” I say. “The Riders only went to your country to stop them. We were against the slave trade from the beginning. All we wanted was to send a message, to kill the king.”
Dazz stares at me, his expression heavy with confusion. He tries to raise a hand to his face, but when he remembers it’s tied behind him, he settles for knocking the back of his head against the pole.
“I knew it,” the guy next to him says. “I knew it when you only burned the empty houses, when you only killed the castle guardsmen.”
“So it’s the searin’ baggard Soakers who took my sister?” the strong girl says on the other side of the pole. Her voice is deep and raspy.
I nod, and then realizing she can’t see me, say, “Yes. I swear it on the souls of my parents and brother, may Mother Earth keep them.”
“And what of the Cure?” Feve says evenly.
“The cure for what?” Remy asks.
For the first time, the unmarked brown-skinned guy speaks. “For the Fire. For the Cold. For the illness that kills our people. Do you have a terrible disease in storm country?”
“The Plague,” I whisper, the word becoming bigger and bigger in my head, pushing on my skull. A headache throbs just above my nose. “My father…”
“The Plague,” Dazz whispers back. “It killed my father too.”
“And my mother,” the skinny girl says softly.
“Who was my mother, too,” the muscly girl says. So they are sisters after all.
“You say you have a cure?” Gard asks.
“Not us,” Dazz says. “Whoever trades it to the Icers for the children. The Soakers, you say?”
“Yes,” Gard says. “But we’ve seen it. It’s nothing more than dried sea plants, plucked from the shores and gathered in bags.”
“You can get it?” Dazz says sharply.
“Yes, but it’s nothing. Just plants.” Gard crouches next to me, as large as a bear. “You mean you think it’s a cure for the Plague?”
“Yes,” Dazz says, nodding vehemently. “Why else would the Heaters and Icers go to so much trouble to trade children for it?”
“Are you sure it works?” I say.
“It must,” Dazz says. “You say you’ve seen it. Surely you’d know if it had healing properties.”
“We don’t consume anything that comes from the sea,” Gard says. “It’s not clean.”
There’s silence for a moment as everyone processes what’s been said so far. Remy breaks the silence with a question directed to Dazz. “You say your sister was to be taken and married to—well, you thought it was me, but it could only be Admiral Jones’ son?”
“You’re his son?” Dazz says, motioning to Gard.
“Yes, but I swear—”
“I know,” Dazz says, forcing a smile. “You’re not the one who was supposed to marry my sister. Otherwise you’d be dead already.” His smile hangs for a moment, but no one returns it. “Who’s this Admiral Jones fellow?”
“The leader of the Soakers,” Gard says. “He commands their entire fleet.”
“I’ll kill those baggard Soakers,” the older sister says. Suddenly I’m starting to like her a lot more.
But then, looking at the pale face of the Icer sitting in front of me, my thoughts turn back to my mother, bloody and dying. “Did you fight the Riders when they came?”
“No,” Dazz says quickly. And then, “Well, yes, but not because we wanted to. The Riders were fighting the castle guards; we were only trying to get to the king, to get to my sister. We only fought those who tried to stop us. There were Riders who mistook us for their enemies.”
