Fragile Chaos

by Amber R. Duell

  Her blue eyes flash and she circles the pit to put distance between us. “I did,” she says flatly. “I’m sorry.”

  It’s all I can do not to grab her thin shoulders and shake the truth from her. Instead, I match her trek around the pit until we’re face to face. She’ll tell me. She will. If this is what I think it is, the game has moved to a whole new board. New rules, new hurdles. New traps.

  “Ebris put you up to this, didn’t he?” I ask.

  Her hand lands on my forearm, squeezing, but she won’t look at me. “It would be easier for all of us if you listen to him.”

  “That isn’t a no.”

  He did it. I know he did. He hasn’t been by to scream at me because he knows it’s pointless. I don’t listen, but everyone else does. Having my powers stripped set an example for the others, so of course they do as they’re told. It won’t take much to turn them all against me. To rig the war and make me look worse. Untrustworthy. To make it impossible for me to ever crawl my way back to full strength.

  “I sent you as many signals as I could without being suspicious,” she says.

  She didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. If Ebris is paying as much attention as I am—and he is—he saw the same pattern I mapped out with Goran minutes ago. If Ebris gave her a choice to sink the ships, she might have been straightforward about it, but, from her passive-aggressive help, it’s obvious she wasn’t. Our shared hatred of authority, of being held in check, makes her my favorite. That doesn’t change the fact that those ships are at the bottom of the ocean.

  Or that my brother is sabotaging me.

  “He’ll destroy everything to get his way,” I blurt. It’s foolish to talk like this in the temple. Ebris could be listening, but I find it hard to care. “I’ll have to ally Asgya now. A country from the East. Maybe Butaelo could be persuaded in exchange for access to—”

  “Theodric, no.” Brisa lowers her voice. “Are you kidding? You can’t bring another country into this mess. There are other ways to fix this without making matters worse.”

  “An ally is the only way to save them now.” I pace across the shimmering floor. If I don’t do something, Volkana will seize the opportunity to strike. They can’t be allowed to own the entire West. If they become a superpower, more than Asgya will be lost.

  “You are supposed to help them. Not Butaelo,” she says.

  My anger blasts into fury. Everyone seems to be convinced that the only way to end the war is to undermine me at every turn. I am trying to help, but everything I do is trampled, ground to dust, by actual power. “You seem to have forgotten that I can’t do what I should. Ebris saw to that himself.”

  She gathers her mass of hair in her hands and lifts her gaze to mine. A calculating smile parts her lips. “As a favor to me, don’t get another country involved. Ebris is already losing his patience with this cursed war. I don’t think you’ll enjoy whatever he has planned if you don’t listen.”

  The way she said cursed strikes a chord in the back of my mind. I narrow my eyes and she narrows hers back. The hint of an idea clouds within me, urging me to give it shape.

  “What’s a single ship going to accomplish anyway?” she adds. I stare at her with a blank expression. She sank a single fleet, not a single ship. “Come on,” she mouths.

  Heavy locks slam into place. No military ships will fight alone, but another kind will. One in particular. One with a captain who everyone believes is cursed.

  “All right. For you,” I say, monotone. I kiss her cheek. “I’ll figure something else out.”

  Cassia’s laugh floats into the entryway followed by a small foil ball. A gray blur dashes from the sitting room after it. The kitten skids back and forth on the marble floor in pursuit until it flies under the credenza. She throws herself on her side and stretches a front leg after it with tiny grunts. A determined little thing.

  If only the things I’m chasing could be so easily caught. I scratch at the stubble on my cheeks. Goran isn’t going to like the new plan. It’s irrational. Unreliable. Brilliant. There’s a fifty percent chance it won’t come to fruition anyway. My skills of persuasion aren’t exactly effective without a sword. But, luckily, with these people, it may come to that.

  “I still can’t believe Theodric got you a cat.” Astra’s voice bangs through my head.

  “I can,” Cassia says. My shoulders relax slightly at the vote of confidence. There’s a short pause and Cassia steps out the door. “Is it stuck under there, Moki?”

  “Moki?” I ask.

  Cassia twists to look at me with a hand at the base of her throat. “You scared me.” She laughs, slightly breathless, and color rises in her cheeks.

  Astra murmurs something from inside the sitting room. I strain to listen, giving only a nod to acknowledge what Cassia said.

  “When did you get back?” she asks.

  “Just now.” The undercurrent of a man’s voice replies to my sister.

  Cassia steps closer, following my gaze toward the open door, and lowers her voice. “Is everything okay?”

  “It will be,” I answer. Moki scampers back without the ball and attacks the laces on my boot. Her claws pick into the leather, leaving a pattern of tiny holes. “Is Goran in there?”

  She nods. “With Astra and one of Ebris’ men.”

  “What?” My voice bounces off the walls. I push by her to find Goran standing rigid between Astra and an unknown man with sandy hair. Their conversation screeches to a halt, and the man bobs his head in my direction. “What’s going on here?”

  “I had some things to bring to Cassia,” Astra says in a sweet voice.

  I clench my fists. “If Cassia needs anything, I’ll get it for her myself. You need to leave.”

  She smoothes a hand over her pencil skirt. “I’ll stay awhile longer.”

  “No.” I don’t trust her when I’m here to monitor the visit, and I’m not about to leave her alone in my house. I can’t have her rushing back to Ebris to tell him I’m up to something, either. “Leave.”

  Astra presses her lips into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue again. On her way out, she stops to whisper in Cassia’s ear. Cassia nods. Then Astra is gone. I fight the raging urge to demand answers from Cassia. There are more important questions to ask.

  “And you?” I snap at the man. He bobs his head a second time and holds out a sealed envelope. A cool rush of nerves prickle over me as I rip it from his hand. “Go.”

  He makes it out the front door in record time. When I see his figure pass through the Wall, I inch farther into the room toward Goran, who might have to hold me back from storming my brother’s castle with my sword in hand. The black wax crown holding the flap down snaps beneath my fingers. I read it out loud:

  Theodric—End this. I don’t care what the outcome is as long as the fighting stops. If things aren’t moving toward a conclusion by the end of the week, Brisa will swallow Kisk whole, Drea will extend her famine, and I’ll personally see to Volkana. You won’t like what will happen to you and yours if I have to get my hands dirty.

  The note crumbles in my fist. I definitely won’t like what will happen, but I can’t let him steal this war from me. He’s taken too much already. I will win this even if it means he kills each of my sacrifices.

  Not all of them.

  I glance at Cassia, chewing her lip in fear, at a stony-faced Goran. Ebris won’t go that far. He can’t—not like he did with drafting Timun. Whatever happens to me, it isn’t his place to manage my household.

  “Worried about your homeland?” I snap at Cassia. I regret the question as soon as I ask it. This isn’t her fault.

  “What?” Her chest heaves. “No, I’m worried about me. What exactly does you and yours mean?”

  My heart rams against my chest. Each beat bruises and breaks. There are countless cruel things my siblings and I have done, but to threaten each others’ sacrifices? Especially now when we receive so few. When I need them more than anything else to function as the God of War.
r />   “It means,” Goran answers slowly, “Theodric isn’t the only one throwing the rules out the window.”

  “Ebris isn’t going to lay a finger on anyone. He’s trying to intimidate me.” My voice wavers. “Come on, Goran. We’re leaving.”

  Cassia steps forward. “Wait.”

  There’s no waiting. No talking. No time. I need this plan in action by midnight.

  “We’ll be back,” I say. “Don’t let anyone else in.”

  Without waiting for her to agree, without making sure Goran is following, I march back toward the temple. This has to work. As ridiculous as it seems, it has to work. It’s time to put an end to the war before every mortal dies to prove a point.

  We’re halfway there when Goran clears his throat behind me. “What was that about?” he asks.

  “Ebris is sabotaging us.” As I say the words, I feel the weight of their truth. I’ve known it longer than I’d like to admit.

  His stride falters. “Brisa told you that?”

  “She didn’t have to.”

  Goran gazes sideways at me. “But she didn’t tell you that?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I wave a hand through the air. The letter proves it, and I’m finished talking. Now is a time for action, not debate. “I found a way to replace the destroyers.”

  Goran looks me up and down. “This should be good.”

  “Do you remember Hex?”

  He steps in front of me, walking backward toward the temple with his hands raised in the air. “Not the pirate?”

  I grin. “The pirate.”

  Technically, she’s Asgyan but claims no country as her own, so it won’t bring anyone new into the war. But with her cannons, she’ll be able to take a few players out of it.

  Shadow Cove puts Ubrar to shame. Not in size but in questionable principals. As the Asgyan pirate capital, it’s expected. Especially since the authorities gave up on this place long ago. It’s easier to ignore it. Sail around. Keep away from this section of coastline. The pirates are happy enough to stay within their borders to keep the place from drawing ire, but it’s another thing if you go waltzing into their territory.

  I keep my shield up as we brave the rocky coast toward sloping asphalt roofs and chimney stacks that cough pillars of gray smoke. Folded black sails dot the sea. Smaller motorized ships are tethered to the piers. It reeks of dead fish, making each breath uncomfortable. We reach the edge of the cove, landing in stagnant mud, and I lift the neck of my shirt to cover my nose.

  It was never like this in the past when I came between wars for a bit of fun. For all they got up to, the pirates kept their houses from leaning and roofs from caving. The ground was always maintained. Not anymore. The steel watchtower Hex lives in one of the only buildings that doesn’t look like it would blow over in a strong wind.

  “I’d like to say one more time what a horrible idea this is,” Goran grumbles. “The soldiers will never trust them.”

  “The soldiers will never know.” The creaky wooden staircase leading to Hex’s door sways under foot. I tell myself it’s my imagination, but my knuckles are white on the railing. “Think of them as a new kind of militia.”

  He grunts. “More like money-hungry mercenaries. Hex will want something for her trouble.”

  “She’s a pirate, Goran. Of course she will.” And if she agrees, she’ll have it. I drop the shield and pound on the door with the heel of my fist.

  “Who is it?” screeches a woman on the other side.

  “An old acquaintance.”

  Goran scoffs. “She’s going to shoot us on sight.”

  The door flies open and a woman in her early forties stands before us in a bathrobe covered with ducks. Her blond hair is braided tight to her head, freckles sprinkled over her nose, and she clutches a cup of steaming coffee in one hand. “You.”

  “Hello, Hex,” I say. “How’s the knee?”

  Scalding coffee splashes my face. My teeth grind against the sharp, blistering pain. I wipe it off, flicking the liquid from my fingers. I should have seen that coming.

  “Like I said five years ago, I didn’t touch your gold,” I say. There’s no reason for me to steal from her or anyone else. I only wanted a few rounds of cards that night. Her first mate took the chest while Hex was surveying the ship for damage. But, naturally, the blame fell to the stranger in the crowd. Pirate loyalty and whatnot.

  “Like I said five years ago, go screw yourself,” she growls.

  She moves to slam the door, but I slap my palm on the aged wood. “What would you say if I told you there’s a way for you to make it back tenfold?”

  Her hazel eyes bore into me, her chin lifting. “I’m listening.”

  The whisk scrapes against a glass bowl, dragging yellow goop up the sides. This is the fifth attempt at making Theo’s ridiculous tabowi crepes, and I’m ready to throw the whole thing across the room. It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s a thin pancake, for crying out loud. I stab at the egg and milk mixture. I have no idea what I’m doing wrong, but the batter keeps rising.

  Luckily Astra went overboard with ingredients.

  Not only did Theo listen to my answers when we played Fate, but he paid enough attention to know I needed a friend. Beneath all his anger is someone with feelings. Far, far beneath, but it’s there. Somewhere. I want to do something nice for him in return, and if it butters him up a little before we talk, all the better.

  I didn’t get a chance to ask about my brother earlier, and my pulse flutters like a caged bird, tense and unsettled. The conversation will only take five minutes, but his response will last a lifetime. However long that may be after I get the question out. My guess is about two minutes. I’ve accepted the odds, but the uncertainty of it all keeps me firmly in its grip. Doubt has imbedded its claws too deep to allow sleep to take me.

  Even if Theo agrees to save Oren, he’s not going to stop the war. Ebris will step in and do whatever it is he plans to do. Maybe kill me or cart me off somewhere to do who knows what. I beat the egg mixture faster until bubbles foam around the edges of the bowl and slam the runny whisk down on the counter. It’ll be okay. Maybe Ebris will take pity on me and end it quickly. Leander seems nice enough. If he rules the Netherworld, how bad can it be? I’m supposed to be dead anyway. My time here was a bonus. I got to sleep in a comfortable bed, eat decent meals, and take daily showers. I should be glad I got the chance.

  Yet, I’m not. Because I’m not ready to give up living. When the time comes, I’ll fight Ebris with whatever I have at my disposal.

  If I could just get this recipe to cooperate…

  I toss the bowl of dry ingredients on top of the liquid with more force than necessary. A puff of flour rises into the air, and I bat it away from my face. The edges are swallowed to the bottom first, and I watch as the surviving granules shift across the surface. I swipe the whisk off the counter to stir. The batter thickens and sticks between the wires hoops. I bang it off and try again. It sticks a second time. I stab at the concoction as a muffled scream lodges in my throat.

  “What are you doing?” Theo asks.

  The whisk flings from the batter, a chunk splattering my face. Ugh. Of course he would come down here in the middle of the night and catch me failing miserably. I pull the sleeve of my sweater over my hand and wipe the goo from my cheek without turning to face him. “Me? What are you doing down here?”

  Mature. I wrinkle my nose and fidget with the bowl. Too much flour, I think. Or maybe not enough milk. Why am I so bad at this?

  “I can’t sleep,” he says.

  He moves closer, the familiar chink of his boot buckles missing. His confusion radiates at my back as he takes in the spilled sugar, broken egg shells, and cutting board covered in deep purple tabowi juice. When he leans over my shoulder, his chest bumps against my arm and I glance up for the first time. He’s not wearing a shirt.

  I resume poking at the solid ball of dough to hide my blazing cheeks. If how he looked with a shirt on is any indication of what he’ll lo
ok like without one, it’s better to focus on anything else. The feelings I have for Theo came out of nowhere, slipping into the cracks of my determination with each hint of a smile. Every rare laugh. Every kiss. I didn’t understand any of it until I understood all of it.

  Theo isn’t horrible, he’s broken. The only difference between us is that I pretended things would get better while he fought to regain his normal. A little too hard, maybe, but everything he knew was ripped away. If anyone can understand that, I can. I won’t be another shackle on his wrist. So, with my plan of seduction out the window, it’s better to avoid temptation altogether. At least until after I ask about Oren.

  “Is that tabowi?” He runs his finger through the pool of juice. “Where did you get it?”

  I nudge the wooden crate full of bumpy, hard-skinned fruit on the floor with my ankle. “I asked Astra if she could get some.”

  He shifts away and grabs one off the top. “Why?”

  “Well…” Heat blisters its way up my neck and into my cheeks. I didn’t plan to tell him why. I thought I’d do a few trial runs, present the food in the morning, and let it say thanks for me. “You said you liked them in crepes, so I was trying to figure it out,” I mumble. It sounded like a much better idea in my head. In my head I actually knew how to cook.

  Theo’s quiet beside me while I pick tacky strands of dough off the whisk and drop them into the garbage beneath the counter. His body stills. I’m too afraid to look up and see what he’s thinking. The tension rakes down my back, a million pins pricking at once. When he shifts to lean against the cabinet, I jump. I try to hide the jerky movement by throwing out the ruined ingredients, but it makes it more obvious.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you making the crepes I like?” His voice is quiet, his eyes daggers in the side of my face.

  I rub my wrist across my forehead. Clearly I’m making them because he likes them. Well, he won’t like these, but it’s the thought that counts…I hope. “I wanted to say thank you. You know, for Moki.”