Fireblood

by Elly Blake

  Unless the other Minax was inhabiting her throne and warping her mind.

  “What is she like?” I asked, fearing the answer.

  “She’s not someone you want as an enemy,” he answered, then added with amusement, “Don’t look so worried. She is a good queen. She cares about her people.”

  I let out a relieved breath. “What would she want with me?”

  He shrugged. “Do you think she tells me everything?”

  I lifted my brows. “Surely you can guess.”

  His lips quirked. “You’re very modest for a Fireblood, you know. It’s not that mysterious, Ruby. You destroyed the frost throne. You’re a person worth knowing.”

  I tried to maintain my skepticism, but it was hard. I suddenly wanted to meet the queen more than anything. “How do you even know her?”

  He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “My parents are… I suppose in Tempesian, the closest words are ‘prince’ and ‘princess.’”

  “You’re related to the queen?”

  “No, it’s not like that. Each island is a principality, though the queen rules above all. My father is the prince of a small island.”

  “So why did she send you?”

  “Because I’ve sailed the Vast Sea, I speak excellent Tempesian, and I have experience handling conflicts with Frostblood ships.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were officially at war with Sudesia,” I said doubtfully.

  “We aren’t. The conflicts have been more… opportunistic in nature. Merchant ships on their way back from the Coral Isles that were too heavy with cargo for their own good. I did them the favor of lightening their loads.”

  My mouth fell open. “You’re a pirate!”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s not piracy if it’s sanctioned by one’s own queen. ‘Privateer’ is the correct term, but I prefer to think of it as commerce. Unfortunately, the Tempesian navy has caught on and has made things rather difficult lately. All the merchant ships are heavily guarded now.”

  “Have you killed people?” I asked, trying to decide what I thought about this revelation. “If they resist?”

  “Tempesian captains are surprisingly cooperative when their ships are threatened with fire.” He moved to the door. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow I’ll have one of my crew start teaching you Sudesian. It’s time for you to learn your native tongue.”

  If he hadn’t sounded so condescending, I would have admitted I’d been learning Sudesian for weeks with Brother Thistle. As it was, his tone put me on the defensive. “My native tongue is Tempesian.”

  He made a clicking sound of disappointment. “A Fireblood who speaks Tempesian is like a barking cat. A curiosity and perhaps rather amusing, but somewhat ridiculous.”

  “You’re speaking Tempesian right now.” I gave him a sweet smile.

  “But like so many things, I do it exceptionally well.” He eyed me with a suggestively raised brow. “Good night, little bird.”

  The world was tilting.

  Dipping and rising and twisting in every direction.

  And I was sliding off.

  I grabbed at tufts of grass, my fingers burning as I tried desperately to hang on. Then the land froze under my palms, flat and smooth—merciless perfection without a single flaw or crack to hold on to. Above me, a velvet black sky.

  Then the darkness of the sky shaped itself, forming pointed shoulders and a wickedly sharp crown. Shadow arms spread out to the sides, as if the night itself stood ready to embrace me—or devour me. I scrabbled at the icy ground until my fingers bled, which made the surface slicker, my slide faster. I could only watch as the world rose up and crashed down, the ground heaving to tip me right into the gaping maw of the monster.

  A voice called my name. The scene in my mind faded as warm arms slid around my waist. Rain drove into my back like a thousand freezing needles. I opened my eyes and rubbed away the streaming rain. I was leaning over a railing while green-black water churned below.

  It took a moment for my mind to clear. I’d been dreaming. Somehow I’d found my way on deck. And it had seemed as if I’d been about to throw myself over the side. I shivered violently.

  Kai yanked me away from the railing as the whole world shook like a rattle in an infant’s furious grip, everything creaking and groaning in protest. Another violent heave sent us both sliding along the main deck.

  Bursts of lightning crawled across a midnight-blue sky befouled by a haze of sickly green at the horizon. The sails were furled but for one that juddered in the wind.

  The ship rode up the incline of a wave in a long, ponderous slide, then perched atop the crest for a brief eternity before tipping over the edge, careening nose down to plow into the trough. I screamed as a mountain of water crashed over the bow and sluiced the deck, slamming into us so hard we hit the side of a raised deck. If not for that barrier, the water would have taken us with it as it swept over the edge.

  As I wiped my streaming eyes, I saw that Kai held a rope in one hand, which I let him tie around my waist, his fingers slipping on the wet strands. He finished just in time for another slam of our bow into another nightmarish trough, another sweep of choking green water.

  “Jaro looks tired. I need to take the helm!” Kai said before disappearing up the steps.

  I turned to watch him approach the sailor who held the wheel. Lightning illuminated Kai as he relieved Jaro, his sodden white shirt glowing, his hair slicked against his skull and gleaming like polished mahogany, his normally bronzed skin bleached of color. The wheel bucked in his hands like a prize bull as we reached the crest of another wave. The lean muscles of his arms strained to keep it under control.

  Another dive, another sluicing, another climb, and the older sailor who had been at the wheel appeared next to me. He had a broad face and thinning black hair sprinkled with silver; it was tied with a cord at the nape of his neck. His shirt and breeches had patches upon patches, all heavy and soaked. He pointed emphatically. “Go back in the cabin!”

  But now that I was on deck, I didn’t want to go back to the stuffy confines of the cabin. The sensation of being trapped still lingered from the nightmare. When I shook my head, the sailor gave an almost imperceptible shrug and braced himself next to me as the ship hit another trough, and another torrent of water scoured the deck.

  Every once in a while, I forced my legs to support me so I could steal a look at Kai. His arms shook, his face was carved of granite, and his cheekbones stood out sharply beneath his skin. His eyes were forward, his focus unwavering. He fought to keep the bow pointed straight into wave after wave as the sea pummeled us with briny fists, until everything that existed in the world was wet and salt and aching cold.

  It was futile, the ship’s struggle against the sea. The storm seemed infinite, unstoppable. I feared that eventually Kai would make a mistake and we would be lost, spun to a splintering, churning death.

  What would Arcus think if I never returned? Would he assume I’d chosen to stay away, that I’d forgotten him? The thought made my chest ache. Or would he know that I’d never leave him willingly? Then again, how would he know that? Despite his pleading with me to stay—or at least the closest thing he’d ever come to pleading—I’d left. That’s all he would remember.

  As always, my mind returned to practical matters. Arcus was far away and I was here. If there was any way to survive, I would find it. I wiped the mix of rain and sea spray from my eyes, first checking on the waves and sky, then Kai. He looked the same: still at the helm, still focused straight ahead.

  But the waves were not as high, the wind not so fierce, the sky not quite as dark. Hours or eons after the onset of the storm, the dome above turned from indigo to pink-tinged gray. The crew spread out over the deck and scurried into the rigging, checking masts and yards and sails. Another sail was unfurled. Kai barked a tired command and received a reply. I turned to see him leave the wheel in someone else’s hands, weaving a little as he stepped away.

  I fumbled at the rope around my waist
with numb fingers, cursing as they slid off. A shadow fell over me.

  Kai didn’t speak. He merely went down on one knee, pulled a knife from his boot, and began sawing at a section of rope. His hands trembled. Hours of holding the ship’s wheel must have taken their toll.

  As the rope fell away, he looked me straight in the eye, and I tensed, preparing for a tongue-lashing. Instead, his voice was calm.

  “I see you’ve met Jaro. He’s particularly fond of waifs and strays. He’ll cluck over you like a mother hen, but at least he’ll do it in Tempesian. He used to sail on a merchant vessel in my grandfather’s time.”

  “My lady,” said Jaro, stepping forward with a courtly bow. As he bent over, water ran from his hair down his forehead and dripped off the end of his nose. If I’d had the energy, I might have laughed at how incongruous it was: a grizzled sailor bowing like a courtier to a peasant who had tried and failed to be a lady.

  “And, Ruby?” Kai said, meeting my eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “Next time, stay in the cabin.”

  EIGHT

  BY THE END OF THE WEEK, I KNEW the mainmast from the foremast, the mainsail from the topsail, port from starboard, fore from aft, and the main deck from the quarterdeck. It reminded me of Forwind Abbey in the sense that everything had its place, though the names were different. Instead of kitchen, refectory, dormitory, cellarium, and reredorter, on a ship they were called the galley, mess, forecastle, hold, and head.

  Jaro and his twelve-year-old daughter, a scrawny, perpetually active ship’s girl named Aver, provided endless lectures on seafaring, including how to judge if the sails were balanced, how to navigate using an astrolabe, how to tie a multitude of knots, how to mend a sail or a rope, and how to protect a section of rope from chafing. If it had anything to do with a rope, Jaro knew about it. Sometimes, when he droned on too long, I wished he knew a bit less.

  Jaro was delighted when he realized I already knew the basics of Sudesian. He included language lessons in each activity, teaching me Sudesian as he instructed Aver in Tempesian. Every word was repeated in both languages, and I was free to ask what words meant and encouraged to speak. He was a patient teacher, though he couldn’t resist laughing at my more hilarious mistakes.

  Every day, Kai conducted an inspection with the boatswain, a stern-faced woman named Eylinn. The crew snapped to attention, fixing anything that was out of place. It was clear they respected their commanders. Eylinn only spoke Sudesian, but she always nodded civilly to me.

  After a couple of weeks, I concluded that time passed differently at sea.

  Some hours moved slowly, inching along in dreadful monotony, like when I was helping with some mundane task such as peeling potatoes in the galley. That’s when thoughts of Arcus would intrude, and longing would roar through my blood like a marauding invader, leaving me breathless and sick to my stomach. I tortured myself with memories: how giddy I’d felt when he’d danced with me at the ball, our searing kiss in the ice garden, the moment when he’d told me I’d melted his heart. All the times I’d thieved looks at him from some inconspicuous corner when he was occupied with the business of being king. And then, in sharp contrast, the agony of our last conversation would play itself over and over in my head in bits and pieces, moments of pain sticking in my mind like needles.

  I wondered if he thought of me, or if he’d managed to obliterate me from his mind. When my homesickness was at its worst, I almost wished I could do the same.

  On the other hand, some hours passed quickly, like in the evening when the weather was fair and the sailors had time to indulge themselves with music played on pipe or fiddle, with the rest of the crew adding lyrics to the tune. Some were jaunty, high-spirited reels that made me want to leap to my feet and dance, and others were mournful ballads that made my eyes fill with tears, even if I couldn’t understand all the words. It was cathartic to cry, and though I tried to be inconspicuous, others were matter-of-fact when they broke down, as if tears were an accepted part of life. Sudesians were clearly more comfortable losing control in front of others.

  Normally Kai didn’t participate in these evenings. As captain, he kept himself aloof from his crew. But one night, about two weeks into the journey, he came to sit in the circle of lantern light on deck.

  Jaro nodded at him. “A tale for us, Captain?” To me, Jaro added, “He tells a good story.”

  “What would you like to hear?” Kai asked with a smile.

  After a brief and friendly argument among those present, with Aver weighing in most vocally, they settled on the story of Neb and the birth of her children, the wind gods. Kai wrapped his arms loosely around his bent legs and cleared his throat. Even though my Sudesian vocabulary was limited, I knew the old myths well enough to fill in the gaps.

  “In the jagged and untamed youth of the world,” Kai began, his voice as deep and rich as honeyed cakes, “when Neb first opened her eyes, she found a blank land and a vast darkness overhead. Having nothing but herself, she pulled the teeth from her mouth and threw them into the dark one by one. They hovered there, becoming stars, even as new teeth grew.

  “The smooth earth didn’t please her, so she pulled out a strand of hair and threw it to the ground. A tree grew in its place. Then she pounded the land with her fists until it splintered into mountains and valleys. She sat in the shadow of a mountain to rest, and her tired sigh became the air that stirs the leaves.” He exhaled and gestured to show the breath turning to air.

  “But the spirits of the land that had slept under the surface were angry at being pummeled thus. One rock spirit rose up from the center of the earth, and he threw handfuls of stones at Neb. Though he raged, she saw in his eyes that the rocks covering his skin gave him pain, so she struck him on the shoulders, arms, and back until the stony armor fell from him, littering the world with boulders and pebbles. Neb put a hand to his shoulder… .”

  I jumped a little as Kai laid a hand on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers inadvertently tickling the sensitive skin where shoulder meets neck. As he was merely adding actions to the story, I sat placidly instead of shrugging him off.

  “She reveled in the feel of vulnerable flesh, like her own,” he continued, not looking at me, though I sensed his attention. “The rock spirit thanked her and said he’d been trapped in the earth for so long, he no longer knew his name. Neb named him Tempus, for he was the beginning and the end of time for her.”

  Kai squeezed my shoulder lightly before his hand slid away.

  “And for a time, they were happy. Neb’s belly grew round and her child was brighter than the stars. But Sun was an adventurous child, and one day she wandered too close to the edge of the world. She fell into the sky, tumbling out of reach, hovering eternally to shine her light on the land.”

  The ship rolled over a swell and the lanterns swung, then righted themselves.

  “Sun would not come home no matter how Neb pleaded, and Neb could not fetch her daughter, who had become too bright and hot to touch. So Neb cried for the first time, her tears forming oceans, while Tempus’s tears were molten rock, pouring into the center of the earth and spewing through cracks in the ocean bed to form new lands. In her grief, Neb pulled out her eyelashes, and where they scattered, plants and small animals came to life.

  “Neb and Tempus retreated from each other,” Kai continued, “she into the mountains and he below the rocky earth. But Neb was already carrying their second child, and her birthing cries drew her husband from his hiding place. Tempus held his newborn child and named him Eurus, giving him the name of the East, where the babe’s lost sister rose into the sky every morning.

  “Neb took leaves and branches and wove them into dolls as toys for her son. But in his boredom, he pulled them apart, and Neb had to keep making new ones. So instead, she gave him a fan made of palm leaves and Eurus used it to create the east wind.”

  Eerily, a breeze lifted the lax sails at that moment. Aver gasped and then laughed. Kai grinned at her.

  “Yo
u see? Eurus himself enjoys our tale.”

  Jaro frowned and Kai chuckled. “Or perhaps it is Sud who tickles our sails as she waits for her turn in the story. Tempus and Neb had a third child, and they called her Cirrus. She was gentle and kind, and her laugh made the first music. The proud parents sat for hours pulling fruit from trees to feed her and watching their daughter wander over hills and valleys, delighting in everything she touched. She made the land more fertile wherever she stepped.

  “But in their joy, they forgot about their second child. Eurus saw that their love for Cirrus was greater than their love for him. So he set a trap for his younger sister.

  “‘Follow me to the top of the northern mountain,’ said Eurus, ‘where our lost sister, Sun, tints the sky pink every night before sleep.’ So Cirrus, eager to see the sister she had never known, followed her brother to the summit. When she reached out to try to touch Sun, Eurus used the palm frond to make a gust of wind. Cirrus lost her footing on the loose rocks and fell toward the ground far, far below.

  “But it was all right,” Kai reassured Aver, “because Sun saw her sister falling and bent her light in the north, making many colors dance across the sky as a warning to their parents. Tempus and Neb looked up to see their young daughter falling and threw her a palm frond. Cirrus caught the fan and used it to make a west wind that lifted her back to the top of the mountain.

  “When they realized what Eurus had tried to do, Tempus and Neb were furious. Tempus picked up his son and threw him as far as he could until Eurus fell to the rocky shores of an island.”

  Another gust of wind filled the sails harshly, as if a giant hand had punched them.

  Jaro frowned and shook his head, but Kai continued his tale. “Eurus lived there for a timeless time, all alone, and when—”

  “He deserved to be alone,” Aver said, her face pinched in a scowl. “After what he tried to do to his sister.”

  “Indeed,” said Kai. “He deserved to suffer for that.”