Sea and Sand

by Alex Lidell

  Chapter 28

  Kyra

  Kyra was not jealous, not when the water-caller girl she was speaking with required two attendants just to ensure nothing accidently damaged her flesh. Physical contact was forbidden as a matter of course, and even the conversation they were having required at least a full pace of distance. And yet…and yet everyone smiled and laughed, their emotions a light melting sweetness of powdered sugar. The water caller, currently amusing both herself and Kyra by making animal shapes rise from the ocean waves, was neither ashamed nor private about her power. She went through her day without the cloud of pity and fear that all Gifted on the Lyron continent cowered under.

  Stars, Nile lost her command for the simple fact that she could call the wind.

  Kyra thanked the stars for her fortune. Her own magic was weak and the side effects more interesting than damaging. So long as Kyra kept her secrets to herself in polite company, she gained more than she lost. The question that itched her curiosity, though, was where the magic came from. The Diante attributed it to their gods. The Lyron Kingdoms tried to ignore the concept altogether, and the few books that did discuss it called elemental attraction a condition. A fancy word for disease. This accurately described the effect magic had on most hosts’ bodies, but it felt shallow.

  The paradigm of disease little explained what was happening with Nile’s growing power, triggered—according to Nile—by connecting with her twin. Kyra wished she’d been there to observe the event, but the recollections she received from the others made her question the paradigm.

  If elemental attraction wasn’t contagious—and everyone who had an opinion on the matter agreed that it wasn’t—then how could any connection between Nile and Clay have influenced their magic? How could Nile’s magic awaken when other Gifted were close? And if Kyra existed, with her weak magic and gentle side effects, then were there others like her? Those whose blood simmered with magic instead of boiling with it?

  “Kyra!” Nile’s hail interrupted Kyra’s thoughts. The girl was striding toward her, her face tight. Catching sight of the movement, Catsper detached himself from his post at the rail and headed toward the inevitable meeting point.

  The water caller’s sculpted animal—a monkey just now—blew a raspberry at the marine.

  The change of mood from the giggling Diante to hard-faced Nile and Catsper struck Kyra like a storm. Not that the pair’s sentiments were new. Nile considered anything that fell short of unequivocal victory to be utter disaster, while Catsper oozed enough paranoia to drown a storm. That their feelings were real didn’t mean their predicted disaster actually existed.

  Dana and Quinn, likely sensing a rat in the growing gathering, likewise set course for Nile and, by the time Kyra arrived, were already looking grave.

  “The Wave’s lookout reports two sails off starboard,” Nile told Dana, the very lack of irritation at his presence a marker of her concern. “A two-masted sloop and a larger frigate, fifty guns, perhaps.”

  “What do the Diante make of this?” Dana asked.

  “Very little,” says Nile. “Diante fleets run spot patrols as a matter of routine, and Bassic thinks he recognizes the specific ships.”

  “I taste no great worry.” Kyra pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Present company excluded. Might I ask why are we not beating to quarters until the ships’ identities are confirmed? Isn’t that what ships do when something is amiss?”

  “Because sending the crew to man their guns on a ship without guns get complicated,” said Catsper.

  Pointedly ignoring Catsper, Quinn put a hand on Kyra’s shoulder. “An approach of two smaller ships you believe you recognize is not typically cause for alarm,” he explained softly. “The Diante are neutral and have no reason to expect an attack. If not for the Bevnians’ unusual tactics, we would feel much the same.”

  “Do you believe it’s the Bevnians?” Kyra whispered, a chill spreading from her face into her core. Melted eyes. Screams. Blood staining the deck. Kyra gripped her wrist. If Catsper hadn’t caught her when he had, hadn’t shoved her down the ladder…

  “We don’t know who it is,” said Nile, her eyes focusing on something over Kyra’s shoulder. Bassic and Stardust’s captain Yulin, the latter bathing in coppery terror despite a jovial grin.

  “Is all well?” Bassic inquired with calm confidence, the small, sour drop of concern concealed beneath a steady voice and straight back.

  “We are not under attack, if that is what concerns Her Highness,” the lanky Yulin interjected before Nile could reply. The man’s voice had a high, nasally tinge further setting him aside from his baritoned naval companion. “No reason for fear. The Diante empire has not been attacked in over a decade. If you allow me to show you the ship, you will find some fine history living in its planks. Perhaps some wine might go well with the chilly weather as well?”

  Nile faced Bassic. “The Diante may not have been attacked for a decade, but my ship was assaulted three weeks past.”

  “Not in Diante waters!” Yulin injected again, his hands wringing. “We are very careful with the Stardust. With our reputation of safety and tradition of being the height of entertainment, there truly is no cause for concern. The last international conflict, in fact—”

  “We have fully identified the two approaching vessels as Diante, sir,” Bassic said, cutting off Yulin to address Dana—a maneuver that interestingly triggered a symmetrical irritation in Nile and Dana both. “The ships are yet to make their signals, but there is some distance yet. Nonetheless, I will sail the Wave forward to assess the situation.”

  Nile touched the Diante’s arm. “Stay outside their firing envelope until you are confident of their identity. Please.”

  A wave of dismay washed over Bassic, making Kyra wonder how two people with the same goal and profession could communicate so poorly. “My ship is a man-of-war, Your Highness. It’s our duty to enter an enemy’s range.” He sighed, turning back to Dana. “Perhaps you should brief me on your recent engagement.”

  Dana cleared his throat and offered a sketch of the recent battle, his quiet Lyron words turning Bassic’s face grave and Yulin’s green. “We’d like to signal our ship, sir,” Dana said finally, with a quick glance at Nile, who nodded. Another bad sign. If Nile was willing to bow out of the discussion… Kyra’s mouth dried.

  “Of course, though I truly expect the reality to be no more interesting than an unscheduled patrol.” Bassic waved his hand. “The young gentlemen are at your disposal for signals, and the Helix is kindly reminded to hold position outside the Diante waters.”

  “Lord Vikon,” Nile called, interrupting the midshipman’s conversation with a pair of female Diante dancers.

  Vikon frowned at being summoned but quickly made the most of the situation by puffing his chest in self-importance before taking leave of his admirers. Vikon’s roving eyes prodded Kyra’s backside and chest, making her soft yellow dress feel too thin.

  Catsper took one step and somehow ended up behind her, his body a hard, protective support despite not touching her skin.

  “Lord Vikon, assist with the signals if you please,” said Nile. “Whatever the Diante lookout reports I’d like transcribed into Lyron signals and transmitted to the Helix.”

  Vikon blinked. “Have you a signals books along?”

  “We have you along,” Nile said dryly. “Have you not memorized the basics?”

  Vikon jutted out his chin. “I’ve not wasted time doing things that need not be done. Memorizing signals is a midshipman’s busy work. An officer always consults the—”

  Dana broke away from the group with Vikon in midsentence, and headed for the Stardust’s middies to address the communication himself.

  “What?” Vikon blinked in confusion. Then his eyes found Kyra and lit with interest. “No matter.”

  Behind Kyra, Catsper shifted his weight.

  She stepped away from the marine, away from the whole circle of gloom. It was better to spend time with the Dian
te Gods touched, with their water animals and little bells and guileless laughter. Even if their sunny world was not real, Kyra wanted to pretend that it was for as long as the day allowed. Lying to herself, yes, but that was all she could do to keep from shaking.

  When Kyra’s gaze found Nile next, the princess was at the rail, her grip knuckle white while Captain Yulin’s stewards desperately thrust sweet cakes and oysters under her nose.

  “The Wave and Crest are on an intercept course,” Nile said in acknowledgment of Kyra’s approach. The young woman’s gaze remained trained on the sea, as if she saw a whole world unfurling in the waves and foam. “The approaching ships have the weather gage, though. Even with that, they are closing faster than they should.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” asked Kyra.

  “Not unless you can talk our way off this ship without appearing to distrust the Diante navy.”

  Kyra shook her head. Behind them, a quartet of violinists picked up an oddly jolly tune while the crew performed their duties with a precise, decorative flare, moving amid the shrouds in synchrony, as if following a drum only they heard.

  “A breathtaking show of actors wearing seamen’s uniforms,” said Nile, following Kyra’s gaze.

  “How can you be sure they aren’t both, actors and sailors?” asked Kyra.

  “For starters”—Nile suddenly pushed away from the rail, heading for the ship’s quarterdeck—“because the Wave just signaled and only Domenic seems of a mind to report it to the admiral.”

  Dana was, in fact, jumping off the shrouds. Landing on the deck with a grace to rival an acrobat, he strode to the fleet commander and touched his hat with one hand while keeping the other on the shoulder of a Diante middie who looked ready to bolt for the ocean to avoid the admiral’s attention.

  “The incoming ships are confirmed as the Arrow and Thunder, sir,” Dana was telling Admiral Addus as Nile and Kyra approached. “Both are flying Diante colors but are still failing to answer the Wave’s challenge hoist. It’s too dark to make out the details of the crew. Gun ports remain closed.”

  “Very good,” Addus said, switching to Diante to address the middie in Dana’s grip.

  “He’s ordering the Wave to hold position and fire a warning shot across our guest’s bow,” Nile translated for Domenic and Kyra. Her shoulders eased. “And to stay out of the ships’ attack range.”

  A minute later, Kyra flinched as the report of a single gun echoed across the water. She listened for an answering shot, but none came.

  Dana, still holding the spyglass he had somehow confiscated, trained it on the sea. “The ships are backing sail as ordered,” he reported. “Full stop. The Thunder is lowering a cutter. Rowing toward the Wave now.”

  Nile’s whole body tensed, sending Kyra’s heart racing.

  “Don’t welcome that boat, sir,” Nile said quietly to Addus.

  The older man frowned, the only outward sign of the mounting frustration Kyra tasted from him. “I value your counsel and experience, Nile,” Addus said firmly, “but we must give some heed to common reason. Those are Diante ships. They have obeyed our signal to stop outside firing range—and thus outside hailing distance. You’ve requested my ships come no closer to our visitors, so the only means remaining for them to discuss the situation is by messenger boat.”

  ‘The signals—” Nile let her words die on the vine.

  “Mr. Dana,” Addus said, shifting his focus. “Allow me to thank you for—”

  The deafening boom of an explosion echoed over the waves, cutting off the admiral’s words. In the suddenly lit night, fire and smoke rose from the small boat beside the Wave’s hull and engulfed the man-of-war in a blood-red inferno.

  Chapter 29

  Nile

  I stand frozen as the shards of a boat’s hull rain into the sea. The Wave bucks under the assault, gulping water from the wound in her side. Above her deck, canvas catches fire, the sail burning quick and bright for all to see. The flame decimates the ship as if consuming dry forest grass, as if…as if a phantom wind is feeding the flames.

  There is a heartbeat of silence aboard the Stardust before the screaming begins. Soul-crushingly frightened while the ocean itself roars in flames. Admiral Addus’s voice rises over the din, ordering everyone except the crew belowdecks, demanding sail be set at once to get the unarmed Stardust away from here. It does little good, though, not on a civilian ship filled with more stewards and performers than sailors. Even the able seamen are cowering, though, their training having had little by way of handling an assault. The Gifted stand frozen.

  Quinn and Domenic are picking up the admiral’s commands, which Addus has the foresight to call in both Diante and Lyron. Even Lord Vikon, having suddenly found himself better trained than those around him, is assembling a work party. Catsper is giving up yelling orders and herds the civilians belowdeck by means of shoves and fists.

  Standing tall on the quarterdeck, Admiral Addus turns to me. “Are suicide runs a common tool of naval warfare nowadays?”

  I shake my head. The distant fire plays tricks with the light, and a trail of black smoke rises to the sky. “Before today, I saw it once in the last decade. But the Bevnians, they’ve changed—”

  A second explosion rocks the world as the Wave’s gunpowder stores explode. The massive cloud dwarfs the initial combustions to child’s play, and an invisible shock wave, like hardened air, slams into the Stardust before the boom of the explosion reaches our ears. My ears ring, a pressure deep inside, deafening the world.

  Then the ocean waves reach us as well. The clumsy barque bucks violently, the decks rising then falling two yards down from beneath our feet. My stomach lifts into my throat as I become airborne alongside the admiral. We crash down together, me onto my hands and knees, and him…

  A scream escapes me as Admiral Addus cracks his head again a spar and crumples.

  I rush toward him only to have Domenic’s iron arm clamp around my waist, pulling me against him. “Leave him, Nile.” Domenic’s voice is quiet and firm. “The admiral is either alive or he isn’t. We need to get the Stardust out of here. Now.”

  I shove Domenic’s arm away, hating him for being right. The deck is a mess of sobbing bodies, spilled food, and tangled lines. Captain Yulin huddles at the base of the mainmast, his left thumbnail between his teeth. “We are a civilian ship,” he insists. “We are a civilian ship. No one shall harm a civilian ship. They won’t. They can’t.”

  “Can you signal the Helix to run?” I ask Domenic, who starts jogging toward the signal flags before I finish the sentence.

  “Deck there!” a middie’s young voice calls from the lookout platform. “Ten sails starboard. Twelve. More maybe.”

  My blood chills. The other ships of the Bevnian fleet must have kept their distance to avoid spooking us prematurely, as well as to keep their own hulls clear of the exploding skies. This isn’t a chance encounter, a snatch of opportunity. This…is an invasion.

  Why, though? Why fight a war on two fronts? Why attack now? Why, why, why?

  I jerk myself back from theory to survival. The Stardust can’t fight, can’t stay here, and can’t outrun the approaching host.

  But I can.

  “Nile,” Domenic shouts from the mainmast. “Don’t do it! Too dangerous.”

  I wonder how he’s read my mind, and a part of me wants to smile even as the rest of me disregards the warning. There isn’t a choice, not really. With my wind, we may or may not outrun the enemy. Without it, we are going up in flames like the Wave just did.

  “Man the sails and helm the best you can,” I shout back to Domenic over the sobs of well-dressed guests and wailing youngsters. Over the howling prayers of the steward I’d last seen serving sweet sticky dumplings, presently covering his head with his serving tray. Catsper and now Vikon are doing a tolerable job of getting the civilians belowdecks, but it will be up to Domenic and Quinn to knead the Stardust’s crew into a working military apparatus. They’ll have to just to keep up w
ith the gale I’m about to unleash. My eyes find the sails, rigged fore and aft instead of the square of the man-of-war. Less maneuverable, but easier to manage with a smaller crew.

  The magic in my blood bubbles happily, excited for the coming freedom. It has been here before, it knows what’s coming next. I tighten the reins on it. Over my shoulder, the enemy fleet is closing in, the lanterns on the ships’ masts clear beacons. No one is trying to hide now. They are trying to frighten us into striking our colors. Into surrender.

  “The Crest struck her colors!” Quinn’s voice announces from somewhere.

  That’s it. There is no one but me standing between the coming enemy fleet and our survival. The night wind touches my face, and the magic bucks against my restraint. Out, out, out, it begs.

  “We have to strike,” Domenic calls. “Everyone, get below.”

  No. I free my magic in an explosion of air that is as spectacular at the Bevnians’ had been. The Stardust lurches as the preternatural gale hits her sails, the ship’s bow rising into the air. More, more, more. The magic inside me echoes my own thoughts. More wind. More power. More speed to get this bloody floating bucket away from the Bevnians’ snapping jaws.

  My magic whips the wind, my lungs stretching and burning. It’s all I can do to keep from choking as I pull in one tether of control, shaping the wind’s direction to maximize the sails’ set. The current of air attacks the sheets with the force of an angry storm, and I’m knocked back against the mainmast.

  “Nile!’ Domenic shouts as the Stardust lurches under the rush of the storm. “Enough.”

  The ship strains but flies. The bow knocks against the ocean, sending up fountains of salty spray that stings eyes. I want to turn my head to see the distance we are making, but my head cannot compete with the storm. No matter. The farther and faster we get away, the better. We need to ride my wind until it fails.

  The snap registers as an abstract sound in my mind until I see a corner of the foresail separate from its tether, the line broken. The sheet flogs itself in the wind, the ship lurching in protest at the sudden change. Three seamen throw themselves at the helm, trying to keep the wheel from spinning wildly, while another screams as the gale rips a line from his hands.