Seafire

by Natalie C. Parker

  “Food,” Oran said calmly. “Ceepa said someone would come to deliver some food.”

  He was right, of course, but the fact irritated Caledonia as she hurried out to the deck and opened the hatch in time for a silver-haired woman to deftly swing her bundle onto the floor. She stayed on the ladder, showing no signs of wanting to come all the way up. With some surprise, Caledonia realized it was the grandmother from the court. Jules, who’d argued in their favor.

  The woman shook her head slowly, small silver trinkets clinking in her hair. “So young. Up close, you’re even younger than I realized.”

  In her head, Caledonia heard Amina’s response to Clag in Cloudbreak. Only in years. It had only been a matter of days since that moment, but she felt every one as if they stacked up on her shoulders. Nothing had gone well since that strange man directed them to Doc Tricius.

  “Maybe too young.” Caledonia surprised herself with her honesty, but it felt good to show this small corner of her worries to someone she wasn’t responsible for. Maybe it was seeing Hime reunited with her mother. Maybe it was all the ways the queen made her think of her own mother. Whatever it was, suddenly, Caledonia didn’t want this grandmother to leave.

  “Young, but not a child.” With one hand, Jules reached out to caress Caledonia’s cheek. Her calloused fingers were rough and gentle at the same time, hardened by work and softened by age. “There are no children anymore. Just babes and the rest of us. Remember, when they call you girl, they’re trying to tell you something. They’re trying to tell you that they’re more than you, that the body you’re in makes you less. But you know, and I know, that you’re exactly what you need to be.”

  Caledonia put her hand on the paper-soft skin of the woman’s arm. “Thank you.”

  “There’s enough for the boy,” Jules said with a grim smile. “But make sure you take the whale’s share, love.”

  And then she was gone, leaving words that resounded like bells in Caledonia’s mind. She sat there on the floor of the deck for a long moment after Jules left, letting those words burrow into her mind and take root.

  Whatever Jules had left for them smelled divine. Caledonia’s stomach roared, reminding her just how long it had been since she’d eaten. She scooped up the basket and took it inside, unpacking it on the floor some distance from Oran. There were several wooden boxes, each containing a steaming delight—a dark meat in thick gravy, white turnips on a bed of leafy vegetables so dark they looked black under these lights, and in the last a small loaf of fresh, buttery bread. Two bottles contained clear, drinkable water, and in a very small tin she found coarse salt.

  Oran didn’t even try to hide his hunger. He sat up at the only awkward angle his bindings allowed, braced his legs on the floor, and watched as Caledonia revealed each dish, his mouth slightly agape.

  Her first thought was to deny him. Make him watch as she took her fill and his portion grew steadily smaller. But there was something about hunger, something about the hopeful way his eyes studied the steam. As empty as her belly was, his was surely worse.

  With an internal groan, Caledonia got to her feet and untied the rope tethering him to the hammock.

  “C’mon,” she muttered. “You can’t help me if you starve to death.”

  They sat with legs crossed around the arrangement of dishes. There were no utensils, so they ate with their hands, using the bread to scoop up every bit of the gravy. It was good. There was no question about that, but they ate too quickly to know if the turnips were more tender than the meat or if the greens were bitter.

  Oran waited for Caledonia to take her fill of each dish before diving in. The bindings on his wrists did little to slow him down. He lifted the gravy dish to his face, licking the corners clean and acquiring a dab of gravy on the tip of his nose. Caledonia almost laughed as he hurried to wipe it away, embarrassed by the mess on his face, but somehow not the method of making that mess.

  “I think the only thing I’ll miss about the Bullet fleet is the food,” Oran said, licking the last of the gravy from his fingers. “Aric is a demon and a bastard, but he knew what he was doing when he built his AgriFleet.”

  The bale barges were only one slice of that fleet. The rest supported a wide range of fruits and vegetables, ensuring the Bullets were healthy and strong, even while their minds dulled under the constant pressure of that drug.

  “What about Silt? It’s only been a few days, but they say the first days are the worst. Don’t you want it again?”

  Oran’s expression darkened. “I will not miss the Silt,” he said, as though convincing himself.

  “You sure?” she asked. “I’ve never seen anyone break the habit as cleanly as you.”

  His body tensed. “This isn’t my first time.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  Oran stood and moved to the window. He took a long draught of his water before answering. “Sometimes Silt is withheld. For a day, maybe two. It’s a punishment.”

  “Seems counterproductive.” Caledonia climbed to her feet, studying the Bullet from behind. “Why weaken your fleet like that?”

  “Because it reminds them how much they need it and him,” Oran answered quickly.

  Caledonia shivered. “But a day or two isn’t enough to break the habit,” she pressed.

  He nodded, keeping his face turned away. “Sometimes the punishment is worse.”

  She wanted to know more. She wanted to know why he’d been punished and whether or not Donnally had suffered in the same way, and without thinking, she leaned close to skim one of the three bands on his bicep with her fingertips.

  He spun, snatching her wrist in his hand as though the touch had burned. His breath was hot on her mouth, their bodies inches apart. He looked boldly into her eyes. Angry and somehow also afraid. For just a second, it undid her. Then, just as quickly, he dropped her hand again and leaned away.

  Caledonia’s heart pounded. The place where he’d gripped her was hot, but he hadn’t hurt her. He’d stopped himself on the precarious edge of violence.

  She didn’t speak, and neither did he.

  They cleaned up, setting the empty tins outside on the deck. Oran offered his hands to be rebound to the chain, and Caledonia sank into her hammock feeling unsettled.

  For a moment, the only sounds were of the night bugs and the breeze through the window. Then Oran’s voice rumbled, “I’m sorry, Caledonia.”

  Caledonia turned her back to him and shut her eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  When Caledonia next saw the Mors Navis, it was moving past her window at daybreak.

  She was up in an instant, peeling back the window netting to see her ship propped in a floating dry dock and moving more deeply into the Drowning Lands. She took note of every gash and seam. They couldn’t always make solid repairs at sea, but they’d done their best. The Mors Navis was a tough ship, and Caledonia was relieved to see her all in one piece. The repair shouldn’t take too long.

  Oran was still asleep in his hammock, arms bound firmly above his head. In the gray light of dawn, he was drawn in softer strokes. Though the air had cooled to a pleasant temperature overnight, his forehead was covered in a thin layer of sweat and his brows were delicately furrowed. He looked almost gentle. Vulnerable to whatever gnarled demons Aric had left inside him.

  Caledonia rubbed her wrist. Reminding herself what happened when she forgot how vicious those demons were.

  “Get up.” Caledonia made her voice loud and hard. Chasing away his sleep and her flash of sympathy in the same breath. “It’s time to go.”

  To his credit, Oran didn’t ask a single question. He was up as soon as his hands were free and was ready to go only minutes later.

  They nearly tripped over breakfast on their way. Someone had cleared their empty dinner dishes and replaced them with a bundle containing rolls, soft cheese, and fresh berries. T
hey paused long enough to cram cheese-stuffed rolls into their mouths, but took the berries and bottles of water with them.

  She briefly considered positioning Oran in the front of the boat where she could keep him in her sights. It would remove opportunities for him to surprise her, but she didn’t want to spend more time than necessary staring at his head, and putting him at her back was a stronger message. It said, I’m not afraid of you. You are no threat to me.

  Early daylight filtered through the scatter of trees in rays of warm orange and cool yellow, bugs stitched the surface of the water together with little nips and tucks, and beneath darted minnows and fish. Canoes slid between the trees and stilts, ruffling the water as people went about their morning tasks. The Drowning Lands were awake, above and below.

  Bound as he was, Oran added his strong strokes to hers, and they soon found their rhythm in the unfamiliar boat. At first, Caledonia offered directions, but after a short time Oran responded to the subtle shifts in her oar, adjusting his own before she could give a command. There was something very calming about the work, the slow, steady rhythm of the oars, the music of water dripping from them. The air was fresh and cool, and though they were surrounded by the waking sounds of the village, it felt serene.

  They arrived at the crew’s cluster of stilted houses to find Ceepa and Pisces seated at an outdoor table chatting over steaming cups.

  “Tea, Captain?” Ceepa offered as Caledonia drew near. “I have none for the Bullet.”

  Pisces didn’t bother hiding her disapproval at the snub.

  “Thank you.” Caledonia accepted a mug of the fragrant drink, taking a seat near Ceepa. Oran stood as far from the table as the tether allowed, but it was more awkward knowing he lurked than having him close. Caledonia gestured to the seat next to her, and Oran took it.

  “We’ve had a chance to assess the damage to your ship,” Ceepa said. She was already dressed in plates of gray armor. Caledonia had the impression the woman was never without it. “She’s taken quite a beating. Needs work.”

  Four encounters in the past ten days. But that ship had taken more than the sum of these skirmishes combined.

  “I don’t need her perfect, I need her capable.” Caledonia didn’t like the casual tone in Ceepa’s voice. “How long will it take?”

  “With your crew assisting? Nine days,” Ceepa stated. “Maybe ten.”

  “Ten days?!” Caledonia was on her feet. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

  If Oran’s timeline was accurate, they had fourteen days to reach the Northwater ahead of the Electra. It would take four days under ideal conditions to sail from the Drowning Lands to the Northwater. More if they encountered trouble. Ten days for repairs would leave them scrambling. Their brothers might be gone before they reached the Northwater at all.

  “She was sailing just fine when we left her,” Pisces said smoothly, her gaze urging Caledonia to stay calm. “Propulsion was gummed up, but we could have had it cleared in a day. What did you do to her?”

  Ceepa merely shrugged, rising from her seat. “Taking ships apart is what we do, friends. And we do it fast. Putting them back together takes us a bit longer.”

  The crew was beginning to awaken, emerging from houses on all sides of the deck in search of breakfast. Caledonia bit down on her irritation. In the distance, her crew grew louder, seeming to echo the rumble in her own chest.

  “No one knows the Mors Navis like my crew. We’ll cut that time down. A week is all we have to spare.”

  Oran cleared his throat. “Our timeline’s actually a little shorter than you think. Electra will start her run with the waxing crescent moon. That’s our timeline.”

  “What?” A familiar anger tinged Caledonia’s response. “Why?”

  “We do everything in alignment with the moon. The waxing crescent is a time of growth and potential. Perfect for gathering recruits.”

  She’d heard it before—Bullets were deeply superstitious and looked to the moon for signs and portents of things to come—but this was the first time she’d heard it in such detail.

  “The waxing crescent is in twelve days,” Pisces said with renewed alarm.

  Twelve days. Not fourteen. Twelve. They had to get out of here.

  Before she could say another word, the noise from the crew spiked. The rumbling rose in a sharp crescendo, and the girls danced into an excited circle across the deck. That’s when the cheers began. It was a sign of one thing only: fight. While she was usually in favor of the girls blowing off steam, this was not the time or place for it. Oran followed as Caledonia strode across the deck and released a piercing whistle. “Heads high, girls!”

  Immediately, her girls quieted, raising their heads and releasing the circle. In the center stood two figures: Redtooth, which didn’t surprise Caledonia at all, and Amina, which couldn’t have surprised her more. Redtooth would fight with anyone, but Amina? Amina wasn’t the brawling sort.

  The two girls stepped apart. Amina, with her hands braced against her hips, eyes hard and pinned to the captain; Redtooth, with blood tracking down her chin and a pained look for Amina.

  “Whatever it was, is it settled?” Caledonia asked. “Or do you need me to settle it for you?”

  Amina’s eyes cut away. Redtooth grumbled under her breath.

  “Louder, Red,” Caledonia ordered.

  “I only said—” She paused to put another foot of distance between herself and Amina. “I thought Lovely Hime was going to stay with her mom.”

  Understanding washed over Caledonia, taking her anger with it. In its place was a quiet and sudden squeeze of apprehension. It had been an unspoken possibility since they landed here. Everyone knew they might be losing Hime. And in this moment, Caledonia feared there was no other possible outcome.

  She saw that same fear humming through the girls still standing near, a chord in search of a song. These girls were so accustomed to the fight that if they went too long without, they’d find one. Being still for too long was no good for girls with the current in their blood.

  “Ceepa!” She called to the woman leaning against a doorframe with a full view of the show. “My crew’s ready to get to work!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It took twenty-one canoes to transport the crew to the Mors Navis. By the time they had everyone there, the sun was high overhead, the air thickening with humidity.

  At first glance, the ship looked much as it had when they left it, but closer inspection revealed significant damage to the forward hull. Ceepa had not exaggerated her people’s destructive expertise.

  While the crew boarded, Caledonia and Pisces surveyed the exterior of the ship. The dry dock was a marvel all on its own, two walls and a floor of rusted metal capable of lifting a ship completely out of the water and moving it long distances. The girls were able to walk right up to the lowest point of the Mors Navis’s hull and run their hands over the distressed seams.

  Oran followed along behind, careful to never let the tether pull tight between them. Every time he moved, Caledonia was reminded of how aware of her he was. No matter what she did, he was prepared to move in some corresponding fashion. It wasn’t obedience, she realized, it was perception. She must always be in the corner of his eye and the front of his mind.

  “I think we can do it in six days,” Pisces said, breaking into her thoughts. “We know these tools. If we work through the nights, our girls can get it done.”

  “Good.” Caledonia swept her mind clear of Oran. “Get Lace to draw up the work teams. If the cabins aren’t damaged, we can have rotations here and in the cabins in town.”

  “Tin,” Pisces corrected her in a soft voice. “You mean Tin.”

  Caledonia’s stomach pitched, and for just a second it was like losing Lace all over again. If Lace were here, she’d have run this operation without a hitch. But Lace wasn’t here. They’d lost her. She’d lost her. And
her crew still hadn’t found its footing again.

  Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t.

  “Of course. Tin,” she said, nodding too quickly and forcing her mind to hurry past its grief. “We’ll get Tin on the duty roster. I want one of our crew here at all times. The queen may have ordered her people to help, but there are at least some who don’t agree with her. I don’t want to give them any opportunity to take what’s ours.”

  “Done,” Pisces confirmed, eyes casting back toward the village.

  “Any sign of Hime?” Caledonia asked. Perhaps it was the fight between Amina and Redtooth that made her think of it. Or perhaps it was the nagging fear that she was about to lose a second crewmember.

  “She was here last night. Briefly. But she left with her mother.” Pisces paused, glancing up toward the deck at the sounds of their crew settling into their work. The ship began to rumble gently as some of its systems were tested. “It goes without saying, but Amina’s not taking it very well.”

  “You think she’ll stay?” Caledonia asked, though she felt like she already knew the answer. All she could remember were the moments Hime had expressed frustration with Caledonia, with her own role on the ship. At every turn, they’d held Hime back, kept her from the fight she so desperately wanted to join. Why would she stay with them when all Caledonia had done was tell her no?

  Pisces looked pained for a moment, as if she were pondering the same thing. “I don’t know,” she said softly.

  “I think she’ll stay with you.” Oran’s voice surprised them both. They turned to find him leaning against the weathered hull, brown eyes flashing in the sun.

  “Why?” Pisces asked, voice gentle.

  “She was a Scythe,” he said simply, apologetically. “The fight is part of her now.”

  “What does that mean?” Caledonia asked.

  Oran’s mouth dipped into a brief frown. “Kids who end up in the family of the Father go one of two ways—they either fight or they don’t. If she wasn’t a fighter, she’d have left you long ago. One way or another. But she’s with you. She needs to fight almost as much as she needs anything else.” He gestured to the long clutch of silvery trees, the still-surfaced water surrounding the dry dock. “She won’t get that here.”