by Megan Derr
Across from her, Mark had gone still. Her eyes snapped to the sailors as she threw her dumplings to the ground and stood.
They tried to bolt, but Charlaine and Jac rose in tandem, Jac's knives flying true and crippling them both, Charlaine just behind to bind their wrists and drag them back to the fire.
Mark stood over them, words snapping out as she yelled at them. Their replies were hesitant and quavering but did nothing to soothe her anger. She looked at the third sailor, standing nervously off to the side, looking ready to bolt himself. Her words lashed out, and he replied with only slightly more steadiness than the first two.
Swearing in Harken, Mark turned to Charlaine and Jac. "These two pieces of rotten fish have sold us out. They say because their families were threatened, but I have my doubts. Their orders were to bring you to this spot and keep you here. Get going."
"You're not coming with us?" Charlaine asked.
"I would love to," Mark replied, "but someone will need to hold the soldiers off, since there is no stopping them coming now."
Jac's mouth flattened, and her eyes took on a haunted look. "We're not leaving you behind!"
Mark glared at her. "I am not the one in danger. You are, and your friend is swiftly running out of time. Get going, and I will do my best to make certain the soldiers do not follow you. At the very least, I can slow them down and give you a chance to prepare. Go. Take my satchel. It has all you will need to carry on alone. I have a contact who will find you once you're in the forest."
Jac's reply was to disagree—loudly, vehemently, rudely. Charlaine grabbed the satchel Mark had indicated, then scooped up Jac, dropped her in the boat and shoved off before she could get to her feet. He climbed in just as she was about to throw herself out and shoved her back down. "It's done. Do you know how to sail?"
"Yes," Jac snarled. "Not well, but if we stay within sight of the shore I can manage. But we can't leave her!"
Charlaine turned around to lift a hand in farewell.
Mark returned it, then rounded on the traitorous sailors and started yelling, her words swiftly lost as Charlaine and Jac sailed out of hearing.
Turning back to Jac, who'd settled in to steering the boat, Charlaine sat, dropped the satchel at his feet, and said, "She was right. If we wanted to have any hope of getting away, she had to stay behind."
"I don't like leaving people behind," Jac bit out, but beneath her anger was an undercurrent of fear. She curled in on herself. "What if something goes wrong? What if the soldiers don't listen to her? Damn it, I don't want her to die or come to harm!"
"I'm sorry. I know how much this troubles you and why," Charlaine said, "but Lady Mark isn't Allen. She can handle herself. Remember that she's the ambassador's daughter and a close friend of Captain Chass. Those two things go a long way toward keeping someone alive. They'll arrest her, I have no doubt, but they won't kill or harm her. But they would have killed us. Whatever Their Majesties intentions, I do not believe Soltorin, or at least Iron Moon, agrees with them."
"What possible good would come from killing us? That would only anger Sarrica and Allen more—and they're already out for blood with Larren's body barely put on a pyre."
"After a point, it stops mattering how many wrongs pile up. Iron Moon never should have made matters personal. If they wanted revenge on Myra, they should have done it separately, and definitely not without sanction. By mingling the job and the vendetta, they've made it clear the Triumvirate is guilty in the matter. Maybe they killed Prince Larren for money, but they still did it."
"Wouldn't it be to their favor, then, to help us rather than hinder us?"
"No," Charlaine said quietly. "You heard what Lady Mark said: there's a whole lot of internal unrest. If the Triumvirate helps us and therefore stands against Iron Moon… well, look how reckless and foolish they were about Myra. Do you think Iron Moon will hesitate to cause a bloodbath if they think the Seven betrayed them? No, the Seven will suffer greatly for making an enemy of Harken, but they'll lose their control of the Triumvirate if they make an enemy of the clans. There won't be a Triumvirate, just a pile of bodies and three fragmented countries. That sort of damage would take decades to repair—and that's assuming someone doesn't swoop in and take them over again."
"Someone like Treya Mencee, you mean." Jac grimaced. "I don't even want to think about what would happen to the world if Treya Mencee gained control of the clans."
"Nobody does."
Jac frowned. "Wouldn't Allen and Sarrica have known all this?"
"All this and a thousand things more," Charlaine said, scrubbing at his face. "Things I could not even begin to comprehend and frankly don't want to. I'm a soldier, not a politician."
Jac smiled, soft and bittersweet. "Allen always makes it look so easy. Watching him, you would think politics nothing more than a simple game played to pass the time. I don't know how he does it."
"Training," Charlaine said. "I've seen you shoot and throw; you make it look easy as breathing. All the fresh-faced mercs in the practice yard try to throw like you, and they're lucky they don't kill someone. His Majesty is no different. He's been trained probably most of his life to do exactly what he's doing."
"Since he was little more than a babe, from what I know," Jac said. "That's why he's fluent in so many languages. Learning to throw a knife or shoot an arrow isn't anywhere near as hard, especially with crossbows."
Charlaine rolled his eye. "Uh-huh. The point is, Their Majesties must know things we don't, and that's why they felt asking the Triumvirate for help, or whatever it is they did, was the best recourse. We won't know until this mess is over, assuming we survive it and get an explanation." One corner of his mouth ticked up. "Which is unlikely, as no one tells soldiers anything."
"Says the man once third in command of Fathoms Deep. Don't even pretend you don't excel at hoarding information."
"Guilty as charged," Charlaine said with a laugh. "I—" He broke off and opened Mark's satchel, quickly finding the spyglass he'd noticed her using before. Pulling it from the case, he settled it at his eye. "I can just make out a boat. Small ship? I was never clear on when a boat becomes a ship. They're headed to shore, so I don't think they've spotted us, or at least haven't realized who we are."
"Hopefully it stays that way. Here, keep watch while I adjust the sails, see if we can't catch a bit more wind and get as far away as possible."
Charlaine took her spot. "You better hope I don't have to do anything because I'm definitely a soldier only, not a sailor. Most I've ever done on a ship is the kind of grunt work they leave to cabin boys and those being punished."
Jac laughed. "Don't jerk it and we'll be all right." She winked and went to adjust the sails.
Refusing to laugh at that, Charlaine focused on the tiller. When Jac reclaimed the tiller, he once more raised the spyglass. "It's out of sight."
"Good. I hope Lady Mark's all right."
"She will be. I can't imagine you make friends with Captain Chass without being made of strong stuff."
"I didn't even know he had friends. Especially once all the rumors of his abusing the High Consort started spreading." Jac's face clouded. "If he was anyone else, that bastard would have been thrown out of the military and sent home in disgrace."
Charlaine lifted one shoulder. "Agreed. But there may also be more to the story than even you know. Better to stay out of family affairs, and imperial affairs, as much as possible—especially when they're the same thing."
"A good point. How much further do we need to go? I'm keeping to the coast so we shouldn't get lost, but I don't know where we're meant to stop. Hopefully it won't take long, because it's going to be a whole lot more difficult in the dark."
Charlaine stowed the spyglass and rooted through the satchel, finding another round leather case at the bottom of it. He opened it and slid out the contents. Unrolling it, he said, "Well, I have a map and paper with our destination coordinates, so give me a few minutes and I'll be able to tell you. Looks like there are
also notes on landmarks."
"That's one thing in our favor, then," Jac said, and blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs. "Now if only all the rest of it would fall into line. Even for me, 'find way to clan territory, rescue Myra from entire clan, escape' seems a bit daunting, and the Dragons aren't exactly known for their slow, careful, well-planned ventures."
Grinning, Charlaine said, "Just think how jealous all the other Dragons will be of this venture—and how mad that you didn't take them along."
"I'm certain they're trying," Jac said. "It would take Jader and Rene combined to make them stay put."
Charlaine gave a soft snort. "I can't believe you think you have nothing else to do if you get kicked out of Harkenesten. Sounds like every last Dragon would be happy to point you to their mother, brother or friend who needs help with something."
Jac looked down from the sails she'd been eyeing and gave Charlaine a slow, hot little grin that nearly made him forget, yet again, all the danger and death that surrounded them. "I'm fairly certain I've got a much better offer."
"Assuming we live and Myra is willing, but…" Charlaine let himself picture it—really picture it, sex, sweetness and all. "I think the second part will be easy." He grinned. "Not as easy as a drunk Dragon, mind you, but easy."
"Get over here within kicking distance and say that again," Jac replied, gesturing crudely.
Charlaine put the map away, closed the satchel, then obediently got closer—much, much closer, so instead of getting kicked he could kiss Jac soundly, sliding his fingers through her short hair, liking the way it clung to his rough fingers, soft and fine as silk.
"I wonder if we would have thought of this without the whole assassination, losing our jobs, probably going to get killed bits," Jac said as she pulled away. "Or if we would have done something equally as stupid but vastly more pathetic."
"I think I'm happier not knowing the answer," Charlaine replied, mostly because he did know the answer—he would have walked away from any chance of Myra as his lover, sulked and been hurt and jealous for a long time, but eventually settled back into their friendship, though it probably would have never been quite the same.
Or perhaps they would have landed upon 'threesome' at some point. Who knew? He didn't care. All he cared about was getting Jac and Myra home safe, whatever that required.
Jac kissed him again, quick, hard and biting. "Get back to work on that map so we don't fuck something up and make this already terrible situation worse."
"Yes, Captain." Charlaine snickered as she swatted him and returned to his seat, pulling out the map and coordinates and sorting out where they were going and exactly how long it would take to get there.
Chapter Twelve
They hit the beach in a crash of thunder and ran for cover in the trees as the storm pelted down, stinging rain and even hail, which Jac had only ever seen one other time, and that was forever ago.
She shivered as they pushed on a little further, looking for a spot sheltered enough they could get a fire going. Thankfully, it didn't take them long, though the few minutes felt like an eternity. Jac obeyed gladly when Charlaine motioned for her to sit, settling on the exposed root of an enormous tree, hugging herself and shivering as she watched Charlaine work.
The hardest part should have been gathering wood, but somehow within only minutes Charlaine had plenty to work with. Any other time, Jac would have admired the view, the deftness with which he worked, the casual expertise he displayed. But right then, even his ridiculously perfect ass could not distract her from the misery of being wet, cold, hungry and exhausted enough to sleep for a month.
She could have wept when the fire was sufficiently built, abandoning her tree root to shuffle closer, putting her hands close and moaning as they warmed. She edged a bit closer and sighed as the heat washed over her and slowly banished the cold.
"Getting out of those wet clothes would probably help too," Charlaine said.
Jac looked up with a grin, watching as Charlaine followed his own advice. "I hope you don't think you're being smooth, Lieutenant."
Charlaine laughed as he hung his wet tunic and shirt over some nearby branches. "I definitely would have thought so a couple of decades ago. But if I tried anything right now, I'd only embarrass myself." He pulled off the rest of his sodden clothes and swiftly pulled on a dry set from his pack. "Change. I'll make some tea to warm us up a bit more, then start on dinner."
"I miss real food."
"You had real food a few days ago," Charlaine replied.
Jac scoffed. "One meal, eaten in haste. Delicious, but food abroad is never the same as food at home. I want a bowl of Harkenesten curry with plenty of rice and fresh, warm bread." She yanked off her wet clothes and hung them near Charlaine's, pulling on dry clothes quickly and strapping her weapons back in place.
Charlaine wrinkled his nose. "I prefer Carthian curry."
"Shut your mouth, you vile blasphemer," Jac replied. "How dare you."
"I prefer mutton to fish, and for the heat level to be slightly below tongue-melting."
Jac tsked, but finally broke down laughing at Charlaine's look. "Oh, stop pouting."
"I'm not pouting."
"Uh-huh."
Charlaine heaved a long sigh and handed her a cup of tea—Harken-style tea, thankfully, fragrant and spicy, not the weak, flavorless stuff they seemed to drink everywhere else. The only thing she loved more was a good cup of strong coffee. Jac gulped it down as quickly as she possibly could and held the cup out the moment it was empty. Chuckling, Charlaine refilled it.
Drinking the second one more sedately as Charlaine started on dinner, Jac said, "So we're about a day's travel from Iron Moon territory?"
"Assuming we don't get lost or something, yes," Charlaine said. "The hard part will be not getting caught, and I have a feeling we're going to fail miserably. I've been in Soldonir before, but it was nothing like this. We kept to Odokka, and it was only for a brief time before we moved on to the main part of the mission. This is wholly new, and I wish we still had a guide."
"I hope Lady Mark is all right," Jac said, stomach curdling with worry all over again, every part of her scraped raw at having to yet again leave someone behind. Leaving people behind should never be the better option, even if it was choosing between different evils. "Lady Mark has no stake in this. It isn't right she's paying such a high price."
Charlaine shredded some herbs he pulled from a packet in Mark's satchel into the broth he'd already built from water and other things Jac had missed. "She's an adult, and probably close to Allen's level in political machinations. She knew what she was getting into, and no one forced her."
"She was repaying a debt—"
"It was still her choice," Charlaine cut in, and gave her a gently reproving look. "Plenty of people without full knowledge of the situation muttered you never should have left Allen, that you are largely responsible for what happened to him. You both knew how important it was you reached His Majesty with Allen's information, and you both knew what would likely happen to him. But you'd make the same choice again, I have every faith, because it was the best decision to make. Don't assume other people aren't as smart, especially since we know absolutely nothing of Lady Mark's story."
Jac sighed. "You're right. I don't like it, but you're right."
Charlaine finished slicing up some vegetables and threw them in the pot.
"Where did all that food come from? Where did you learn to cook?" She stared at him intently. "What else can you cook?"
"I am just past forty, far too old to be eating bad camp food. I learned how to make halfway decent food a long time ago. I'm no cook, but I don't leave soldiers dead from the food long before they reach the battlefield." His mouth tipped up at one corner, a mischievous little smile that had probably gotten a younger Charlaine every last thing he wanted—and probably got the current Charlaine much the same. "Being able to cook also goes a long way toward making friends and gaining trust."
Jac was certain
ly willing to do whatever he asked or demanded. How refreshing—and exciting—to be able to think that without guilt or confusion, only a slow burn of anticipation.
It was slightly muddied by the likelihood of their demise, but she wasn't dwelling on that detail. Aggravating though Lesto could be, he'd always been right about controlling thoughts. If only doing that was as easy as knowing to do it. "That smells wonderful."
Charlaine shrugged one shoulder, but his mouth curved as he fussed with his soup or whatever it was. "It should be ready soon. Some soups and stews can take forever, but the campfire ones I've learned to make generally cook pretty quickly. Did you want more tea?"
"Sure."
He poured more for them both, and as promised, by the time they were done the soup was ready, and for the first time all day, Jac was warm all the way through.
When they'd finished and cleaned up, the rain had stopped as well, so Jac pulled out the map and Mark's accompanying notes, frowning in despair over them. "She's, uh, remarkably thorough."
"Probably in case we lost our guides or failed to meet up with this so-called contact who will be finding us," Charlaine said. "She has interesting experience and knowledge for an ambassador's daughter."
Jac smiled briefly before focusing completely on the task. "So we need to travel northwest, keeping to…" Her shoulders hunched and tensed. "Her handwriting is pretty, but I'm having a hard time reading it."
Charlaine took the papers from her, then traced a spot on the map. "Keeping to the stream. If we see a rock wall with red markings, we've strayed too far east. We'll be at the very edge of Iron Moon territory when the stream turns into a large pond. That's when we'll really need to be on guard, though we should be at all times, since we'll always be in the territory of one clan or another—but unless we seem to present a danger to that particular clan, they shouldn't interfere. And even Iron Moon won't cause problems in the territories of other clans."
"They'll just traipse about the world committing murder," Jac muttered. "So this is the wall we should avoid, this is the stream, the river… and that's the village where Iron Moon lives?"
