Dragoon (War of the Princes Book 2)

by A. R. Ivanovich

  “Kat,” Kyle said in a gentle tone. “I'm sorry about your mom.”

  His sympathy was kind, but I didn't like pity. Inside, I was a mess of emotions, but outside, I was in control. “She hasn't been my mom in a long time.”

  The Flying Fish lurched and dropped enough to make me swallow my lungs. I grabbed at the bunk for support, and Sterling threw up on Kyle.

  C hapter 13: Meeting the Storm

  The storm was upon us. I'd never seen anything like it. The ocean was a maze of angry, jagged swells, nearly as black as the sky above us. The last bit of evening sunlight was like a flickering candle beyond the colossal thunderheads. Rain pelted down in sheets, battering the Flying Fish. It was terrifying, placing my life in the grasp of such powerful natural forces.

  I was leaving the shelter of the forward cabin to check on the horses when I found myself entranced. What would the harm be if I lingered for a moment? I was safe on the ship, wasn't I?

  My inexperience and foolish gusto were a dangerous combination. I was curious. I'd never seen or done anything like this.

  The Flying Fish climbed above the peak of a wave and pitched over the edge, swooping downward. My feet were slippery on the slick ground, but I held tightly onto the rail. It was unnerving to see the body of the ship take such a dramatic dive toward the water. Instead of crashing into the sea, we continued smoothly, climbing a smaller swell. I was lightheaded from the rush.

  The fact that we were hovering didn't save us from the roiling motion. While the ride might be smoother in the air, our height was always six feet above the surface, so we rose and fell with the water. Wisely, Carmine had retracted the ship's sails to protect them from the weather.

  My hair was plastered to my face, and I wiped it away, blinking the rain from my eyes.

  An echoing brightness rolled through the clouds and a pair of lightning bolts stabbed the water ahead in quick succession. I smiled, shivering. Thunder boomed over the noise of wind and water, and stirred me to my core. Haven never had storms like this. We were lucky if we ever got a hard drizzle.

  This storm, the lightning, it had nothing to do with me. It was wild. Even so, there was something that drew us together. It was like some impossible kinship. Maybe that was what brought me out onto the deck that night. Or maybe Lord Brendon had been right about me. Maybe I really was insane.

  Satisfied and frightened nearly out of my mind, I clutched the rail and began to scramble for the cabin door. I felt it before I saw it. Quicker than I was capable of responding, a sharp finger of lightning darted down, connecting with my body. I'd been struck.

  I went rigid, but not with pain. I could see the hairs of lightning twining over my arms, and blinding me as they flashed past my eyes. I was glowing. Its power paraded within me. Seconds seemed like minutes, and I was comfortable, like I was at home. My perception of time slowed down. All at once, the torrential squall outside was a languid and beautiful dance.

  It was Rune’s painting, come to life.

  I held my palms up and released the lightning, directing it back into the clouds. It snaked through the thunderheads in a dazzling pattern. The lightning vanished as quickly as it had come, and reality crashed back into me.

  The Flying Fish trembled in the storm and dropped a foot in the air. I slid, crashing to my knees and clutching the railing in a death grip. My curiosity vanished. This was no longer a game of bravery. I could have killed myself! The ocean was a savage monster, and mountains of water churned around the Flying Fish. Hands shaking, I forced myself upright and scrambled into the cabin, slamming the door behind me.

  * * *

  “What the hell did you do to me?” Dylan demanded, furiously. “If our engines had cut out, I could have lifted this whole ship out of danger.”

  Wrapped in blankets, and drinking a hot mug of tea, I felt blissfully normal. Dylan was ruining it. The worst of the storm was over, night had fallen, and the two of us were the only ones left awake.

  I sipped at my tea and groaned. “Relax, it wasn't anything harmful.”

  “Not harmful? You shot me and now I can't do anything!”

  “The bullet barely breached your skin, stop being a baby.”

  “The Lift is gone!”

  His pacing in the small ship's kitchen was starting to give me a headache. He was making the room feel littler, more crowded. I took steadying breaths, fighting off my claustrophobia.

  “Can you still Command?”

  He turned on me, sharply. “Well, I don't know. I haven't tried because I'm not a deviant!”

  “That's a matter of opinion. Okay, do it. Something small,” I said, frowning. There was nothing I hated more than the feeling of helplessness that accompanied being Commanded. Still, I needed to know how potent my bullets were.

  He shook his head.

  “Do it already.”

  “I did! If it had worked, you would have spit your tea into your lap.”

  I smiled. Good news for me! My pistol was going to be a real boon out there in the world.

  “You just love this, don't you?”

  I looked into the bottom of my cup. “Not really.”

  “How long?”

  “How long, what?”

  “Will it last?”

  Did I really want to tell him? “Just a day. Each shot lengthens the duration.”

  “Splendid,” he said in an acrid tone, leaning against the counter top.

  “I had to,” I said, peering up at him.

  “Right, and now I'm the same weak fool I was when we first met. How grand.” Some of the anger fled him and he sat down across from me at the table. He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket and began to shuffle them. “You know, as soon as it happened... Stakes… and then... in the dark... for a year... I... I wish it hadn't gone the way that it did.”

  “Congratulations, Dylan, you get the understatement of the year award,” I said with a sour smile, putting my mug down on the table.

  “If you'd just trusted me to come with you to Haven, none of this would have happened,” he said looking at me with such sincerity I knew he believed it. I wanted to slap him to snap him out of it.

  “You're pinning this on me?”

  “Just admit it to yourself, Katelyn, you condemned us both.”

  “Did you hit your head? Because you're talking like you have brain damage. You were a liar, Dylan, and you probably still are. How could I trust you? If I brought you to Haven you may have decided to sell the information to Stakes.”

  “I don’t need money!”

  “Money, power, boredom, what difference does it make? You lied to my face! You pretended to be injured. You would have let me bring you all the way to my home without telling me that you were a Commander. I couldn’t believe a thing you said, and I wasn’t about to entrust you with the safety of my entire country.”

  “I wouldn’t have turned on you.”

  “Dylan, you did turn on me.”

  “He would have killed me if I didn’t stop you from leaving. I had no other choice.”

  “There are always choices, and we both made them. I know with absolute confidence that mine were the right ones. I also know that your final decision was to plant a knife in my back. I don’t like our arrangement any more than you do, but we're in the same boat now, literally, so make the best of it.”

  “You ruined me!” He slammed the deck of cards down on the table, and a few of them flew onto the floor. “And now I'm supposed to be grateful that my brother has me on a leash, parading me around with you of all people? Why am I even here? What do I gain from this mockery?”

  “You know, that’s your problem,” I said, leaning forward against the table. “You're always looking for a payoff. Brendon has given you another chance here. Is this the person you want to be?”

  I gathered the blanket around myself, and left him there, alone with his cards.

  “I am what life has made me, Katelyn,” he called after me.

  Slipping into the darkness of the neare
st bunkroom, I sat on a cot and hoped that he wouldn't follow me. How could I not be upset? Dylan was a self-serving jerk and a coward. But the most difficult thing to deal with was the idea that I might have been wrong. Could I have done something differently?

  No.

  Absently, I drew the symbol that called up the Shadow Chasers. One by one, ten pairs of round, white eyes appeared in the dark. I could still feel the lingering sensation of the wild lightning that had touched me. I held out a hand over the obsidian salamander-like creatures. I'd barely been able to use the Pull lately, and the Spark was slow to respond. I had to remind myself of what Rune had first taught me. I had to remember that it was a part of me.

  Little streams of white lightning rolled from my hand, feeding the Shadow Chasers. Each and every one of them accepted the power, and used it to change their appearances. They glowed like miniature versions of mythical creatures, no two exactly alike, and lit up the room.

  A breath hissed in my chest. I wasn't alone. Someone lay in the cot across from mine, quietly thrashing.

  I picked up one of the lit Shadow Chasers, and carried it closer. Soft light illuminated the bed.

  It was Kyle.

  His face was pinched, tortured. Soundlessly, he twitched.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “Kyle... Kyle...”

  He flinched in his sleep, shrinking away from my touch. His eyes snapped open and he screamed, throwing his back into the wall. Sweat beaded his brow, and dampened his curly hair.

  “I- I can't-” he blinked, disoriented. He fought to catch his breath and looked at me, finally seeing. “K-Kat?”

  “You were dreaming,” I told him.

  He looked down, not embarrassed... something else. Something more complicated than that. His movements were sharp, edgy. “Was I?”

  “It was a nightmare.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Thanks,” he said, his voice trembling. “I've already forgotten what it was. It was just a dream, but, Kat, I have a really bad feeling about... something.”

  You and me both, Kyle.

  Chapter 14: A Historian

  The following day was milder in all respects. The sun had chased away the clouds and a fair wind gusted, pushing us in the right direction. Sterling wasn't the picture of good health, but he was feeling better. Kyle lounged around the bridge trying to make small talk with Carmine, his troubled sleep forgotten.

  I didn't mention to anyone that a huge bolt of lightning had struck me while I was frolicking like an idiot on the deck of the ship during a massive storm. Or that I was haunted by inner turmoil, feeling myself pulled in separate directions when I thought of mom. I was worried about Ruby. The sensation of homesickness made me angry. I didn't fit in there anymore, why did I need to miss it so much?

  I had to separate my thoughts of my stepmom as my mother figure. When I thought of my birth mother's name, Kendra Kestrel, I felt nothing at all. She'd left her name behind the same way she'd left her role as my mother in the trash. Only focusing on the code name, Paperglass To Be, helped me regain my bearings, but even that was difficult.

  It was becoming clearer to me that my near death experience with Commander Stakes had left my Abilities crippled. If I were at full strength, I wouldn't need to be so specific. Struggling to produce lightning for Shadow Chasers the night before confirmed it.

  I hated my ring of scars more than ever.

  The fact that our heading didn't change was nice in the sense that I didn't need to be glued to the bridge with Carmine. It was unnerving in another way. If Paperglass, wasn't moving, it meant that she had been captured. When my stomach became queasy it wasn't because of the rocking ship. Would I be too late to save her? Was she dead?

  All the while, I felt empty. I was here, in this strange place, with three guys. None of them were Rune. He might be dead too, for all I knew. I might be chasing ghosts. Who was to say Stakes hadn’t permanently damaged my Abilities by nearly draining me? Our efforts could be all for nothing.

  I wouldn't mention my doubts to the others. They didn't need to worry about me. I was fine, more or less. It was too perfect a day to ruin with eerie stories and heartache.

  Even Dylan had put on a better face. He helped me most of the day, teaching me my role as a fake Historian. It was a perfect camouflage. Apparently, Prince Raserion loved history and documentation, so long as they were entirely skewed in his favor. He could never have enough books illustrating his splendor and Prince Varion's failure. Because of this, he regularly employed flocks of Historians, in all reaches of his kingdom, allowing them passage everywhere, save his private chambers. They could come and go freely, often working with the nobility of each region, upon agreement that they produce a volume by the end of the year. It was said that Prince Raserion's library filled the walls of his entire inner palace.

  “Don't slouch,” Dylan said poking me in the back with a ruler. “We can't have you slumping your way through high company.”

  “I'm not,” I complained, trying to stand up taller.

  If one thing brightened my day, it was the incredible clothing Dylan suggested I wear.

  I was clad in a pressed blouse beneath a midnight corset, a pair of fitted black trousers that made Carmine jealous, and elegant ankle boots. Bits of red embellishment were woven into every piece of the outfit, including a sleeve, the collar lining, and a leafy pattern down one leg. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail because Dylan hadn't the vaguest idea how to braid my hair in the proper fashion. I was grateful he didn't try. The pair of gloves I was to wear were black lace and fingerless.

  I wasn't thrilled about wearing black and red, head to toe, because they were the Prince's colors, but good gravity, I looked amazing! Like a woman, not a kid who snuck away from home after school.

  “You look adequate,” Dylan told me, disgusted. “If you'd stop flopping your torso over like a fish! That's it. There's no hope. You're going to get us killed.”

  “This is the best I can do,” I said, mostly ignoring him as I gawked at my reflection in the tall mirror. I was glad the blouse covered my scars.

  “Your accent is going to be a problem,” Dylan said, rapping the ruler lightly against his shoulder. “Mount Yumin. That's where you're from. It's remote, and travelers rarely come or go. They're known for having strange accents. Let's hope that's good enough.”

  “Mount Yumin. Mount Yumin,” I repeated. “Got it.”

  “You must wear this brooch at all times. It identifies your occupation. Few people will question you with me around, but it’s better to be safe and all that.” He handed the pin to me.

  The brooch was round, gunmetal grey, and surprisingly intricate. It depicted a strong, masculine figure, standing over the crumpled form of a man that was clearly dead. “It’s ugly,” I complained, and pinned it on anyway.

  “You’ll find it quite beautiful when it saves your life. I’ve put a leather-bound book with a lock among your things. Never, ever, leave your book behind. Historians cling to them so they can write at any given moment. Oh, and bow to the Commanders and Margraves, if we see them. Historians admire no one more. And for all our sakes, don't use your Abilities. Only Dragoons have them.”

  “Is there any chance we'll see the Prince?”

  “It's unlikely. He doesn't make appearances often. You may be surprised by this, but life doesn't begin and end when Katelyn Kestrel walks in the room.”

  “Snappy. So, it's that time of the month, Lady Axton?”

  Dylan looked at me, his eyes smoldering with hatred. “I wonder what kind of a pile we'll find your mother in.”

  “Kat!” Kyle said, swinging the door open. “Wow... Kat. Um. There's land!”

  “How disappointing,” Dylan noted. “You've all done away with your silver eyes.”

  “They're grey,” Kyle said flatly. “Come on Kat!”

  The two of us rushed out the door, while Dylan trailed behind. I was met with sunshine in my eyes, and salt air in my lungs. Kyle had been right. We were coming up on a massive body of lan
d, and fast. Swathed in a gauzy white haze, it covered the entire horizon ahead of us. Like the brush strokes of a painting, I could make out the farthest mountains in the distance.

  We hadn't reached the fog, ourselves. Brilliant sunshine beamed down. The water was so blue that day, I wished I could capture the color and wear it. Shadows traced over our heads. The sea birds were back, flying with us toward the continent.

  We weren't the only people on the ocean. I could see a few small boats closer to shore. They looked like dots, spangling the water, barely visible in the haze. The military ships were far easier to distinguish, and there were more of them. Hovering above the sea as we did, they looked like fearsome clothes irons, gusting steam or smoke. I knew that our distance from them belied their actual size. They were great monsters of steel, and likely packed with the Prince's army. I counted thirty of them.

  A chill ran down my spine, despite the warmth of the beaming sun.

  Kyle and I were standing on the front upper deck when Sterling came to join us. Color had replaced his sickly pallor, but for all the strength of the athlete, he slumped, resting his arms heavily on the railing. Clearly troubled, he was frowning. Who could blame him, after a twenty-four hour puking session?

  “I don't like this,” he said.

  “Neither do I,” I agreed, hoping I wouldn't be the next victim of his upheavals.

  “No, any of it. We shouldn't be here.”

  “It's your fault that we are,” I said, realizing instantly how much I sounded like Dylan. Gross. “I'm sorry, Sterling. That's not right either. I made the choice to come. I won't blame you, but if you hadn't turned me in, no one would have found out about my Abilities. Officer Loring wouldn't have asked me to come.”

  “And you may not ever have had the chance to save your mother,” Kyle interjected with a gentleness in his voice.

  “I'm sorry too,” Sterling said.