by Rebecca Rode
“Maybe, but I know the risk. It’s mine to take, and I accept what comes of it.”
His words brought me back to the Hughen square, next to the dead queen’s statue, where I’d begged Father to let me stay on the Majesty. Where he’d refused to let me make my own choices for my future. Aden was right. I couldn’t demand my own freedom while taking away his.
“Fine.” My tongue felt like a piece of lumber. “I won’t tell Father.”
He looked at me in wonder. “You meant it, didn’t you? You really would throw your safety away to save my life.”
I shrugged, but only because I couldn’t speak. A reflection of the lantern’s light danced in his eyes as they searched mine. I felt suspended as if caught in rigging high above the ship.
His hand squeezed mine. It sent a shock of warmth up my arm. “Thank you. It’s nice talking to someone I can trust.” A bitter chuckle. “I haven’t had that in a really long time.”
A muffled sound from the other side of Paval’s door brought me back to the ground. I cleared my throat and yanked my hand away. Rising to my feet felt like swimming through mud.
“Come on,” I told him, turning away. “I’ll ask Paval to take you in for the night.”
As I made my way back to Father’s cabin, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. Aden’s parchment still waited.
I had no gas lamp, but there would be one on deck. I wouldn’t even have to get very close in order to make out the parchment’s words. I could read it right now and Aden wouldn’t know a thing about it.
A few days ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. That parchment most certainly explained why he was here, or he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to hide it from me. The Majesty was my home, not his, and I wouldn’t have questioned my right to assess the danger Aden brought.
But something stopped me now. Aden had seen through my disguise in an instant. He’d endured my suspicion and scorn and expressed interest in who I was anyway. And now he knew my driving desire to become captain when nobody else did. Somehow, I’d grown to trust a prince of Hughen more than my own father. And somehow, that prince trusted me—a sailor girl who’d swindled and teased him and harbored a ridiculous dream that contradicted everything his kingdom stood for. I didn’t want to lose that.
I couldn’t bring myself to open that parchment. Not when its contents could shatter the brittle happiness that had settled around my heart.
I’ll read it after the duel, I reasoned. When Aden was safe and the danger of mutiny was over.
It wasn’t until I’d gone to bed and lain in the darkness for hours that I dared admit the truth. Respect for Aden hadn’t kept me from reading that parchment. I’d been hunted by soldiers, chased by pirates, and shot at by Hughen guards. But none of that compared with the feeling of Aden’s hand on mine.
It was the deepest, most terrifying fear I had ever known.
Father called all hands once the horizon released the sun into the sky. He’d already been up for hours. By the shadows under his eyes, he’d slept as poorly as I had.
In fact, the only person who appeared rested was Kempton. He emerged wearing his Messaun uniform, of all things, green with a trim sharpness to the edges. And tassels on the sleeves, of course. I’d never understand Messaun fashion. Kempton had eaten cold pork for breakfast, washing it down with a double dose of coffee chased by rum. His favorite pre-battle ritual.
Aden hadn’t eaten anything. He stood with his back to the rail, clenching and unclenching his fists as the shadows began to flee. The sleeves of his borrowed shirt were rolled up, his collar open. The sun had touched him in a favorable way, giving his face a warm flush, and his chin displayed a bit of dark stubble. Sea life suited him after all. I tore my gaze away after a moment so the others wouldn’t notice my gawking.
The last men arrived. When this duel was finished, the watches would switch, and all would resume as normal. Except that there would also be a body to deal with.
“Take your weapon of choice,” Dennis called out.
It was a formality. Kempton had already chosen his usual cutlass, curved on one end and nearly as tall as a man stood. Aden had passed over the thin rapier, thankfully, and chosen a broadsword instead. It wasn’t practical for naval combat—broadswords were meant for a level battlefield or a dueling court, not a bucking ship. The only comfort was how easily he gripped it, the copper hilt resting lightly in his right hand.
At Dennis’s command, Kemp and Aden held up their weapons for all to see. Neither weapon appeared to have been tampered with. It was time to begin.
Dennis’s eyes flicked to me, then back to my father. “They’re yours, Captain.”
My father nodded. “In accordance with ship law, these two sailors defend their innocence in the matter of sabotage. Winner is the last man standing. Are you ready?”
“Ready,” Aden said, and he seemed it. He stood with a look of intense concentration, switching the weapon’s copper hilt from right to left hand. Then he settled into reverse dueling stance. It was the stance of a soldier, intended for speed and agility.
If Aden was the fox, Kemp was the hunter. He stood squarely in front of Aden, cutlass raised at shoulder height as if he was determined to hack right through him the moment the duel began. Kemp’s eyes were tiny slits in a grizzly, gnarled face, but I knew he was sizing up his opponent. The man had a head for combat in all its forms. It was another reason my father had appointed him gun master.
“Ready, Cap’n,” the large man said coolly.
A trickle of sweat traveled down my chest, suddenly making my bindings unbearably itchy.
“Then… begin!”
I expected Kemp to lunge first, but something about Aden’s demeanor must have made him pause. Kemp lowered his sword slightly, calculating, then took a step forward. Aden moved backward at the same moment. As Kemp advanced, Aden retreated. It was a slow, agonizing dance of wits.
A second later, Kemp’s eye twitched, and he lunged, cutlass swinging downward toward Aden’s neck.
But Aden was ready. Rather than stepping back, he circled around the side and blocked Kemp’s sword with his own. The sharp slam of metal on metal reverberated, causing the watching men to cheer.
Kemp pulled back, and Aden took his stance again, calm as ever. There was something new in his expression. He’d seen something in Kemp’s attack, and he was forming a plan.
Kemp lunged again, this time swinging his sword overhead in a high arc, as if he meant to slice Aden down the middle. But Aden was too quick, moving aside and allowing Kemp’s momentum to send the man stumbling to his knees. Enraged, Kempton leaped to his feet, charging with murder in his eyes.
Aden blocked the first blow, though it clearly threw him off-balance. He managed to regain his stance just as Kemp launched into one heavy strike after another. Aden stood several inches shorter, and Kemp’s attacks carried the strength of two men. Steel clashed, echoing sharply against the hard deck. It seemed it was all Aden could do to block the blows aimed at his head. He still held the sword in his left hand.
He was disguising his skill, I realized, even though it made him weaker. Just as I’d asked him to do. A wave of frustration swept over me. Much as I wanted to respect his decision, this felt incredibly foolish. I imagined myself shouting out who he was and watching Kemp drop his sword, stepping back in horror. Could I truly stand here and say nothing while the gun master shoved his blade through Aden’s chest?
“C’mon, Kemp,” Dryam shouted through his beard. “Show ’im what we do to those who mess with our defenses.”
Aden tripped and fell under another heavy blow, sending a wave of men stumbling out of the way. He swung his weapon at Kemp’s waist, forcing him back, and climbed to his feet, breathing hard. Then he snapped into soldier’s stance again.
Kemp snorted at the sight. “You’d have me believe you’re military trained?”
“Believe what you like,” Aden said. “Unfortunately, your own style can’t easily be described, Master Kempton
. The best description is that of a lovesick gorilla.”
There was a collective gasp. Even my father gaped now, his eyes clamped on Aden as if seeing him in a new light. The crew’s whispering began in earnest. If Aden had a death wish, insulting his opponent was the fastest way to fulfill it. My heart hammered so hard, I was beginning to see odd flashes of light.
Kemp reddened. “Served in the navy for sixteen years. I been fighting since before you were born!”
“Fighting what?” Aden shot back. “Bulbous manatees?”
“I’ll ram my sword down yer lying throat.”
“That would require aim. Something you haven’t figured out yet in all these years, it seems.”
Kemp’s sword shot out in an arc, faster than I thought the man could move. It would have sliced right through Aden’s stomach if he hadn’t been ready. His sword met the threat with a clang. Now it was a real battle.
Both men lunged, parried, retreated, and met the attack clash for clash. Their swords whipped faster than my eyes could follow. They didn’t talk now—the fight took every ounce of their focus and energy.
The crew’s chatter quieted as well. Their gun master had just met his match, and they knew this would change everything. Digby’s smile was tight. The other Messauns watched with dark expressions. I was completely mesmerized. Aden hadn’t exaggerated his skill at all.
Kemp grunted and growled as he fought, while Aden wore a quiet intensity. Aden was faster, but it was clear Kempton was stronger. The larger man focused on Aden’s weak side, hammering in until Aden was nearly backed against the rail.
Then Aden made a mistake.
Kemp had struck at his stomach several times in a row and then switched to the head, but Aden didn’t anticipate the change. His sword lowered, he watched the blow come and leaped sideways just in time, sending Kemp stumbling forward.
But the bigger man redirected his blow in midflight. The thick sword arched toward Aden’s spine.
It would have severed it, except Aden was already parrying with his own blow, knocking Kemp’s sword aside. Then Aden elbowed the gun master in the nose.
Kemp grunted, dropping his sword as the ship swelled above a large wave. The cutlass hit the deck and slid down the stairs, bouncing down its steps with a series of metallic clangs. The larger man barely had time to register the loss of his weapon before Aden tossed his blade aside and leaped onto him, knocking the larger man flat on his back. Then Aden was pummeling him with his fists.
I smiled weakly. Only a soldier would resort to a fistfight. Aden was embracing his disguise to protect our secrets. And in doing so, he denied a part of himself to protect me. The strange warmth from last night returned, filling my body with a nervous, excited energy.
Something stirred deep inside me, a feeling that awakened only when Aden was nearby. Something I’d been denying almost with a sense of desperation. And I knew it then, positively and entirely.
I was falling for a boy I barely knew and could never have.
Kempton immediately bucked his body upward, forcing Aden to catch himself with both hands. Then the blow came. Kempton slammed a fist into Aden’s temple, throwing him rolling across the deck and into the crowd.
The crew stumbled backward, leaving Aden sprawled on the deck. He stared at the sky for a long moment, holding his head with both hands like it was splitting apart. One eye had already begun to swell up.
“I’ve had better fights with my own sister,” Kempton said, climbing to his feet. I noted with satisfaction that his nose looked like it had been smashed, and blood trickled down into his teeth.
Still breathing hard, Aden’s wits finally returned, and his eyes cleared. Then his gaze settled on me.
And stayed there.
A spark of hope ignited deep inside, reminding me of that devastating dream of having him sail at my side. What if he also harbored feelings… for me?
A silent exchange took place between us—Aden gathering the strength to win, me urging him on with everything I had. His jaw clenched in determination.
Kemp withdrew a knife from his pocket and began to advance on Aden. I gasped.
Aden took in the threat and scanned the deck for his broadsword. It lay clear across the deck, behind Kempton. He’d never make it.
“The captain didn’t approve the use of knives,” Aden said, struggling to his feet. “You can’t change the rules of combat.”
Kemp grinned. “Rules of combat? What will you expect next, a break for tea?” The Messauns behind him chuckled.
“If there are no boundaries, there is no true victory,” Aden said.
“It’ll be true enough when I stab ye through, little whelp,” Kemp said, and leaped for Aden’s chest.
Aden dove.
Kemp bellowed as his blow missed, but Aden was already scrambling past the gun master toward the sword. He grabbed the hilt and swung it just as Kemp arrived, letting it stop at the larger man’s throat.
“Drop the knife.”
Kemp’s eyes flew wide. He stared down his nose at the weapon, then back at Aden. His grip on the knife only tightened.
Aden refused to budge. His swollen eye was turning an ugly purple. “Drop it.”
Kemp raised his clenched jaw, exposing his throat as if daring Aden to slice it clean through.
The deck was quiet as the two men glowered at each other. The blade in Aden’s hand quivered, placing the slightest of pressure on Kemp’s throat. One swell of the ship, and the gun master was done for. I found myself holding my breath, afraid to move a single inch.
“Captain,” Aden called out. “I request that you call the duel.”
Father looked dumbfounded. He cleared his throat. “I fear there’s no clear winner yet.”
“In announcing the rules, you said the winner to be the last man standing, not the man who lives. This ship needs its gun master, and Master Kempton is a good one. Declare me winner and allow this duel to end peaceably so we can continue our voyage.”
Kemp’s wide eyes flicked sideways. A thin red line appeared on his neck where Aden’s blade rested.
“Is that acceptable to you, Master Kempton?” Father asked. “Or do you prefer a quick end?”
Kemp waited far longer than he should have to respond, but finally his lips moved. “’Tis.”
I stood there in shock. The crew began to applaud as Aden stepped back. Well, half of them anyway. The Messauns were dead silent.
Aden grinned and pumped his fist to the sky in victory.
Kemp lifted a hand to his throat. There was no relief in his expression. Just hatred. Raging, barely controlled hatred.
“You have received Right of Steel and acknowledged your loss, Master Kempton,” my father said. “I declare Aden the winner and a sailor of equal standing under my protection. If something should harm him, blame will fall immediately on you. Do you understand?”
Kemp’s reply was once again slow in coming. “Aye.”
“Then let us return to work. This ordeal has already cost us precious time, and Dennis still has an investigation to conduct. Kempton, assign a guard to watch the gun deck until our arrival, day and night.”
Kemp spoke through his teeth. “Aye, sir.”
“Return to stations,” Dennis called out. The men began to shuffle away, muttering to one another in low voices.
I barely noticed. All I saw was Aden, his fist raised to the sky. His stance was identical to that sketch of King Eurion. The man who wanted me and every other woman sailor dead. His father.
Or had I forgotten that?
I strode quickly toward the stairs, my feet moving automatically despite the numbness in my mind. The crew members had divided into camps—those muttering about the captain’s unfairness and those slapping Aden on the back for his victory. Nobody seemed to care about the captain’s boy hurrying toward the solitude of the hold, a piece of folded parchment clutched in both hands.
I paused at the bottom of the ladder and angled the parchment to the light, ignoring how my
fingers shook as I unfolded it.
TO KING LEZAR, MONARCH AND LEADER OF OUR BROTHER NATION ELLEGRAN:
I’VE SENT THIS MISSIVE WITH CEDRICK IN THE MOST URGENT MANNER, AS I’VE JUST RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT KHRAL RASMUS MEANS TO ASSASSINATE ME AT THE TREATY RENEWAL FEAST.
I’VE TAKEN PRECAUTIONS TO ENSURE THAT DOES NOT OCCUR. HOWEVER, I REQUEST THE IMMEDIATE ARRIVAL OF YOUR FLEET TO PREVENT KHRAL RASMUS AND HIS MILITARY FROM TAKING FURTHER ACTION. I BELIEVE OUR TWO NAVIES WILL DISSUADE HIM FROM DOING ANYTHING FOOLISH. WE BOTH KNOW THAT IF HE IS TO SUCCEED, HIS CONQUEST WILL NOT END AT MY KINGDOM. HE WILL NOT REST UNTIL THE ENTIRE WORLD FLIES A MESSAUN BANNER, ELLEGRAN INCLUDED.
I NEED NOT REMIND YOU OF THE NUMEROUS OCCASIONS ON WHICH I HAVE EMPLOYED MY NAVY TO ASSIST YOU IN THE PAST. I DECLARE YOUR DEBTS TO HAVE BEEN PAID IN FULL ONCE THIS THREAT IS DEALT WITH. UNTIL THEN, PLEASE KEEP MY SON SAFE UNTIL I SEND WORD THAT ALL IS WELL.
Yours,
King Eurion of Hughen
The missive fell from my hands. It fluttered to the floor and slid into the shadows beneath the ladder. I stared at it for a long moment, frozen in place. There wasn’t enough air in the entire room. It may as well have been filled with water, and I was slowly drowning. This was so much worse than I’d thought. No wonder Aden had been kind to me. It was a wonder he’d been able to hide his guilt at all. I wasn’t helping a runaway prince.
I had placed the Majesty squarely into the middle of a war.
I should have been exhausted after that night’s watch, but sleep eluded me once again. I lay in my hammock for an hour before giving up. I sneaked out to the sound of my father’s snoring and, wincing at the deep ache in my shoulder, climbed up the ratlines. They were heavy from the evening’s rain.
Barrie had the nest watch. By his pained, bleary-eyed expression, I could see he needed a break, so I offered to take his place. He accepted with a tired nod. His movements were careful and stiff as he climbed down. I doubted he’d slept much the past two days either.
