Conquest

by C B Samet

  A wave of heat hit my face. Looking up through teary vision, I saw Mal.

  “You are a warrior, Abigail—with or without your stone.” He clenched his teeth. “Fight.”

  Another wave of angry heat emanated from him and hit my chest, warming my shivering body and shattering the icy, immobilizing fear that had paralyzed me.

  I roared as I thrust an elbow into Porter’s ribs. With a grunt, his grip slackened. I whirled and ducked as his fist came toward my face. I rose, thrusting the palm of my hand into his nose.

  As he stumbled back, blood spewed from his large, beak-like proboscis. “Guards!” he screamed.

  His men clamored inside the room and restrained me in seconds. My shackles were roughly slapped back on my wrists, shortly before a blow to my back brought me to my knees. Pain lanced through my body as I cried out.

  “Tie her to the mast!” Porter held a handkerchief to his nose.

  They dragged me along the deck, splinters biting into bare flesh. My iron cuffs were attached to a chain circling the mast. Judging by the existing apparatus, I wasn’t the first person to be tied here.

  I stood, facing the mast as men gathered around in a circle.

  “Twenty lashes!” the Prince cried.

  “You might kill her,” someone commented.

  “So be it.”

  “Your father wanted her alive.”

  “Ten lashes then.”

  The first strike of the whip came without warning. I fell to my knees as white-hot pain seared my back where the skin split open. The second whip had me screaming again. By the third, I was drooling and couldn’t even lift my head. My hands hung suspended above me. Soon, the back of the dress I wore was shredded to pieces and only remained attached at the arms and waist.

  “Hold on, Abigail,” Mal pleaded.

  I lost count—or maybe lost consciousness. My battered body was dragged down a set of steps and thrown back into my cage. I hadn’t imagined I could feel relief inside those metal bars, but here no one was beating me. Unable to move, I lay face down on the floor breathing the stench of the room. My back throbbed, and I wished for unconsciousness to take me again.

  “Animals!” Baird called after the departing soldiers. “At least bring us clean water!”

  By the sound of their boots, they retreated upstairs and left.

  Baird knelt beside me. “Merciful gypsies,” he swore.

  He reached a hand toward me.

  “Don’t touch,” I croaked. There was no speck of me he could touch without it hurting. My shoulders ached from the strain of my sagging body from when my hands were tied above me. A few minutes longer and they may have dislocated entirely.

  “Oh, Abigail,” Baird sniffed.

  “You should see the other guy.”

  “She’ll die of infection.” Corky said in a soft tone as though he were offering helpful insight.

  “Abigail,” Mal’s voice sounded deep with worry.

  “Mal?” I couldn’t turn my head to see him.

  “I’m going to try to heal you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been practicing magic with Orrick. I can channel the power of the scepter, but I have to have a vessel. I have to be inside you.”

  “Come on in. There’s plenty of room.” With one side of my face flat against the wood planks, my words came out garbled.

  “She’s hallucinating.” Corky pressed his face against the bars to look down at me.

  I felt delirious, so he may have been right.

  “Abigail, is Mal here?” Baird asked.

  “Yupperdos. He’s going to try something. If it takes away the pain, I might marry him.”

  Mal’s apparition merging with mine warmed me like the summer sun. He smelled of smoked sandalwood. A tingling sensation spread through my body.

  It might start to hurt more, Mal warned.

  “Do what needs to be done.” I wanted to heal, and I didn’t want the open wounds to fester with infection.

  I may not be able to fully heal you. He spoke to me silently somehow, as he was merged with me.

  I’m certain that’s the first statement you’ve ever made to me that wasn’t dripping in overconfidence. I directed my thoughts toward him within me.

  I heard—no, felt—him chuckle.

  I’ll take the best you have. I trust you. I believe in you. The words may have carried more dignity if my face wasn’t pressed to the floor.

  “I love you, Abigail.”

  Yes, I was hallucinating.

  The pain intensified as the temperature rose within me and around me. I lost consciousness when the pain was too much to bear.

  22

  MALAKAI

  For a day after healing Abigail, I felt weak—a barely spirit, adrift. When I finally transformed from ethereal, to transparent, to a more solid apparition, I checked on Abigail. Over the next several days, I watched Abigail floating in and out of consciousness. I paced outside her tiny cage waiting to see her get better.

  The other caged men died one-by-one of various infections until Corky, Baird, and Abigail were all that remained.

  Baird fed her food and water. He cushioned her from the hard floor, stroked her hair lovingly, and managed to tie her clothing back together. Long ago, I’d accepted that I’d never touch her—that part of my curse would be to watch other men touch her. On this occasion, I wasn’t jealous, only grateful someone cared for her.

  My healing succeeded in closing the wounds. Abigail would still have scars, but she’d live. Her body still needed to recover from the blood loss and energy depletion. Not having a life force of my own, the magic I’d channeled used Abigail’s energy to work. She didn’t have the robust magic of Orrick, but she possessed power. I wondered what she would be capable of under my mother’s tutelage.

  When I couldn’t stomach watching Abigail suffer any longer, I went to explore the ship. On the bow, young men worked the sails, scrubbed the deck, and reeled in fishing nets. Young, eager, red-cheeked, barely-men fulfilled these tasks as they sailed, lusting for adventure on another continent. I understood their motivation—a fierce sense of pride for their country and deep-seated propagandized belief that controlling another group of people was best for both nations. As the superior country, Bellos would know better than Crithos how to exploit their resources, control their capital, and influence their culture.

  And Bellos was superior. They had more advanced technology—evidenced by the weapons they carried, their boat craftsmanship, the dirigibles in production, and their rail system. Bellos had the means and manpower to conquer Crithos.

  Perhaps if the Crithian army combined with a cohort of fighting citizens, monks, and giants to meet the Bellosians when they docked, conquest could be thwarted. Such a massive undertaking couldn’t be done on short notice—or without proof that the King was en route.

  Orrick was at the castle, but who in the Queen’s court would listen to an old man from the country? Coco knew the truth through Abigail, but if she began ranting about knowledge through dreams, she’d lose credibility.

  As I entered Prince Stout’s room, I found him taking an afternoon nap. Never had I been filled with more hate, outrage, and murderous intent than when his filthy hand had touched Abigail.

  She’d known her options were rape or torture. I’d spurred her toward the latter. I suspected—hoped—that I could help heal her physical wounds. Psychological damage would leave deeper scars. Although I’d gambled with her life, I had to trust in the vision we’d both seen many years ago. According to it, she didn’t die on a ship.

  I stood over Porter, wishing I could rip him limb from limb.

  Snake Eye’s appeared, floating above the Prince. “You’re angry again.”

  “I wonder if I could merge with his body the way I did with Orrick’s and Abigail’s. If so, could I activate the fire stone and set him alight?”

  “You want to burn him alive?”

  “Yes.”

  The brownie apparition swallowed.r />
  “My hesitation stems from suspicion that a willing host and an unwilling host are different creatures. What if I enter Porter, only to have him seize control of the magic of my stone?” Despite my boiling hatred, I couldn’t take that risk.

  “In that case, maybe we could go to a different room?” Snake Eyes’ tone was cautious and meek.

  I turned around and left Porter’s room, walking through the door. I traveled down one level, past the kitchen area where meal preparations for a crew this large were never ending.

  “Food.” Snake Eyes’ tone suggested he was actually capable of feeling hunger.

  “You can’t even smell it.”

  “I can use my imagination.”

  “Then use your imagination and pretend to eat it as we continue. We’re not stopping in the mess hall.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Espionage.”

  “What?”

  “Gathering information.”

  “How was watching the Prince sleep gathering information?”

  I didn’t answer, since the diversion was to indulge my imagination on how to kill him.

  I continued down the hall, passing bunked quarters and offices. “We need a detailed understanding of the ship’s schematics. If Abigail and Baird are able to escape their cells, perhaps there are rooms where they could hide undetected.”

  Snakes Eyes snorted. “Humans are too big. Brownies are masters of hiding.”

  Masters of hiding jewelry and trinkets perhaps.

  “Well, I’m open to suggestions if you see places where humans can hide.”

  We walked the ship for a few more minutes, before I transported to King Artemis Stout’s ship and began walking the interior of it.

  “Um. Now we’re in a different ship.”

  “I’m going to spy on Stout again.”

  “So, you can give him the evil eye, too?”

  “Probably.”

  I came to a small room where Emerald sat, writing in a notebook. He set down his pen and sipped from a metal cup on his desk. As the boat swayed slightly, his pen rolled along the desk and came to a stop against the spine of a book.

  I walked inside the room.

  “How is she holding up?” Emerald asked.

  “Miserably. She’s in a cage in the brig of a ship—eating, sleeping, and… everything else, like an animal.”

  “Alive then.”

  “Alive,” I agreed.

  Emerald linked his fingers. “In seven nights from this day, a storm will strike. Porter’s ship and the Biscoff will sink. No, this ship is not the Biscoff. Your Champion must find a way out of her cage by then if she’s going to survive. It’s no coincidence her cell is beside that of a skilled thief. You’re welcome.” He smiled. “She will also need to reclaim her stone. The Prince keeps it hidden in the desk in his chambers.”

  He rubbed his temples, looking suddenly weary. “And please remind Lady Cross that her star is damaged, not destroyed.”

  “Meaning what?” Snake Eyes asked.

  I shrugged. “Perhaps it will work again once she heals.” I turned to Emerald. “It will work again?”

  “She should meditate on it.”

  I grinned. She’d be less than thrilled to hear meditation is required. “I’ll let her know.” I turned and walked out of his cabin.

  “What will happen to him?” Snake Eyes glided beside me. “He didn’t say anything about saving him.”

  “No, he didn’t,” I agreed as I retraced my steps through the hallway. “Perhaps Abigail can help Emerald with his state of captivity. First, she needs a way out of her cell and her stone back in her possession.”

  “Rescue mission!” Snakes Eyes made the declaration with enough zest that one would think it was happening now, rather than in seven days. “Where to next?”

  “Orrick!” I walked through the castle sitting room where I sensed my brother to be.

  “Stop bellowing. I’m over here.” He sat on a lounge chair within the castle, near one window with his legs propped up.

  I walked toward him.

  He sipped a cup of tea. “What’s all the eagerness about?”

  “I healed Abigail! The same way I healed you. Well, not exactly the same.” I’d completely merged with Abigail, and the sensations of my spirit merging with her body were far more intimate than the time I’d sunk my extracorporeal fingers into Orrick’s skull.

  “Wonderful,” he said.

  “It wasn’t a complete healing. She’ll have scars, but I saved her life.”

  “I’m sorry to hear she was so direly injured.”

  Anger and darkness momentarily clouded my vision, but Porter Stout’s actions had already sealed his fate.

  I forced my fury back down and focused on the present. “She has power, Orrick. Real power. It’s buried, but she can learn to harness it—possibly without even needing to touch her stone.” Excitement danced through me at the prospect of what Mother’s spirit might teach her.

  “I suspected as much.”

  I gave him a bland look. “Of course you did.”

  He returned the look. “One does not break a seven-thousand-year-old curse with the drop of her blood and not have monumental innate abilities.” He referred to Abigail freeing him from his entombment in an oak tree with only a few drops of her blood.

  I produced a chair—equally as elaborate as the plush, purple one Orrick sat on—and flopped onto it. I leaned back and put my hands behind my head, staring at the coffered ceiling, with hand-painted golden leaves on a background of silver gloss.

  “It felt different than with you,” I explained. “I couldn’t fully access my stones through her. It was somehow more profound but less powerful.”

  Orrick turned toward me with an arched eyebrow.

  “Yes, profound. You heard me correctly.”

  He stroked his beard, lost in concentration.

  I grew impatient, waiting for him to express his thoughts. “What?” I asked.

  “Not powerful, you say?”

  “Not like you.”

  “I wonder if she held your scepter—could you and she activate it together? Mother’s spirit mentioned something about synergy between the two of you.”

  I thought of the incidence in the vault. “Abigail and I touched each other and the scepter concurrently when we were looking at the fractured stone.” I hesitated, trying to think of the correct adjective to describe the connection.

  “And?” Orrick prompted.

  ‘It was magical’, sounded a bit cliché. ‘Exhilarating’, sounded risqué. Stimulating? Thrilling? Electrifying?

  “Magnetic,” I finally said.

  “So, my theory may be correct.”

  It may indeed.

  Orrick took another sip of his tea. “If Abigail has access to that type of magic, she’ll be…”

  “Indestructible? Unstoppable?” I thought of the power we could harness together—seven Che stones: water, fire, air, light, land, health, and strength.

  Did King Artemis have some knowledge that perhaps certain people could activate the scepter? Is that why he sent his son after it? No one could wield it without me, and Abigail was the only person I trusted. Did he think Abigail could use it? Was that part of the reason he’d kept her alive? The questions were dizzying, and I had no way of finding the answers.

  Orrick wagged a finger at me. “Neither indestructible nor unstoppable, I’m afraid. Powerful, yes. But magic isn’t limitless. I think the pair of you would, however, be able to turn the tide of a battle with ten-to-one odds favoring the Bellosians.”

  “First, Abigail needs to escape captivity.”

  “Wonderful—and how is she going to manage that?”

  “So, here’s a curious bit of news. King Artemis Stout has a Blue Gypsy advisor plotting against him. This man—Emerald—said there’s a storm coming that will capsize the ship and will present our opportunity to escape.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “In order to escape her holding
cell on the ship, Abigail will need to practice with her traveler’s star.”

  “I thought it was damaged,” Orrick said.

  “Damaged, yes. Malfunctioning, yes. But I glimpsed the future to see that she’ll be able to meditate herself into transparency. She’ll use that to escape her cage. From there, she needs to steal her stone back and get off the ship.”

  “All of you have everything arranged then.”

  I turned my gaze back to the ceiling. “Planning and execution never seem one and the same when it comes to Abigail.”

  I sighed and stood.

  “Back to the open sea?” Orrick asked.

  “Back to the scum-sucking snake of a Prince’s ship. I need to discuss the plan with Abigail when she’s feeling better.”

  That evening, I stood at the ship’s helm, watching the sunset. Six more nights until Abigail’s freedom. She hadn’t been in any condition to hear of the escape plan when I’d visited her after learning of Emerald’s scheme. I hoped Porter’s throbbing nose would keep him away from her for the next six days. He wouldn’t stay away for long. She’d injured him and damaged his pride. Next time, he might bind her.

  I swallowed.

  “Are we going to check on Abbey again?” Snake Eyes asked. He had positioned himself so that he appeared to be sitting on the railing.

  “Yes.” I didn’t move.

  “We haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

  “It hurts me to see her hurt.”

  “Because you love her?”

  I glanced at him, then back to the setting sun.

  “You told her you loved her,” he added.

  “Yes, I did.” I wondered if she’d heard me, or if she’d even remember given her condition at the time.

  As I walked back down to Abigail’s prison, Snake Eyes followed.

  In the cage, Abigail leaned into Baird’s torso as he held her. Their embrace served as a painful reminder of my limitations. What good could come of me having told her my feelings? I could never provide her anything physical. I could only keep her trapped in a relationship in which I had nothing to offer her.