After Cana left, Respy’s breathing was so ragged and loud she barely heard the click of the latch as she fought not to sob. The sun had sunk below the cloudwall. The silvery-gold aurora shone through her slit-windows, but her body was alive with red-brown streaks of fire where Haraad’s slender rod had hit her.
It was amazing what punishment you could inflict on someone and not actually damage her. A bitter smile played on her face. For all Haraad’s fury during the beating, he never quite shed the mask of fear. Now that he was his father’s proxy, he could never be rid of the fear that one day Responsibility’s mother would return. He looked at her more anxiously now than before. This was the part of the ocean Ekkaia had been crossing when Responsibility’s mother had left her aboard Ekkaia, charging the Century Ship with her safety.
Originally, Responsibility had been taught Century Ships really were able to voyage for a hundred years. But that was long ago, before the gods died. Only nineteen years after being left aboard her, Ekkaia’s voyage was almost over. Soon, less than a year, she would return to the Home Grove.
Haraad’s anxiety was cold comfort. Responsibility had long since given up believing her mother would ever return, but could it be coincidence this stranger had appeared now?
With effort, she picked up her tin cup. An easy task for anyone else, but difficult for her. The two ridiculous fingers halfway down the leading edge of each wing were clumsy at best. The image in the bottom of the cup was as clear as a lady’s makeup mirror.
She saw the same face she always saw, below hair black as the night sea. Fine-cut and freakish. Light traceries of scales, so fine as to be almost invisible, covered her features. The scales thickened as they ran down her neck, and, except for the scales, the face was identical to that of the man also locked in a cage, the one person who had ever looked at her with something besides pity or fear.
Two weeks, Haraad had said. He’d be dead of thirst by the time she was released.
She lay back and stared up at the thatched roof that barely kept out the rain. She had never wanted to find out how much worse it would be if she punched a hole in it. There was no place she could go when Ekkaia was at sea and no port where anyone would be friendlier than her shipmates. Suddenly, though, she had a place to go, even if it was still on the ship, and she laughed at her own restraint. The sound was so loud in the tight room she reflexively stifled it so no one else would hear. Slowly, and then with increasing force, she began to tear at the roof.
An hour later, balancing unsteadily in the high winds atop her nest, she was no longer laughing. The thatch was stronger than it looked and her wingtips were raw and bloody. Only her elbow grip on the thick central spire of the mast kept the wind from blowing her off.
From here, Ekkaia was a forest of sails, all taut and billowed by the ship’s winddrivers, those sorcerous machines that let the ship move against the real wind. High above, the kitesails fluttered, drawing strength from the high winds that blew away from the sun. Below, the thirsty sea licked its lips.
The cage dangled within her line of sight. Nearly half a mile away. She’d never make it, but now her roof had a gaping hole in it. She’d be punished for that no matter what she did. Besides, she had to talk to the man in the cage. For the first time in years, she lifted up a silent prayer to her mother, wherever she might be. Then, using all her strength, she launched herself into the air.
And she was free again, for a moment. The night wind seemed to sing as it enveloped her, throwing her back toward the aurora, lifting her, dragging at her. She fought back, angling into the breeze, sinking downward, turning into the blast from the winddrivers below. She caught one and soared up, up and over the starboard mainmast.
She was flying! The name welled up unbidden in her, and she almost shouted, Ezra, Ayzir, but again it eluded her grasp like smoke.
Her momentum flagged and she looked to the bow. She was out of the path of the artificial wind and already far too low. Any minute now, one of the watch would look up and see her—
“The-e-e-e-r-r-m-a-l-s!”
The shout pierced the night. It almost sounded like music. She looked to the cage. The pirate was shouting at her, but what did that strange word mean?
He burst into full song. A trained tenor, bursting through the night, singing the most unlikely lyrics. “Thermals, dammit! The kitchens, the kitchens, O-ve-r the kitchens! Over the kitchens there lived a maid, a bright and chee-ry fairy-maid…” He looked away and trailed off into nonsense.
“Shut up, you blasted pirate!” a watchman called.
The kitchens? Why the kitchens? She wove between the starboard foremainmast and the center mast. The smell of fresh bread filled the air around her.
“But, good sir, I have nothing else to do with my time. You have already killed me.” Avnai Moshaiu’s voice rang out from his cage, drawing attention away from her.
Responsibility swept over the chimneys and gasped as a column of hot air rocketed her upward. She nearly lost control and plunged down, but her wings held, aching with overuse. She fought to stay in the warm air, tightening her spiral as much as she dared. The ship whirled about her…
Beneath her. She was at least twice the height of the mainmast!
Now she knew what to do. She glided down in a wide curve, backed wing, and grabbed onto the bars of the cage as if she’d been doing it all her life. Quickly, she clung to the bars, her chest heaving with exertion.
“You had me worried there a minute…Azriyqam.”
She nearly fell off the mast. The name reverberated through her head like a soft hammer. Azriyqam.
“Who are you? How do you know me?”
His wolfish grin faded. Then, for the first time, she heard uncertainty in his voice. “Don’t you know?”
Despite the risk, she leaned back and peered downward. “Know what?” Was that pity in his face?
“No, you really don’t. All this time, I thought you must…and it’s obvious you recognized me, so…”
“I recognized me,” she blurted.
The grin returned, a little. “We do both favor our father.”
Responsibility—Azriyqam?—almost plummeted to the deck. What was he saying?
“I know this must be unbelievable to you, but I’m your brother,” he said, watching her face. “Um, half-brother. Gods, I never imagined…Well, it’s a long story…”
“We have plenty of time,” she said harshly. “Until someone looks up here, anyway, and then we don’t have any. I’ve been waiting for twenty years for this story, so make it good!” She bared her sharp teeth. At that moment, she felt capable of biting through the iron of the cage. Her four knuckles whitened on the bars, but she never thought about letting go.
“You haven’t foreseen a damn thing, have you? In fact, you’ve barely flown until tonight. You didn’t even know how to use thermal columns for lift. Oh, Shaaliym,” he said softly, “what have we done?”
“Stop talking to yourself and start talking to me!” she whispered. “Or I’ll kill you right now!”
“Considering your lack of knowledge almost certainly means you haven’t brought a key with you, so I might be wise to take you up on that offer, given the alternative.” His eyes were empty, and Responsibility knew it was beyond her power to make him say anything. He was, after all, already dead. In two days, he would be screaming for death. Until thirst closed his throat forever. Until exhaustion robbed his limbs of strength, and the gulls began to…
She closed her eyes against the vision. He merely sighed, and his courage seemed to return. “You deserve more of us. Where to begin? Our family rules Evenmarch—an archipelago in what you call the Near Islands.”
She gaped at him.
“No, quite literally, our family. It’s a twin throne, dragon and human. The intermarriage helps keep the kingdom together. Every ruler has at least two consorts. One dragon and one human. The purebred children—like me—maintain the succession; the halfdragons are councilors. Mediators. Sorcerers and scholars. Dragons fight and e
nchant; humans engineer and invent; halfdragons do all of that and more.”
Responsibility’s head whirled. Halfdragons? More like her? She was the only one…wasn’t she? But the stranger—her brother?—continued.
“When the Consortium attacked our home, twenty years ago, Father was taken by surprise in one of his border ports. His Dragon Consort, Shaaliym, your mother, fled with you.”
“She just left me here.” A lifetime of anger formed a solid mass behind Responsibility’s eyes and lodged in her throat.
“She wouldn’t have, if she’d had any choice.” Avnai’s eyes met her own. “The Consortium has their own kind of sorcery. They’re almost all human, and they don’t like any sort of halfbreeds. Everyone in the Twin Kingdoms thought they’d slaughter all the halfdragons if we lost. Your mother had you with her. She foresaw that you and I would meet at sea. She must have thought we’d be the last two of our line. No one knew then how overextended the Consortium was, nor that we could possibly fight them to a standstill that would result in an alliance, no matter how uneasy.”
“She could have kept me with her.” Pain etched Responsibility’s whisper. “You could have come looking.”
“Dammit, what do you think I was doing?”
Responsibility jerked back from the frustration in his voice.
“You came here expecting to find me?” The thought was too big. She had never thought to be looked for, never watched over, except in the hopeless, fantasies of every orphan. But the fantasy was true. Dead Gods, it’s true.
Now it would truly die.
“I can’t think of anyplace I would have expected to find you less.” He laughed grimly. “None of us imagined Shaaliym would have put you on a Century Ship, among our traditional enemies and prey! Although, come to think of it, it makes a kind of bizarre sense. I suppose she thought we could get you off one. Anyway, she never came back and so, when I was of age, I took a place in the Consortium Navy. Among other reasons, we hoped I might find you. Father loved Shaaliym very much. Losing you both was terrible for him.”
“You expected me to know all this?”
“Some of it. Enough that you’d recognize me. All halfdragons can foresee to some extent, just as dragons can. I guess that answers the question as to whether foreseeing is instinctive or learned.” He sighed and touched his hands to her fingers. “I can’t believe I’ve found you, Azriyqam. It’s like coming face to face with a minor legend.”
Responsibility was too startled to laugh.
Avnai’s face fell. “Unfortunately, I rather thought that your mother or you would take it from here. Or that I’d actually have a ship of my own, as opposed to being shipwrecked. I suppose it’s only a matter of time before someone spots us and puts you back in your cell.”
“Or puts you both in your cell, you idiots,” a low voice whispered below them. “You know what the penalty is for helping someone in the cage?”
Responsibility nearly jumped out of her skin. “Zhad?”
“Who else? Now let’s get out of here before all three of us are forced to share that thing.”
“How did you get up here?”
“I’ve told you before: being blind is almost as good as being invisible. No one ever suspects you of anything except idiocy. Seeing as I spend a good deal of time with you, Azriyqam, I suppose I can’t blame them.”
“This is my brother, Zhad; I’m not leaving yet. I don’t care if they do put me up here with him!”
“So I heard. Who’s asking you to leave him? Pass this up.” A key jangled.
Avnai reached down for it. “More pleased than you know to meet you, Zhad. Azriyqam, your friend is smarter than either of us.” The cage flew open. “Now how do we get past the guard?”
Zhad huffed impatiently. “What guard? Why guard you? No one likes you, so who’d risk helping you? The watchmen look out, not in. Unless you attract their attention. Let’s go!”
The climb down was the longest in Responsibility’s life, but they finally touched deck and shrank into a doorway. “Now what?”
“Now we go fetch your brother’s boat and—” Avnai put a hand on Zhad’s shoulder. “What?”
“That boat was punctured by your helpful crew. Besides, even Consortium lifeboats only float. We’d be picked up at dawn.”
Zhad’s brash demeanor evaporated. “But I thought, you—”
“Where are the lifeboats?” Avnai asked.
“All along the hull, port and starboard,” Responsibility said. “But only the big ones have sails. Any we could lower ourselves would only have oars.”
“That’s all right. Can we get a winddriver?”
Zhad started to laugh hysterically. “I thought you were a sailor! Don’t you know that would unbalance the ship? Besides, you’d need all kinds of tools. I’ve heard them complaining about changing them. And she just told you they don’t have sails!”
“Trust me, Zhad. If they change them, there are spares.”
Zhad’s breathing eased. “Yes.”
“Can you get me one?”
“A whole winddriver?”
“I only need one cell and some tools to lock it down.”
“I suppose, if you only need one cell. They aren’t big.”
“Good. Azriyqam and I will get the boat ready.”
Zhad disappeared into the night.
“You’re just giving him false hope,” Responsibility said. “There are watchmen all along the edge of the deck.”
“Actually, I have an idea about that. Come on.”
She followed him as he explained.
* * *
The sailor on duty yelled and jumped a foot when she fluttered down next to him. Instantly, shouts raced along the decks of Ekkaia, and the two nearest sailors came running.
“Just Responsibility!” the first man shouted back. Then he turned on her. “What are you doing out of your cage, little bird?”
The other two sailors arrived.
“I thought you were locked up,” said one. “Wouldn’t want to anger Mommy, now, would we?”
Responsibility remembered every contemptuous glare she’d ever received and channeled it at the sailor. “My mother is already greatly displeased.” She spread her arms wide, speaking with all the confidence she could muster. Her wings unfolded. They stared. “And these are her home waters.”
Was that a twitch, or did one of them look nervously skyward? She thought she might have used such threats far too often as a little girl for them to be really effective, and they were indeed in the same seas where her mother had first appeared.
Something large dropped from above. The sailors flinched back. Responsibility flattened and rolled out of the way. Avnai stood over her, the omnisword already whistling through the first sailor’s neck. The man behind him gurgled in agony as Avnai lunged, piercing his chest with the shorter blade.
The third man had his sword out to parry and looked very surprised when Avnai reversed his swing and brought the pommel blade around to crush his skull, as if with a battleaxe. The three had made no sound. Around the shallow curve of the hull, there were no shouts of alarm, leaving a hole three sailors wide in Ekkaia’s port watch.
Carefully, he slipped his omnisword back into the gash Haraad had carved in the mainmast. “Wouldn’t want anyone wondering where that went.” He pointed at the bodies. “Quick, we’d better get rid of these.”
Responsibility swayed on her feet. She had seen bodies before, of course, but she’d never seen men killed in front of her. These were her shipmates. She felt something harden inside her. They were the men who were going to kill her brother and stuff her back into the prison they called her nest. She grabbed a pair of wrists and hauled.
After hiding the bodies and lowering the boat nearly to the surface of the water, Responsibility and Avnai made their way back to the mainmast.
“He’s not here,” Avnai said.
“Yes, he is. He’s just almost as good at not being seen as he is at not seeing.” Zhad dropped between t
hem from the lower spar. “Don’t let your new high birth go to your head.” He gave the winddriver—a bulky construct of polished wood and stone covered in arcane symbols—to Avnai along with a polished wood box. “I don’t know what you’ll do with this and no sail, but I hope this has what you need because I don’t think I can steal any more tools.”
Avnai selected a small hammer from the toolbox and shattered a pair of runes, leaving empty holes where they had been.
“So much for the reaction-damping spell. Just like old Free Navy days.” He grinned. “As for why it works, Zhad, remind me to acquaint you with the Laws of Motion some time; benefits of a Consortium education. Now, you two see if you can scare up some food and water. Then join me. Ten minutes. No more.”
* * *
They had almost made it back when the shout went up. “Boarders!”
“It’s open ground,” Responsibility cried. “Run!”
Cries echoed around them. “Boarders! Portside amidships! Boarders! Boarders!” The deck rang with the thunder of running men. Pounding feet fell behind them. From the corner of her eye, Responsibility saw another sailor turn in pursuit.
There were figures in front of them. Two. Four. A dozen.
Respy and Zhad stopped, ten feet from the side. All eyes were fixed on them. The circle closed.
“Stop!” she cried, spreading her wings out fully. The sailors hesitated, their sabers drawn. In the dim light, they hadn’t recognized her. Then they saw the bloodstains on the deck and growled.
“Responsibility? You?” Cana stepped forward from the edge of the deck. “I’d never have believed it.” His voice hardened. “Why?”
Why did it have to be Cana? she thought. The disappointment in the big man’s voice hurt more than she’d expected. Reflexively, she said, “Cana, please, I just wanted to—” and stopped herself. If she said what she hoped to do they’d find Avnai. But before she could answer, Haraad stepped up beside Cana.
“Because she’s a pirate-loving traitor.” All eyes looked toward the foremast, though it was out of sight. “Yes, he’s gone,” Haraad shouted. “And here are his accomplices. The only question now is where is he?” He stepped forward, menacing. Responsibility willed herself not to look over the side.
Responsibility of the Crown Page 2
