“Have you been captain long? I do not think I’ve asked you.”
Nico shook his head, smiling. “Not at all. Wasn’t captain until being sent to Bacchuso under your leadership.”
Wonderful, I’m being flown to uncharted lands by a novice, Longinus thought. That was just like her uncle. Sending her all the men from the mainland that he didn’t really need. Let them train or die where they won’t get in the way. She’d need to be careful of promoting her men. Any of them get too much recognition and they’ll surely be relocated closer to the capital.
“Why’re you here?” she asked. “Not just for the view is it?”
Nico’s lips curled into a guilty smile. “Can’t a captain explore his ship? It’s not like these are your private quarters.”
“You’re free to go where you like. As am I.” Preferring her solitude uninterrupted, she made for the door leading to the hallway.
“Shame. It’s a cloudless evening, likely to be an uneventful night. I hoped to share the view—get to know my legate a bit more.”
Longinus stopped, though she did not turn around. “Why would you care about that?”
“I’m serving you, sworn to die for you if that be your command. Personally, I like knowing who I serve when making such an oath.”
She mulled it over. She’d always kept to herself, never really needing the company of others. Easier to remain in disguise that way. And she couldn’t lose anyone she cared for if she kept her heart cool and unattached. But she was a legate now, leading her own operation in a faraway land. What could one conversation hurt?
“Fine, but you’ll need to get something to drink.”
A smirk spread over Nico’s face.
The captain returned promptly, though, throughout the entirety of his absence, Longinus debated whether or not to leave for her chamber. He carried with him two ceramic cups and a glass jar of apple spiced rum. She nearly emptied the first serving right away before catching herself, remembering this to be neither the time nor place for such behavior. It was a difficult habit to break. She often broke her solitude and loneliness in days past by tavern hopping in each new town or city when on the road with her uncle. Never too much to break her disguise, her restraint was at least that strong.
A small sip. The burn of cinnamon on her lips was a welcome surprise. She’d not tasted such spices since the feast of her uncle’s coronation.
“How’d you get this?” she asked.
Nico nursed at his cup and stared through the window. “Made it myself.”
“A distiller and a captain? My, my—you’ve done a lot. You can’t be more than twenty-five.”
Nico chuckled. “Twenty-two. You’re a legate at nineteen.”
“Vestinia’s is seventeen,” Longinus countered. She was still rather hesitant about the Vänalleatian. A woman—an outsider, no less—taking the place of one of Ænæria’s most ruthless men. How would Longinus fare against such odds? That should’ve been me. Instead, I’m as north as north gets with false-believers and fishermen.
“Father owned a plantation in Cerez when I was growing up. Plague ran through, killed most of our crops. Couldn’t make enough to survive on the remains alone, so he fermented what he could, stilled it, brought me and my brother on for the free labor, and here I am.” He held up his cup to Longinus. He expected her to clink their drinks together. Having never been one to fraternize with her crew, she realized the captain was chattier than she’d expected. She met her cup to his and almost smiled. At least I don’t have to do as much talking.
“King Xander took over the province about a year later. Wanted all the first-born sons to join his army. Cameron went on with them. He was fifteen. I was nine. Mother and father died a few years later. I thought I’d join the army then—nothing else left for me in Cerez. Figured I’d track down my brother. By the time I finished my training as a Rhion he was dead, too.”
A grim expression clouded over his face as if he’d buried these thoughts for ages without bringing them back to life. After losing his family he learned to become a man, striving to fight for some kind of purpose but still wandering aimlessly through life without being any closer than when he started. Just like Longinus.
“What happened to him?” Longinus asked. She couldn’t help herself yet having asked still surprised her. It wasn’t like her to get personal with anyone.
“Died in battle against a group of rebels in Mercura. He’d been a ship captain out there. When I found out he’d been killed at sea I requested a transfer to his old crew. That’s how I learned to sail.”
They both took another sip, silent for a few precious seconds, save for the sounds of the airship’s turbines and motors. Yet just quiet enough that Longinus could almost hear the songs of the sea if she focused on and held her breath.
The pair continued to chat for some time. Nico did most of the talking, despite originally claiming to want to know Longinus. She was, of course, fine with this. There wasn’t much she felt comfortable sharing. She trusted him as a captain and crew member, not a friend. Her trust never extended that far. He told her of his work operating sun-carriages, traveling throughout the provinces until finally being stationed in Mercura. He sailed for years before finally being promoted to captain of his own ship. Shining Sister he’d named it.
Nico had been at the helm of the Shining Sister for three years before Xander summoned the greatest captains in all of Ænæria to Vulcestus where he unveiled a project nearly twelve years in the making: airships. Longinus had been there when her uncle first revealed Minervia’s hidden Vault, its locked doors weakened by the waning of time. The sungs, sun-carriages, and other artifacts powered by the Sun’s grace had been constructed from models and plans within the ancient Vault. The airships had proved more complicated. A few had been built early on, only to erupt in flames or crash soon after liftoff. Eventually, a source of a more stable gas had been established, buoyant enough for flight, and stable enough not to explode the moment it was exposed in a fire. The next few years had been devoted to perfecting the feat of flight.
“And that’s where men like me came in,” Nico said triumphantly raising the last of his rum. “You’re looking at the most experienced pilot in Ænæria!”
Longinus caught herself smiling at his boastfulness. “You must be good if you can afford to spend time with me instead of behind the wheel.”
“Time is an investment. I always try to spend it wisely. No use sitting at the controls when we’re in the middle of nowhere. I’d rather be here, getting to know you.”
“And how’s that going?” Longinus sneered. He hadn’t gone to know her at all. Just spent time prattling on about his own adventures and accomplishments.
“I’d say it’s going very well. I’ve learned more about you in this past hour than in the time since you became my legate.”
Longinus crossed her arms, unconvinced.
“Don’t believe me?”
“No.”
Nico’s eyes flashed wildly. He stroked at the smooth chin jutting from his square jaw.
“You’re quiet. A real lone wolf.”
Longinus rolled her eyes. Could he have picked up on anything less obvious?
“Hear me out,” he said. “You’re not shy, you’re too good of a legate for that. You do just fine in front of crowds. I think you have a lot of scars—more than just the one on your eye and your missing hand—so you keep your distance so as not to expose them. You see them as weaknesses, failing to realize it’s your scars that make you stronger. That’s why you were fine to let me do the talking the whole time. You didn’t once try to share anything about yourself, and I could tell you were listening intently the whole time. You see, I told you the story about my family to see how you’d react. You’re a good actor, but you need to work on your body language.”
“What in blazes are you talking about?”
“You raise your right brow when I say anything that has a strong emotional weight to it but your scarred brow whenever I
say something that irks you. You bite your lower lip when I talk about losing loved ones, and your eyes dart to the left for a split second when I mention the king.”
As she opened her mouth to protest, she realized that her left brow—the one that had been scarred when she was a child—was indeed raised. How could I have never realized this? What else have I been giving away all these years?
Nico chuckled. “Judging by your reaction, I’d said I hit the nail on the head. This has been fun, Legate. I’m going to get some food to soak up some of this rum before getting to bed. Perhaps we can do this again some time. Maybe engage with the rest of the crew some. I think they’d like to get to know their commanding officer some more. Good for morale, you know?”
Longinus was incredulous. Her captain had completely caught her off guard. He was not at all the man she’d thought to him to be. His skills of observation were astonishing, and the ease with which he could deduce so much from her. She’d be foolish not to feel paranoid about this. If he were as skilled as he claimed, why would he be sent to Bacchuso? The coming war would need his talents more than her distant province. Had her uncle sent him there to spy on her, to weed out her faults so he could scold her on them? No, that’d be too obvious for him. Or would he count on her realizing it was obvious? She let out a quiet groan, her head hurting from the mind games her uncle had always used to torture her.
Nico was heading for the door, taking with him the last of the rum. He walked with such confidence, the way a captain should. He was right, she had no problem dishing out orders and speaking in front of crowds. It wasn’t about being shy. It was about being afraid anyone would find out she’d been lying to them all. That she was a woman—doing a man’s job. They’d never follow her if they found that out. Even if the Vänalleatian girl figured out how to do it, Longinus doubted she ever could. She’d spent so long feeling trapped in the wrong body, always being told it would be better if she were a man. That’s not what she wanted. She hoped and prayed that after this war was won and over, she could finally go back to being herself.
She looked back at the door and saw that Nico was gone. She hurried to the hallway after him.
“Wait,” she called.
He stopped and turned his head back to look at her. “Hmm?”
“Was anything you said true, or did you only say it to see my reactions?”
Nico looked around as if he were studying the hall for any stay ears that may happen upon them. “I did lie about one thing. I never had a brother.”
“That’s not one thing. If he wasn’t real, then that makes your entire story a lie.”
Nico grinned, but not a happy grin. It was one of those smiles put on for everyone else while you shed a tear on the inside. “Cameron wasn’t my brother, but she was certainly real. Evening, Legate.”
And with that, he ambled down the hall, leaving Longinus alone with a stark understanding of his response and the thought of his first ship’s name.
Shining Sister.
12
Arynn
Ænæria
Two Weeks Before the Ignistad Council
It may have been premature to assume she’d be saved.
Arynn had been brought to yet another sun-carriage after the Rhion slaughtered one another. They drove her down through bumpy and winding roads, this time not bothering to blindfold or bind her. The land outside looked like desolate marshes with browning foliage and trees no bigger than herself. It didn’t look familiar—nothing she’d passed on her journey through Ænæria with Ben and the others. A darkness overtook her as she saw the sun passing not from left to right as to indicate a southern trajectory. No, instead it was setting behind her. They weren’t traveling south to her home like she’d hoped. They were traveling east.
Idiot, she thought. How foolish she had been for trusting these Ænærians. They’re nothing but liars and murderers. She should have seen that clearly when they killed their comrades. A nagging in her chest had wished these men to be Miners Guild. It was the only sensible explanation for attacking the camp and ‘rescuing’ her. Her rumbling belly and foggy mind blinded her judgment, allowing her too much hope. She didn’t bother to ask them if they were with the Miners Guild when she accepted their aid. Now it was too late, for she was still a prisoner with the only change being her jailer.
By the end of the second day, Arynn thought she’d been brought to her new prison. The violet shade of dusk enveloped the town into which slowed to a coasting drive, the wind softly rustling through the windows of the carriage. A group of a half-dozen Rhion patrolled the main road, beyond the town’s main gate. One broke off from the group and approached the sun-carriage. The driver flashed the SPQR tattoo on his forearm and was admitted entrance. No questions asked. Definitely not guild members, Arynn thought with a pang in her stomach.
Lamplight illuminated the entrances of dozens of shops and homes throughout the town. They drove past a bakery, an inn, and an armory. The savory aroma of fresh bread wafted through the streets, and the clangs of anvils and bellowing forges mingled with the chatter and laughter of townspeople. Glass-paned shops sparkling with the setting sun featured elegant gowns. Stores advertised spices and fragrances, and a bathhouse down an alleyway beckoned an eve of relaxation for weary travels. Another store flaunted a painting of a dancing couple with music inside, so soft and delicate that Arynn thought even listening too hard could shatter it. This was not her home nor anything like it. It was a place full of alien and luxurious things that didn’t exist in Vänalleato. She hadn’t thought they’d existed at all.
They passed the town center where the likeness of a tall and handsome golden man stood proudly with an outstretched right arm. She’d seen a similar statue before in Parvidom. It was King Xander.
“Where are we?” she finally asked.
The Rhion to her right grimaced as if her very presence made him uncomfortable.
The driver spoke up. “Trust me; you’ll understand everything soon.”
Arynn scoffed. “How can I trust you if I don’t know anything about you? You’ve traded me from one prison into another.”
“You’re not a prisoner,” the Rhion said. “We’ve been ordered to bring you here safely. We are forbidden from revealing any further details.”
“You said we were going home. This isn’t my home!”
“It is now,” he said. They pulled up to the front of a magnificent red and yellow bricked mansion with three tall, moss-covered towers like fingers reaching for the heavens. A rusty iron gate lifted into the mansion’s surrounding stone wall as the group entered the estate’s grounds. It was filled with gardens of red roses, pink daffodils, and shrubs carved into the shapes of women and animals. A marble fountain lay at the center, constantly spewing water over ten feet high.
The face of the mansion had large double doors with gleaming silver handles, and marble pillars as tall as trees rose up to a balcony overlooking the entire town. A man looked down from the balcony, his features hidden by the bright light of the room to his back.
The Rhion next to her opened the carriage door and gestured for her to exit. Hesitantly, she obeyed. The other two Rhion exited the sun-carriage and escorted her to the front doors. Two men in long black coats and neatly trimmed mustaches opened the doors upon their approach. If the outside had been beautiful, then the inside was immaculate. A spiral staircase cascaded down the side like a river of sparkling blue gemstones. The floor was tiled with marble much like the pillar outside and was amazingly devoid of any dirt like every wooden and stone floor she’d seen back home. The walls were decorated with paintings in intricate frames featuring animals she’d never seen. Across the entrance a grand hearth glowed, its heat tickling her skin. A woman stood up from a sofa chair that lounged by the fire. She turned to face Arynn and made her way across the hall.
The woman had golden eyes, light brown skin, and a wide and bright smile that ended in deep dimples and reached all the way to her sharp cheekbones. Her scarlet dress flowed
all the way to the floor, and her steps clicked against the hard tiles with each step. Her rich dark hair was swept back and held atop her head, drawing attention to her ears pierced with dark rubies that reflected the fire of her hearth.
Something fluttered inside Arynn. The woman was gorgeous.
“Welcome, welcome!” she sang with a voice almost as beautiful as her appearance. She pushed past the Rhion and stole Arynn’s hands. “I have waited so long to meet you!”
Arynn swallowed hard. Of all the things she’d been expecting, this hadn’t even made the list.
The woman read Arynn’s expression as if her thoughts were written across her forehead. “Oh, but of course, where are my manners? I am Lady Estel of Vestinia’s noble Crane family. And you’re Arynn of Vänalleato! Such a pleasure to have you in my home at long last!”
So that’s where I am. Vestinia. Then the shock hit her. She was in Vestinia—Fenwin’s province! Could that mean he was the man who’d been looking down from the balcony was Fenwin? Arynn offered Lady Estel a concerned look. “Why am I here?”
The noblewoman covered her mouth and giggled faintly. “Oh dear, you haven’t been told anything, have you? These dolts wouldn’t have told you for fear of losing their tongues!”
Again, the woman responded to Arynn’s expression—though this time she had confused terror for the confusion. “It will all make sense soon, worry not, Arynn! Why don’t I take you upstairs where you can get a sorely needed bath and a proper meal? By the Sun’s Grace, you don’t look like you’ve eaten in weeks!”
At the mention of food, Arynn’s stomach growled. She clutched it as if to silence it, but she had already been given away. Lady Estel smiled and shooed the Rhion away. She grasped Arynn’s hand and led her up the spiral staircase. She was brought to a room with the biggest bed she had ever seen—it looked like three people could sleep on it comfortably with ample space between them. There were four pillows that looked like small clouds and felt like small fluffy sheep. Its sheets were scarlet and made of fine silk that brushed against the skin like a warm waterfall.
The Heir of Ænæria Page 13
