Unraveled

by Lindsay Buroker

  Rysha gritted her teeth in cold determination and shifted to the side so she could shoot the torturer without risking hitting Trip. In the darkness near the stairs, she shouldn’t have been visible, but she bumped something with her toe. The soft clunk was barely audible, but it was audible enough. The man—the torturer—whirled toward her, wisps of gray hair flowing about his head.

  Rysha shot without hesitating. She had no idea who he was, but if he was torturing Trip, he deserved to die.

  Her bullet slammed into his chest. He gasped and tumbled to the deck, clutching the wound. Rysha shambled forward as quickly as her own wounds would allow.

  She kept her pistol trained on the man, doubting a single bullet had taken him out instantly. She was right. As she drew close enough to kick the torture tools out of the burning brazier, the man lurched up to his elbow.

  “Look out!” Trip warned as Rysha fired again.

  Her bullet struck the man in the throat just before he threw a knife, the sharp blade gleaming orange from the nearby fire. The hilt tumbled from his fingers, and he slumped back to the deck, his eyes closing. Though she thought he was done this time, Rysha kept her pistol at the ready as she moved to Trip’s gate.

  “If you’re here to rescue me, I approve wholeheartedly,” he said, his shoulders forced by the chain to slump. His eyes held pain, and she could see burn marks on his chest and abdomen.

  “You’re not upset that I followed you to the docks?” Rysha looked around for a key. Presumably, Trip couldn’t magic the locks open right now.

  “It depends on how injured you are.” He frowned, watching a droplet of her blood spatter to the deck.

  “I’ll be fine as soon as a good healer attends to my needs.” Rysha hoped he wouldn’t notice her missing sword. She felt mortified for having lost it, and she couldn’t guess how she would get it back. Given the size of that steamer docked in the harbor, the water had to be deep.

  “Unlock me, and I’ll see if I can find you one.” Trip tilted his head toward the fallen torturer. “He’s got the keys on his belt. He had a couple of brutes beat on me so he could get the chains on, but then they left. He’s had me all to himself for the last ten minutes. I’m glad it wasn’t longer.”

  It had been long enough. Now that she had a better look at him, Rysha saw that he had a split lip, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He needed a healer as much as she did.

  She gripped the cage, using the support of a bar to lower herself to kneel beside the man. A gasp escaped her lips, and she winced. She knew Trip would figure out how injured she was soon enough, but she didn’t want to seem weak or cause him to worry.

  “I shouldn’t have come without you,” Trip whispered. “We would have been stronger together. Especially here.” His wave encompassed the barge.

  “Maybe we should have babysat the kids and sent Major Kaika. She could have just blown up the whole place.” Rysha found the iron ring with the keys on it. She tried to rise to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t support her, and blackness swam through her vision again. Damn it. How much blood had she lost?

  She turned on her knees toward the cage and fumbled with shaking fingers, trying to find the right key for the gate.

  “Here,” Trip said, holding his hand out.

  She had the urge to say she could do it, but it was easier to drop the keys in his palm. Then she slumped down, leaning her shoulder against the bars, exhausted. Not for the first time, a trickle of fear flowed into her. She was still bleeding. Was it possible she was close to death? Could Trip get her out of here when he was also injured? She didn’t know if she could stand up again. If he did get her out—she hated the idea of him having to carry her—how far away would they have to flee before he could use his magic to heal her? And would he be able to do so without the soulblades to help? She had no idea where they were.

  “I met the owner of the barge.” Clinks sounded as Trip tried several keys in his shackle locks and in the gate lock.

  “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.” Rysha tried to open her eyes, but she couldn’t manage it. Resting her temple against the bars and not curling into a tiny ball was all she could do.

  “Not particularly. He said he didn’t have the girl baby yet, but that he would soon. And he wanted to know where the rest of the stasis chambers are.”

  “Is he looking for them now?”

  “He didn’t say, but I bet he is.”

  “Hopefully, nobody will find that ancient sanctuary, but we should get back and warn Kaika.”

  “Yes.” A clank sounded.

  Rysha forced her eyes open to see if Trip had gotten out, but she felt herself lifted up and her face pressed into his shoulder before she saw anything. She looped one arm around his back, but kept the other clasped to her abdomen, her legs curled in, the pain demanding no less.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled into his shoulder as he strode toward the steps.

  She still gripped her pistol and decided not to put it away. She only had one bullet left, but she might need it.

  “I think I’m supposed to say that to you.” He bent before he reached the steps, and she tightened her grip on him.

  Soft scrapes sounded as he picked something up. Two somethings. Jaxi and Azarwrath. They must have been what she kicked on her way in.

  “You are,” she agreed. “I rescued you.”

  “Yes, you did. We can both properly thank each other later. When you’re bleeding less.”

  “Good idea.” She closed her eyes again as he climbed the steps. “Go out the back. Grekka and her people were busy when I came down, and hopefully they still are.”

  He obeyed and soon stepped out into the salty sea air. The sounds of roars and yips had diminished, and Rysha feared the crew might have finished dealing with the animals. They could be looking for her now.

  “Did you drop your sword on the deck somewhere?” Trip asked.

  Somewhere.

  “Not on the deck.” Rysha grimaced. “In the water.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to. He knew she would be in trouble for losing it, and he also knew it would be difficult to recover. Had it been some other tool, Trip might have located it down there and used his power to raise it up, but Dorfindral wouldn’t allow that, even if it meant being lost on the harbor bottom forever, like all those wrecks down there.

  “I don’t see a dinghy or anything we can use to row back,” Trip whispered, moving to the side of the barge where she’d originally come up.

  “I swam out here.”

  “You’re a tough woman. The elite troops will be lucky to have you.”

  The simple words almost made her cry. Even though it was her nature to dismiss praise—how could she even deserve it after she’d lost a priceless sword?—that he’d thought to speak it touched her.

  “I think we’ll have to swim back,” Trip whispered. “I hear voices up front and—”

  A bang came from that direction—a door being thrown open?—and someone shouted. “He’s gone!”

  “That didn’t take long,” Trip grumbled. “Brace yourself.”

  He shifted her so he could sling his leg over the railing. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, expecting him to jump in. He eased in more slowly, lowering himself over the side before dropping in, but the shock of the cold water still slammed into her like a wrecking ball. Fresh pain burst from her abdomen, and she lost consciousness.

  11

  Rysha woke to the night sky being an indistinct blur above her. She reached for her spectacles but bumped something else first. Someone’s arm.

  “Trip?” she whispered, her voice raw and raspy.

  “Here,” he murmured, his voice distant, as if he were concentrating on his magic.

  And he was, she realized, aware of a warmth within her, focused on her abdomen. Was the bullet still in there?

  Jaxi incinerated it, Trip spoke dryly into her mind. Azarwrath finds this medical practice horrifying, but she does seem to
have pinpoint accuracy. She hasn’t yet missed and incinerated an organ.

  Very comforting.

  I figured that was more of a concern in your case, since the bullet was lodged in your gut. But she promised she could deal with it more quickly than we could.

  What happens to the ash that’s left behind when a bullet is incinerated inside your body? Rysha asked, assuming something had to remain.

  Judging by the long pause, Trip hadn’t considered that before.

  As she imagined him having a scholarly discussion on bullet ash with the soulblades, Rysha grew aware of the cold sandy beach under her back. He must have swum across the harbor with her in his arms. She grimaced, knowing she had been a burden, and hoped he’d been able to use his magic to make it less onerous.

  You’re never a burden, he murmured into her mind.

  She knew he was reading her thoughts—maybe he couldn’t help it when they were this close, and he was monitoring her body for signs of anything going awry—but she didn’t mind. Especially with that warmth in her belly. It felt so much better than the pain from before. The backs of her shoulders tingled with healing energy, too, and she remembered the bear clawing her there.

  Are you sure? she asked silently. I’ve heard that six-feet-tall women aren’t easy to carry.

  Not a problem for sturdy, able, and handsome army captains.

  You used your magic, didn’t you?

  Maybe a little.

  How does handsomeness help with carrying things?

  It makes the woman want to hold on tightly. Always useful. Trip stroked the side of her face as the warmth continued to work within her, easing all her lingering twinges. To answer the ash question—technically, it’s a lead question—Azarwrath has decided that Jaxi used enough heat to truly incinerate the vast majority of it. If an infinitesimal amount remains, your body should be able to excrete it.

  Ah. There’s nothing like having a man stroking your face and discussing excretion.

  You did ask.

  Rysha turned onto her side to look at him. He was stretched out next to her in the sand, facing her as he worked. Though she couldn’t see much without her spectacles, she could tell they were under the docks, hiding in the shadows. She squinted out toward the water. She couldn’t make out the dark warehouse barge, but the palace was lit well enough that she could see its blurry outline.

  “Did my spectacles fall off while you swam?” she asked.

  “No, I have them.” He slipped his hand into his trousers pocket and withdrew them. “I was going to see if I could fix them, but that was before I knew one of the lenses was missing. We’ll have to find some glass that I can manipulate to replace it. All that’s around us on the beach are those spherical green floats washed up from fishing nets. Would it be hard to see through a green lens?” He handed the spectacles to her.

  “Perhaps slightly distracting, but I have another pair in my pack back at the sanctuary.” Rysha donned the spectacles she had here, noticing that the remaining lens was no longer cracked. She was touched that Trip wanted to fix everything for her, and reached out to pat him.

  His chest was mostly bare, his shirt hanging in tatters. She remembered the fresh burn wounds she’d seen there and drew her hand back, not wanting to hurt him. Knowing him, he had healed her before bothering with his own injuries.

  I thought I would wait for you to recover so you could bandage them, he spoke into her mind.

  That doesn’t sound as effective as magical healing.

  But it would involve you touching my chest. This is appealing.

  If you’d seen how close I came to failing the combat-medic course in the academy, you wouldn’t long for me to handle your wounds.

  Oh? What did you struggle with?

  Asking why we were doing certain things during timed tests. I wanted to understand the reasons, not just do the procedures.

  You weren’t asking about ashes, were you? Trip pushed a wet clump of her hair away from her face.

  Rysha marveled that he could see well enough in the dark to know there were locks plastered to her skin. Imagining herself extremely bedraggled, she vowed not to look in the clear pool when they got back to their hideout.

  I asked whether the army had funded much medical research to determine if their awful bromine concoction was truly the best thing to smear on wounds.

  And you thought you should ask the question during a timed test?

  I did.

  Trip rolled onto his back with a faint groan. Azarwrath said he would work on my wounds for me. He’s a good sword.

  Is there anything I can do to help?

  Now that she could see better—at least out of one eye—Rysha looked toward the barges. She worried there would be a pursuit and wondered how long she had been unconscious. She and Trip were making a habit of needing medical care on beaches, but this one was far less private than the last.

  Lanterns moved about on the decks of both barges. It appeared the crew was looking for them on board first. Trip was probably using his magic to camouflage them, but it wouldn’t take those people long to guess that she and Trip were no longer on either barge.

  Yes. Trip took her hand and laid it on his bare chest.

  Rysha trusted it wasn’t in the middle of a burn mark. Am I just holding it here for support? Or am I fondling things?

  You can fondle whatever you like. He closed his eyes, his head resting back in the sand. Especially things.

  She brushed her thumb along the curve of his pectoral muscle, but was afraid to let her hand roam until she knew the soulblade had healed him.

  What was it like, Trip? Being tortured? I mean, I know it was awful, but was it harder than you thought it would be? Was it something you’d ever even considered? Being captured and questioned about state secrets? Or about the positions of your comrades? Were you tempted to tell him anything? Did you tell him anything?

  Rysha made her mind stop spitting words. She hadn’t intended to interrogate him about his interrogation. It just happened to be something she’d thought about often, especially after a surly elite-troops instructor had mentioned it was one of the reasons the idea of letting women into the unit was always met with resistance. As if men couldn’t be tortured all the same ways women were, though in truth, she had no idea how often male prisoners of war endured rape. She’d stilled her curiosity and kept from asking for detailed statistics about types and frequencies of torture among prisoners of war. Mostly because the instructor had been an ass and would have glared at her, not because she hadn’t wanted to know.

  Honestly, Trip responded after a moment of consideration, I hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about it, and since Bhodian’s master torturer only had ten minutes to work on me before my valiant rescuer showed up, I was able to resist without too much trouble.

  Valiant, right. I bled all over the deck and collapsed at your gate.

  You collapsed most valiantly.

  Uh huh.

  I can see how it would wear you down over time, Trip added. Especially if you didn’t know if there was any hope that you would escape. You might be tempted to talk if a reprieve was promised if you did so. If they said they would let you go.

  Is that what happened to you? Rysha noticed her hand had started wandering around Trip’s chest and the ridges of his abdomen, despite her thought to keep it still. She did brush against a few rough bumps, but they seemed healed, scar tissue rather than open wounds. And he didn’t stir or give any indication that her touches hurt.

  He said he would let me go, yes. But… it was my siblings he wanted, my blood. Even though I’ve never met them, as far as I remember, I feel a connection to them. I’m all they have in this world. I couldn’t have given them up, not after he said he wanted to use them to make himself more powerful. Maybe for less important things, it would be easier to give in, to let secrets escape in order to stop the pain. I don’t know. There are some tests that you can’t know if you’ll pass until the moment is upon you. I don’t know if
there’s a way to prepare.

  That’s what I worry about.

  His eyes opened, his head turning toward hers. About being strong if you’re caught and tortured? He laid his hand atop hers.

  That and other things. I wonder sometimes if it’s delusional of me to think that I have what it takes to be in the elite troops. I’m not exactly typical. Maybe I’m too far from the mold.

  What mold? There’s only one woman in the unit.

  True, but she’s mostly like all the men, like her fellow soldiers. Their outlooks and competence and abilities are what make them similar, gender regardless. I’m not really like any of them.

  I bet if you asked Major Kaika, she would say she’s often felt that she’s not much like her comrades.

  Maybe. Rysha had a hard time imagining Kaika ever having anything but confidence and swagger, and knowing she could make it. She’d heard the story of how she had been invited to try out for the unit in the first place. After being turned down for being a woman, she’d supposedly gone to the castle for an audience with King Angulus. She’d ensured he wouldn’t forget her by demonstrating her abilities… by blowing up an urn in his waiting room. Did you ever doubt that you had what it takes to become a pilot? Were you nervous when you started your training?

  I was fearless when it came to flying and didn’t have any doubts about my piloting abilities—even when I was a rookie and should have. Flying always came naturally, if you can imagine that. He seemed to smile, but it was hard to tell in the dark. My doubts were about my ability to be part of a team, to fit into a unit of people and work with them. I’d always sensed I was little like everyone else. I spent my whole life worrying people would figure that out.

  It’s hard being atypical.

  Indeed. He rubbed the back of her hand and gazed into her eyes.

  She couldn’t tell if he was exuding any of his power or not, but she had the urge to kiss him, to let him know she understood him—and was glad he understood her. This wasn’t the time and place for it, surely, but nobody was rowing toward the beach yet…

  While letting her fingers continue to trail along his chest, she lowered her lips to his. Then laughed because his were sandy. Or maybe hers were sandy. She rubbed her fingers across his mouth and dragged a sleeve across hers.