“I know you’ve bought passage to Cortica.” Ferox waved The Seahag tickets bought earlier by Kopius. “Which means you’re meeting a broker there.”
“It’s true,” Brux lied. “Our contact is on Outlaw Island.”
“I demand to meet this contact,” Ferox said. “I will personally see to it that this miscreant and anyone they’re associated with are brought to justice.”
“And in return?” Kopius raised his bruised eyebrows. “Ouch.”
Van tensed, she willed him to stop talking before he got them into even more trouble.
“You hold up your end, and I’ll make sure your penalty is lenient.” Ferox gave a curt nod.
“Good. First things first,” Kopius said to Ferox, his words came strained due to the beating, and he remained crumpled on the floor. “You need to change your rags.”
“Pardon me?”
“You go to Outlaw Island like that—all full-out Balish military—and you’ll get us killed,” Kopius said.
“What he means,” Daisy said, using her most angelic tone, “is that criminals have an understanding not to interfere with Balish rule on the mainland. But only if the Balish leave them alone in their territory. Outlaw Island is most certainly their territory. So, it’s safest for everyone if you and your men dress down.”
Ferox squinted at Daisy. “Do I know you?”
Van noticed the slight tightening of Daisy’s shoulders. It struck Van for the first time, that while being held prisoner by Merloc, Daisy might have crossed paths with Ferox. Van held her breath.
“No,” Daisy said. “I’m sure I would remember.”
Ferox grinned at her. “I would remember too.”
Van prickled. She could see Ferox’s protector-type personally being attracted to Daisy’s vulnerability and frailness, like a shark drawn to chum in the water.
Apparently, by the look on his face, Brux didn’t care for their exchange either.
Kopius seemed fine, even smug, as if proud that Daisy had used her charms to help advance their cause.
Ferox had to make arrangements for their journey to Cortica and left the basement along with a few of his men, but not before binding the newly arrived prisoner’s wrists.
It seemed like several hours had passed when he returned wearing the clothes of a marketeer’s scout. His soldier’s had also changed and carried bundles of clothes for the others in the squadron.
“I’ve booked private passage to Cortica on a ship called The Obelus,” Ferox announced to the room. “We leave tonight.”
After the remaining soldiers changed, they all headed to the wharf area.
On the way, Kopius held up his bound wrists. “Hey, Prince Royal. Can you do something about this?”
The soldier closest to him smacked him across the head. “You’ll show Prince Ferox respect.”
“Once you’re onboard, I’ll have the restraints removed,” Ferox said, unperturbed by Kopius’s discourteous nickname for him. “On the ship, you’ll have nowhere to run, and we’ve confiscated your weapons and backpacks.”
Paley sidled up to Ferox and said coyly, “You really chartered a ship just for us?” She batted her eyelashes. “That’s so amazing.”
“We need privacy. Too many mouths mean too many revealed secrets,” Ferox said to Paley as the group made their way through the thick fog over to the dock. “No one on Cortica will know I booked the entire vessel, so we’ll be able to maintain our cover as marketer’s scouts who finagled their way onto a merchant ship.”
Ferox leaned toward Van and whispered, “How’s that sound to you, Nessie?” He winked conspiratorially.
Van grinned at him like an idiot. She inwardly scolded herself, and then stumbled as she stepped onto the walkway to the ship.
She gained her footing and moved on, cursing herself for being an emotional basket case. They had a lot of work ahead. How would this play out if she kept acting like a lovesick fool? She needed to stay focused on the mission.
But the warmth in Ferox’s eyes when they met hers…the way he carried himself…the command he had over his soldiers—had kick-started her heart.
She tried to deny her feelings, to lock them away.
But her attraction to him came crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
Chapter 23
Ferox had his soldiers hold Van and the others in a cramped cabin below deck. As promised, their hands were untied.
“He’s the Crown Prince.” Excitement sparked from Paley’s eyes. “He’s so handsome.”
“He’s Balish, and we’re his prisoners.” Van rubbed the red rings around her wrists caused by the restraints.
“He’s harmless.” Paley’s cheeks puffed from the stretch of her dreamy smile. “He’s not going to hurt us. Or turn us in. He’s a softy, I can tell.”
“Right now he thinks we’re marketeer’s scouts caught up in the illegal fairy trade. Once he figures out we’re out-of-bounds Lodians, he’ll have us killed. Remember that.” Van reminded herself to take her own advice.
She scanned their drab cabin. The claustrophobic room reeked with a damp, musty stench that hung so thickly in the air it stuck to her taste buds.
The ship swayed as they pulled away from the dock. Once they were underway, Ferox allowed his captives to leave the cabin.
Van and the others went up several stairwells to the forecastle. She had never been on a wooden ship and gaped in awe.
Kopius stood next to her, also taking in the ship. “It’s two-masted, square-rigged on the foremast.” He pointed to the tall cylinder structures rising from the deck to the sky, attached with chains, cables, and ropes tied in a way that made them look like checkered ladders.
Van lifted her eyes to the big, white sails that billowed in the wind.
“It’s got a fore-and-aft sail on the mainmast.” Kopius seemed just as impressed with the ship as Van. “And a square topsail.”
Ferox was also on deck. He caught Van’s eye and smiled.
Her cheeks grew hot, and she glanced down at the deck.
Van overheard the salty, old captain tell Ferox. “Best case scenario, trip to Cortica will take a day or two. Maybe three. More often than not, we’ve got to change routes ‘cause of the dangerous currents or weather conditions. And occasionally, to avoid a trade ship that’s wandered off the traditional route. And then there’s the pirates.”
Van didn’t like the sound of any of those things, but Ferox seemed to take the news with a stiff upper lip.
“You’ve been well paid to get us there,” Ferox said. “Just do your job, Captain Widsith.”
“Taint nothin’ good about these waters.” The weathered captain grumbled as he bounded down the stairwell and headed toward the stern.
Van, Pernilla, and Paley had grown up around water, having been raised on Providence Island. Brux and Daisy were raised by a wealthy family in Salus Valde. All of them had experience with boating, except Kopius. But, thankfully, he seemed to be able to handle anything, even the rocking of the ship.
Ferox’s men didn’t fare so well. As far as Van knew, they were soldiers from Balefire Palace in Aduro, a dry, hot, sandy region. All of them lacked sea legs and looked green around the gills. Several of them staggered to the railing and retched over the side of the ship.
Ferox not only looked well but seemed to thrive.
Van’s teammates settled on the main deck near the heavy rope wound around the bottom of the mast. They huddled together whispering, their faces serious.
She figured they were plotting their escape and chose not to join them. Instead, she went forward to the tip of the bow, hoping the wind would blow the ship’s cloying smells behind her and replace the lingering taste in her mouth with salty sea air.
She leaned against the railing, next to the wood pole that extended forward from the bow. She breathed in and closed her eyes. The brisk wind rushed against her body, blowing back her hair and sweeping her face. Worries washed from her mind. Nothing else mattered at that moment: not th
e mission, not her handsome enemy captor, not the spreading virus. Only the eternal power of nature.
She was part of it. She felt strong, beautiful.
“You’re not thinking of jumping, are you?”
Startled, Van twisted around.
Ferox grinned at her. “Best part of the ship, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
“Come, sit. So we can talk.” Ferox stretched his arm to indicate some large crates.
“Is that an order?” Van crossed her arms. “Because it sounds like an order.”
“I understand you’re nervous,” he said, kindly. “Being a prisoner must be scary.”
He understood nothing.
“I’m not going to hurt you, or your friends. I need your help—”
“I’d rather jump over the side of the ship.” Van winced. She had no idea why those words came from her mouth.
“Really?” Ferox chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m not that repulsive. Am I?”
He turned his charm on high and bent at the waist the way a gentleman bows before a princess and, again, extended his hand toward the crates. “I’d be honored if you’d care to sit with me for a bit.”
And just like that, he reeled Van in.
She complied, slowly, as to emphasize her reluctance.
She sat on the crate, Ferox maneuvered himself next to her. He sat close. Too close. Yet his presence generated an enticing warmth inside Van that made her want him to move even closer.
Her conflicting feelings confused her. She swore Ferox had gone sweet on her. But, she was a warrior, not a girlfriend. He was Balish, not Lodian. Her was her captor, not her friend. She feared if her emotions clashed any more intensely, they’d create a thunderstorm inside her body.
The corners of Ferox’s lips were upturned. He seemed to take pleasure in their closeness.
She tried to slide a few inches away but was already at the edge of the crate.
His grin—and stare—didn’t waver.
Van’s nerves reached a breaking point, and she blurted, “What’s up with that haircut?” She immediately regretted the juvenile question.
Ferox seemed suspicious, at first. Then he must have realized children from Hod, an impoverished region, were not as well educated as they were in wealthy areas. He probably thought Van had never seen a Balish royal before and that contributed to her being so nervous around him.
“Balish males are allowed to cut their hair this short only if they are royal or wellborn. It’s a sign of status and privilege.”
“Plus, all those trips to the barber can really add up.” Van burst out with a giggle, so high-strung spittle flew from her mouth. She felt her cheeks flare and then stressed about trying not to look embarrassed about it.
“Barber? What’s a barber?”
“Oh, um,” Van squirmed. “It’s a new type of service we’re offering in Hod—a person who specializes in cutting men’s hair. Never mind.”
“Well, the marketplace of Hod is the most cutting-edge place in the world.” His grin grew wide enough to show his white, even teeth.
He paused waiting for Van to respond.
She caught the joke, but her brain remained paralyzed from being near him. Only someone as charismatic as Ferox could get away with such lame humor and still maintain his appeal.
Van forced herself to chuckle and sounded stupid. She knew he had made the joke so she’d feel less intimated by him. But that gesture made her like him more, and, at the same time, hate him more.
“So, Hod, huh?” Ferox said.
Van shrugged.
“There’s quite a melting pot of people there. That region borders Antares and Salus Valde. Balish-occupied territory.”
Van kept still. She had no idea what he wanted.
“Did your parents teach you the beliefs of the Sanctus Novus?”
Ah. Now Van understood. Ferox was trying to figure out if Van and her friends were Balish Loyalists, orthodox Lodians, underground Manikists, anti-Manik rebels, or had beliefs somewhere in between—or believed in nothing at all, like most of the hapless people headed to Cortica.
Was Ferox on a mission to recruit wayward souls into believing in the ways of the Balish Sanctus Novus?
Van’s curiosity peaked. She didn’t fully understand the differences between Lodian and Balish beliefs. Since it was the primary cause of discord in the Living World, it seemed an important subject to become well-versed in.
“A little bit,” Van said. “We also learned about the Lodian’s Victus Opuseulus. Why?”
“I’m trying to understand why you’d choose a life of crime when there’s so much opportunity for better work.”
“What does that have to do with the Sanctus Novus?”
“Life’s not so clear cut as to what is good and what is bad. The choice is subjective, so how can you tell what is good?”
Van stared at him. Did he expect an answer? She had no idea how to respond, and, right now, he was making her feel pretty awful about herself.
“Look to your belief system,” he said. “Does your choice promote the good of the world or does it promote you? The sacred teachings help us to remove ego and only then do we make our choices.”
“You’re telling me I’m a bad person because I’m a thief?”
“You’re not bad,” Ferox said. “You make bad choices.”
Van wanted to be angry. To scream the truth into his face. She was the Anchoress! She, too, possessed wealth and carried a royal bloodline.
Yet, when she looked into his eyes, she could see he truly cared about her, and it melted her heart. The Balish Crown Prince, who had a million quests and duties and responsibilities, chose to take time out of his life to be concerned with helping Van—a lowly thief that happened to cross his path for a flicker of a moment.
Van’s eyes watered over the beauty of his selflessness.
On the other hand, the precarious situation taking place in the Balish monarchy now made sense to Van. Talk of an overthrow of the sitting Moors due to Ferox being decent, fair, and kind. She hoped he was also strong and cunning or he would never survive in a world dominated by the Balish.
“Does that mean you’ll let us go?” Van said, testing the waters.
“I must follow protocol.”
Van scowled.
“But, if I’m convinced you’re headed on a corrected path.” He flashed a wide grin. “I’ll see what I can do.”
There was no way he and Solana were from the same blood. How could a brother and sister be so different?
“The best way to figure out what is right,” Ferox said. “Is by making choices so you don’t win, but others do.”
“From what I know, that doesn’t sound very Balish.”
“What do you mean?” He looked taken aback. “Tell me,” Ferox said in an interested, rather than angry, tone. “Tell me what you know.”
“Um.” Van scrunched her face. She didn’t expect to get put on the spot. “The Balish don’t have Elemental blood like the Lodians. The Balish believe Lodians are heathens—obtuse and primitive. Their simple minds cause them to live in the past. Their heads, clouded by legend and myths.” Van turned her eyes to Ferox. “Am I close?”
Ferox chuckled at Van’s dramatic description, then said, “We see Lodians as cowards that hide behind their magical ancestors—the Elementals—and Manik’s law. Their warriors, the Grigori, are not strong like our Balish soldiers. They can’t even do their job of killing demons.”
Van’s anger rose. They certainly weren’t cowards. She wanted to defend the Grigori—but couldn’t. Ferox still thought Van was an uneducated marketeer’s scout from Hod. Giving him a piece of her mind would blow her cover. She tried to bite her tongue.
But she couldn’t do it.
“It annoys the Balish that Lodians are protected by Manik’s law.” Van’s nostrils flared. “Sounds to me like they’re jealous that Lodians are favored by the Elementals. Being their descendants makes them highly magical, and magic is power. B
alish fear that.”
“Magic isn’t valued by us. It’s foolish, just like the Lodians. They actually believe their Anchoress carries a magical piece of light in her blood given to her by the moon.” Ferox snorted. “Lodians had their chance at running the Living World a thousand years ago—and failed. Then my ancestors took over.”
Ferox narrowed his eyes at Van, scrutinizing her. “You seem to favor the Victus Opuseulus.”
Van opened her mouth to retort—which would most likely expose her and her team as Lodians—when the man in the crow’s nest interrupted their conversation.
“Sail, ho!” he cried.
Ferox and Van shot to their feet and turned in the direction he pointed.
Van spotted a wooden ship sailing directly at them with great speed.
She followed Ferox as he dashed down the stairwell, sprinted across the deck of the ship toward the stern, and up the stairwell to Captain Widsith, who stood next to the crewman manning the helm.
The captain peered through a telescope.
“Who is it?” Ferox’s chest raised up and down from his run.
Van also had to catch her breath.
Before the captain answered, the approaching ship raised her flag.
At first glance, Van thought: Balish black. But this flag didn’t have the red and gold Balish insignia. It displayed a white emblem of a serpent winding around a white skull and crossbones.
“Pirates!” a crewman yelled.
“Prepare for battle!” Captain Widsith cried.
The crew rushed to gather their swords, cutlasses, and scythes. Some prepped the cannons, others rushed down the stairwells, most likely to prep other cannons below deck.
The pirate ship traveled closer with unwavering determination.
“They’re in range,” Captain Widsith raised his arm and then swooped it toward the deck. “Fire! Fire!”
The cannons blasted; they looked and worked similar to Earth World cannons except they used finely crushed gemstones instead of gunpowder.
First Van’s ears went numb.
Then, the souls of her feet vibrated as The Obelus rocked with an explosion.
“Berth’s hit!” bellowed one of the crew.
Plague of Death Page 19