Air and Ash

by Alex Lidell

  “Keep to your orders. Retreat.”

  The crimson-clad Tirik seamen dissolve from the Aurora’s deck, and I fall to my knees as the last man throws himself over the rail into the waiting boat. What has just happened, exactly? my racing thoughts ask. Or more accurately, why?

  Chapter 20

  I stand outside Captain Rima’s cabin, the muffled voices of Domenic and Rima escaping from the closed door. I’m fatigued to the bone. The morning air-calling practice in my cabin is as distant as the horizon. Disappointment soaks through me, a heavy layer beneath ripped clothes matted with grime and dried blood. We’ve failed. The Tirik have taken not one but two of our charges as prizes.

  “The boarding party was never intended to take the Aurora,” Domenic’s low voice explains behind the door. “It was a diversion to occupy us while the Devron cut out the merchants.”

  “Dishonorable cowards.” Rima spits the words. “Attacking civilian vessels while shying from our guns.”

  I roll my eyes. Does Rima ever get tired of his own rhetoric? If the Tirik captain had had an inkling of our incompetence, he would have taken the Aurora first, despite our heavier armament. And then he’d have two frigates with which to lasso our charges.

  Rima sighs. “You are certain it was the Siren and the Maiden that were taken?” The relief is sickening. The Eflian merchant is safe. That is what matters to him. “Very well, bring in the girl.”

  I straighten, not wanting to be caught slouching against the bulkhead when Domenic opens the door. My stomach knots at the approaching footsteps. I’m little savoring explaining how I came to learn how to command a gun battery and understand Tirik.

  Domenic sticks his head into the passageway and motions for me to come inside. As I cross the threshold, he gives me a hard look, warning me to behave.

  As if I need to draw any more attention to myself than I already have.

  “You wished to see me, sir?” I bow formally as I take in Captain Rima’s living quarters. The cabin spans the width of the ship and is filled with rich carved wood furnishings, good china, and medals. A window shows the ocean and the two ships left in the Aurora’s wake. My gaze stops at a painting hanging beside Rima’s worktable. It’s a portrait of a woman. She wears a gaudy purple dress I’m certain I’ve seen before. On second glance, the pointed nose and dark eyes are also familiar.

  I sift my memory for her name. Lady Madeline. Yes, Lady Madeline from Eflia North, who spends her days lavishly prancing between courts to inspire people to charitable deeds—preferably ones that bolster her prestige without the inconvenience of work. She also owns the Lyron Herald, a news press with all the integrity of a hungry hyena. When Thad threw her out of Ashing, the Faithful took her back to an Eflian port. The carpenter was obliged to remove one of the bulkheads to accommodate her luggage. Last I heard, she had gone to Felielle and made herself comfortable at court, befriending Felielle’s Queen Leanna in the process.

  Rima follows my gaze. “My wife,” he says. For the first time, I hear genuine adoration in the captain’s voice. “Lady Madeline Rima.”

  Lady Madeline Rima? I hope the captain reads my surprise as awe. “She is beautiful, sir.” And expensive. A captain’s year’s wages would barely cover a fortnight of Lady Madeline’s style. The Lyron Herald must be faring better that I thought.

  “Divine,” Rima agrees, smiling at the portrait. His smile fades as his focus returns to me. “Well then, girl. You claim the Republic leader ordered a retreat?”

  Claim? Domenic spears me with his eyes, and I oblige him by checking my voice before speaking. “That was the order I heard, sir.”

  “In Tirik. How came you to speak our enemy’s tongue?”

  “I learned it during my two-year throne service, sir.” The grain of truth soothes the words along. I decide against mentioning that I’ve a passing knowledge of Diante as well. “The Palace trained me to translate Republic newsleafs.”

  Rima’s mouth thins. “I hope you’ll find no more employment for it on my ship. Republic newsleafs may amuse the Ashing Admiralty, but aboard a man-of-war, they are nothing but enemy propaganda. You will keep that vile language to yourself and confine your intellectual pursuits to learning your naval duties. Is that understood?”

  I itch to ask whether Rima imagines I’ve plans to hold language courses for the crew, but curl my fists and give the appropriate “Yes, sir.” The more Rima indulges in this absurdity, the less he will worry about my heritage. Plus, the insult to Ashing should mean little to me. Not that the waste of the uniform sitting before me has any right to insult the best bloody navy in the League. Perhaps the marriage of Lady Madeline and Captain Rima is not as outrageous a notion as I had first thought. The pair are abysmal human beings and thereby well suited for one another.

  Domenic shifts his weight. Although his feet stay in place, he seems to have moved between Rima and me. “Ash handled herself admirably during battle, sir. She took charge of carronade division.”

  If anything, Rima’s scowl deepens. “Took charge?” he growls. “If I recall correctly, the chain of command does apply to women in the Lyron League Joint Fleet. So, pray tell me, Ash, did I give you leave to issue orders to my men and toy with my ship’s armament?”

  My skin heats, the audacity of this bigoted, manipulative coward pushing my common sense to its breaking point. “No, sir. I do not believe you were on deck at the time.”

  “That’s enough, Ash.” Domenic’s hands flex behind his back, but his voice reclaims its calm as he addresses the captain. “Although she is already making me regret it, I field-promoted Ash to master’s mate during the battle, sir. I intended the position for Mic, but he was indisposed.”

  Domenic… Wait, what? I fight to keep my face straight. Domenic is playing on Rima’s absence. The captain will find it difficult to reverse a promotion awarded during a battle he wasn’t at. Harder still to put the equally absent Mic into the slot. My stomach churns. I don’t want to be a master’s mate, and I know Domenic will pay dearly for this fiction.

  Rima turns to Domenic, whose eyes remain straight ahead. The captain’s face is tight and calculating. He taps his hand against his thigh. I expect a voice of cold fury when he speaks, but Rima sounds like a disappointed parent.

  “Ah, yes, Commander. Your handling of the Aurora was…” Rima trails off, his head shaking. “I need not tell you how disgracefully you served this ship, Commander Dana.” He rises from behind his desk and paces the room. “You lie and assure me of your ability, lull me into entrusting you with my ship, and proceed to hand over half the convoy to the enemy. An enemy with half our broadside, no less! If you had not the wit to fight a ship, you should at least have ordered our charges to scatter safely as well as informed me of the situation. Even I cannot rescue you from your folly if you wait until the enemy has departed before confessing the problem.”

  I’ve no words. Which is probably a very, very good thing. Especially since the weasel isn’t done talking.

  “I dislike stating the obvious, but facts are facts,” says Rima. “You may rest assured that my report to the Admiralty will conceal none of this sloppiness.” He stops at his desk, his tone conciliatory. “I will, of course, emphasize your youth and inexperience to the Admiralty… That should provide you small leeway. But it would be a mistake for you to rely on such charity in the future.”

  I hold my breath, but Domenic’s stoic face never wavers. I fight to keep my mouth shut before I talk myself into irons.

  Rima waves his hand in dismissal.

  Domenic turns on his heel and walks from the chamber.

  I follow in his wake, jogging to keep up with his greater stride. “Wait. Please.”

  Domenic stops, his foot already on the companionway step, his muscled arms bracing the rail. He is too large for this small space. In more ways than one.

  Meeting his eyes, I realize, with unexpected surprise, how exhausted he is. And that despite the cool face and stoic façade, the dressing-down from the captain h
ad hurt. Rima would write the report he promised. And that would hurt even more—not just Domenic’s pride, but his career. Yet, through the whole ordeal, Domenic had protected me.

  I draw a breath. There is much I want to say, if I could just find the words. That he handled the ship well. That he is a true seaman. That I saw through Rima’s manipulative speech and so will the Admiralty. That the Aurora and the League are lucky to have Domenic on their side. But most of all, I want him to know I’m grateful. “The promotion—” I start, but he holds up his hand.

  “After your deck exhibition, I had little choice. It was either promotion or punishment.” He shakes his head, and his hair sways over his eyes like a shaggy dog’s. “You’ve played me for a fool since you came aboard. I’ve not the energy to speak of it just now.” Tugging down his uniform, Domenic climbs the steps.

  His retreat leaves me with a sudden and inexplicable emptiness. Then anger, slow and viscous, trickles into the void.

  I hesitate by the sick berth, by the door separating my world from the one of moans and bitten-back screams.

  Death little scares me. At the core, an enemy’s ball either has my name on it or it does not. There is nothing I can do for it but stand tall on deck and pretend myself immune until I’m not standing any longer.

  Injury is different. That monster haunts my thoughts. A life without a leg, an arm, an eye. Beyond the door of the sick berth, that is someone’s new world. Someone else’s. Not yours. I draw myself up. Captain Fey insisted on knowing the human cost of battle, and it’s time for me to face the butcher’s bill.

  Inside, blood covers the deck. In the far corner, men hold down a sailor while a carpenter’s mate in a leather apron applies a bone saw to the remnants of a leg. Bile rises in my throat. I want to look away, but I see Ana there by the surgery, squeezing the poor sod’s hand. She speaks in a soft, hypnotizing voice. I’d never seen someone speak to a man during amputation, but the sailor clings to Ana like a lifeline.

  The carpenter’s mate, who appears be fulfilling the role of the Aurora’s missing surgeon, steps away. I catch sight of the bloody stump and spin away, leaning my hands on the bulkhead. I’m dizzy.

  “Nile?” It’s Ana. “Are you all right?”

  I’m not. I need to leave. Maybe that makes me a coward, but I signed on as a seaman, not a surgeon.

  And so had Ana.

  Ana smiles, and fury, as harsh and sudden as a rogue wave, flashes through my blood. How dare she smile? How dare she feel anything but shame and regret? Ana’s actions on deck were a hair short of cowardice. She had fallen apart. She took responsibility for neither her duty nor her people. Her incompetence and fear had turned her into such a liability that I actually sent her away.

  And she cares nothing for it.

  “I need to go.” I walk out the door. I can’t look at her. She’s befriended me, and I’d let her. I should have paid better attention. This girl isn’t the company I wish to keep.

  Ana trots after me to our berth and puts her foot into the door before I can slam it. “What’s wrong?”

  I don’t know what to say, but I want to say something. I want her to understand the importance of battle and duty. There is much good in Ana’s heart, and I want her to be the girl I like. “The Tirik boarded us,” I tell her. “They diverted our attention while the Devron cut out two of the merchants.”

  “Dear Goddess.” She closes her eyes. “I pray we shall never see that ship again.”

  My nostrils flare. “That we never see her again?” I’m tired. And I’m angry. I spin around and slam my knuckles into the wooden bulkhead, just shy of her ear. “The Devron bloody took our people from under our noses. And all you want is to make certain no danger befalls you? What kind of officer are you, Ana?”

  She takes a step away. Her eyes widen. The tears I expected don’t come. Instead, Ana crosses her hands delicately. “You forget yourself, Nile.”

  Oh waves and hail, if you knew how right you were. I shake my head and dig clean clothes from my seabag. Ana can go back to holding hands in the sick berth. I have work to do.

  “I little worry about the war because I worry about my family first,” Ana says into my back. I don’t know why she is bothering. “My mother, my younger sisters, the children I will one day bear. How well I handle a gun or set a sail or calculate a course, none of it matters. I will never stay in the navy long enough for my skills to make a difference. A life I help in the sick berth will. The hurt sailors are sons and fathers and husbands. Those are the important things, Nile. For someone so fervently in love with the navy, I do not understand how the basics of family are lost on you.”

  The fight leaves me like a deflated sail. Ana is right; her values are lost on me. Just as mine are lost on my mother. And maybe Ana’s are the right ones, the ones normal people should have. But I’ve never been normal. Perhaps friendship and compatibility are reserved for those who aren’t me. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Just…just ask the captain to rate you surgeon’s mate. We’ve no physician aboard to object. You’ll be doing your assigned duties, and none rely on you for anything different.”

  Ana shakes her head. “I asked, but the captain refused to rate me mate as I’ve no experience in the matter. He offered to make me a sick-berth attendant, but such a post is so junior, it would do nothing for the status of my family name. I could not accept that.”

  I throw up my hands. There is nothing more to say. I was an idiot for letting myself believe there would be.

  “People concern me more than gun batteries,” says Ana. “Speaking of which, who are you, exactly? You knew your business with the guns.”

  I rub my fist. “My life is my own.”

  She looks at me with hurt eyes that bother me more than I wish they did. Turning my back to her, I walk out and slam the door shut.

  Chapter 21

  By the following day, the Aurora resembles her former self, except for the dead sailors lying on deck, each man sewn into his hammock. Sand helps sew shut the hammock of a middie boy Lucas, who’s died from injuries during the night. At supper, the marine boys sit quietly and avoid glancing at the two empty spaces at the table. I keep my eyes on my food. My break with Ana lingers like a bitter aftertaste. And Domenic… That scorches. My own fault for getting too close. I won’t be repeating the mistake.

  I rise from the table, leaving the remnants of my salt beef ration, and walk away.

  I climb onto the deck and pull myself into the shrouds. My muscles protest, but the exhilaration evens the score. I time my steps to let Aurora’s motion propel me up, higher and higher until I reach the main yardarm and hoist myself atop it. Straddling the wood, I lean back against the mast and stare out to sea. The waves roll along, the occasional crowns of white foam bubbling at the crests. We continue heading west toward the Bottleneck Juncture and the nearby Diante port, though now only the Hope and Solace bob along in our wake. The sea stretches around us as far as the eye can see on larboard—Diante—side. On starboard, the occasional landmass of the Lyron archipelago interrupts the horizon.

  The wind teases me, and I wrap my elbow around a rope, unsure if I should let open my magic. I still choke every time I try, either at the beginning or end of the exercise. Sometimes the whole time. But I’m still alive. And not a single convulsion yet.

  “You are quite comfortable in the rigging, Princess.” Domenic’s voice sounds from right behind me. I’d been so focused on my own thoughts, I’d not seen him approach. Him of all people.

  I jerk to face Domenic, spinning on the ropes so quickly that my balance falters.

  Domenic’s arm clamps around my waist like iron. He draws me against himself as the Aurora crests a wave and falls back, her masts leaning out over the open sea. The salty musk of his coat fills my nose. His body is hard and steady. And close enough that I’m certain he can feel my heartbeat.

  I pull away from his chest and find steady footing, but his hand stays gripping my elbow.

  “Your charade
ends now,” he says. “I will accept that an Ashing princess would learn Tirik from her tutors, but I know perfectly well that even Ashing has no cannons in the palace ballroom. You will tell me how you know your business and how well you know it. Now.”

  A growl forms deep in my throat, but I stop its escape. I’m not about to let Domenic think I care one way or the other about his interrogation. “You rated me master’s mate. You tell me.” I shake off his hold, but the solid feel of his hand stays on my skin. Rolling back my shoulders, I grip the ropes and lean away. “I’ve been at sea since age eight, if that is what you are asking.”

  Domenic steps in, looming over me. It’s a calculated move, designed to intimidate. His body is large and lethal, made hard by years of sea life, and he uses it for all its worth.

  I raise a brow.

  “Why did you keep as much a secret from me?” he demands.

  “In what world are your erroneous assumptions my fault? I don’t expect you to keep track of the chosen occupations of all the six kingdom’s heirs’ younger siblings, but the assumption that I knew nothing of work was your mistake alone.” My nostrils flare. “Until the Aurora revealed herself to have but one sea officer capable of commanding her in action, the point was utterly irrelevant.”

  With the next breath, the unintended compliment in my words registers with us both.

  Domenic stares at me.

  I grit my teeth and stare back.

  “What exactly was your assignment prior to enlisting on the Aurora?” he asks, softer now.

  “Second officer on the AS Faithful of seventy-two guns,” I fire back, daring him to so much as blink at my ship’s name.

  “The Ashing flagship.” Domenic blows out a long breath. His hands flex around the shrouds. “Goddess. The finest ship in the six kingdoms’ finest fleet. Little wonder you—” He stops himself and looks out at the horizon.

  Little wonder I what? I want him to finish, and when he says nothing, I’m disgusted with my own desperation. How easily kind words about the Faithful make me forget reality. “So then,” I ask, crossing my arms and sitting down on the rope, letting my legs dangle through open air. “Are you enjoying watching a royal get her comeuppance, sir?”