by Alex Lidell
“Mm.”
Addus’s noise leaves much to interpretation, but there is little gain to be had from continued discussion of Quinn and my morals. “Your flag captain dislikes me.”
“Captain Bassic finds you rude. Both in your manners and in your decision to claim a naval rank.”
“And you do not?” The words are out of my mouth before I consider their phrasing.
“I am a bit older than Bassic. I’ve traveled more.” He points to me. “I studied in Ashing. Saw Felielle, Biron. Ashing seamen are best in the world, I think. Men and women.” His smile is genuine, and I smile back, though it is odd thinking of Addus in Ashing ports. More accurately, it is odd thinking of the navy before I joined its ranks. Addus rubs his upper lip. “I was last in your kingdom fifteen years ago now, comparing ship designs. I recall two little children running through the palace like fiends. You and your brother, perhaps? He is well?”
A swallow, the too-familiar mix of pain and fear creeping through me. “He…he attracts metal.”
Addus’s smile pushes me off guard. “The Gods have touched him, then! My congratulations.”
Congratulations. I let my face show my disagreement but say nothing aloud. Whatever the Diante beliefs are, it little changes reality. Ashing, like the other Lyron kingdoms, shuns the Gifted. My twin Clay has been hidden from view for years, as if his existence was the family’s dirty secret. “Sir,” I say, gathering myself. “I thank you for teaching me the rudeness of blunt requests, but I must beg your indulgence. My ship needs to take her place in battle. If we are your guests, as you say, I beg your leave to depart. Please.”
Addus nods, his expression growing serious. “Tell me of this battle you rush to,” he commands in a tone I’m used to hearing from admirals. Meeting his eyes, I push my plate away and brief him on the truth, starting with Rima’s treason all the way to the destruction of a great portion of the joint Lyron League fleets, to Thad’s note about the coming battle at the Bottleneck.
When I am done, Addus steeples his hands under his chin as he studies the chart I’ve commandeered during my explanation. I can see calculations running through his mind. “There are two fleets readying to fight over the control of Bottleneck Juncture. You believe your little ship will make a difference?” he asks.
I shrug. “The Bottleneck Juncture is a doorway between the Siaman, the Ardent Ocean and the Diante West Corridor. It connects a great deal of water but is narrow enough that even a small ship can make a difference. I intend to position the Hope on the Siaman side of the juncture and hold the proverbial doorway closed until other ships arrive.”
“I do not believe your ship will make much difference,” he says, shaking his head. “You will destroy it and your crew with no impact made.”
He speaks without condemnation. An experienced naval officer who has judged the situation and predicted the outcome. And I know he’s most likely right.
“I will do what I can,” I say quietly. “It is all I have to offer, sir.”
His mouth tugs in a smile. “You, yes. But me?”
Chapter 22
Admiral Addus offering his ships to support the Lyron League in the battle for the Bottleneck Juncture is as tide turning as it is politically dangerous, and it takes a full hour for the admiral and me to work through the legalities. The Diante Empire is strictly neutral in the Lyron-Tirik conflict, and Addus is not permitted to bring his ships to bear without the Diante Great Emperor’s blessings—which we do not have.
“You may not support the Lyron League directly, but you could support the Ashing Kingdom specifically?” I clarify.
“Ashing is a small kingdom, in and of itself hardly significant in the Lyron-Tirik conflict,” Addus says with a sly grin at odds with his years and his station. “To fly Lyron colors is a political statement. To raise those of the Ashing private armada is a…gift to the daughter of an old friend.”
I am at a loss for words. “You would fly Ashing colors on the ships of the Divine Squadron?”
“If the Princess of Ashing appointed me as an honorary member of the Ashing armada, it would be an honor,” says Addus. “We can make sail in two hours’ time and be at the Bottleneck by early evening. It is unlikely we will reach the Bottleneck first, but we will be approaching it from a different direction.”
“I do not know how to thank you,” I whisper.
Admiral Addus’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “It is I who should be thanking you for the opportunity to exercise my men,” he says politely, before adding in more solemn tones, “Thank you for bringing home our Gods touched, Nile of Ashing.”
Although I will be returning to the Hope for our approach to the Bottleneck, I stay on the Wave while the Ashing flag is hoisted onto its mast. Whatever the Diante crew thinks of their admiral’s interpretation of the law and his decision to defend the Bottleneck against the Tirik, they follow his orders unquestioningly.
The sea of gorgeous maroon uniforms of command staff and the shades of burnt orange and brown of the hands’ garb moves with a synergy that resembles Catsper’s Spades more than seamen. They move as one, like a swarm of bees keenly aware of one another’s presence and role. A helping hand is always there, and no man is left to complete a task without needed aid. They are quieter than the Ashing crews as well. The men know their station and that of their mates, and no words need be exchanged or orders issued.
“They please you?” Addus asks, leaning down to speak to me.
“They’ve remarkable teamwork, sir,” I say with a bow.
“But not too much initiative maybe.” Addus points to a set of overlooked carpenter’s tools the hands work around instead of putting away until a middie breaks rhythm and assigns two men to the task.
“The Wave and all other ships of the Divine Squadron are ready to set sail, sir,” Bassic reports to the Admiral. “A cutter is waiting to take our guest back to her ship.”
Addus turns to me, his gaze stern. “I would hate to have brought my fleet out to assist the Hope only to have her commit suicide. This is a battle, Captain Greysik, not an ego competition. If you disobey and engage any frigate in a ship-to-ship action, I will pull back all my vessels. Is that understood?”
I bristle but nod.
“Very good. Please give my best to your father.” Addus claps my shoulder. “One final matter. What signal might I make to your countrymen? Perhaps they will be heartened to know reinforcements sail in their wings.”
I hadn’t considered the signal until now, but the answer comes without hesitation as I detail the order of flags and pendants to fly up the Wave’s mast. Joining Action, the flags read. Ashing Ship Faithful.
I stand at Hope’s railing, watching the sun journey across the shimmering sky as the Hope and the Divine Squadron close in on the Bottleneck Juncture. The sea is deceptively calm, betraying nothing of the battle that has no doubt already begun. Addus had estimated a half day’s travel to get to the Bottleneck and we are coming up to the tail end of that stretch.
“Deck there!” Kederic calls loudly from the Hope’s foremast. “Sail! Multiple sails! You’ll want to see this, ma’am.”
I push away from the rail, my heart thumping against my ribs. “Thank you, Mr. Kederic,” I manage to say with a calm I wish I felt. I force my breathing to steady as I look up the mast to the lookout platform. It’s different this time, I remind myself over the deafening pounding of my pulse. My ankle is healed. I know I can support myself even with half my body disobeying. At least I think I can. I hope I can.
“A year ago, did you climb when the Republic had snipers deployed?” Catsper, who I’d not seen approach, whispers into my ear.
Of course I did. It was necessary. I nod to the marine. Yes, that is another difference between that day on the Aurora and now. The difference. Today others’ lives depend on me. It isn’t that I’ve no choice, I realize as a stoic calm sheaths my nerves. It’s that I made the choice long ago.
Gripping that thought as hard as I grip the rope, I p
ush myself into the shrouds. The happy greeting of the wind ruffles my hair, the freedom of movement spurring my feet ahead of my caution. But I still swallow a sigh of relief as I hoist myself deep onto the lookout platform. At least I made it this far.
Accepting Kederic’s glass, I scan the waters. The Bottleneck Juncture is plainly visible, the apex of it bubbling with white water. I adjust the focus of the glass on the white canvas that grows closer by the minute. And there is a great deal of canvas. Both Lyron and Tirik.
“We’ve found the fleets,” I tell Kederic unnecessarily. Eight ships from the Ardent Ocean have penetrated the Bottleneck Juncture and are inside the Siaman Sea. Two fly the joint colors of Ashing and Lyron League. Six, the red ensigns of the Tirik Republic.
The remainder of both fleets are still in the Ardent Ocean, much too far away yet to engage. I let myself indulge in a proud smile, seeing that of all the ships supporting this battle for Lyron, it was the Ashing ships that made it to the Bottleneck first.
Dismissing the far-off ships, I focus on the eight now in play on the Siaman side of the Bottleneck. The battle for control of the Bottleneck Juncture will be fought here. The winner will become the doorkeeper to the Crystal Oasis. The loser will limp home, forced to focus his strength on clearing a path toward an alternative water source. Depending on the severity of the quake’s damage, that could take months to years.
Several minutes pass until I can reliably discern the ships. The two Ashing vessels are the Falcon and Hawk, sixty-eight guns apiece. Not the League’s largest, but fast enough to have made it through the Bottleneck before the Tirik frigate sealed it off. Of the six Tirik vessels, five are large line-of-battle ships, and the sixth is a small frigate barely visible behind her larger sisters.
I swallow. The Diante’s Divine Squadron is a quarter hour from range. The Falcon and Hawk, no matter how brave, will suffer horribly at Tirik guns before we get there. As much as I hate Captain Rima, a selfish part of me is grateful for his cowardly tactics that kept Domenic away from this slaughter.
“I know the Diante admiral has forbidden Hope from joining the action directly,” Kederic says, coming up to me. “But what are we to do, then? I do not believe I have the stomach to sit idle while others die.”
“Nor do I, Mr. Kederic.” I force myself to smile at him. “We will lend our strength to the boarding parties and pick up any unfortunate souls who find themselves overboard.” I hand the glass back to him and brace myself for the climb to deck.
“Captain!” Kederic’s shrill cry brings me back to the platform.
“Calm your voice,” I murmur in reminder, hooking my arms securely over the ropes and giving the young man a firm look. “What is it?”
Kederic flushes slightly, but his voice is calm when he speaks next. “That small Tirik frigate behind the seventy-two. The sails shifted, and I just got a good look at her, ma’am.” Kederic squares his shoulders. “She isn’t Tirik. It’s the Aurora, and she’s been taken as a prize.”
Chapter 23
Domenic.
I climb down.
Catsper moves to stand beside me, his silence a question.
I clear my throat, forcing clarity into my voice—the same as I’d reminded Kederic of just moments ago. “It appears Captain Rima’s neck-saving plans have failed him spectacularly,” I say, my cheeks devoid of blood. Domenic. “The Aurora never made it far enough to avoid the arriving fleets. The Tirik have taken her. She’s tethered to the seventy-two.”
Catsper lets loose a small growl.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, narrowing my mind to nothing but the sea and fleets. It should not take the effort it does. “Get your boarding party ready, Lieutenant.” I raise my voice. “Helm! Bear off four points larboard and bring us up beside the Aurora. Let us stay out of the frigates’ cannon range as we maneuver.”
The woman at the wheel nods and spins it.
Catsper moves his finger in a single circle, and the Spades gather around him, checking their weapons as they listen to instructions with eerie calm. One of the boys hands Catsper a set of freshly loaded pistols and a sword, which the marine weighs in his good hand.
“You intend to board the Aurora?” he asks me, stepping away from the others and tucking a pistol into his belt.
“Yes. If we have the strength for it.”
He checks the pistols’ priming. “I can take the ship, but I can’t hold her long, not with the Tirik frigate beside her. We might do better augmenting a Diante boarding party.”
I stare at the sea as we skip over the waves, keeping well clear of the large ships. “Rima must have foreseen the possibility of capture,” I say, my fingers flexing into fists. “He’d have planned. Kept the most vital of facts to himself as a bargaining chip to trade away for his life. And now he’s with his handlers. Storms know what he’s told them already.” Storms know what he’s done to Domenic. My nostrils flare, but I know I’m choosing this battle because it’s the right thing to do. I trust myself on that. “It isn’t the Aurora I want, Catsper. It’s Rima. And a sword.”
Catsper tosses me his.
I listen to Kederic, still on the foremast lookout platform, as he narrates the maneuvers of the large ships. The Ashing crews are superior, firing three broadsides in the time it takes the Tirik to fire two. The large number of sniper shots Kederic reports suggest both Hawk and Falcon took on large complements of marines or soldiers before sailing. Spades perhaps, or some Felielle soldiers if they were still in Ashing with Prince Tamiath. Despite the Ashing ships’ better crews, the sheer number of guns the Tirik point at them takes a gruesome toll. One of the Falcon’s masts falls. In my mind, I can see the crushed bodies, the sailors working their axes to separate the damaged rigging from the ship’s hull. I will the Diante ships to fly faster. The Hawk’s broadside becomes ragged, with too many dead to man the guns in unison.
My chest burns to go to the Ashing ships’ aid, though it would be suicide, and I can’t. I have to trust Admiral Addus to do his job, while I do mine. So I do nothing but watch, letting the Hope swing wide around the battle to come up beside the Aurora while the Diante Divine Squadron maneuvers to bring its guns to bear.
“Two minutes,” says Catsper with a calm that borders on lazy. The boys around him work hard to imitate, but I see the hands checking weapons a hair more often than necessary and feel the thick silence holding us in place. Kederic, whom I ordered to stay behind in command of the Hope, crosses his arms in disappointment but says nothing.
I keep my features schooled despite a dry mouth and treacherously sweaty palms. The hull of the Aurora bobs closer, and the Tirik prize crew aboard her realizes what we are about. They split their efforts between severing the Aurora’s tether to the large Tirik frigate, now under Diante fire, and readying weapons to fend us off.
I watch them, gripping my own sword.
“Hooks ready,” Catsper snaps.
My thoughts jar my muscles. I draw a deep breath and stay close to Catsper, waiting like a coiled spring for the order to board.
It comes, short and crisp. “Go! Go! Go!”
A savage cry erupts about me as hooks clamp onto the Aurora’s hull, and our small troop of Spades pours over the rails. I join the sea of black uniforms, wild energy surging through my blood. When my turn to leap over the rail comes, I take it at a run. My feet hit wood, the impact rushing through my bones, then I topple to my hands and knees. But I don’t feel the pain. My focus zeroes in on my old ship. And the blood soaking her planks.
A Tirik cudgel sails over me, striking the air where my head was moments ago. I cling to my sword and roll away.
“Nile!” The desperately familiar voice reaches me through the storm of grunts and cries.
I spin but can’t find Domenic in the fray. Most of the crew is missing, likely belowdeck and under Tirik guard. Or dead. Several kneel atop the slippery red decks. Domenic calls to me again, and I finally find him in the center of the deck with several other Aurora crew members. He is on his
knees, bloody, his hands bound. My chest clenches. His uniform is gone. The latter would have been Rima’s doing, not the Tirik’s.
I scramble toward him.
Domenic surveys me from head to toe. Satisfied to find me in one piece, his eyes finally settle on mine just as I get close enough to attack his bonds with my dagger.
“Are you all right?” he demands, his warmth seeping into me as I work. The moment one of his hands is free, he pulls me toward him.
All the questions I want to ask about what happened to him bubble to the top of my throat. I swallow them back down. This isn’t the time. We can’t allow it to be. “Rima betrayed the League,” I say quickly. “Where is he?”
“Below.” Domenic twists his other hand free of the rope just in time to throw me to the deck while he strikes out at someone behind me.
Just as I scramble up, a Spade shoves me aside again, his sword already locked with a Tirik. Forcing myself to leave Domenic again is harder than I imagined, but I make myself stay focused on Rima. Racing through the melee, I scamper down the ladders toward the calls of Aurora’s crew below. The voices are coming from the Cove, which is barred from the outside. I grunt as I lift the heavy plank from its hinges and step aside as a press of bodies flows into the passageway.
“Where’s the captain?” I call to the running seamen.
No one pays me any mind.
I scan the men rushing past me, but the chicken-shouldered bastard isn’t among them. Lieutenant Kazzik, however, is. My fists grip Kazzik’s tunic as he starts toward the ladder. “Rima,” I growl, slamming the surprised man against the bulkhead. “Where the bloody storms is he?”
The man blinks in confusion.
I don’t have time for this. “Where is Rima?” I repeat into Kazzik’s face.
“I…I don’t know. Not with us. His cabin, perhaps?” He flinches as sounds of fighting drift down from the deck. “What’s happening?”