by Alex Lidell
Silence reigns, interrupted only by the occasional quiet call of the lookout. The Tirik are following, the calls assure us. Out of gun range but close enough to occasionally spot our sails. A game of cat-and-mouse in the fog.
“You’ve but delayed the inevitable,” Syd says, staring into the darkening sky. The setting sun saturates the thick air, heralding the night’s blackness more quickly than usual. “They’ll catch up to us.”
“I know.”
He leans his elbows on the rail, his fingers curling and releasing. “They’ll be atop us by morning, certainly. Perhaps sooner.”
I nod. “Yes.”
Syd drops his voice. “And what then, Nile? Will you strike the colors in surrender?”
I check the setting sun and give Syd a half smile. “Have a boat readied, Mr. Carley.”
“A boat?”
“A boat,” I repeat with a calm I feel none of. “I’m of a mind to amuse the enemy this night.”
With the blanket of darkness wrapping the deck, we work by feel as much as sight to slip one of the Marquis’s small boats, now rigged with a mast, into the water. Holding three covered lanterns in my hand, I watch the little boat hop around the rough sea. My stomach is tight as stone. The probability of this concoction of a plan working is fifty percent at best in a calm sea—and I know that much from Intermediate Naval Strategy, not actual experience. I only remember the idea because I’d argued against it with Captain Fey, my twelve-year-old self insisting that the variables were too unpredictable, too much outside human control to be worth the risk.
“There will come a time, Ms. Greysik, when half a chance is more than you dare hope for,” Captain Fey had told me. I didn’t believe him. When Captain Fey had a plan, you knew it would work.
“A line, please,” I ask of Landon, and wrap the rope securely around my waist. A world lies between studying theory and gambling a crew’s life on it. My hands are oddly steady despite the cold, the rush of blood through my veins an exhilarating drive. All around the Marquis is the majestic infinity of the ocean, inky black with night and alive as always. A rare twinkle of stars belies the fog is starting to clear. “Line secure,” I tell Landon, who walks over to check my knots nonetheless.
I step toward the edge of the Marquis, where the little boat is tethered on the other side of the hull, and reach for the rail.
“It shouldn’t be you,” Syd says, putting his body between me and the exit. “You are the captain. It shouldn’t be you. One of us will do this. Me. I volunteer.”
“I’ll go,” Jax echoes in his small voice. “I volunteer too, ma’am.”
“Or me,” say others in the crew.
I reject them all, just as I had an hour ago when I explained my plan to them. I tell them again that it has to be me because I’m the strongest swimmer of crew—which is likely true since many a sailor believes swimming a hazard that only prolongs death should one find himself overboard—but whether it’s true or not little matters. I know full well that my swimming skills are not the real reason I am going myself. I am going because this whole plan follows my gut, and I want to bear the brunt of the consequences myself. The Marquis may be my ship for only days, but while it’s mine, I will protect it with my life.
“You have the deck, Mr. Carley,” I tell Syd as I check that my three lanterns are firmly closed and concealed. One deep breath later, I am climbing down the handholds into the boat and choppy sea. The boat’s little deck moves like a phantom in the darkness, plunging down and up and sideways in a way the ocean alone predicts. My blood sings with a rush of fear and energy that tingles my skin.
“Cast off,” I call as loudly as I dare and crouch low to steady the craft. The boat shifts uncertainly, the briny lapping of sea whispering against its sides. Drops of cold water spray my bare feet. From down here, the Marquis’s hull looks impossibly large. An island of safety that I’m about to leave behind.
“Casting off, aye,” a soft call returns to me. A moment later, I feel the line tethering my boat to the Marquis release, casting us into the open ocean.
The waves take me at once, the swells no match for the rudder and single sail I have. A hard gust of wind pulls the rope from my hands, taking skin with it. It was wishful thinking that I might control the boat in this sea. My breathing quickens, my heart racing the wind.
Stop. Breathe. Focus.
I swallow, forcing my bloody hand to find grips. No, I won’t be fighting the ocean, but perhaps I don’t need to. I’m here to confuse the Republic, and for that I primarily need to remain alive. And not capsize.
The biggest problem with my lack of steerage is that I can’t guess how much time I have left before the length of rope between my waist and the Marquis goes taught. Forcing my hands to move quickly, I tie the sail and rudder lines to the boat’s hull and rise to my feet, my eyes fixed on the three lights atop the Marquis’s masts.
Come on. Come on. I beg my crew silently. Hurry.
After two long heartbeats, the first of the Marquis’s lanterns blinks out of existence. Then the next. And then I feel the line around my waist tighten.
Too soon. I need more time before the rope pulls me off. A few more seconds or this is for naught. Before I can reconsider, my hands drop to the knots holding the rope around my waist. I untie my tether just as the last light of the Marquis disappears. The boat bucks, and the line that was once around my waist falls away into the darkness of the sea with a gentle plop that leaves me utterly alone in the never-ending vastness of the ocean.
For a heartbeat, I’m nothing but an insignificant speck, one of millions floating in the sea. A hint of vertigo spins me, making me grip the sides of the boat as the Marquis shifts away at eerie speed. But that’s all the time I have for the fear that washes over me, and with the next breath, I force my body back to its task.
Securing the lanterns I’d brought to the boat’s makeshift mast, I light them quickly. With fog, darkness, and distance, the Republic will be hard-pressed to imagine that these lanterns are not really the Marquis’s guiding lights. If I’m right, the Tirik ship will follow this little boat’s lights for the rest of the night while the Marquis disappears into the ocean’s vastness.
If I’m wrong, we are dead.
Whether I’ll be alive to discover what happens is another matter entirely. With a final prayer to the waves and wind, I brace myself and dive into the water.
Chapter 6
The freezing ocean takes my breath, the waves I cannot see crashing over my head. My muscles and lungs scream their agony as I flail to raise my head above the swells. I steal hungry gulps of air when my head manages to break the surface long enough for such luxury.
The next chance I have at a full breath, I fill my lungs and duck beneath a swell. The instant it passes, I thrust myself up to the surface and force my eyes to get their bearings on the dark shape that is the Marquis. And then I swim like hell toward it.
It does little good. No more good than the little sail and rudder had done for the boat. The water closes over me harder than my arms and legs can keep up with. But I kick my legs nonetheless. It is my only chance to live, and I have to live. Have to get my ship back to harbor.
Water enters my mouth, and I fight against inhaling as something rough hits my side, disappears, and whacks me again.
The rope. The ocean dragged the rope along at the same trajectory as it now drags my body. With my last bit of strength, I grab on to the rope and wrestle it around my waist. Then, hand over hand, I haul myself to the Marquis’s hull.
I’m an arm’s length away when the ship swings toward me. I throw my legs forward to brace against the hull before the wood can split my skull. Calls sound from the deck as the crew realizes what’s happened and sailors swarm down to lift me the rest of the way.
Then I’m on my hands and knees on the deck, spitting water and shivering. My head rises long enough to see the three lights of my decoy bobbing at sea, before it drops back to the planks. “Helm,” I croak into the silenc
e around me. “Bring us around. All hands to deck to wear ship.”
Syd wraps a blanket around my shoulders and guides me to the captain’s cabin, his strong arms protectively wrapped around my body. The port window is covered tight to allow a lantern to be lit without the light being visible outside the ship. After depositing me in a large armchair, Syd walks around and crouches before me. His handsome face peers up at mine, the lantern light playing in his brown eyes. “Are you all right?”
I nod, my teeth chattering.
Syd rises long enough to fetch a mug of tea he’d ordered brought, and he shoves the warm liquid into my hands. “That was pigheaded, Nile,” he says softly, crouching before me once more. “You should have let me go. I’m expendable. You are not.”
I stare at the tea.
“There is nothing in it,” Syd says with a sigh. “Drink.”
I obey. The warm liquid rolls down my throat into my trembling limbs. “No one is expendable.”
Syd closes his eyes, his hands on my knees. “Yes, we are. Some of us.” Taking a breath, he looks at me again, his gaze brushing every soaked inch of me. “I still dislike you having gone out, but the crew is pleased. Both with your mettle and the fact that we’ve a chance to lose our tail without getting ripped to shreds.”
“I thought you wanted me to engage the Tirik.” I frown at my suddenly empty cup, and Syd refills it from the teapot before I have to ask.
“I did,” he admits. “More accurately, my hot blood did in the excitement of the moment. But I think some part of me always knew you were right.” The corner of his mouth tugs into that irreverent half smile again, the one that makes my chest tighten. “Perhaps there is a reason why you are the captain of the Marquis and not me. One that has little to do with bloodlines.”
I look down, struggling to hide just how much the compliment means to me, how starved I am for a word of praise. Pathetic. Perhaps I went out into that boat for myself as much as for the ship.
Syd’s words from a day ago—waves, has it only been a day?—come back to me. “It’s all an illusion,” he’d said about command. “A game that we all play in hopes the common sailors don’t realize our utter insignificance. How utterly alone we are…”
I rise, pulling the blanket off to unbutton my soggy coat. My hands shake from the cold, my bloody fingers working the buttons clumsily.
I realize Syd is behind me only when I feel him take the weight of my sodden coat and whisk it away. He rummages in the Tirik captain’s chest, touching the dead man’s things without hesitation, until he comes up with an overcoat. Too large by far—of a size to fit Syd himself—but it’s made of good warm wool. And dry.
I nod my thanks and hold out my hand, but Syd steps neatly around my outstretched arm and lays the garment around my shoulders. His hand slips along the fabric, hooking under my wet braid and pulling it away from my neck. His touch lingers there, sure and warm against my skin.
I stiffen. My chest squeezes, my heart suddenly pounding too hard against my ribs. That touch, held just a little too long to be accidental, sends heat along my frozen bones. My feet move, taking one clumsy step away, then two. I turn slowly, facing the lieutenant, who looms over me.
Syd’s shoulders are wide, his clothes stretched over a taut body, and his eyes… His dark eyes pierce me as if to say, I understand. You and I, we are the same.
“Brave, smart, and beautiful,” Syd says quietly, like a thought spoken aloud by accident. His face flushes, but instead of turning away, he grins, owning his admission. “Well, I’ve been told I wear my thoughts on my sleeve—apparently I narrate them too.”
Instead of being cold, I’m suddenly warm. Too warm. Blood pounds, my body alight with unfamiliar tingles and excitement as my mind screams its warning. Wrong. Untrue. Undeserved. Illegal. Impossible.
I swallow. Back away, needing the distance to catch my breath. To find my voice. “I… I errr… I still need a copy of your orders,” I blurt. “For the log.” Orders. Of all the stupid things to bring up now, with me having nearly died, an enemy ship chasing in our wake, and Syd doing whatever this is, I decide to talk about paperwork. Bloody brilliant.
Syd raises a brow. “My orders,” he says. “Of course.”
I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
Syd chuckles. His hand jets forward, catching my wrist in a strong but careful hold. “I might have a copy with me,” he whispers, closing the distance between us again. The heat of his body swirls around us, his dark eyes sparkling like a cat’s. Syd’s free hand comes up to push a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His face bends down toward mine.
“What are you doing?” The words, spurred by the part of my mind that still works, slip past my racing heart. We are on duty. In uniform. On the same ship. I’m his bloody captain. I’m… I’m wrong for this ethereally beautiful male before me.
Syd’s throat bobs. “Stealing a moment with an exquisite woman,” he whispers.
Chapter 7
We can’t.” My voice is too high, too breathless.
“Says who?” Syd purrs.
“Everyone. The rules, the Admiralty, the…” I close my eyes. “What are you doing, Syd?”
“What are you doing?”
“Coming to my senses.” I step away again, shaking his hold off me. The movement is harder than it should be, and I feel the loss of Syd’s touch keenly. No one has touched me thus before. And for good reason. “I’m your commanding officer, Mr. Carley. We can’t—”
“The rules about command are to protect the subordinates. I little think anyone would claim that you overpowered me and forced me into your bed against my will, ma’am,” Syd says with a dry smile. “There will always be rules, Nile, but a life at sea need not mean a life without pleasure.”
I shake my head, clearing the fog of a too quickly beating heart. This is wrong. I know it deep inside, on levels I don’t fully understand with my mind. Not just wrong because it’s against the rules, but wrong because it is wrong.
“I need you to return to deck, Mr. Carley.” I enunciate each word clearly, lest I confuse myself. “Keep watch until I relieve you. You’re dismissed.”
Syd recoils, his face a storm of hurt tinged with rage. “I see.” The words are clipped, breaths quick. His hands grip the back of a chair, knuckles white. “May I just ask one question before I go, ma’am?”
No. I know I should say no. But I nod.
Syd’s nostrils flare. “Is it because I’m low born?”
“Have you lost your wits?” I blink. “It is because forty-eight hours ago, I did not know a Syd Carley even existed in the Ashing fleet. One hour ago, I was at death’s door. It is because we are aboard a ship of war, not in a dance parlor. You and I both have duties to attend to, and bedding isn’t one of them.”
“Right.” Syd’s voice says he believes not a word of the truth. Sticking his hat back onto his head, Syd gives me a mocking salute and is gone before I can utter another word.
It takes all my effort to think of anything except Syd. Even the worry over whether the Tirik will take the bait lies in the shadow of the odd encounter. What in the storms was the lieutenant thinking? What in the world was I thinking? I force myself to eat and change and sit on the dead captain’s cot to rest my body. I know I should sleep, but I can’t.
The night drags itself hour by hour. It is a battle of will with myself to stay belowdecks, to pretend I’m not jumping at every creak, wondering if this is when the lookout will shout, Deck, there! Sail! Better to stay below, to pretend as if I’ve faith in our plan. Our safety.
I don’t recall dozing off, but the first rays of dawn tickle my eyes awake. Dawn. Dawn has come and there is no cry from the lookout, no sailors rushing to battle stations. Something in my chest falls away, and my body sinks once more into the darkness of sleep. This time, deep and restful.
The ship’s bell is calling the change of watch when next I rise, straighten my uniform, rebraid my hair. If anything, the episode with
Syd made it plain that everything I do sends a message whether I wish it to or not. And if I fail to control the narrative, it shall control me. And the ship.
“All is well,” the lookout had called, and that is what my appearance needs to say as well. So I force myself to dress carefully and ascend the deck with a dignity worthy of a captain who’d made a decision, not tossed a pair of dice and prayed that her absurd plan would work. Drawing a breath, I hoist myself out of the hatch on the deck.
And find my crew drunk.
“Three cheers for Captain Greysik,” Syd calls, raising a sword above his head.
“Harazzah! Harazzah! Harazzah!” shouts the crew, their cups of spirits high in the air.
The anger pulsing through my veins threatens to take my breath. No spirits. I told Syd no spirits. He’d not only contradicted my orders, he did it in a way that’s guaranteed to put the entire crew squarely on his side when enforced.
“Mr. Carley.” My voice is glacial, and several of the crew exchange concerned glances. Several others hurry to drain their cups. “Mr. Carley. Have all the spirits dumped overboard, then consider yourself relieved of duty. I don’t know what protocols you followed when you served on the Swift, but here, when I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.”
The deck falls silent. Even the wind beating on the canvas sounds too loud for the gray cloud that my words summon over the Marquis.
Syd, standing tall and muscled and perfect on the quarterdeck, looks down his nose at me. “Not for nothing, Nile,” he says, putting his hands into the small of his back, “but this crew has earned their rest. Your Highness should reconsider her decision to deprive them of what their counterparts on the Faithful and Swift enjoy every day.”