by Apryl Baker
“How about fresh water?” she asked, her voice tired. “Do we still have that, at least?”
“I’m not sure. Grasshopper didn’t say, but I’ll check. If it’s going stagnant, then we are in worse shape than we feared. It only takes three to seven days to die from lack of water. We’ll need to ration water too, even if it’s still good. I don’t want people running through it recklessly to fill up empty bellies.”
“Lukas?”
“Yes?”
“Where did we meet?”
“What?” He turned to look at her, and she was staring at him, deep in thought.
“Where did we meet?” Her words came out clipped, impatient.
“In a little town called Haverthing. The Oracle Inn. You were in the middle of a fight, and I joined you, thinking you needed help.”
She smiled. “And did I?”
He laughed, remembering that night. “No, Val, you didn’t. You’d managed to subdue them all before I’d drawn my sword.”
“We’re going to be fine, all of us.” She stood and came around to face him. “I promise.”
“I know that, Valeria. I trust you more than anyone else. I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t.”
“You’ve stuck by me through everything.” She looked up at him, her green eyes alight with something he rarely saw. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“I know.” He smiled down at her. “Just don’t forget it.”
“I won’t. Now go check on our water supply while I try to figure something out. Maybe Tobias has an idea to salvage our food. He’s been through this before.”
He debated telling her everything on the spot but decided against it. He needed more answers first. He nodded and left to attend to his orders.
Chapter Thirteen
The Dragon knew more than she was letting on. Stephen felt sure of it, but he couldn’t figure out what she was hiding. If the Dragon wasn’t responsible for the deaths of Valeria’s crew members, she should be eager to clear her name. That included divulging all the facts, especially to someone who bought into her innocence. Not that she had any real reason to trust Stephen. He’d made his dislike of her known from the moment she’d stepped foot on board ship. Maybe if their roles were reversed, he might not be all that comfortable offering up his secrets either, even if they did clear him of all charges.
Deep seeds of doubt prickled away at him. He honestly wasn’t sure of the right thing to do in this situation. The man he’d been just two weeks ago would have rushed in and hunted down the truth and brought whomever or whatever to justice. That man was long gone, replaced by a man ruled only through his need for survival and his mission to bring those responsible for his men’s death to their rightful penance, which meant the Dragon now housed in the brig.
Why did he care if the Dragon was innocent or not? She’d caused the deaths of so many of his own men, as well as Valeria’s crew. If truth were to be told, perhaps this was fate’s way of seeing the creature brought to justice. Perhaps she was paying for her sins. Maybe he should just sit this one out and let fate decide what to do with the girl.
You don’t have to find the truth, a voice inside Stephen’s head urged. It’s not your responsibility to help her. No one would fault you for it. So maybe she is innocent of this crime, but it’s not up to you to prove it.
This voice went on and on. The very darkest part of Stephen’s conscience tried to goad him into letting the dice roll and dealing with the fallout later.
Stephen traveled down the long halls of The Emerald Queen’s underbelly. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he walked. The ship’s crew passed him, their whispered conversations lost to his ears as he roamed through the wood and steel of the ship’s bones. Turmoil curled in his stomach like poison. Was he really willing to sacrifice everything he believed in for revenge disguised in the sheep’s clothing of justice?
“Maybe I don’t owe her anything. Maybe I’ll still kill her one day. But if she dies, she’ll die for the sins she committed, not ones pinned on her,” Stephen muttered. He wasn’t so far gone he was willing to let someone die for things they were not responsible for. He still had some honor left in him. Maybe. If he couldn’t find anything, perhaps that was fate telling him to step aside.
He chuckled, the sound hollow and brief as he climbed the small flight of stairs leading to the galley. The store room lay just beyond, and his weary feet shuffled along slowly, dreading the mess awaiting him there. While he didn’t look forward to seeing the horror again, he also knew it was the best place to start looking for more clues. They’d all been so horrified this morning, he knew things had most likely gotten missed. Stephen hoped to find some small piece of evidence that could lead him to another clue, and then to another, until he discovered the identity of their murderer.
When he opened the door, shock held him still. The place was clean. While not spotless, all the blood and gore had been removed. The sterile smell of strong lye soap tickled his nose as his eyes swept over the floor, a few streaks of the dark bloodstains still peeking up at him. Someone had already sterilized the room.
He walked further into the room, scanning it for anything out of place. He held little hope of finding anything now, though. Whoever had cleaned up the blood had probably bleached away any evidence that might have given him hope. Stephen walked the length of the room, carefully checking behind barrels and crates, moving things to get a closer look near where they’d found the remains.
Deeper into the room, where there were no windows and only shadows, a spot of color caught his attention. He shimmied between two tall barrels and around several sacks of what smelled like barley. Bending as far as he could in the tight corner, he grasped the fabric and pulled it out. A dress, the same color and design as the one Ryder currently wore, spilled out into his hands.
He stared at it blankly, his mind a confused whirlwind. How did this get here? Had the girl worn it and then ditched it? But no, that made no sense. She still had the dress on. He’d just seen her in it moments ago. His fingers traced the skirt, looking for the tear they’d seen in Ryder’s dress. Sure enough, he found it. How was this possible? Or why? Why even need a copy of her dress? It wasn’t like the person could have dressed up like Ryder. She was quite unique in her appearance.
The loud bang of the door closing had Stephen’s hand reaching for his saber. His hand relaxed when he saw Lukas coming toward him.
“What are you doing?” He stopped a few feet from Stephen, hands behind his back, feet braced. It was a stance Stephen saw Lukas use often.
“I came to look for clues, thinking there was something we missed.” He wriggled his way around the bags and then began to slide through the barrels.
“There is no reason for that.” Lukas moved aside so Stephen could exit his tight corner. “The guilty party has been found.”
“I’m not so sure.” Stephen showed him the dress. “I found this back there. It’s a dress.”
“I can see that,” Lukas said wryly.
“It’s Ryder’s dress.”
Lukas frowned. “How did you get Ryder’s dress?”
“I didn’t.” Stephen pointed into the little crammed corner he’d just dug himself out of. “I found it back there. It’s an exact copy, right down to the missing piece of cloth.”
“Interesting,” Lukas murmured. “What do you think this means?”
“I have no idea,” Stephen answered. “It’s just strange, don’t you think? I mean, why would an exact replica of her dress be back there?”
“Dragons possess strange magic, magic none of us can really understand.” Lukas cocked his head. “Who knows why she does what she does?”
“Do you believe she’s guilty?” Stephen asked. “You have been one of her staunchest supporters.”
Lukas sighed deeply, a troubled expression marring his face. “I cannot argue with facts. A piece of the fabric from her dress was found clutched in one of their hands. No matter my own personal feeling
s, I have to follow the logic of it all.”
“But that’s just it.” Stephen frowned, the memory of this morning haunting him. Something about it had bothered him all day, and now, looking at the dress in his hands, he understood it. “The piece of cloth we found was clean. There wasn’t a drop of blood on it. Don’t you think if she had done it, blood would have soaked into that tiny piece of cloth? Or that she’d have blood on her dress? There wasn’t a spot on her anywhere. It doesn’t make sense that she was the one to have done this. With that much carnage, she should be covered in spatter.”
“Let’s say you’re right.” Lukas shifted, putting his back to the door. “Does that really change anything?”
“Of course it does, if she didn’t do it.” Confusion laced Stephen’s words. What was Lukas getting at? “We still have a murderer on board if she didn’t do it.”
“Do we?” Lukas cocked his head, staring intently at Stephen.
“I don’t understand.” What the bloody hell was the man going on about?
“Perhaps the Dragon didn’t do it. Perhaps someone is framing her. The real question you need to be asking is why they would do that.”
“Revenge.” The word tumbled from Stephen’s lips.
Lukas nodded. “We had several new crew members we took on right before this last mission. Several had friends who died in the Dragon attack because Ryder decided to flee from her home. She caused so many deaths. I can understand the crew, both ours and what’s left of your own, questioning Valeria’s decision to let the Dragon live. Anger burns in the hearts of many. Retribution festers within your own heart, Stephen. Do not deny it.”
Stephen couldn’t, because truths were truths.
“If she shoulders the blame for these deaths, those who died because of her foolish actions receive justice. Who are we to take that away from them?”
Frowning, Stephen regarded the ship’s first mate. The man looked deeply troubled, yet here he was, speaking the same thoughts Stephen had been plagued with. It would be so easy to let this go. To let her suffer the way his people had, the way Valeria’s crew had. She didn’t care that her actions had led to the deaths of so many. Her only thought had been of herself and how much escaping her life of luxury meant to her. She wanted adventure, but at the cost of whomever happened to get in her way.
She was cold and calculated in her desires. How many more would suffer because of her actions? Who else had to die? Stephen had a chance now to stop that from happening again, to get the justice he sought.
“What do you say?” Lukas’s voice was low and quiet. “Should we walk away and let it play out as it will?”
The urge to do that was so very tempting. It was on the tip of his tongue to agree, but his honor reared its ugly head. He couldn’t let the girl be condemned for something she may not have done. Truth was important to him. It kept him going. It kept him from being one of so many crooked people in power. His father and his grandfather raised him better.
“No, Lukas, we can’t do that. We must work to bring the truth of what happened to light. If Ryder did this, yes, I agree, she should be punished to the fullest extent, but if she didn’t, we need to uncover the truth. People can’t be allowed to right one wrong by committing another.”
“So truth is more important to you than your own need for justice and revenge?”
“Yes.”
The ship rocked violently, making them both lose their balance. A sharp crack of thunder echoed outside, and the sound of hard rain beat against the hull of the ship. Shouts sounded above them, and they both got to their feet, running for the door.
Lukas made it to the door first. Instead of grabbing the handle and yanking it open, he wedged a foot at the base. Twisting to his side, he lifted a case of lead cannon rounds from the supply room floor and placed them in front of the door.
Stephen came to a halt beside Lukas, shock and confusion plainly written across his face. Not only was Lukas barricading them in, but the cases he chose to use to do so would take three men to lift.
Lukas began whistling as he lifted yet another case. The action showed no strain across his shoulders. In fact, had Stephen not helped carry the cannon shot himself, he would guess the containers weighed no more than a few pounds.
“There we are,” Lukas said whistling a few more notes in between his words. “That should make sure we’re not bothered.”
“What are you doing?” Stephen asked, stepping back into the supply room. “The way the ship’s rocking, the thunder, there is clearly something wrong topside.”
“Not something wrong.” Lukas turned away from his work toward Stephen, uncharacteristic menace in his eyes. “Something terribly right. It seems you’ve managed to pass the test of truth. The thunder marks as much. Although I’ve failed in my task, I’ll take a certain amount of solace in killing you.”
Stephen’s heart drummed in his chest. In a quick, practiced movement, he drew his saber. The familiar ring of steel exiting steel comforted him in a small way. Synapses were firing in his brain at breakneck speed as he connected the puzzle pieces.
“Who—” Stephen asked as the two combatants began to circle one another. “What are you?”
Whatever was impersonating Lukas smiled. Sharp, pointed teeth showed through his pulled back lips.
“I’m a changeling. Sent to harass you during your second test in the Crucible.” The changeling maneuvered himself around Stephen. He moved with quick steps, always sure of his footing before he placed weight behind it. “A shame you’ll be too dead to enjoy the passing of this test with the rest of the crew.”
Too late, Stephen realized why the changeling was maneuvering in the supply room. Toward the back where the lanterns failed to penetrate the shadows, a deep darkness offered a haven to those wishing privacy.
The changeling stepped into that darkness now. All that remained of the changeling was a hazy silhouette of his form. The cheery whistling the changeling favored came through the darkness again.
The song was one Stephen almost remembered, like a dream so real when sleeping and just out of memory’s reach when awoken.
Stephen stood, legs bent, saber at the ready. Fear was not an emotion he was familiar with, and neither was retreat, but he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit those thoughts were present.
A veteran of dozens of battles, Stephen pushed the idea of running from his mind. Not only would the crates take precious minutes to remove from the door, but he would lose the real person responsible for the murders if he did so.
The whistling stopped.
“It’s not often I get to parade around in my true form,” the changeling said, moving out of the shadows. “Less often I get to kill someone in it.”
When the changeling emerged from the darkness, Stephen could taste bile rise to his mouth. What stood before him was not a man at all. A being with white, almost translucent skin smiled at him. Sharp teeth allowed a long snake-like tongue to dart back and forth. Slitted eyes looked Stephen up and down.
Instinct took rein of the situation even as fear of engaging with an unknown enemy screamed for attention. Stephen examined the changeling for any sign of vulnerability or obvious weapons. The only thing the creature showed in way of armament was strong claws protruding from its hands.
Without warning, the changeling lunged, swiping with its claws. Stephen managed to parry the blow with his saber just in time to avoid serious injury.
The sound the saber and claws made on impact was the same metallic ringing Stephen was so used to hearing when two swords clashed. Unlike battling another swordsman, the changeling possessed such great strength that every blow sent tremors through Stephen’s arm.
Again and again they met. The thunder accompanied their dance of death as they sought to gain the advantage over one another’s guard. Both escaped any serious harm, but within minutes, Stephen was bleeding from a cut across his brow as well as a long slash on his right shoulder. Likewise, the changeling was losing dark blue b
lood from its nose where Stephen had landed a blow with the pommel of his saber.
Soon, it was clear Stephen would exhaust first under the sheer strength the changeling possessed. Sweat dampened his brow, threatening to run into his eyes. This was not lost on his opponent.
“Your experience with the sword is the only thing that has kept you alive this long,” the changeling crooned with a wicked smile. “But your strength is no match for my own. You should know that when you die, I’ll take on your form next.”
“What an honor,” Stephen spat as he braced himself for another onslaught. “Well, what are you waiting for? I don’t have all day.”
The creature pounced again, this time pushing the attack forward. Stephen was bullied up against a large barrel. Back against the container, his saber was the only thing keeping the changeling at bay.
The monster had both claws pressed against the steel of the sword, inching it toward Stephen’s chest.
“This is how you die.” The changeling’s mouth was so close to Stephen’s face he could feel the heat from each word.
“Hey,” Lukas’ voice called from the opposite side of the supply room door. “Why is this door locked?”
The brief lapse in the changeling’s attack was enough for Stephen to edge out from the battle.
“In here!” Stephen said. The shout came out more of a pant than anything else. “Watch out. It’s a changeling.”
The booming sound of Lukas throwing his shoulder against the door was followed by the door opening inch my inch.
“Well, now, isn’t this fun?” In front of Stephen’s eyes, the creature transformed from pale and menacing to a clone of Stephen himself.
The change happened in the blink of an eye. One second, Stephen was staring down a monster—the next, he might has well have been looking into a mirror.
With a herculean effort, Lukas broke into the room, sending cannon ball shot rolling across the supply room in every direction. The man already had a pistol in each hand. Unsure, he pointed it first at the changeling, then at Stephen.