by Gwynn White
Tao nudged Lynx and pointed to the stern, where a second rope tethered the ship to land. His climbing hand motions made his intentions clear.
Lynx bit her lip, still not wanting to believe it could be so easy to board and stow away on a vessel destined for a Free Nation.
Tao moved, ready to sprint.
Lynx grabbed his arm. He frowned at her. “Too easy,” she mouthed.
“Any better ideas?” he mouthed back.
“No, but I don’t like it.”
The dock end of the rope splashed into the water, and any minute, Kartanian deckhands would heave it in. Then they would start on the second line, and her and Tao’s chance would be gone. She closed her eyes, wishing the dread weighing down her belly would shift.
“This is our best chance,” Tao whispered urgently. “We could be captured any moment if we don’t act.”
As much as Lynx hated to admit it, he was right. One of the Chenayans on the docks called up to the men on the ship. Thankfully, they stopped what they were doing while someone answered.
It was the gap they needed.
Pleading to the Winds to be with them, she gave Tao the axe, which he tucked into his belt, an item her dress didn’t have. Then she rolled out from under the wagon. Hunched low, she kept on the far side, away from the men on the dock but still in full view of the ship, should anyone choose to look. Hoping to go unnoticed, she sprinted to the back of the vessel with Tao.
Despite the pale lamplight, no one seemed to note their passing.
Tao grabbed the rope first, initially scrambling up it like a monkey until it broke free from the quay. Then he spun, gripping it with both arms and feet as he hung above the dark water.
Lynx hiked up her ridiculous skirt and bustle and followed. The coarse rope bit into her hands, leaving splinters of twine in her fingers. Once on the open sea, she’d have plenty time to pick them out.
If we survive this.
She looked back at the Chenayans. They were still engaged in conversation with the Kartanians. The little voice that refused to be stilled kept yelling at her that something was wrong. But she was committed now. There was no going back.
Tao reached a rat guard, a cone-shaped disk designed to stop rats from doing exactly what they were doing, scaling the ropes. Lynx’s breath caught as he struggled to clamber over it. His hand slipped, and he almost fell into the oily water below.
Lynx loosened her feet, keeping one hand clawing the rope. With all her force, she swung around the cone and gripped the rope on the other side. She heard a rip as the edge of the metal sliced the laces on her corset. Cursing her luck, she continued her climb.
Tao reached the ship first and quickly scrambled over the side.
Seconds behind him, Lynx dropped down onto a deck behind a six-foot-high pile of cut tree trunks. They were both breathing hard. Before Lynx recovered, Tao was off. Using the logs for cover, he sprinted to a deck hatch.
It hadn’t been properly screwed down. Again, every sense screamed to her that this was all too convenient. But after a prayer to the Winds, she slunk after him. By the time she reached him, he had the hatch open.
“Go,” he whispered to her.
She swung into the opening, her feet landing with a clang on a metal ladder. Wincing, she froze, waiting to see if anyone had heard her. When no one shouted out, she allowed herself to breathe.
From the overpowering stench of coal, it had to be a bunker used for storing excess fuel for the trip. It confirmed her thoughts that they would be crossing an ocean on this ship.
Fighting her usual claustrophobia at cramped, dark places, she forced her body to obey her command to climb down. Her feet hit the mountain of fuel, and she scrambled to stand on the shifting coal. All around, she could feel the steady thrum of the engine.
Soon, Tao was on the ladder, and the hatch started to close.
“Not all the way,” Lynx pleaded, chilled at the thought of them trapped down here in the dark.
“Don’t worry. It's jammed. Doesn’t close properly. That’s probably why it was open.”
An audible sigh broke loose from Lynx’s chest.
Maybe this would work after all.
Once they reached the open sea, she and Tao could slip away from here to find the galley and stock up on food and water. Maybe even some clothes to replace her dress and useless corset. Thankfully, it was dark so she didn’t have to worry about modesty. With supplies in hand, they could plot their future.
Tao dropped down to join her, kicking up a cloud of coal dust.
Fighting to contain their sneezes, they scrambled away from the hatch in case someone stopped by to check on the hold.
Feeling every bruise and scrape, Lynx made a nest in the coal. Then she remembered Tao’s injuries. “I hope you don’t get infected,” she murmured.
“With your brand of nursing? Me, too. I won’t forget your stitching in a hurry.”
Lynx smiled and elbowed him, relief flooding through her that they had actually escaped. “I’m built for better things than mopping brows and stitching people.”
A whistle screeched, shocking her into silence.
Almost imperceptible at first, and then with a sharp rocking, the freighter started to move.
Lynx swore and grabbed Tao’s hand. “I’ve never been in a boat before,” she murmured to explain away her uncharacteristic display of weakness.
“Pity about the accommodations then,” Tao said. “A stateroom on the Avanov cruiser would have been a much kinder introduction.”
The Avanovs had their own ship? Of course they did. She fought a surge of resentment aimed at Tao. He wasn’t one of them, she reminded herself. Not anymore. Maybe never, in fact.
She wondered how Axel felt about owning a private ship, but thinking about him was too painful. She pushed the thought aside. One day, maybe, she’d be strong enough to think on Axel and how much she craved and loved him.
Still holding Tao’s hand, Lynx leaned back against the bulkhead and closed her eyes. Soon, they’d be free.
“Ship’s speeding up. Must be clear of the harbor.” Tao squeezed her hand, a wealth of meaning in that grip.
Lynx let out a sigh. “Is it possible we can really make it to Kartania?”
“Our luck’s held so far.”
Something above them clattered. Lynx dug her nails into Tao’s hand.
The hatch flipped open, and a fist holding a lamp popped below the opening. A face followed. In the golden light, a guardsman’s jasper gleamed.
She grabbed for Axel’s axe at the same time as Tao. She ripped it from his belt and leaped to her feet, leaning against the bulkhead until she found her sea legs.
The guardsman lowered the lamp, casting a soft glow over the entire bunker. His eyes fixed on Lynx’s, and he shouted up to someone on the deck. “We’ve got them. Trapped like rats in a drum.”
Axe poised, Lynx started forward, but Tao grabbed her arm. A canister dropped from the opening and exploded open on the coal. Trails of green smoke wafted from it just as the hatch slammed shut. Instinctively, Lynx covered her nose and mouth with her hand, but all too soon, she had to breathe. Her first inhalation stung, and a wave of light-headedness washed over her.
Tao pulled her down onto the coal. “Knock-out gas.” His voice sounded nasal; he was holding his breath. “Sit. It will be less painful than falling over.”
Lynx cursed as blackness swamped her for the second time that day.
Chapter 15
Axel stirred. The pain—most of it, at least—had gone. He stretched, feeling a sharp tug in his back. The quarrel wound. From the itch, he guessed it was healing. He sat up and looked at the leather walls surrounding him. It was a fair-sized tent, big enough for ten cots, like the one he was on. But the room, if he could call it that, was deserted.
His tongue clicked in his mouth. Dry. On a low table next to him, a clay pitcher and mug caught his eye. Hands shaking, he poured himself a drink, slopping out most of the water. Whatever drugs th
ey had given him had not fully worked their way out of his system. Carefully, he brought what little liquid the mug managed to catch to his mouth.
It was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He swallowed hungrily. The water cooled his throat and stomach. A small shiver of delight, and he drank some more. His parched body lapped it up, and the fugue lifted. As much as he longed to gulp the whole pitcher, he stopped drinking, knowing he would be sick if he didn’t.
A grimace.
How long had he been in Norin? He looked around again, conscious that someone was missing.
Stefan! He had a vague recollection of talking to Stefan, then nothing.
It was time to get moving. Fighting dizziness, he swung his legs out from under the light coverlet and plunked them on the canvas covering the hard-packed ground—and realized he was naked. That was a problem. He didn’t smell too good, either. Sour and sweaty. Nothing he could do about that.
He looked around the tent for something to wear. A bundle of leather lay on the bottom of his bed. A quick grab, and he shook out a pair of trousers with multiple pockets for sheathing knives and other weapons and a tunic laced together in front with thongs. Typical raider’s garb. A quick look around revealed no boots or moccasins. Clearly, they didn’t plan for him to wander far.
Still, he dressed, grateful for the clothing. He ran his hands over his abdomen. Once hard and rippled as a wash board, his muscles quivered under his hand from the wasting effect of the poison.
Taking poisoned quarrels sure is hell on the physique. But he’d do it all over again if Lynx needed him to.
Lynx.
Yearning hit, so powerful it almost leveled him. He flopped down on his cot. He had been asking Stefan about her when someone had drugged him. Was she safe? A storm of panic tore through him, and he shot to his feet. Boots or no boots, he had to find Stefan. He half-ran, half-stumbled to the tent flap.
Squinting against the mid-day glare, the first thing he saw was the Dragon’s Claw tethered to the east of the camp. He scanned the area immediately outside the tent and saw two burly raiders, crossbows and machetes across their laps, crouched a few feet away from where he stood. They looked up from their conversation to glare at him.
Two equally brawny men, both topping six feet and armed with crossbows, stopped their pacing to stare at him. Thorn must have considered him a real danger if he had assigned four brutes to watch him sleep. Axel’s eyes wandered past them toward the rest of the camp. People, mainly servers, given their trademark aprons, stopped their chores and glowered at him.
Okay. Maybe I’ve got that wrong, and I’m not the threat here. A derisive smile. I’ll have to thank Thorn for not letting them cut my throat while I slept.
The smile faded. He had a great deal to thank Thorn for.
The servers continued with their tasks, but he could sense their watchfulness. No surprises there. How he wished Lynx was at his side to claim him as her own. He snorted at his own romanticism. It would make no difference to how the Norin felt. Neither he nor she could bring their dead back to life.
He continued his search for Stefan, calling his name.
“He’s there,” one of his guards, a man with a broken nose and half an ear, called out in passable Chenayan. A grimy thumb jerked toward a straggly thorn tree to the right of the tent.
Feet tender on the flinty ground, Axel turned to where the raider pointed—and sighed with relief.
Also dressed in ill-fitting Norin gear, but no boots, Stefan leaned against the tree trunk. A miasma of exhaustion hung over him. His black-ringed eyes were closed, and his head lolled at an uncomfortable angle. Gratitude and affection flooded in equal measure through Axel. He didn’t doubt that Stefan had done nothing but snatch at rest since the shooting.
He turned back to his guards and said softly, so as not to wake Stefan, “King Thorn? Is he here? I need to speak with him.”
The four raiders exchanged amused grins.
“He looks in here in the evenings. You’ll see him then.” The spokesman with the torn ear gestured to Stefan. “Might as well hang out with your shadow over there. Servers will bring you some food.”
Axel wanted to argue. He didn’t have time to wait. Lynx could be in danger, and he needed to get back to Cian, but the mention of food made his stomach writhe and his body tremble. He was weak and he knew it. Food would help—with everything.
He nodded and then riffled through his mind for the Norin word for thank you. He didn’t know much Norin beyond basic greetings, but even those could help soften hearts. Knowing his accent was terrible, he spoke the strange-sounding word anyway.
Torn-Ear sat back in surprise and then mumbled something in Norin Axel didn’t catch. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have understood it. He was about to hobble across to the tree when a sharp voice pulled him short.
“So, the bastard survived. Winds! Doesn’t that just kill one?”
Every hair standing at the malice in the voice, Axel turned.
It was Heron, the raider who had kissed Lynx in Tanamre. He’d even given her a watch, which Saskia had destroyed. A surge of sympathy for the man coursed through Axel. They had both loved and lost the same woman. Been forced to give her up to a man who didn’t appreciate her.
“I understand your sentiment.” Axel smiled wryly at Heron and pointed at the crossbow, bolt loaded in the chamber, hanging loosely from the raider’s hand. “But someone already beat you to it.”
The crossbow twitched in Heron’s fist. “That doesn’t mean I can’t try again.”
Axel’s four guards chuckled.
Norin raiders! You could always rely on them to be tetchy. Axel shook his head, still smiling. No matter how much Heron was spoiling for it, he refused to fight with Lynx’s—What was Heron to Lynx? An old flame? Someone she still longed for? The idea of her wanting someone other than him shafted Axel, and he winced.
Heron mistook his reaction. “Yes, Avanov. Be concerned. You might have survived your first quarrel, but that doesn’t mean you’ll survive your second.”
Axel’s cutting smile, his usual defense, begged to come forth, but he kept it under wraps. “Heron, we share a common interest in Lynx. Perhaps we can build on that.”
He glanced over at Stefan, concerned that Heron’s aggressive tone had wakened him, but Stefan’s eyes were still closed.
“Don’t you dare mention Lynx!” Heron took a quick step toward Axel, but it was his expression that was most telling; the raider was in pain. Clearly, Lynx was not easily flushed from a man’s system. “It’s bad enough that the whole camp knows you’ve been shouting her name.” Heron dragged his feathers and braids off his face. “Lynx belongs to us. None of you Chenayans deserve her. Especially not now that—”
A hand touched Axel’s shoulder.
“What’s going on?” Eyes bleary, Stefan looked first at Axel and then at Heron.
Axel clapped his fingers over Stefan’s hand. “Nothing to worry about, Stef. Heron and I are just getting acquainted.”
Stefan frowned. Perhaps he knew of Heron’s feelings for Lynx.
“Food’s here,” a server carrying a tray called out. Then he added, “Heron, get your butt away from them. The king’s called a meeting. He wants you there.”
Heron froze and Axel relaxed. No true Norin would defy their king. It was what made them a force to be reckoned with.
Heron gripped Axel’s arm and leaned in. “She might have feelings for you, but she’s not yours any more than she’s mine. Yet, I’ll stay here, fighting you bastards to my last breath, while you’ll return to Cian to kowtow to Lukan. What kind of man does that make you, Warlord Avanov?”
It was a good question. Axel chewed his lip as he watched Heron vanish between the tents. But what was the answer? He really didn’t know. One thing was sure, though, he’d take another poisoned quarrel before he swore allegiance to his cousin.
Stefan tugged at Axel’s elbow. “Come. Sit. Norin food is good, and there’s plenty of it.” He looked Axel up
and down and tsked. “Which is something you can definitely use.”
Axel gave him a wry smile. “Since when did you take to mothering me, Stef?”
“Since you got it into your thick skull to go and get shot.” Stefan started dragging him toward the tree.
The server had placed two steaming bowls and a basket of coarse bread down on the ground. A jug and two mugs waited next to them. The spicy aroma sent saliva gushing into Axel’s mouth. He plunked down into the dust under the tree and grabbed a bowl, ready to dig into a stew thick with meat and chickpeas.
A willowy girl, wearing a healer’s pouch, swayed up. She loomed over him with her hands on her hips. “Take it slow, Chenayan, or you’ll be upchucking on us.”
Stefan grinned at Axel’s surprise. “Ax, meet Teal. She worked the magic that healed you.”
Axel raised his eyebrows. She was so young. A sharp comeback to Teal’s comment danced on his lips, but he didn’t say it.
He put his food down and stood. Towering over her, he stepped back so she didn’t have to tilt her head up. “If you ever need anything from a Chenayan warlord who also happens to be an heir to the throne, all you have to do is ask.”
Teal snorted a laugh, every bit as taunting as one of his. “Right. How about Norin freedom from Chenayan oppression?”
Axel decided he liked Teal—a lot. He treated her to one of his most wicked smiles. “I’ll bring up your request at our next council meeting. I’m sure the Fifteen will love the idea.”
Teal gave him an arch smile back. “Good. I’d hate to think I healed you for nothing.”
“Your proposal’s bound to raise a few laughs. We don’t get many of those in High Council meetings.”
Her grin widened, and she punched him lightly on the arm. Blond hair swirling, she sauntered off, only to stop a few paces away. All traces of levity gone, she faced him. “You really want do something for me, Warlord? Find and protect our Lynx.”