by C B Samet
She took a shaky breath. “That’s good. That narrows down the location considerably.”
My chest tightened with a mixture of rage and sympathy. I turned to stare up at the ceiling. “Orrick is going to go to the castle and look in on your cretin—I mean child.”
She scooted the short distance and put her head near my shoulder. I tried to imagine I could feel the warmth of her breath on my neck.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded so small, though the words were powerfully heartfelt.
I cleared my throat and didn’t make eye contact. “Also, Baird looks better. They’ve eased on him. I don’t know if he told them whatever they wanted to know, or he wore them down, but at least he has rest.”
When I looked back over at Abigail, her eyes were closed and her breathing relaxed.
Rest, my champion. Don’t let them break you.
I had a suspicion the worst was yet to come.
I walked through the halls of Castle Victoria, learning routes and eavesdropping on conversations. I wound around to one of the King’s sitting rooms. The King was present along with Boyo Vinchenko, the international ambassador, Emerald, the Blue Gypsy and advisor, and Prince Stout. The King wore a crimson blouse—Bellos’ color—and black pants. A gold-jeweled necklace hung around his neck. On inspection, I didn’t see Abigail’s stone within it. I suspected the Warrior Stone was still in Porter’s possession. Boyo wore a maroon suit with gold embroidery and a persistent smirk.
Porter cleaned his fingernails with the tip of a small knife. “Why not kill the Champion now? She’s a fun toy in the arena, but she’s also a liability.”
Emerald steepled his fingers and remained silent, not betraying my presence to the room.
The King shook his head. “Killing her now will make a martyr of her. Crithos already has the Queen’s death to rally around. If we kill the Champion outright, the people will have even more reason to resist our presence.”
“You’ve seen her in the arena. She’s a formidable fighter even without her stone.” Boyo took a sip of his tea. “I agree she’s a liability, but one who needs a calculated death.”
“We’ll take her to Crithos. We can pit her in an arena fight there. Crithians can watch their beloved Champion loose,” the King said.
“How does that not boost Crithian morale?” Porter asked.
“We weaken her. She’ll be broken and frail by the time she fights. When Crithians see that the Champion is nothing more than a fabled fighter—the Queen’s propaganda to maintain order—then they’ll abandon their love of Lady Cross.”
“She’s no lady,” Porter grumbled.
The King stood and towered over Porter. “Tell that to your salivating mouth when you watch her fight. It’s not her death you lust for.”
“Father!”
“Don’t raise your voice to me, boy! I know you masturbate with her stone in one hand.”
Porter’s face turned a deep shade of red as he pursed his mouth forcefully shut.
The King went nose-to-nose with his son. “You want to soil yourself with her? Fine. She’ll be on your ship when we set sail. Break her if it pleases you, but she’ll arrive on Crithos alive and with her limbs intact. If you kill her, or derail my plans in any way, I’ll strip you of your captain’s title.”
Porter’s throat bobbed, even as he shook with barely contained rage.
Boyo broke the tension between them. “What of the monk? We’ve reamed him for all he’s worth.”
The King’s chest deflated. He turned to the gypsy. “What do you see in his fate, Emerald?”
“The monk must live. He’ll continue to be leverage to force the Champion to do your bidding.”
The King gave a broad, sinister smile. “There you have it, Boyo. The monk shall live.”
21
ABIGAIL
Baird and I ambled with a succession of shackled prisoners, all of our hands and feet clad in cold, unforgiving iron. Herded like livestock, we marched quietly in unison to an unknown fate. My bare feet snagged splinters off the wooden dock. Ahead of us, the enormous ocean-voyaging ships towered over the docks like wooden giants. Carved on the bows were some type of half-human, half-fish creatures, looking ferocious with stern features and untamed hair.
After ten days in a cell, I welcomed the intermittent fresh air in the walk to the train, followed by the walk through the docks.
Twelve ships. If each held five hundred soldiers, six thousand soldiers would march on Crithos. Our army was one-third that size. Those were just the ships I could see.
We walked across a plank and into the bowels of one of the wooden beasts. Soldiers, dressed in crimson and brandishing pistols, flanked us.
“Halt!”
I recognized the voice, and it sent an icy chill down my spine. I stood in shackles and defenseless without my stone, and he wanted vengeance for the fight at the volcano.
Prince Stout strode up to me, eyes gleaming rays of satisfaction. He grasped strands of my hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “You board my ship, Cross. You’re on my territory now.” He leaned closer, his breath hot and sticky and rancid. “Father wants his little toy gladiator, but he can’t protect you here.”
He took a deep inhalation with his nose in my hair, before leaning back. “I think I can tame you, little gladiator.” He ran a calloused hand along my arm.
I shivered with fear and revulsion.
He nodded toward one of the soldiers. “My chambers. Tomorrow.”
The soldier nodded.
We were ushered forward, moving again deeper into the ship. Two by two we were put in cages across from the livestock aboard.
Baird and I were put into one cage. The small space contained a bucket and two moth-eaten blankets that probably belonged to the last poor occupants—and probably hadn’t been washed since their departure. To our right, two men sat on the floor of their cage, one young and lanky, the other old and frail. To our left, two stocky men clutched at the locked gate, watching the guards leave.
When the sound of the soldiers’ boots trailed up distant stairs, I turned toward Baird. Our rags for clothing and unwashed hair and skin made us both haggard-looking. Baird’s face was unshaven since the battle in the castle.
He grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me into his arms. “I thought I’d lost you—and then I saw them bring you out and add you to the line. My heart burst.”
I returned the hug, relishing in the sanity of it as the world around us spun in dizzying insanity.
He pulled away to look me over. “You’ve been in fights. Are you okay?”
“You should see the other guy.”
“What did Porter mean by ‘gladiator’?”
“They put me in gladiator fights against a giant. I battled in an arena where people watched us try to kill each other as if it were a shullby match. The arena is designed for such events, and the onlookers were cheering. Cheering for blood.” I lowered my voice. “They allowed me to use my stone, and I defeated my opponent. The King wants me to continue the fights when he conquers Crithos. He thinks it builds morale and unity.”
Baird gripped my arms. “You had your stone. You could’ve escaped.”
I averted my eyes to the floor.
He released me and stepped back. His voice dropped to a hollow whisper. “I wondered why they kept me alive. Now I know.”
My poor friend looked worn and defeated. I’d never seen him downtrodden.
“We’ll get through this, Baird—and I don’t think I could have escaped. By the time I finished those fights, I was in no shape to take on an army.”
He nodded.
One of the men from the cage to our right spat on the floor. “Are you going to take that wench and give us a good show or stand there all day?” He gesticulated with thrusting hips.
“Mind your tongue,” Baird snapped at him.
“Or you’ll what?”
“I’ll rip it out of you.” His voice cut like an icy razor.
I gaped at B
aird. I’d never heard him threaten another human being with raw hostility. Never. He was weak, and tired, and worried. He wasn’t himself.
“We’re all going to die down here.” The vulgar man made a hand gesture, which I guessed was intended to be an insult in his culture. Pleased with himself, he grinned, revealing two rotten teeth and no others.
Baird and I found a spot where our co-inhabitants in cages couldn’t reach us from either side and huddled together.
Two days passed without Porter sending for me. Bellosian soldiers fed us their leftover food and stale water. We had bones with scarce fat and meat left on them but ate them anyway and sucked out the marrow. The milk was warm and sometimes congealed but we drank it anyway. The bread was hard enough to crack a tooth on, but it was edible when soaked in water or milk.
The rock of the boat and poor ventilation induced motion sickness in all of us. The smell of urine and feces—both our own and the animals—exacerbated the problem.
Baird and I kept a careful distance from the other prisoners. The open squares of the cages were wide enough to fit an arm through, and we didn’t dare place ourselves within reach of the aggressive men caged beside us.
In a dream, I let Coco know Baird and I still lived and languished on a ship en route to Crithos. I tried to give her an estimated count of the forces to arrive.
“That’s dismal.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“The Queen’s been gone ten days with no news from you or Baird. Even Tarik is concerned.”
“Touching.”
“Not for you, of course. I think I can convince everyone that no news is bad news, and we need to take precautionary measures—fortify the castle and post scouts in Waterton.”
I could’ve told her those measures wouldn’t stop the ensuing tide of Bellosians, but I didn’t. “Please look out for Natalie.”
“I will. The wizard arrived, so she’s in good company.”
I nodded. Mal had told me Orrick made the journey and had arrived in Marrington.
When I’d finished updating Coco, I visited Natalie again.
“I heard news Orrick joined you.”
“It’s nice to have his company,” she said.
Wizard Oak was probably the only person under the castle roof without a personal agenda.
“I need to update you as I’ve updated Captain DeFay.”
Her expression sobered, ready to hear my news.
“Bellosian ships sail for Crithos. They will come to take the castle. I can’t stop them.”
“Captain DeFay can.”
“She’s not certain of that either.” I paced the floor. “You should travel with Orrick back to our home. It’s remote and safe.”
She gave me an incredulous stare. “What sort of person would I be if I ran away?”
A living one, I wanted to say. “Wise and cautious.”
“And cowardly.”
“You’re nine-years-old, Natalie. This is not a war for children.” I instantly regretted my outburst. Calling her a child probably wasn’t the best way to earn her cooperation.
Her ears turned red as she glared at me. “I’m not leaving.”
“Then hide. Maybe not now. But when you have word that ships have invaded the port city, hide. The castle is full of tunnels and hidden chambers. Coco can help you find a place.”
“Hiding is just as cowardly.”
“If anything happens to you, I’m ruined. Do you understand that?” My voice rose sternly.
“Okay, I’ll hide.”
“I’d be safer if you left.”
“I’m not running away.”
I rubbed my temples. “Fine. Hide when they arrive. And you don’t come out of hiding until Coco or Baird or Orrick or Mal say it’s safe to do so.”
“Okay.”
When we awoke on the third day, the elderly man in the cage with the taller, thin young man had died. We informed the boy who came to milk the cow, and he agreed to let the guards know.
“Did you know him?” I asked the young man, who now shared his cell with a corpse.
“I surely did not. Didn’t know him any more than I know you. Poor bastard. I heard he was the King’s comic relief. Mustn’t have been that funny if they sent him down ‘ere.” He stared down at the body. “Nothin’ to laugh at now.”
He stuck a hand through the cage. “Cornelius Kronovsky, pleased to meet you. Call me Corky.”
I eyed the hand without accepting it. “I’m Abigail Cross, and this is Baird Potts.”
He shrugged and pulled his hand back. “And your accents are Crithian. So, this is a trip back home for you then? Don’t expect a warm welcome or a red carpet.” The last sentence he added in a jovial tone.
“Why are you locked up?” I asked.
He gripped the bars and pressed his face against the metal. “Oh, little me? Well, I’m the greatest thief that ever lived.”
“And the most modest?”
He chuckled as he leaned back. “Modesty won’t buy a hot meal.”
One of the men from the other cage spoke. “So, Corky, if you’re such a good thief, why not escape your cage?”
“And go where? We’re on a ship surrounded by the Viger Sea. The only escape on this boat is death. Now, when we reach the mainland, then I’ll mince skill and opportunity.”
Heavy boots thudded down the stairs. Five soldiers filed into the room
The lead stopped at my cage. “Hands, woman.”
“No, Abigail.” Baird leaped up and placed a hand on my shoulder.
The soldier jiggled the shackles. “If you don’t come willingly, we’ll beat your lover to death.”
I shrugged off Baird’s tightening grip and stuck my hands through the only hole for both. Cold iron slammed shut over my wrists.
“Step back.”
I complied.
“Your back to the wall,” he commanded Baird. Baird took three steps back. The soldier opened the gate, grabbed me by my shackles, and yanked me forward. When I cleared the cage, the door slammed shut. The guards locked it.
With three soldiers in front and two behind, I was escorted up the stairs.
“Oi!” Corky called. “What about the body? You’re coming back to remove the body?”
I thought about the young thief’s words moments ago. ‘The only escape on this boat is death.’
Death was not an option. I had children to return home to, and a war to win. I gained some comfort knowing I’d seen my death, and it did not occur on any boat. Pain and suffering, however, was certainly in my near future.
For a brief, blissful moment I basked in fresh air on deck. The ocean breeze lifted my hair and filled my nostrils. It stripped my senses of the foul air from the brig. Sun caressed my skin.
On deck, soldiers wearing casual cotton clothing scrubbed the wood planks, or managed the sails.
We took steep steps back into the hull, and the guards led me into a small room with only a bath.
The lead guard unlocked the shackles. “Bathe.”
The men left, closing the door behind them. The turn of the key and metal grating metal let me know they’d locked me inside the room.
I inspected the room. Soap, towel, clean clothing. Nothing that could be used as a weapon. I balled my fists, wanting to beat on something.
After staring at the tub for a long moment, I dipped a hand in the clean water. The temperature felt lukewarm, but I was certain it would feel wonderful to be clean. I hadn’t been offered a bath since the gladiator fight.
I eased into the water before washing quickly. I didn't want the men to walk in and find me naked. After drying, I dressed in the fresh clothing provided. Clean, dark, and wet hair hung down my back. The simple white dress fell to my knees. It wasn’t different than some dresses I wore at home, yet in the setting of a ship full of men, I felt vulnerable and exposed.
As I waited, I inspected every inch of the room, seeking a loose nail, a large splinter of wood, or anything that could be us
ed as a weapon.
Too soon, the door unlocked. A shudder of fear rippled through me.
Face it, Abigail. Face whatever comes. No matter what happens, you live through this.
They didn’t shackle me before escorting me up to the deck again. I tried to ignore the hungry stares and coos from the sailors.
Up a few more stairs, I stepped through the threshold into the Prince’s lair. The room was decorated extravagantly with a large bed and paintings of sunset shores hanging from the walls. Over a desk to one side hung a picture of Victoria—the great white castle shining like a false god.
The guards left the room, closing the door behind them. I listened, noting they hadn’t locked it.
Prince Porter stood from the writing he’d been doing at his desk. When he smiled, I knew what a rabbit felt like after being dragged into the fox’s den.
“Excuse my work. The duties of a prince are never ending.”
His nose had healed, and his cotton shirt dipped low at the neck. His dark hair waved at shoulder length. Multiple gold rings on his fingers glinted by the light through the windows on both starboard and portside. He wore no vest, no belt, and no pistol.
“I’m just shocked you’re literate,” I said.
As he crept closer, I tried to suppress the shudder that coursed through me. He circled me, probably sensing my fear. Weak from three days of barely eating, and defenseless with no stone and no star, I didn’t stand a chance against his size and strength. We both knew it. I sensed he wanted me to struggle. He wanted the fight and would be all the more aroused by it.
“Not so tough without your stone?”
I swallowed. I couldn’t come back with another glib remark, or he’d hear the tremor in my voice.
He ran a hand from my lip down my collar bone and down to my breast. “You’re not even my type. Too short and your hair is too dark.” He moved his other hand to the hem of my dress.
I jerked away from him, but his reflexes were fast.
He wrapped his arm around me and crushed me against him. “Yes. Please struggle.”
As he ground his body against me, his firm erection pressed against my back. Nausea weakened my knees. Fear swelled my throat. My breathing came in shallow gulps and despite hyperventilating, my brain felt deprived of oxygen. The tentacles of panic corseted rational thought. In moments, Porter would have me on his bed and then…