War and Wind Read online

  War and Wind

  Tides Book 2

  Alex Lidell

  Danger Bearing Press

  WAR AND WIND

  Copyright © 2017 by Alex Lidell.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  www.alexlidell.com

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  First Edition: June 2017

  Contents

  Also by Alex Lidell

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Alex Lidell

  Also by Alex Lidell

  TIDES

  FIRST COMMAND (Prequel Novella)

  AIR AND ASH (TIDES Book I)

  WAR AND WIND (TIDES Book II)

  Untitled (TIDES Book III)

  TILDOR

  THE CADET OF TILDOR

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  Chapter 1

  QUINN

  Captain Ral Quinn of the Tirik Ship Hope, The People’s Republic of Tirik Navy, knew his good fortune would run out at some point. And it had. Two months ago. By boat.

  “Commissioner Jaquis.” Quinn bowed to the well-dressed man as if nothing could have made him happier than his political watchdog’s appearance on the quarterdeck. Really, the year he’d spent running with no more than nominal supervision was much more than any Republic officer dared hope for. It couldn’t have lasted forever.

  Quinn had served in the Tirik People’s Navy since he was ten, before the war with the Lyron League flared up in full glory. It was Quinn’s way of giving back to his countrymen who’d spilled their blood to ensure that he, an orphan with no lineage or royal blood, had a chance at opportunity and prosperity. Now the People’s Republic of Tirik fought for the freedom of their brethren, who writhed under royal thumbs in the six kingdoms of the Lyron League—Ashing, Spardic, Felielle, Biron, Eflia North and South. Once the gluttonous Lyron kings were dethroned, the resources the Lyron royals hoarded for themselves would be distributed to those whose needs were genuine.

  But there was much to do between now and victory. Quinn’s current mission was humanitarian and as vital—in its small personal way—as any fleet battle. Ironically, the greatest obstacle standing between Quinn and success came from his own government.

  It little helped that since picking up Commissioner Jaquis, everything that could have gone wrong had. First there was the Devron attack, then the earthquake, and then an idiotic directive sending them right back into the Siaman Sea to pick up additional passengers before dropping off the ones already in the hold. “I trust you’ve slept well, sir?”

  Jaquis pressed his lips together and surveyed the deck. Small for a man, with a bald head, thin mustache, and a proverbial rod up his ass, Commissioner Jaquis made up in self-importance what he lacked in brains. Taking a journal from the inside pocket of his coat, the commissioner made notes. Sour ones, if his face was any guide to the matter.

  Quinn supposed that most of a commissioner’s job involved finding fault with his charges. Putting his hands in the small of his back, Quinn waited patiently for Jaquis to spit out whatever brilliance entered the commissioner’s mind this morning. At twenty-five, Quinn had been at sea for fifteen years and had seen many commissioners come and go. Quinn also understood the importance of the Hope’s current mission.

  “Might I ask, Captain”—Jaquis spit his words from the thin line of his mouth—“whether we are on the same heading as we were last night?”

  Quinn hesitated. Technically, they had made a small adjustment to gain the most advantage from the wind. But the commissioner might find the technical answer condescending, or worse, evasive. Quinn bowed slightly, his woolen coat whispering as he moved. “We are continuing on the same path, yes. North, across the Siaman Sea toward the Lyron archipelago.”

  To Quinn’s pleasure, the crew gave no reaction to their captain’s un-seamanlike words. They were a good lot and had taken Jaquis’s measure early on.

  “And why would that be?” the commissioner demanded, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  “The shore hasn’t moved, sir.” The words came out before Quinn could catch himself, but Jaquis was pushing Quinn’s patience to the limit. They were on the quarterdeck, damn the man. And though Quinn was in civilian garb for the sake of the mission, he was the ship’s captain.

  “Is that meant to be funny, Mr. Quinn?”

  This time, Quinn checked himself. Hard. He had to if he knew what was good for his health and that of his crew. The recent appearance of the Devron, a Tirik man-of-war that had attacked the Lyron League’s Aurora and the merchantmen she had under escort, including Quinn’s own Hope, had been a serious setback. Quinn little blamed the Devron’s commander, who’d had no way of knowing of Quinn’s mission, no reason to suspect that one of the “Lyron League merchantmen” under Aurora’s wing was secretly Tirik. But someone in the admiralty who should have known had plainly botched everything up. Royally. But without knowing the source of the error, Quinn decided against steering the discussion that way.

  “Now that we made the additional pickup from the Diante, we will need to head back toward the Bottleneck Juncture,” Quinn said patiently. The Siaman Sea flowed between the archipelago at the south of the Lyron continent and the northern shore of the Diante Empire—a bizarre nation that remained neutral in the Tirik-Lyron war. To exit the Siaman Sea and return to the Tirik mainland, Quinn would be obliged to traverse the narrow opening known as the Bottleneck Juncture, which permitted only a single ship to pass through at a time. “Crossing the Siaman and approaching the juncture alone would put us and our passengers in greater danger than maintaining present course, meeting the Aurora, and having her escort us there. It is a longer route, but the safer and wiser one.”

  Jaquis shifted his weight. On paper, the political overseers attached to naval operations had some experience at sea. In practice, the Committee for Patriotism had other priorities, and
the People’s Commissioner was often busy being sick over the rail. Quinn supposed Devron’s attack was the first action Jaquis had seen in any proximity. It had been all Quinn could do to keep the commissioner from running up Tirik colors and blowing Quinn’s cover out of the water. Which would have been a disaster on several levels. Not least of which being Quinn’s passengers. For many of them, this covert passage was the last hope for life.

  Jaquis was as skittish as a fresh-faced middie, but infinitely more dangerous.

  “The Devron may still be in these waters, and she does not know we are on the same side. She might return to finish the job. If we are with the Lyron ship, we will hardly be able to signal our heritage to the Devron!” said Jaquis. “Can we not disappear into the greatness of this ocean?”

  “We can, sir,” Quinn said agreeably, not bothering to point out that the Siaman was a sea, not an ocean. “Any time you wish. Though I must point out that the Siaman Sea poses greater danger in the form of privateers, Diante patrols, and possibly other Lyron vessels. While I’ve the fullest faith in my crew, we are sailing a merchant vessel, not a man-of-war.” Quinn shrugged. “As ironic as it is, sir, we will be safest in the wake of a Lyron frigate. Her captain is a typical noble blood who values his own pockets over his nation, and I pay him plenty well to watch over us.”

  If Quinn had ever needed proof of how privileged birth corrupted a soul, Captain Rima of the League Ship Aurora had provided it in spades. When Quinn’s mission ended, he was going to sink the despicable frigate and leave the world better for it.

  Chapter 2

  I stand frozen in the passageway before the infirmary, the Lyron League Ship Aurora rocking beneath me. My tight braid sways like a pendulum, drumming a soft tap tap tap on my shoulder blades. A fourteen-year-old midshipman named Thatch Lawrence is at the infirmary door already, his skin pale and hands clenched into fists. He’d heard the news too, then. Thatch Lawrence gives me a single terror-filled glance, his curly hair and freckles making him look much too young.

  The infirmary door opens before the middie touches the handle. Thatch Lawrence flattens himself against a bulkhead to let First Officer Domenic Dana and Marine Lieutenant Catsper walk past him. The sight of Domenic makes my chest tighten and burn. His face is hard, his sea-blue eyes are cold and unreadable. Beside him, Catsper is fury made flesh. Catsper’s dog, Rum, trots beside his master, baring teeth at everything.

  Thatch Lawrence slips into the infirmary the men just vacated. I hold my place, waiting for them. My hand presses against the wooden bulkhead for balance, my ankle unstable from a recent fall. Rum’s nostrils flare as he passes by me. The dog can smell my magic and little likes it.

  “A pleasure to see you too, Rum.” My voice is flatter than I wish.

  They stop beside me, Domenic taking up most of the narrow passage. Too tall to stand upright, Domenic braces his hands on the overhead beams and hunches. His presence fills the space around us with crackling power. Close. So close. I swallow and take a step back from him.

  Domenic’s gaze tracks each of my movements.

  “Someone put a bag over Midshipman Kederic’s head and beat him unconscious. I set two bones and a dislocated shoulder,” Catsper informs me. With no doctor aboard the Aurora, the lieutenant of the marines lends his battle-earned skills to the injured. “Luckily for young Mr. Kederic, he remained unconscious through it all. I place his chances of waking up at all at fifty percent.” The marine crosses his arms, the movement feline and controlled. Catsper and Domenic are both twenty-two, beautiful in a male way, but different as two lethal blades forged from different kingdoms. Which they are. Domenic rules ships; Catsper rules muskets and blades. The marine’s voice drops so low, I can barely make out the words. “In case that was too subtle, Ash, let me be clear. The middie’s injuries are a result of an assault, not an accident.”

  Attacked. A midshipman on a naval ship was attacked. Even with evidence at hand, my mind struggles to accept what’s happened. An assault on a middie would earn a severe flogging, if not a death sentence, on any ship. Domenic, who keeps discipline aboard the Aurora, punishes for much less. Which means whoever dared attack Midshipman Kederic had the backing and protection of the one person whose authority on this ship exceeds Domenic’s—Captain Rima.

  Captain Rima is a brilliant, nepotistic coward. He is corrupt. Sleazy. Manipulative. Dishonest. Entitled. But with all that, he’s still a captain in the Lyron League Navy, not some pirate commodore. Someone promoted him up the chain to his current rank. He has an admiralty to answer to. But a naval captain who wants to put a middie into place bends the youngster over a gun and canes him before the crew. He doesn’t stage an assault by proxy in a dark corner. He can’t. Except he had.

  Domenic focuses on my face with a mix of harsh condemnation and heart-wrenching concern.

  I have the good sense to look down.

  Because this is all my fault.

  Less than two days ago, I cajoled the Aurora’s midshipmen into disobeying Captain Rima and secretly diverted the ship into a bay to shelter against foul weather. We had expected a storm. We got an earthquake. Being close to land as we were—as I’d brought us—the Aurora fell victim to a great wave that nearly capsized the ship and killed five of the crew.

  When the sea settled, Captain Rima publicly proclaimed the course change had been his doing—not to take responsibility for the trouble, but to keep the crew from doubting his control of the ship. I’d let myself believe that Rima had talked himself into a corner, as he could hardly punish anyone for disobeying what he claimed to have been his own orders.

  I was a bloody fool. Rima isn’t the type to let a challenge go unpunished. I knew that. But I hadn’t imagined the punishment would take this form. No one in their right mind would have imagined this; a quiet assault with a public smile. It is the kind of thing the People’s Republic of Tirik would do. Not us.

  Domenic’s nostrils flare now as he glares down at me. When I organized the course change, I went behind his back as well as Rima’s. On purpose. I knew that Domenic would never agree to a secret course change—he’s too good an officer to disobey the captain’s orders.

  “I did what I had to do,” I’d told Domenic unapologetically an hour ago when we stood alone in the cargo hold, our desire for each other slowly conquering our common sense. An hour that might as well be a lifetime.

  An hour ago, the beaten-unconscious Kederic was as yet undiscovered. An hour ago, I hadn’t yet tasted Domenic’s lips. “I did what I had to do,” I’d told Domenic, meeting his gaze head-on. I also told him my suspicion that Rima was using the Aurora to run a side business for his own profit, that my course change was for the ship’s own safety.

  “And what of repercussions? Or does your righteousness shield those from view?” Domenic had demanded.

  “I decided I’d rather face your wrath in a bay than risk catastrophic weather in open sea.”

  “My wrath?” Domenic shook me. Hard. “You are bloody smarter than that, Nile. I can make your life temporarily miserable, but you damn well know that I won’t make you dead. You think Captain Rima would extend you the same courtesy?”

  Now I have my answer. Except it isn’t me who is paying the price, but Kederic. Worse, I fear the injured middie is just a start.

  Domenic’s rigid shoulders say he agrees.

  We are at war, fighting for the survival of the Lyron League’s six member kingdoms that the People’s Republic of Tirik wants to destroy. Having killed off their own monarchy and nobility, the Tirik People’s Party turned their once-vibrant nation into a realm of poverty and ruin. Fear rules there, with neighbor spying on neighbor and innocents executed on charges of having royal blood.

  The Tirik newsleafs and politicians claim the Tirik Republic fights Lyron in order to liberate the Lyron people—but that isn’t true. The People’s Party fights because if the Tirik citizens stop killing us, they will turn on the Party’s own corrupt self-proclaimed heads. Plus, having squandered their na
tion’s riches in the wake of the revolution, the Tirik Republic wants to possess ours.

  It’s the Tirik Republic we are supposed to be protecting ourselves from. Not our own captain.

  Catsper pushes between me and Domenic and gets Domenic started toward the deck above. If Catsper suspects that Domenic and I had been kissing when he’d barged into the cargo hold with news of Kederic’s attack, he lets none of it show. I start toward the infirmary before I can see whether Domenic ever looks back toward me.

  The kiss had been a mistake, and we both know it.

  There is little I can do at Kederic’s bedside beyond assuring Thatch Lawrence that whatever happens, we’ll face it together. After a quarter hour, I leave the boy to sit with his friend and make my way to the open deck in search of another middie involved in our plot, Ana.

  There are five middies total aboard the Aurora, the sixth having been killed in a Tirik attack two weeks ago. Kederic, seventeen, is the oldest, and a true seaman in the making. Sixteen-year-old Ana hates the sea and is aboard only to support her family’s social standing. Fourteen-year-old Thatch Lawrence and twelve-year-old twins Song and Sand make up the remainder of the Aurora’s cadre of officers in training. Of Rima’s targets, Song and Sand I worry about least as they are Rima’s nephews, but Thatch Lawrence and Ana have all the reason in the world to be frightened. As do I. Although I’m not a middie myself, everyone aboard knows I keep close ties with the young officers and share Ana’s cabin.