Air and Ash Page 17

“Thank you.” I place a gold coin onto one of the pillows and start to leave, but pause at the partition. “One last question,” I say quickly. “Can you tell me how to get to the Metchti Monastery?”

  “I can, yes.” She settles on her pillow and closes her eyes. “But I will not. The Metchti Monastery is not for foreigners such as you.”

  Catsper, still leaning against the boulder when I emerge, is the picture of feline arrogance. Blond hair billowing in the wind, black pants and tunic stretched over nimble, powerful muscle. He has his hands too casually in his pockets, his body preternaturally still, as his green eyes drink in every detail around him. A warrior. There is no other word for it. And from the tense, respectful glances of the passing Diante, they know it too.

  I raise my forearm to shield my eyes from the sun and biting wind and walk to him. I owe him something. I just don’t know what. Silence hangs between us as I weigh my words.

  He beats me to it.

  “I will ask one question. And you will answer.” Catsper crosses his arms, his eyes locked on mine, intensely enough to send a shiver through my blood. “Are you a danger to the ship?”

  “No,” I say quickly. I hope it’s true.

  He nods once and turns away, starting us back to the dock.

  I wait for the follow-up broadside, but nothing comes. “Is that all you wanted to ask?” I say finally.

  He looks over his shoulder. “It is all I need to know.”

  That hits deep. Catsper is willing to risk the entire ship on the weight of my word. Don’t I owe him the same confidence? “Wait.” I clench my jaw. “Just…wait.”

  The marine obediently comes to a stop and faces me, his body betraying nothing more than faint curiosity. Damn his Spardic self. I lick my lips before speaking, then decide against talk altogether.

  Steeling myself for the inevitable suffocation, I close my eyes and allow the air to come.

  Balance the fire, the healer had said. Tame the beast.

  Storms and hail. What bloody fire? What beast? My throat closes. I force down the panic, releasing the magic in an angled pattern so the air flows across me.

  The light breeze touches my cheek and flaps Catsper’s collar. Watching the marine’s face, I release the magic more and more, until my wind beats our clothes and Catsper’s eyes widen with understanding.

  The thread of control I have slips suddenly, and I jerk all the magic back. Hard. Air pushes into my lungs, burning and clawing and ripping. I drop to my knees, fighting to exhale, the air finally leaving in a horrid wheeze. My bloody fault for getting cocky. “It started after I came aboard.” My words come in short gasps. “I’m quite certain the air flow would kill me before it could harm the Aurora.”

  He nods. “If it does not, I will.”

  I stare. But Catsper is neither jesting nor threatening. He’s just, well, informing me of the facts.

  “Wonderful,” I say flatly. “Though I do hope that will not be your first option.”

  Catsper extends a hand to help me up.

  Domenic is where we left him. A middle-aged Diante man in the yellow colors of the port stands beside him. The lavish braids decorating the man’s tunic suggest he is of some importance here. Domenic shakes his head violently. His body is rigid and his skin flushed a dark hue.

  Without speaking, Catsper and I hurry our pace.

  “…I fear, however, that my assistant was correct in noting the scarcity in supplies at this time,” the Diante is saying as we approach.

  “Perhaps your assistant misunderstood, sir.” Domenic’s voice is tight. “The Aurora needs only fresh water from your stream, and we’ve our own casks. The only other fresh water is weeks of travel away. Our people will go thirsty.”

  “Your poor planning of supplies is most regrettable,” the port master says with a low bow. “But I fear the Diante can no longer welcome foreign ships of war in its port.”

  Chapter 28

  Catsper and I stop beside Domenic and touch our foreheads.

  The port master frowns, flashing the same disapproving look at me that I’ve seen on every face in the village. “What’s this?” he demands of Domenic.

  “Allow me to present Ms. Nile Ash,” Domenic says sharply, his eyes flickering to mine. “The Aurora’s purser. And my lieutenant of the marines, Catsper. Ash, Catsper, this is His Honorable Greatness Port Master Neil.”

  Neil’s jaw tightens. “This is your purser?”

  “She is my purser.”

  I bow, my mind reeling. Domenic’s only reason for this fiction can be to give me purchase into the negotiation. A hope that my skills can do something his can’t. Storms and hail. I scramble my brain. Balance and reciprocity and honor, that’s what the Diante value. Harmony, at least in appearance. Saving face and following the law.

  “The Aurora is indeed a man-of-war, sir, but she is on convoy duty,” I tell Neil, choosing my words as carefully as fragile berries. “We escorted merchants and their goods safely to you. I hope your people find this commerce of benefit.” And that you bloody reciprocate the favor, you protocol-loving bigot.

  Neil considers this. Considers me. Domenic. “The merchantmen are most welcome.”

  I think I follow his meaning. Neil will not allow a frigate’s supply boats to come ashore, but he will consent to merchantmen intermediaries. Water obtained thus would be both very limited and very expensive, but it would keep the Aurora’s crew alive while the Diante save face.

  “Thank you,” says Domenic, who appears to have arrived at the same conclusion I did.

  The parties bow to each other. I wait until Domenic and Catsper are several steps away, then turn back to the port master. “Sir,” I ask, switching to Diante. “Your empire is mightier than Lyron and Tirik combined. Why the iron neutrality?”

  He smiles without humor. “A woman’s presence on the pier shames us, madam. And yet you risk further offense by speaking without need?” He holds up his palms. “That is your answer. The Lyron League and Tirik Republic have little to offer the Diante, yet relations with either peoples are filled with insults to our harmony. You do not help us. Only hurt. Excuse me.”

  We do as agreed, making our limited water purchase from the merchantmen—which I’m certain is further constrained by Rima’s love of his coin and not the merchants’ alleged inability to obtain further supplies. And when it’s done, we have half our casks filled. This seems aplenty to the seamen, but looking at a chart and our distance to the next water source, the direness of the situation is plain. A water shortage scorches a crew long before supplies actually run out, for when thirsty men see an abundance of drink their officers are hoarding from them, violence is but a step away.

  Domenic and I stand at the rail without speaking. The Diante shore sprawls behind us, the sparkling ocean ahead.

  “Did finding a physician prove within your capabilities?” he asks finally.

  I shoot him a sideways glance. “She proclaimed me as healthy as the Gods made me. Though she did feel my time would be better spent meditating rather than scrubbing decks.”

  “Do you know how to meditate?”

  “I do.” Catsper’s approach saves me from continuing the conversation alone. “I’ll show her. Wouldn’t wish to ignore the advice of a sage in a hut.”

  I cock my eyebrow. “Spardic warriors meditate?”

  He glances down at me. “What we do would kill you. But the basics are tame enough.” Catsper crosses his arms. “How bad is it with water?”

  “Bad,” Domenic and I answer together.

  Domenic scowls at me and clears his throat. “We’ll need Spades standing guard at the casks.”

  I drop my voice. “Plus, thirst makes even decent sailors stupid. And we aren’t starting on a strong note to begin with.”

  “I’m certain my new master’s mate will have things under control,” Domenic says just as quietly. “She has a knack for keeping the lower decks on task.”

  “At least she can speak with people without holding a cat-o’-nin
e-tails over them.”

  Catsper leans forward so his face is close to us. “If you two don’t stop bickering, I’ll knock your heads together.”

  Before either of us can put Catsper’s threat to the test, Rima appears on deck to address the hands.

  “Denying water to an honest crew is nothing but petty cruelty,” Rima says, compassion filling his voice. “As much as I wish otherwise, I cannot turn an Empire to reason. But I will do what is in my power to ease your hardship.”

  Two hundred tense faces hang on the captain’s words, as if he can conjure supplies from the air. Even I’m curious how Rima thinks he can talk people out of thirst. Knowing him, Rima has already formulated a plan to turn even this disaster to his advantage.

  Rima surveys the crew, his eyes, as usual, skipping over Sandra and the other women standing together. “To conserve your strength, the Aurora will forgo scheduled patrols. We shall, in fact, depart at once on the next tide and keep to a holiday routine as much as we can until we reach Crystal Oasis. I shall do my best to convince Mr. Dana here to lighten up drill. You must save your bodies, men. Stay cool. It will ease your thirst. And for Gods’ sakes,” he adds with a wry smile, “try to keep on Mr. Dana’s good side.”

  The crew doesn’t cheer, but some relieved smiles pass amidst the hands. At least their captain understands them. Their workload will lighten. It will be all right.

  Bloody brilliant bastard. Never mind that Rima never actually told the hands what the rations would be. Or that he’s seizing on the fortune of a foreign dispute to scrap Aurora’s assigned patrol. The Aurora is supposed to be cruising through the Siaman and neutralizing any threats to merchant shipping, not running Rima’s private escort service—but doing that endangers Rima’s hide with low chance of personal gain.

  At the end of it all, it’s up to Domenic to announce that water rations are reduced to half and up to the Spades to enforce the rules. Despite the ease of holiday routine, three men are flogged within a week for attempting to take extra.

  I am half-surprised and half-relieved when Hope, who’d separated right before the Diante port, does not rejoin us as we head east toward the Crystal Oasis. What does make my stomach clench as we sail deeper east into the Siaman Sea is the sight of a Joint Fleet dispatch ship. The Aurora has not been out long enough to warrant a routine mail call, which means the dispatch ship carries vital news of the war.

  Chapter 29

  Catsper’s face is hard. Even for him. He drops onto the bench across from Domenic and me in the officers’ gunroom. I wish we were in the Cove instead. A pair of Spades raises a hellish din examining the cabins leading from the gunroom. Ostensibly, they are training. But I know Catsper well enough to see through the game. He wants to ensure that we are here alone.

  Despite the custom to allow time for hands to write letters home, Rima cited the dire water situation to leave the dispatch ship behind as soon as the incoming mail was transferred. I wonder what excuse he’d cited to the dispatch’s skipper to prevent the little ship from sailing alongside, but for all I know, the other had no time for such niceties. Of the three of us, Catsper—who called this little gathering—appears most in the know. Which is a figurative slap across the first officer’s face. Not that Domenic lets anything show. Rima doesn’t deserve him.

  “Has Rima given you a copy of the Admiralty report?” Catsper asks Domenic.

  Domenic shakes his head. “I know little more than the newsleaf for now.”

  I know even less than that.

  “First off, there is a prize offered for anyone with information about the whereabouts of one Princess Nile Greysik of Ashing,” says Catsper, sliding a newsleaf copy to me.

  “What?” A burning in my cheeks blurs the printed text. I rub my eyes and groan. “Mother. Oh bloody hail. Damn Felielle and its bloody values.”

  “Yes, Highness, my entire nation has nothing on its mind but scheming plans to inject obstacles into your life,” says Domenic. “Goddess forbid families care for each other’s well-being.”

  “How is that caring working out in your family?”

  Domenic’s upper lip curls in a snarl. He leans toward me across the table. “If you—”

  “Enough.” Catsper’s low growl reminds me that outside our games, the man keeps two dozen of the ship’s deadliest soldiers in check. He glares between Domenic and me until we both settle back into our chairs. “Not your mother, Ash. Prince Tamiath.”

  “Tamiath? Why?” I scan the newsleaf, my chest growing heavier by the word. The minor point of my absence, it appears, little hindered mother’s marriage plans. I can’t fathom why the Felielle prince bothered putting out a reward for his missing bride instead of leaving the disaster as quickly as his ship would carry him, but politics has never been my strong suit. “If Rima finds out…”

  “If Rima finds out, it will be from your own choice,” Domenic says. “You have my promise. And it appears you have Catsper’s as well.” He says the last in an unnaturally neutral tone.

  “I recognized her from the Faithful’s battle,” Catsper tells Domenic with a dismissive wave, and pulls out a parchment with a broken Spardic Command seal. Although Catsper and the Spades are stationed on a Lyron League Joint Fleet ship, they belong to the Spardic Kingdom’s private army, just as the Faithful had been part of Ashing’s armada. The Spardic Kingdom would not usually loan a valuable Spade unit to the Joint Fleet, but Catsper’s boys are in training. Although Catsper answers to Rima at sea, he is but a detailee, taking ultimate orders from Spardic Command in place of Joint Force authorities. Catsper throws the parchment onto the table. “The bigger issues are not in the newsleaf. According to Spardic Command, the Republic engaged with the League’s Joint Fleet in the Ardent Ocean. The League lost. Twenty ships are sunk or too damaged for sea.”

  Blood drains from my face. With those losses, the Republic could land troops on the Lyron continent within three months. And if they do, when they do, they will take the Ashing Kingdom first. I can almost hear the discussion that must be echoing in the Joint Fleet Admiralty. With such a great loss of ships, is sparing any to protect Ashing, smallest of the kingdoms, worth it? Is Ashing’s contribution to the League’s Joint Fleet important enough? Perhaps it would be best to leave the defense of Ashing in the hands of the Ashing private armada and concentrate on the other five kingdoms. Exactly as Thad had feared.

  And if the fighting is about to go to ground…

  I cut my eyes to Catsper. “Have you been recalled yet?”

  Domenic pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you fingers on the pulse of Spardic Command as well as Joint Fleet Admiralty now?”

  “No, sir.” I cross my arms. I’m on a backwaters irrelevant ship while my kingdom is losing the war. One would think such direness enough to dull the edge off Domenic’s burrs. “But with a Republic invasion on the horizon, I imagine the Spardic Kingdom to be no exception to wanting to protect its interests first and foremost. And that means recalling training troops and commissioning them onto the most valuable ships.”

  “You mean Ashing ships,” says Domenic.

  “No,” I say through gritted teeth. “For all the quality of Ashing’s armada, we are too small a kingdom. I imagine Spardic would ally with a larger kingdom like Biron and move its troops onto the Biron fleet. Am I correct, Lieutenant?”

  Catsper raises a brow. “If I had not my correspondences in my possession since the dispatch, I would wonder if you have not been at my papers. But yes, we are to be picked up in two weeks’ time and taken to Biron for reassignment.”

  I shrug, though my face warms despite itself. “I’ve fought this war many times. With wooden ships and pretty charts.” I turn to Domenic and check my voice to a respectful tone. I can be an adult if he’s willing. “What will Rima tell the crew?”

  “I do not know.” Dominic’s face darkens. “He’s said nothing to me. Not even of the attack itself.”

  Catsper leans on his elbows and studies me. “You need to train with me
, Nile.”

  “She already trains with you,” says Domenic.

  “More.” The marine’s gaze is hard, and I know I will dislike what he says. “You know a lot, Ash. Of Ashing, of the other five kingdoms, of the Lyron League strategy, of resources. If you are captured, too much is at stake.”

  A week into our sailing east toward the only freshwater source in the Siaman, the thirst catches up to me with a vengeance. Catsper’s merciless extra training, as if he can inject years of Spade technique into my head within a few days, little helps my parched lips. I’m thirsty. I’m thirsty and I’m nauseated and I’m unable to sleep despite the exhaustion that seeps through my muscles.

  I curl in my hammock. Instead of lulling me, the sway of the ship only aggravates my headache. I let a bit of magic out to play, calling a thread of wind to soothe my nerves. The meditation exercises, boring as they are, do help. The tiny breeze rolls Ana’s pen across the table. But that’s all I can do before nausea makes me stop. The wind feels…sour. Like turned milk.

  The door creaks open. I turn toward the bulkhead and feign sleep. I can’t handle Ana’s describing effects of thirst on the human body just now, as she’s taken to doing.

  “Nile.” The voice is Kederic’s. “Nile, wake up.” A hand shakes me, triggering a jolt of pain in my head before I can push him away.

  “Stop that.” I wince and put my hand to my temple. But I do rise, quickly focusing my eyes. Kederic does not make a habit of visiting our berth, and I worry that today’s appearance has a good reason.

  “Price is incoherent,” Kederic tells me.

  “Thirst?” With the crew on rations, I don’t know what’s befallen the prisoner.

  “No…” Kederic shakes his head. “At least I do not believe that is the root cause. He was afraid when I came in. Not of me, but of something. When I spread my weather pictures before him, he started raving as if I would understand his words if he repeated them enough. Then he grabbed my pictures and crammed them into a ball.”