Domenic clears his throat and turns toward the bosun’s mate I know is behind me, holding the red cat-’o-nine-tails satchel. “Do your duty,” he says coolly.
I lean my forehead against the metal and tense.
“Hold!” Rima’s voice calls.
My breath catches. I strain my neck to see what’s happened, but find only officers’ and middies’ puzzled expressions.
“Johina,” Rima says with cold, pleased calm. “You wield the cat, if you please.”
Storms. My heart refuses to beat as feet shuffle and murmurs prick the silence behind me. Footsteps approach and Johina’s breath heats the back of my neck. He makes a show of checking my bindings. “I’ll make you scream, girl,” he whispers. “Scream and beg for your mother.”
I’m not so daft as to answer back, but I grit my teeth and promise myself silence. Johina will not be the only one paying attention. I’ve heard muteness at the grating earns respect in the lower decks. I’ve also heard the hands place bets. I don’t want to know what the odds are on me.
Just when I expect Johina to step away, he grabs the top of my shirt and rips the back open down the middle in a single rough tear. A petty cruelty since the threadbare covering would have offered little protection against the cat, but the brush of air against my suddenly exposed skin makes me feel stripped naked. I shudder and grip Catsper’s gaze as hard as I can.
I barely hear Domenic reissue the order to start, but the rustling of the cat leaving its bag is deafening.
Survive.
The drum roll starts.
The pressure of the first crack comes before the pain. I gasp. Penn was wrong. Waiting isn’t the worst part at all.
“One,” a marine boy calls.
Panic rolls through me. I can’t do this.
The next strike lands, taking the air from my lungs. I can’t look at Catsper. I can’t look anywhere. The hold I have on my body slips, exposing something I fear to see. Wait! I yell silently. I need a break. I just need a short break.
“Three.”
I catch the small inflection in the Spade’s voice, telling me to hold on. I think he sees the thread I’m hanging by. But I can’t. I scream. We are only at three, and I scream like I never have in my life.
Johina snickers.
I imagine Catsper shaking his head, though he stands statue still, and I swear I hear the smiles of the hands who’d bet against me. A bit of blood drips from Domenic’s clenched fists, where his nails must have pierced skin. A great deal more blood snakes down my back. It splatters on the ruined shirt hanging off my shoulders and soaks the back of my pants.
I know I must pull myself together, to reclaim what shreds of dignity I have left. But I only yell louder and flail against my bonds, as if escape from the ropes can save me.
When the green lights flash and the convulsions come, I discover that I can howl through a jerking spell.
By the end, I don’t yell anymore. I hang limp, unable to fight or scream or hold myself up. The cat continues to fall in its horrid, slow rhythm, but I think it’s striking someone else. Blood collects on the deck, the dark red droplets on the wooden planks.
“Twelve,” the marine announces, and immediately Domenic orders my bonds cut away.
I crumple. The deck hits my cheek.
The company is dismissed. I am too. But I don’t move. I don’t even make an attempt to help myself. It hurts. Storms, it hurts. And I’ve no pride left to grip on to.
After a short while, it is Catsper and Penn who slide arms under me and help me to the infirmary, laying me facedown on the cot. No other patients are there.
But Domenic is.
I turn my face toward the bulkhead.
“I need to bring a few things from the Cove,” Catsper says with his usual practicality and leaves with Penn in tow.
I hear rustling. Water pouring into a basin. A slippery sensation as Domenic pulls the bloody flaps of my ruined shirt open. An intake of breath. “Goddess.”
His hands are gentle, but tightly reined anger clips his words. “Why, Nile?”
I hope he doesn’t expect an answer, because I have none to give him. I swallow, saying nothing as I listen to the splash of washcloth in the basin and feel the touch of salt water against broken skin.
It hurts, and I jerk. “Don’t, please,” I beg. Yes, beg. As Johina predicted. Domenic was right when he said my princess self would never survive the lower decks. I’d given myself too much credit, and today the bill came due. “Please.” I whimper into my arms. “Please.”
I don’t know what I expect, but the cloth withdraws. A creak of movement. And then Domenic silently pulls me into his arms.
The comfort is too great to resist. I want to be held, to pretend the illusion is real. So I willingly accept the lie and press my face into his shoulder, sobbing as Domenic rocks me until Catsper returns.
And even then I won’t let go. My fingers dig into Domenic, resisting any attempt to lay me flat on the cot. Finally, Domenic shifts his arms to keep me against him and still while Catsper rips away the rest of my shirt and tends to the wounds with disturbing competence. I can’t even bring myself to care that I’m topless as each sting of salt still cuts horridly into ravaged flesh. I flinch to get clear of the pain each time the cloth returns.
“This will take longer if you fight,” says Catsper. Not a rebuke, just a statement of fact.
Domenic’s lips brush across my ear. “Can you hear the sea?” he asks softly. Shifting his hold to free one hand, he strokes my hair. “The waves rushing to kiss the hull, then falling back into foam? The heartbeat of the sea. Listen. Can you hear lub dub of the water?” He continues the gentle murmur while Catsper works and I hold fast to Domenic, his voice even when my mind refuses to understand the words’ meaning.
I’m shaking with pain and humiliation when the last of the bandages is tucked into place.
Domenic brushes the back of his hand against my tears. “It’s all right. It’s over now.”
No. It isn’t. I pull away from him, hissing as I move to claim my own space on the cot.
He extends his hand toward me, but I shift from his reach, and he pulls back, his gaze pained.
“Thanks to Johina’s efforts, Ash’s back is worse than it had to be,” says Catsper, his voice its usual calm self, though he speaks of me in the third person. Perhaps I’m no longer worthy of a direct address. “Rima’s intentions were more severe still, however.”
Domenic stiffens. “What do you mean?”
“I checked the cat before the Mast and found a steel-tipped one in its place. I took the liberty of correcting the error.”
I draw a halting breath. A steel-tipped cat is reserved for thieves, the worst offenders in close-quarter living. It would have flayed me open to the bone. Small as I am, it may have crippled me.
“Rima,” Domenic growls. “The dozen were for the refused order; Johina and the steel for manipulating Rima’s ship.”
Catsper nods. “I want Ash to stay in the Cove for the present.”
The Cove? Leaving aside the agony of moving, much less walking, I am not exactly dying for an audience of adolescent boys who think pain is a pillar of solid training. I want to lick my wounds in the privacy of my small, dark berth. But I want to argue with the marine even less.
To my surprise, the Spades are good company. They say nothing of what happened, but shove a mug of willow bark tea into my hands. When the dinner bell sounds, Penn volunteers to bring down our food, and I realize most of my mess has decided to take the meal with me in the Cove. It isn’t pity on the boys’ faces. It’s empathy. I wonder when they decided to claim me as their own.
We are halfway through the dinner when the door to the Cove opens with a bang and the berth falls into immediate silence. It takes me several moments to turn myself around to see what’s happened, and when I do, I find my own voice caught in my throat.
Catsper, who’d opened the door with his boot, force-marches Ana inside.
Ch
apter 12
“Everyone but Ash, get out.” His voice is low and dangerous.
The boys disappear.
Catsper shoves Ana forward, and she lands hard on her knees. Her face is pale and her eyes as wide as a cornered rabbit’s.
“Tell her, Lionitis,” Catsper orders.
Tell me? Tell me what?
Ana looks between us as if trying to sort out a horrid mistake. Her fingers trace a fresh bruise along her slender cheekbone, and she shies away from the marine.
Ice fills my chest.
“Everything,” Catsper growls. “Now.”
Ana hesitates until Catsper raises his hand with obvious intent. “Don’t!” She throws up her arms to shield herself. “I was trying to keep us safe, Nile. It was going to be for the best. For everyone. I swear it.”
“What did you do?” I ask, though my gut tells me I already know.
“I… I told Captain Rima you are Nile Greysik, the Princess of Ashing, who Prince Tamiath is offering a reward for.” Her voice quickens, words tumbling out one after the other. “Kederic’s attack and then Song’s humiliation and then Thatch Lawrence’s accident—we would have been next, you and I. We needed the captain’s protection. Prince Tamiath offers a…a great deal of gold for your whereabouts, and I traded it to Rima in exchange for our safety. Both of ours. Until you decided to defy Dana, nothing was going to happen to you.”
I shut my eyes for a moment. The betrayal shouldn’t hurt now, not after all that’s happened. But it still does. “When?”
“The night Thatch Lawrence died,” she whispers.
I do the math. Two days ago.
“You are the one who’ll gain most in this, Nile. When all is over, you’ll be a princess again. You’ll have a husband and bear children of royal blood. Your mother will have her daughter back.” Her tone shifts. “When you are mature enough to understand the value of such things, you will thank me on your hands and knees.”
“And is your family debt to be paid off as part of this deal?” I ask, raising a brow. Her flinch is answer enough, and I cut off her denial. “It little matters now, as there will be no reward money.” Last night’s interrogation takes on new light. As does my flogging. “Rima knew exactly who he had strapped to the grating. And I rather doubt he’d wish to explain such treatment of His Highness’s bride to Prince Tamiath. He doesn’t intend to turn me over to Felielle.”
“Perhaps he will claim to have learned the truth only after the punishment and have it both ways, punish the disrespect and collect on the bounty.” Catsper jerks his chin at Ana. “All he’d have to do is rid himself of the reporting nuisance.”
Ana’s face blanches.
Catsper nudges her with his foot. “I’ve no further use for you. Get out.”
“Wait!” She licks her lips, staring wide-eyed. “You believe I may be in danger, don’t you?”
I don’t really think Ana is in much danger at the moment, not unless she attempts to communicate with the mainland without Rima’s sanction—and we’re yet to see a dispatch boat on the horizon. A few words from me could put her at ease. It’s the right thing to do. Instead, I shrug with cold indifference that Catsper matches with one of his own.
“Get out of my berth,” he says and pushes her out.
I don’t watch. I sink gingerly onto a sea chest and rest my elbows atop my knees. Last night’s interrogation repeats itself over and over in my head. “What did Rima need the location of Ashing’s military bases for?”
Catsper shakes his head, his expression grave. “Perhaps Dana might have a guess.”
The mention brings my humiliation and stupidity back in a wave of memory. I rub my face. “Will you speak to him?”
“No.”
I look at my feet. My back hurts. “Please.”
“We’ve too few good officers left. You are one. So is Dana. With much of the Lyron joint fleet destroyed, I’ve little idea who’s survived on the mainland. So, no, I’m not going to aid you in avoiding him to balm your feelings.”
I deflate, a windless sail hanging slack on a mast. “I’m not anything anymore, Catsper,” I whisper. “If you’re concerned about the information I might give up when captured, you may find it more efficient to slit my throat.”
Catsper crosses his arms.
I glance away.
“I’d hoped a trick at the grating would clear your head for you, but it seems that was wishful thinking,” is the last I hear before he leaves, and I bury my face in my hands.
Domenic returns to the Cove the following morning, when the Spades are out on duty and training and the noisy berth is oddly empty. I am sitting on the deck, my knees drawn up and my arms and head resting atop them. I flinch as he closes the door behind him.
Domenic’s steps are slow and tentative as he closes the distance and sits on one of the sea chests. “How are you—”
“Fine.”
He reaches a hand out toward me, and my back shrieks in terror at even the thought of touch. Without bothering to check in with my mind, my body cringes away, my arms coming up in an instinctual defensive barrier that has Domenic’s hand freezing in midair.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, his voice so raw and desperate that it would shatter me if there was anything left to break.
“You had me flogged,” I hiss at him. Gone. I want him gone before the pain and humiliation drown me altogether.
Domenic’s shoulders fall, and he buries his head in his hands, his elbows braced against his knees. “Tell me what do, Nile,” he says quietly. “Tell me how to make it better, how to help. Talk to me. At least… At least let me hold you through the worst of it.”
My voice is ice-cold, even to my own ears, as I lift my face and pierce his gaze. “If you want to help, leave me alone.”
I remain in the Cove for three days until I can move well enough to attend to the lightest of duties. When I climb to the deck for my watch, holding my forearm up to shield my unaccustomed eyes from the sun, I feel as though I am stepping onto the ship for the first time. Curious glances watch and judge my every move, and everything is different. There are no middies on watch. Thatch Lawrence is dead. Kederic moves about his duties gingerly, his head up but face drawn. Ana, Catsper tells me, has received the captain’s blessing to trade her midshipman’s post for a surgeon’s mate title and is busy setting up the sick berth below. I swallow bile. Selling me out has apparently already paid dividends.
We are still heading west toward the pronged juncture where the Siaman Sea, the Ardent Ocean, and the Diante Corridor all meet. The juncture’s narrow neck, which allows but one ship to pass at a time, has earned it the Bottleneck nickname. The name makes up in accuracy what it lacks in originality. The Hope is keeping station behind us. I presume she’ll separate at the Bottleneck and continue from the Siaman Sea into the Ardent Ocean. If her skipper is smart, he’ll pick up a new Lyron escort there. The Ardent Ocean runs between the Lyron and Tirik continents and is the primary battlefield for our navies.
Whatever is left of our navies.
“Where are the twins?” I ask one of the Spades.
“The captain decided they were too young to be running rampant,” the boy answers. “Rima has them attending him directly.”
As if summoned by mention, Rima notices my presence on deck and smiles benevolently. But I know better than to write the gesture off to simply maintaining his act before the crew. Rima is a darker mystery than I dare imagine.
“I am pleased to see your return to duty, Ms. Ash,” Rima says, weighing me with undisguised curiosity. “Fetch a cup of coffee for me from the galley, if you please.” He winks conspiratorially. “Let us keep you free from Mr. Dana’s demands for a bit while you heal, no?”
A princess at his beck and call. I keep my face straight and touch my forehead as I start for the galley. “Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Domenic moves to the other side of the rail so as to put himself in my path. In that moment, I want to be beside him, smelli
ng his scent and listening to his breaths. And I want him never to touch me again. In either order.
When I refuse to meet his gaze, Domenic takes a step toward me.
Dropping my face, I scurry around the other side of the deck. My heart twists. He might have been the one to order punishment, but I lied to him first. Repeatedly. I’m lying to him still. Because he’ll set me ashore if he learns the truth. And because even if he doesn’t dismiss me outright for my Gift, I’m broken in a new and different way now. What I felt when Domenic reached for me in the Cove, the instinctual fear and storm of humiliation is still there, riding on my shoulder and cackling.
I crisply turn away from him and don’t look back for the rest of the day. And when, the following morning, a lookout calls, “Sail ho!” I barely bother to turn my head toward the broken horizon.
Until, that is, I hear the boom of a cannon echo across the water.
Chapter 13
Three shots. Two close together, then a pause, then one more. My chest clenches, a shiver running through my body. I couldn’t have heard correctly. The ship in the distance fires again. A burst this time, with pauses before and after the third shot. The Ashing private armada’s signal to get the attention of a friendly ship when time is of the essence. An emergency signal thrown into the distance too great for flag-based messages, a hope that someone on the Lyron League Aurora can understand Ashing’s code.
Something has happened. While I was out here playing seaman, something has happened to my home.
“Deck, there!” the lookout calls from above. “It’s a sloop, Mr. Dana! She has every scrap of canvas on her!”
I take Kederic’s glass and focus it on the coming ship. “The Sparrow.” I wheel around toward Domenic, speaking to him for only the second time since the day of the Mast. “She’s the Ashing’s fastest. And that was an emergency request to intercept.”
“All hands to make sail!” Domenic bellows across the deck without hesitation. “Helm, set course for approaching sloop.”