Tikaya sat up, concern for Rias rearing in her mind. He was belowdecks. What if—
As if her thoughts had conjured him, Rias burst up the stairs and onto the deck, his eyes round with surprise. “They’re firing at the ship?”
“That surprises you?” Tikaya asked.
Rias’s gaze latched onto Garchee, who, still on his knees, was also blinking in surprise. “Yes.”
“I thought they’d surround us and board us,” Garchee said to himself in Nurian. “Maybe they don’t know...”
“They shouldn’t be trying to hit us unless they don’t know that more than an artifact is on board.” Rias extended a hand toward Garchee. “Come.”
He helped the boy to his feet, then pointed toward the closest mast. Not sure what he had in mind, Tikaya followed them.
“Up,” Rias pointed toward the yards.
Garchee nodded once and climbed. Rias headed up after him.
“What are you doing?” Tikaya asked. The firing of a cannon—one from their own ship—drowned out her words. “Rias, they’ll see you,” she called. “They’ll recognize you.”
“I know,” Rias said grimly. “But they need to see... their thief.” He looked up to where Garchee had reached the lower yard and crawled out onto it. The boy’s face was bleak but accepting.
“Rias, you can’t...” Tikaya didn’t know what to say. Did he truly mean to risk himself and to offer up the poor boy as sacrifice to save the mangy crew of this schooner? She couldn’t believe that of him. He had to be up to something else.
Before crawling out onto the yard himself, Rias looked down and met Tikaya’s gaze. Trust me, his eyes seemed to say.
“What are those idiots doing up there?” the captain bellowed.
He didn’t have time to follow up on the question. The two galleons were gliding closer, hemming in the smaller ship while the frigate closed from behind.
On the yard, Rias and Garchee stood. The boy inched out to the end and lifted an arm toward the frigate.
The galleons drew even with the schooner. The Nurians were close enough that Tikaya could hear their orders, shouts to disable the enemy ship in preparation for boarding. Then a panicked shout erupted from a man in the frigate’s crow’s nest. That ship was too far back for Tikaya to make out the words, but more shouts arose on the deck. She thought she heard a “cease fire” order.
“Grappling hooks,” someone bellowed from the nearest galleon.
A Nurian sailor lifted a megaphone and called in accented Turgonian, “Unnamed vessel, prepare to be boarded.”
Down on the deck, the captain seethed, fists clenched. The mate asked him something and pointed to the cannons. The captain spat, then shook his head.
“It’s over.”
Garchee was picking his way back toward the mast. Rias waited, perhaps ready in case the less-than-agile youth slipped again. Noble, but Tikaya wished to Akahe that he’d get down from there and hide somewhere before the Nurians boarded.
As the two were climbing back to the deck, another shout went up from a crow’s nest, this time on the closest ship. The words sent a swarm of dread into Tikaya’s gut.
“Tell the captain I think that’s Admiral Starcrest over there.”
Tikaya rubbed her face. “Oh, Rias,” she said as he hopped down beside her. “Why couldn’t you have stayed out of sight?”
“I never was good at hiding from trouble,” Rias said, reaching out a hand to steady Garchee when he jumped the last few feet to land beside them.
“Drop all weapons,” the Nurian with the megaphone commanded.
A squad of bowmen stood along the railing of each galleon, covering their comrades as they boarded.
Tikaya checked the waters in every direction, hoping a Turgonian fleet would appear on the horizon. “It’s really quite lackadaisical of your people to leave this stretch of their coast unguarded,” she told Rias. “These Nurians are close enough to Port Malevek to see what people are growing in their gardens.”
“Should I ever regain my warrior-caste status, I’ll be certain to write a strongly worded letter to the local base commander.”
A short, squat Nurian in a flowing, vibrant crimson and yellow uniform strode toward Rias and Garchee. Strands of gray wound through his black hair, which was swept into a thick topknot in the center of his head. Gold disks sewn into his collar proclaimed him a senior sergeant. The rest of his men fanned out, half of them covering their leader while the others aimed bows or swords at the crew, ensuring everyone had indeed dropped their weapons. Many of those bows were pointed at Rias.
“Mee Lin, Fahso, Torsee, and Mek,” the sergeant said in Nurian, “take the admiral prisoner. Search him, tie him, and put him in our brig. We’ll salvage something from this fool’s mission. By the pantheon, we’ve taken too much risk already in getting this close to the empire.” He glanced toward the towering cliffs in the distance.
Tikaya took a step forward, intending to tell them they were mistaken, and that Rias only looked like this Admiral Starcrest they’d fought in the war. But Garchee acted first.
He took a deep breath and raised a hand. “Leave him, sergeant.”
All of the Nurians halted.
“Dead deranged ancestors,” the schooner captain said around a plug of tobacco, “what’s going on?” Standing near the wheel with the helmsman and the mate, he seemed surprised to have earned the attention of only a couple of guards. Of course, he couldn’t likely understand Nurian and follow the conversation.
“Prince Zirabo,” the sergeant said, addressing Garchee, “do you know who he is? Even if you don’t, if he’s the one who kidnapped you, you must want him brought to justice.”
Prince? Zirabo? Tikaya blinked. That was the name of one the Great Chief’s three sons.
“I know, sergeant,” Garchee—no, Zirabo—said. “But I... wasn’t kidnapped. I ran away. I was tired of— It doesn’t matter now. It was a mistake. Father will punish me, and I’ll deserve it.”
Tikaya found herself gaping at Rias. Again, she wasn’t certain how much of the conversation he followed, but he must have recognized the prince’s name. He didn’t appear surprised. Not in the least.
“Admiral Starcrest wasn’t a part of any of this,” Zirabo said. “I’m not certain how he came to be here, but he and the woman boarded as passengers the day before yesterday. I think... they just wanted a ride south.”
Tikaya nodded vigorously when the sergeant glanced at her. Rias was watching all, though he said nothing, and his face was impossible to read. Zirabo and the sergeant were using the Nurian version of Rias’s name, which translated to “Enemy Chief Fox,” and the captain and mate still didn’t seem to have a clue as to what was going on.
The sergeant lowered his voice. “Starcrest would be a great prize, Prince Zirabo. Perhaps your father would forgive you for your errors in judgment and the trouble you’ve caused if you brought this man home in chains.”
No, bad idea, Tikaya thought, concerned that the boy would find the offer tempting. What twelve year old wouldn’t want to avoid punishment?
Indeed Zirabo touched his chin and his eyes grew speculative. But, after a silent moment, he dropped his hand and squared his shoulders. “He saved my life. We will leave him.”
Tikaya would have been proud of the youth, but she was busy watching the sergeant and his men, waiting to see if they’d override the prince’s orders. No adult on the Kyatt Islands would have let a child dictate in such an important moment.
The sergeant scratched his jaw. “You’ve grown up these last couple of weeks, my prince.”
“Stupidity, or perhaps surviving stupidity, teaches one a few things,” Zirabo said.
“Well said, my prince. If you’ll come with us, we’d best retreat from these waters before our presence instigates a new war.”
Zirabo winced, perhaps thinking that it would be his fault if that happened. “Of course, sergeant.”
The youth jogged to Tikaya and Rias. “I apologize, but I must
have the flute back. I will have money sent to compensate the captain for my passage—and the holes in his ship—though I dare think he worked me hard enough to cover the repairs.”
“Perhaps so.” Tikaya handed the flute to him, wondering if he was old enough to have carved it himself or if it belonged to some older brother or cousin.
“A life for a life,” Zirabo told Rias with a solemn nod.
“Understood,” Rias responded.
With the flute in hand, Zirabo trotted to the boarding ramp. The Nurians waited for him to climb across and disappear onto a galleon before retreating. As soon as no weapons were trained on his chest, the captain bellowed, “Emperor’s warts, what is going on?”
“Do you want to explain it to him or should I?” Rias murmured as the Nurians continued to evacuate the ship.
“Neither.” Tikaya searched Rias’s face. “How did you know?” she asked, certain that he had. He’d propelled the youth up onto the yard to make sure the Nurians knew he was there. They must have only known they were following the artifact, not necessarily that their prince remained with it.
“When he was offended at your suggestion that he’d stolen the flute,” Rias said, “I assumed it was his to start with. And you’d said that only the royal family knew how to create them, so...”
“You couldn’t have known he was one of the princes, though.”
“It was a hunch from the day we spent together.”
“A hunch?” Tikaya asked. “You barely speak his language.”
Rias sniffed. “Really.”
“And he never spoke more than three words at once anyway.”
“I can read people.” Rias lifted his eyebrows, as if to remind her of a previous conversation they’d had, one where he’d suggested that much of being a military strategist was being able to get into the mind of the person on the other side. He’d done more than that here. He was proving a knack for winning people over to his side as well.
“Hm,” Tikaya said, “I’d been worried about taking you back to the Kyatt Islands with me. I’d even been contemplating going home alone long enough to ensure my family I’m fine, then asking you to meet me at some foreign port later on.”
“And now?” Rias asked.
“I’m still worried about it, but I’m beginning to think you might have what it takes to assure my government you’re not a spy, placate belligerent citizens who resent your role in the war, and maybe even win Grandpa’s regard.”
“Am I correct in assuming that Grandpa may be the most intractable obstacle your island holds?”
Tikaya grinned. “Probably.”
“It does sound like a harrowing mission, but I would have been distraught if you took it from me.”
“Because you’ve fallen deeply in love with me, and you can’t bear the idea of weeks apart?”
“Perhaps.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Or perhaps because I, too, have grown weary of the frozen North, and the sun and beaches you’ve been talking about sound relaxing.”
“Hmmph.”
The captain stomped past them, cursing, glaring, and spitting in every direction. “What’s everybody doing? Standing around and gawking? Do you think this schooner is going to reach port by magic? Get back to work!”
Sailors scurried away like a flock of pigeons startled by a dog’s approach.
Tikaya leaned against Rias. “What are the odds of the next portion of our voyage being more tranquil? And involving a private cabin?”
“Whatever would we need a private cabin for?” Rias smiled.
“If you don’t know that you’re not nearly as good at reading people as you think.”
Tikaya was of a mind to kiss him, lack of privacy or not, but the captain grumped to a stop in front of them and jabbed his finger into Rias’s chest.
“That bilge water isn’t going to pump itself. Get back to work.”
Rias exchanged sighs with Tikaya. “A private cabin, yes, we’ll look into it.”
THE END
Table of Contents
Title Page
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Lindsay Buroker, Enigma
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