Destroy the Day, page 6
I look straight at him. That first night, I was half drowned, but I got him off his feet and put a knife against his chest. I remember the flare of surprise in his eyes, the quick burst of panic. He’s not used to people taking him by surprise, and it was obvious. The other pirates dragged me off him, but for a bare second, I had the upper hand, and we both know it.
It makes me want to grab a knife or seize a crossbow or something that would demonstrate the weaknesses in the people he has working for him. To poke holes in his confidence. In theirs. It makes me want to show him I can take the upper hand if I want it.
But I wouldn’t be able to keep it. Not against this many people.
And as much as I hate it, we’re going to need Oren Crane.
“We’ve been locked in a cage for more than a week,” I say. “I’m sorry to report it wasn’t entertaining.”
“I know you have,” he says. “I can smell you from here. But you’ll have to forgive me. I’ve been busy. That prick still has my daughter.”
For a second, I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Then my thoughts catch up, and I’m glad I have years of experience at court politics, because I’m able to keep any hint of surprise off my face.
Oren Crane still believes that Bella, his daughter, is alive.
Instead of at the bottom of the ocean, or in the belly of some whale, or wherever bodies go when they fall off a ship—or when they’re blown off a ship, as the case may be. She disappeared when two brigantines from Kandala attacked the Dawn Chaser with cannons.
Rian—“that prick”—was keeping Bella prisoner as leverage against this man.
And now he thinks Rian is still keeping her prisoner. My thoughts race as I consider how to play this. Lochlan and I hadn’t considered Bella being alive in our strategizing.
But if we’re going to be disparaging against Rian, I’m all in.
“That prick killed my prince,” I say. “If you were busy going after him, you shouldn’t have locked us in a cage. We would’ve helped you.”
He bursts out laughing. “I should have brought the prince’s young servant along? Would you have served tea? Buttoned jackets?” He rubs at his throat. “Now that you mention it, I could use a shave.”
I smile. “By all means, bring me a blade.”
“Careful,” Lochlan says under his breath.
But I don’t need to be careful now. This isn’t like the moment when I refused to eat, where Lochlan’s lessons in the Wilds probably did save my life. Now it’s time for my lessons. I’ve been dealing with men like Oren Crane my entire life: older and powerful and full of disdain, because they always think they know best. It makes them careless and sloppy, because they’re unwilling to look beyond what they want—but they have too much power to realize just how much of a mess they’re making of everything.
It’s probably the very reason Rian took the throne, while this man is hiding here on this ship, thinking he has a chance at getting it back.
And now I’m going to have to deal with him.
“I wasn’t that kind of servant,” I say.
“Lochlan mentioned that Weston here has other skills,” Lina says. She presses close to me again, but her voice has turned mocking. “What did you do for your prince, servant boy?” Some of the sailors whistle, so she smiles, encouraged. Her voice drops to a whisper as she traces a finger over my lips suggestively, then moves to stroke a hand down my chest. “What did he like you to do for him?”
I grab hold of her wrist, spinning her around so quickly that I hear muscles tear—or bones crack. She cries out, but I jerk her back against my chest, gripping her throat with enough force that I could break her neck.
But I don’t.
Half a dozen crossbows are pointed at me, but none have fired yet. Most of the men on the deck are staring at me in shock.
I look at Oren Crane. “I killed people.”
Lina is trying to struggle against me, and little whimpered gasps are coming out of her throat. I definitely hurt something. I have years of experience with prisoners in the Hold who actually tried to kill me, so I don’t yield an inch. Her pulse pounds fast and hard against my hand, and she’s fighting to inhale.
Beside me, Lochlan is having no trouble. His breaths are coming quickly, like he’s unsure of the path we’ve decided to follow.
I want to kick him. This was your idea! I want to shout.
And it was. He sat in the grit of the cage and almost goaded me about it.
It should be no trouble to convince them you did vile things for the prince, he said. You don’t even have to pretend to be vicious.
He’s right. I don’t.
I have to shove aside thoughts of Tessa when I’m like this. She’s a weight in my heart that I feel every time it beats, but she hates this part of me.
If being vicious means a chance to rescue her, I’ll do it. If it means a chance to get back to Kandala and my brother, I’ll do it.
Oren is staring at me. The others are staring between the two of us.
“So the rumors about Kandala’s royal family are true,” he says appraisingly.
I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I remember what Rian used to think of Kandala, and none of it was good. “The prince had ways to make sure order was maintained,” I say.
“Prove it,” he says.
Lina squeals and tries to throw me off, but my grip is too tight.
The men around me are absolutely silent. Mouse is wringing his hands. “Mr. Crane,” he says softly.
“Death can’t be undone,” I say.
“I know,” says Oren. “Do it.”
My thoughts ice over, my vision turning dark. I don’t want to do this.
As usual, fate doesn’t care what I want.
Thoughts of Tessa sneak into my head anyway, a memory of the day she found me in the Hold, soaked in blood after I’d been forced to execute two prisoners. I have to choke back a whimper. Please, my love. Forgive me.
I’ve done it before. I can do it again.
I don’t want to do it again.
But my grip on Lina tightens.
“No,” says Lochlan. “We don’t work for you. What’s the pay?”
I freeze. Lina’s breathing is so thin it’s barely a whistle. She’s almost limp against me, hardly struggling now.
No one has come to her rescue. None of them are willing to stand against Oren Crane.
“The pay?” Oren says incredulously.
“Yeah,” says Lochlan. “The pay. The prince paid a lot. You gave us a week in a cell. Wes isn’t your errand boy. If you don’t like Lina, pay up, or kill her yourself.”
Oren looks like Lochlan just told him to eat a handful of sand. “You’re my prisoners!” he seethes. “I am not paying you to—”
“Fair enough.” I let Lina go. She drops like a rock, crumpling to the deck, gasping for air. I can hear her rage with every inhale. Her arm is hanging crookedly against the deck. I think I’ve dislocated her shoulder.
The glances between us and Oren have redoubled.
“I don’t work for free.” I glance at Lochlan. “He doesn’t either.”
Oren’s face is turning red. “I could kill you—”
“Go ahead,” I say. “That’s better than going back to that cell. Either way, you’re wasting time. You want your daughter back, and you want Redstone off the throne. We want him dead. We want to go back to Kandala. We could be helping each other.”
Lina roars in sudden rage and launches herself at my legs, but I kick her back, then drop to a knee and pin her to the deck by her throat.
She spits at me. I think she’d take a swing at me, too, but her arm won’t work.
I glare down at her. “Touch me again,” I say, “and he won’t have to pay me a cent.”
Whatever she sees in my expression must be chilling, because fear lights in her eyes, and she goes still.
“Why should I trust either of you?” Oren says. “It doesn’t seem like the pet henchman of a nefarious prince would make a very trustworthy ally.” He sniffs and looks disdainfully at Lochlan. “And I honestly don’t know why I need to bother with a deckhand.”
“A deckhand.” Lochlan looks at me. “He thinks I’m a deckhand.”
I let go of Lina and straighten. This is the harder part of our plan to sell, but we’re halfway there. I keep my expression bored and look back at Oren. “You already know he’s more than just a deckhand, or you wouldn’t have locked him in the cell with me.”
I have no idea whether that’s true, but this kind of false praise works well at court. It makes him sound intelligent, calculating. He’s not going to deny that.
“Then what are your skills?” Oren says to Lochlan. His voice turns suggestive, just like Lina’s was. “What did you do for the prince?”
Eyes flick to me before shifting back to Lochlan. No one whistles or jeers this time.
“I didn’t do anything for the prince,” Lochlan says. “I was a spy for the king.”
Complete silence. Any hint of mockery is gone from Oren’s expression. He’s regarding us steadily.
I’m mentally throwing daggers at Lochlan, warning him not to say another word.
Here’s one of my lessons, I said to him when we were planning. The more people talk, the more it tells me they’re lying. Lies require convincing. When people are telling the truth, it’s simple.
He snorted at me. Did you learn that from interrogating prisoners?
When I said yes, he wasn’t happy.
But the lesson must have stuck, because he keeps his mouth shut.
“So the royal family of Kandala really can’t be trusted,” Oren finally says.
“They can be trusted to maintain their own interests,” I say. “By whatever means necessary.”
Oren takes a few steps closer, evaluating us both. “Fine. There’s a man in central Silvesse named Ford Cheeke. He monitors the shipping logs in and out of the main harbor. He’s well guarded, because the harbor is full of sailors loyal to Redstone. Cheeke also has a secret way to pass messages to Redstone’s people on Fairde, but we haven’t been able to figure it out.”
“And you want us to figure it out,” says Lochlan.
“Yes. And I want you to bring me his head by daybreak tomorrow.”
Beside me, I can hear Lochlan swallow, so I say, “How much?”
At my feet, Lina growls, “I should have poisoned your food.”
“You’re right. You should have.” I keep my eyes on Oren. “How much?”
“One hundred silvers.”
Someone on the deck swears, and I think I hear a whistle from someone else.
“Half now,” I say.
He bursts out laughing. “You can have ten now, just because I know you need to clean yourselves up. The rest when you come back.”
I glance around at the men and women on deck. “And I want six of your people if Cheeke is so well guarded.”
“No,” says Oren. “Just you two. I’m not having Redstone come after me when this goes poorly. If you’re lying, I have eyes in Silvesse, too, so I’ll get you back eventually.” He pauses, and a light sparks in his eye. “If you’re not lying, a spy and a killer should find this task to be fairly easy.”
I have no idea how we’re going to find a man we’ve never met in a city we’ve never seen, especially in less than a day. But it’s ten silvers and a little bit of freedom.
It’s more than we had an hour ago.
Still breathing.
I glance at Lochlan, then back at Oren. “Give us the silver. You’re on.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Corrick
The streets of Silvesse are hot, and the air smells like fish no matter where we go. By the time Lochlan and I find our way into the thick of the city, the sun is high overhead, and sweat has collected under my clothes. I’ve snuck through the Wilds of Kandala in the dead of night as an outlaw, but I’m somewhat shocked to realize that I’ve never really walked through a city as a commoner. In Kandala, as Prince Corrick, I’d be backed by guards, and people would yield a path without being asked. Here, the roads are crowded, and sea-worn sailors and sweat-stained laborers must not be too foreign. No one gives us a passing glance. I can almost forget who I am.
Thieves might be common here, so I’ve tucked my five silvers into an inner pocket of my jacket, right up against my heart. I have no idea what Lochlan did with his. There was a part of me that expected him to take his coins and bolt the very instant we were out of sight of the pirates.
But he hasn’t left my side.
He hasn’t said a word either, which is probably smart, though we’re going to have to talk at some point. But I’d forgotten that our Kandalan accent is going to paint us as outsiders the instant we open our mouths. The Ostrian accent is different, with round vowels, and I’m not sure I could imitate it without practice. I can’t even imagine what type of story we could tell to explain it away.
Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter if people question our accents. We just need to find one man and kill him.
The thought makes my heart trip and stall over and over again. Can I kill a man who’s never done anything to me? To anyone I know? Lina worked for Oren, and she was helping to keep us prisoner. My skin still crawls from where she touched me. I didn’t want to kill her, but I almost did it. I would have done it if Lochlan hadn’t stopped me. But it was a means to escape. A step toward rescuing Tessa. A step toward home.
Ford Cheeke is a complete stranger.
Oren is the one demanding it. Is this simply another means to escape?
This is worse than when I was acting as King’s Justice, when no good options lay in front of me, but I had to choose what would cause the least harm—even if that meant someone had to die. As King’s Justice, I had to maintain order, because when the sickness wasn’t killing people, they were killing one another over access to medicine.
But in this case, I’m not protecting a kingdom. I’m protecting myself.
I hate the path of these thoughts. Maybe I’m the one who should take the coins and run.
Lochlan grabs hold of my sleeve and gives it a tug. “Come on,” he says, his voice low. “We can’t just walk all day.”
I blink and look up, startled to discover that he’s dragging me into a clothier’s shop. I’ve never been inside one of those either. When we need apparel in the palace, Quint sends a summons, and tailors and seamstresses and fabric merchants come to us. Once we cross the threshold, the odors of fish and sweat remain in the street, replaced by fresher scents: cotton and linen and what appears to be a small fragrant candle burning on a low table. A middle-aged man and a woman are sitting together, both stitching fabrics while they talk in low tones.
When they look at us, they fall silent. The man’s eyebrows go up. The woman frowns.
I didn’t realize we looked that bad.
The man recovers first, and he stands. “Ah . . . gentlemen,” he says. “How can we help?”
“We need some clothes,” Lochlan says.
“If you please,” I add, because clearly his early lessons didn’t include manners.
The man and woman exchange glances.
I have no idea whether that’s about our appearance or if our accents took them by surprise, but I step toward a rack where a linen tunic is hanging, and the woman swoops out of her chair before I can touch it. “Please, sir, allow me. I’ll find something to fit. We wouldn’t want you to . . . ah, trouble yourself.” Then she whisks the tunic away.
“Perhaps a recommendation for a place where we could rent a room to wash up as well,” I say.
Lochlan looks at me and hisses under his breath. “Just how much money do you think we have?”
“You can stay filthy if you like,” I whisper back. I’m rarely cavalier, but we can’t hide what we sound or look like, so I smile at the woman. “Forgive our appearance. We’ve fallen off a ship from Kandala, so we’re not at our best. But we do have silver to pay.”
The man starts, then coughs, then offers a choked laugh as if he can’t decide whether I’m kidding. “Well. Yes. Of course. Right this way. I’m sure we can find you both something suitable.”
While the man starts asking Lochlan about whether he prefers wool or broadcloth for his trousers, the woman shifts close and peers at me. “Are you serious about the ship from Kandala?” she says quietly.
She’s staring at me earnestly, her lips slightly parted. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I want to figure it out.
“I am,” I say.
She glances at Lochlan, who’s telling the man that we’ll take whatever is cheapest, and moves closer. “Your accents are real?”
“They are.”
She swallows and glances at the door, then drops her voice further. “So Galen Redstone made it to Kandala. Was he able to negotiate for steel?”
Galen Redstone. My chest tightens at the mention of Rian’s real name. I inhale to tell her no, that Galen Redstone is a lying, cheating scoundrel who should be lashed to the bottom of his own ship and run across a bed of rocks, and I’ll do it myself after I break every bone in his body.
But then she swallows thickly and says, “Please. We’re so desperate.”
The emotion in her voice tugs at me. I’ve heard that kind of desperation before.
“Yes,” I say. “He made it to Kandala.”
She grabs hold of my hand, heedless of my appearance now. “You said you fell off a ship. Was it Crane? Did he attack? Was the king able to get past?”
The king. Even now, it’s so hard to think of Rian in these terms.
Her fingers are pressing into my hand so tightly. “Please,” she says. “If there’s any news you can share . . .”
Across the room, Lochlan is staring at me. I can’t read his expression, but no matter what I think of Rian, there’s nothing to be lost in telling this woman the truth.
“He made it past,” I say. “The ship was under fire from Crane’s people, but your king was able to sail on.”
She kisses her fingertips, then presses them over her heart. “Oh, such a relief. If he made it past Silvesse, then he should have been able to make it to Fairde.” Her eyes lock on mine again. “If you’re here, then he must have reached an agreement with the king of Kandala. We’ve been so worried. Everyone knows your King Lucas is callous and spiteful—”
