Steel Tide, page 22
part #2 of Seafire Series
He was goading her. Daring her to reveal that she was alive. Until now, all he’d had was the absence of her body and perhaps a tantalizing sliver of hope that they would meet again. If she responded, all of that would change.
She knew this, felt it on every level, and yet some part of her yearned to pick up that receiver and prove that he’d failed to kill her.
“I think it was you. In fact, I hope it was,” he continued. “We left things on such a disappointing note. But look, the moons have gifted us with a new opportunity.”
Walk away, Caledonia. She raised a hand to switch the radio off. One flick of a switch. That’s all it would take. He would be gone and she would be free. So why couldn’t she do it?
“You continue to impress me. You have nothing. Only yourself, and yet you survive.” She heard him exhale before following another dreadful thought. “You took your crew back, of course, but you also took Bullet Ares and Fiveson—well, he was once Fiveson Oran.” The intrigue in his voice was thick and dangerous. “I’m surprised at your interest in my once-brother considering all he’s done. But then, perhaps you’re more complicated than you’ve led me to believe.”
There it was again. The implication that the Oran she’d come to know was not the one he’d been in the Bullet fleet. In spite of knowing that this was Lir’s precise intention, the words lodged a firm spear of doubt in her mind: What had Oran done?
“Didn’t manage to reclaim your ship, though. I promise you we’ve put her in good hands. She is a treasure we will guard well.”
Another long exhale. “Caledonia. I know you will come for me again, but I must admit, I don’t know how. Whatever it is, I know it will be magnificent. And it will change us both. The world, even. You and your surprising capacity for endurance.”
His voice was aggressively casual, as though they were in the same room and his eyes rested on hers. He was so sure she was listening to every word. And it was true. Of all the moments he might have chosen to speak to her, he picked the time she was alone in this cabin. But she didn’t have to give that to him. She could walk away and leave his voice to the night. “Just like your brother.”
The receiver was suddenly in her hand, her mouth so close to the speaker. She pressed the button and spoke: “What have you done with Donnally?”
The pause that followed was so self-satisfied, Caledonia felt her gorge rise in her throat. He’d baited her and he’d won.
“Caledonia,” he nearly crooned. “I knew you could hear me.”
Biting down on her anger, she drew a deep breath and repeated herself. “Lir, what have you done with Donnally?”
“Come to me and I will show you.”
Caledonia opened her hand, letting the receiver rest in the center of her palm. It quaked back and forth, responding to the tiny, agitated movements in her muscles. She raised her eyes to the plane of the ocean and was almost surprised to see it was still there. As Lir spoke, her world had narrowed more and more until the only thing in focus was that receiver and the sound of his voice.
She drew a deep breath, casting her mind out over the black chop, letting her world expand once more. This was yet another ploy. A trick to convince her to make a poor choice at her weakest moment. It wasn’t possible that he knew the full extent of their situation, but he must have a sense of it. Why else would he call to her now?
She brought the receiver to her mouth and pressed the button on its side. “You won’t draw me out so easily.”
“Ah, Caledonia.” He sighed his way through her name. “I would be disappointed if that were the case.”
Finally, Caledonia felt her mind settle into focus. She saw Lir seated far away, a receiver clamped in one hand, all arrogance and that strange charm that clung to his smile, the shattered crown of his hair. She saw just how desperate he was to find her, to defeat her. And she stood taller as she lifted the receiver once more.
“I will disappoint you one day, Lir. That is my promise to you.”
Before he could respond again, she snapped the receiver back in its holster and flipped the switch on the radio, cutting the connection between them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
She knew it was true. One day, their paths would cross again. But she’d learned something else in the course of this deep night conversation. When the day came, she intended to be ready. She wanted to be able to strike back without running the instant the battle was won. She wanted more power than she’d ever thought to possess. She wanted to fight.
She would never sleep now, not with Lir’s voice so fresh in her head, but she needed to leave the bridge. When her fingers had stopped trembling, she turned toward the door and jumped at the sight of a figure.
He was too tall for the doorway, yet he’d stopped there, head bowed over his broad shoulders. Though he was both tall and broad, he was also slender, his skin a warm, sunny brown that denied the cool light of the moon. She knew him. Or, more accurately, she’d known him. Once.
“Ares,” she said, voice tipping with surprise.
* * *
“I didn’t mean to.” He paused, eyes passing guiltily from her to the radio. “Well, I didn’t mean to overhear.”
A selfish irritation rose in her throat. She’d been caught. She hadn’t meant to get pulled into Lir’s orbit, but once again, she had, and this time, there was a witness. Shame warmed her cheeks.
“I heard his voice,” Ares continued when she didn’t speak. “It’s not one I’m likely to forget. I thought I was dreaming. I’ve, ah, had some trouble knowing the difference between dreams and waking.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. And now there was guilt worming its way through her already flush bouquet of emotions. He’d been on her ship since Slipmark. She’d grown up with him, and not once had she gone to check on him. Or even to express her relief at seeing him again. She told herself it was because she’d been busy, which was true. But there was more to it than that.
Looking at Ares, and especially looking at Ares and Pisces together, reminded her of Donnally. He reminded her of how she’d failed to save her brother. And beyond that, looking at Ares reminded her that there was someone on this ship who knew exactly what her brother had become. She could ask, and she was sure he would answer. And that certainty drove a tremor straight down her spine.
“You look like you’re doing better,” she said. “I’m glad to see it.”
“Sometimes,” he said with a shrug. He carried himself at odd angles, like he couldn’t get comfortable in his own body. Oran’s withdrawal had been easier, but so had his experience in the Bullet fleet. “Hime is a tyrant. I understand why they call her Princelet.”
Caledonia laughed. “And we are all the better for it.”
He nodded, but his lips never moved toward a smile. They seemed set around a permanent meridian, carved there by too much—pain, hardship, Silt. Whatever it was that had left Ares in this fragile state had also siphoned his capacity for mirth, leaving him with a friendly sort of melancholy. It struck a chord of regret deep in Caledonia’s heart. This boy had once been full of passions, a trickster, roving the Ghost on the lookout for any opportunity to cause mischief.
“He won’t hurt Donnally.”
At first, the words made no sense. Her mind refused them, scattering them like a puzzle she slowly pieced together again: Lir wouldn’t hurt Donnally. “Why not?”
“He’s—they have some kind of connection. I think he likes him. As much as a Fiveson is capable of liking anyone.” He paused there, then, seeming to sense Caledonia’s next question, he continued. “He’s always looked out for Donnally. Like a little brother.”
Brother.
“He’s my brother,” Caledonia growled. Her stomach clutched violently around sudden nausea.
Ares watched her with the pitying expression of someone who understood what they were witnessing and saw the futility of it.
“I know why you won’t ask me about him,” Ares said softly. “And I won’t tell you if you don’t want to know, but I will say that he’s not like some of the others. He’s never forgotten you or where we came from.”
She didn’t know how to feel. There was too much possibility packed into those words. Donnally was still her brother, he still remembered his family, but he was different. Someone else called him brother. The boy who’d taken everything they loved. Had he also taken her brother’s heart?
The nausea in her belly churned and churned. She couldn’t speak, could only lean one hand against the console behind her.
“Were you in Lir’s fleet?” she asked.
“I was,” he answered with a nod. “Until we were placed on Electra. Conscription falls under Decker’s purview. I suspect it was a means to an end, though. Lir always wanted bigger things for Donnally. Giving us to Decker was the best way to move him into command. Putting me on his crew ensured he had some support. The rest he had to fight for. They expect all their Fivesons to demonstrate some kind of unique aptitude for that kind of thing.”
“What?” Caledonia’s voice stretched thin over the word.
“I—I thought you knew.” Ares stood up straight, his shoulders even for once. “Lir was sponsoring Donnally to compete as a Fiveson. To replace Oran.”
A quiet storm started in Caledonia’s ears, like the distant promise of thunder. Questions formed faster than she could properly consider them. “My brother is a Fiveson?”
“No. At least, not when I left. There were only four: Decker, Tassos, Venn, and Lir. Each of them was allowed to sponsor a candidate. That’s when Donnally was pulled from Electra. To undergo the trials. And before you ask, I don’t know what they entail.”
“Oran does.” She felt numb even as the idea occurred to her.
Ares only nodded, but once again, Caledonia had the impression that it was with a sense of futility. Whatever Oran had done to become a Fiveson, he knew exactly what it was. Whatever he’d done to lose that same status? That was the question that gave her hope. It carved just enough room around Oran in her mind to make him worthy of the trust she’d already given him.
“But every Fiveson must prove he is more ruthless than the others competing for that power. If that had happened, we’d have heard of it in Slipmark.” He exhaled slowly, calmly, as if none of this disturbed him on any level.
It wasn’t much of a comfort, but in light of all she’d learned in the course of this unexpected conversation, it was enough. Donnally was not yet a Fiveson. She would believe it until she no longer could.
“Lir became a Fiveson the night he killed our families. He was the youngest boy to claim the destruction of an entire ship as his own. And Aric had been after us for much longer than our parents let on. I guess we had some important people on that ship, some people Aric wanted dead.” Ares shrugged. “Lir’s victory made him famous and invaluable in the eyes of the Father.”
“Ares,” she began, thinking she would ask him to stop. It was too much to think about, and too much to fold into her already painful understanding of the past. But instead, she asked, “How do I get to Donnally? Before he becomes a Fiveson?”
Ares only shook his head slowly back and forth. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” She gave him a small smile. “You should get some rest.”
She moved to his side and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The night sky was inky and pricked with starlight, the air dry and cool. In spite of the persistent chill, Ares wore short sleeves and his skin was hot and damp to the touch, almost feverish.
He let her lead him out of the bridge, down to level two, and all the way to his quarters.
“Caledonia,” he said just before entering his room. “Fivesons will do anything for the Father. They will go after whatever the Father most wants in all the world. After what you did for us in Slipmark, I have to think that thing is you.”
When the door was shut, Caledonia let darkness and silence wrap her in a welcome cocoon. Her mind was brimming and her heart was, too. It was almost too much for one night.
But if Ares was right, then her surest way to Donnally was through Aric himself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Caledonia lay on her back beneath the sun sail studying its black plates. They flashed in the sunlight, luffing ever so slightly in the breeze, and when there was no breeze, they trembled with the vibration of the ship’s engines. One alone was virtually useless, but taken together, they were the most powerful piece of equipment on any ship.
Even with power restored, they couldn’t do anything about the water on level three, and it was going to take four days to reach Cloudbreak. Four days of reduced rations, a diminishing water supply, and a web of tension strung between Oran and nearly everyone else on the Beacon. Even her own crew seemed to move around him with more care. Whether that was because they’d heard the name Steelhand or because he had changed so dramatically around the Bullets, she wasn’t sure.
She had to admit that his ability to transform was unnerving, and it made her recast him in her memory. He’d come aboard her ship to escape, and then he’d become exactly who he needed to be to survive. If it was true of the Oran she’d first met, it was certainly true of the Oran the Blades knew. And it left her with a question that hummed quietly in the back of her mind: Which was the true Oran?
They were in day three of this journey, and the crew was showing signs of exhaustion. Caledonia was no exception. She’d been in the rigging of the sun sail when her head flooded with a disorienting lightness. She’d climbed down at once and lain here where she could catch her breath.
A hand landed lightly on her wrist, fingers pressing flat against her pulse.
“I’m fine, Hime,” she protested, but she was too tired to resist.
Hime shook her head and kept counting. After a quiet minute, she sighed and dropped Caledonia’s wrist. Stay out of the rigging. Expend no—
“Unnecessary energy, I remember.”
Do you? Because I saw you up there, she signed, and when she pointed into the rigging it was with exaggerated frustration. Didn’t look necessary to me.
Caledonia scowled softly. Even facial expressions were taxing.
“Need me to take her to her rack?” Amina kneeled next to Hime, her hand automatically reaching for the other girl.
“How’s the rest of the crew?” Caledonia interjected.
Showing signs of dehydrating. Headaches, disorientation. Things will get much worse before the day’s through.
“Great.” She pushed her way to sitting, squeezing her eyes against the dizzying rush of blood.
When she opened them again, Hime and Amina were scrutinizing her with looks of irritating concern. She ignored them both, letting her gaze drift across the deck. Pine and Pisces were settled on the port rail, their hands raised in signed conversation. Pine seemed determined to learn Hime’s language, and Pisces was a patient teacher. Higher up on the forequarter, Nettle sat atop the ghost funnel with Harwell and Glimmer to keep watch. They sat in a triangle with their backs pushed together. Usually, they’d have one person in each post, but with everyone’s energy waning, Sledge had recommended three people positioned fore and aft.
Amina leaned forward. “We’ll make it, Captain. Don’t worry about us. Just make sure you’re ready to do what needs doing when we get to Cloudbreak. Now, let me take you to your rack before you alarm the entire crew.”
It always amazed Caledonia how naturally Amina moved between being her crew member and her commanding equal. She gave Caledonia her hand and pulled her to her feet, taking care to steady her without making a show of it.
The light buzzing in her ears accompanied her all the way to her quarters, and the sight of her bed was more welcome than she’d anticipated.
I’ll come by to check on you in two hours, Hime promised.
“Don’t let me sleep for more than one.”
“You’ll sleep as long as she tells you,” Amina countered.
The two girls ducked out of the hatchway just as Oran appeared. He made room for them to pass, holding out a cup for Hime’s approval.
Hime smiled as she disappeared down the corridor with Amina. Caledonia frowned.
Oran stepped into the hatch with her. “I know you’ve been cutting your own rations,” he said, voice low. “Take it.”
“You can’t know that,” she murmured, even as her throat ached for a drink.
“Am I wrong?”
“Oran,” she breathed.
He shifted to put his shoulder against the frame of the hatch, the gesture so casually powerful that Caledonia was struck again by the difference in him. Or the difference in her perception of him. He was self-possessed and confident in a way that communicated a quiet and deadly strength.
She liked it.
But Lir’s voice twisted through her mind, drawing questions close behind. She’d considered asking several times in the past few days, What have you done, Oran? She didn’t like that Lir knew more than she did, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet.
Oran’s gaze held steady. “You keep putting your crew ahead of you and you’ll get us all dead.”
The cup sat in his hand, the water clear and glistening within, not more than a single swallow. And she wanted it.
As she reached for the cup, her fingertips brushed his, landing for just a second longer than they should. They locked eyes again. She took the cup and drank. The water was a balm to her dry throat. It seemed that every bit of her body cried out with relief, and just as quickly she wanted more.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice raw.
He didn’t answer. He was watching her with that same mixture of wonder and admiration he’d had when they first met. Only now, she saw it with a difference. He understood power. He’d had his own, relinquished it, and now he’d willingly placed himself in her path. It was her power he admired.
