Sharp cries and shouts sprang from the crowd.
The rag-tag band of urchins hesitated, some clutching their ears and staring up, while others homed their gazes on me as if suspecting the storm’s sudden wrath was more than the work of Mother Nature and coincidence.
The blond girl’s eyes shimmered, filling with dread, but she held tightly to Malita, her grip never wavering.
Catching Malita’s gaze, I winked. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, signaling she was ready to respond to whatever I was about to do. I’d believed her when she said she was no victim, but now I needed her to prove it.
I clenched my fingers into a fist. Thunder exploded, a detonation strong enough to rattle my ribs. As the blond girl cringed, Malita stomped her instep. The girl yelped. Malita grabbed her wrist and twirled. Shoving and twisting, Malita wrenched the girl’s arm at an unnatural angle behind her back, nearly popping her shoulder from its socket. The urchin gritted her teeth and teetered on her tiptoes, trying to ease Malita’s hold.
Those gang members still brave enough to defend their leader surged forward, but I drew down a diluted lightning bolt and threw it at the clock-tower bell.
Sparks flew.
The bell shrieked.
The blond girl shrieked, too, but Malita held her while Niffin disarmed her. He raised the girl’s knife, brandishing it at our opponents, but the gang had already scattered. Only an older pair of bandits remained, a boy and a girl, both as grimy and downtrodden as their leader. Part of me regretted frightening them, but their fear was a fair trade for Malita’s safety.
“Ty idesh' domoy seychas,” Niffin said, his tone tolerating no arguments. “Dayte nam pokoy.”
The boy and girl held their position with no obvious intent to challenge us. Earlier I had questioned Justina’s decision to send Niffin with me, but he was already proving to be a skilled diplomat. I was grateful for her foresight.
“Ask for her name,” I said.
Niffin spoke.
The girl’s eyes narrowed, but she answered, “Alyona.”
I’d stowed most of my funds in the bottom of my saddlebags for safekeeping, but I dug into my pocket, pulled out several loose coins, and presented the money to Alyona. She furrowed her brow, obviously confused and suspecting a trap.
“Tell her these coins are hers if she’ll take her gang and leave us alone until our ship leaves.”
Niffin translated, and Alyona bobbed her head, her throat working as she swallowed. She glanced at her friends and jerked her chin, gesturing for them to back off, and they obeyed. I wondered what she had done to gain the power she held over her gang. More importantly, was it something I could learn to do?
I pressed the money into Alyona’s hand and studied her face—her fierce gaze and the proud tilt of her chin. I understood the desperation burning in her blood, the lust for survival that had made her hard and cruel at such a young age. When I nodded, Malita released Alyona. The girl spun away and sprinted down the street without looking back.
Blowing out a long breath, I released my tension, and the clouds dispersed. The winds eased. Sunlight returned, chasing away shadows.
“Why did you want her name?” Malita asked.
“To remember her as an example of what I could’ve become, if not for the good luck of having people like you and Niffin, and especially Gideon, in my life.” Dismissing the thought with a shiver, I slipped my foot into Adeleiz’s stirrup and swung my leg over her saddle. “Let’s get to the ship. I won’t feel at ease until we’re on board and sailing away.”
Niffin snorted and tugged his cap lower. “You said your penchant for trouble would only get worse before it gets better. You were not lying, were you?”
I clicked my tongue and nudged Adaleiz. “Lying is a tricky weapon.” It was something my father had often said. “A double-edged blade. I’m just as likely to cut myself as I am my target.”
“I have never heard of an honest politician before.” He reached down, offering his hand to Malita, and helped her mount behind him. Once she was seated, we sauntered toward the waterfront and docks. “But perhaps you will be the first.”
Chapter 4
Our ship was a blend of old and new—a retrofitted, two-masted schooner. A pair of paddlewheels affixed to the starboard and port sides near the stern churned seawater into frothy foam. Crisp white sails billowed in the breeze. We stood at the deck rails, watching the Varyngan coastline shrink until it was a dark slash at the edge of the sea. A salty breeze stirred the hairs curling at my temples. I buttoned my jacket against the chill air, wishing I could wear my Thunder Cloak instead. Malita had drawn her shawl over her shoulders, and Niffin wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, sharing his warmth. If Gideon had been there, would he have offered me the same comfort?
Of course he would. He’s stoic, not callous.
His absence scraped my heart raw, especially at night when I had trouble sleeping. I missed the reassuring rhythm of his breath.
The last time I’d travelled by sea, I’d been fleeing my home on Inselgrau, chased by what I’d believed were revolutionaries and upstarts. I hadn’t been able to bear watching my country fade away, so I’d put Inselgrau to my back and gazed, instead, at the horizon. This time, my departure was less disturbing. In a roundabout way, I was starting the first leg of a journey that would eventually lead me home.
Also, the last time I’d travelled by sea, I’d been kidnapped and washed overboard during a storm. With that in mind, I kept my senses tuned, watching my fellow passengers, assessing each one for the possibility of threat. I never strayed far from my friends’ sides. My boot knife brushed my ankle when I moved, and when I reached for the storms, they responded like loyal soldiers awaiting orders from their favorite commander. If anyone attacked, I was prepared to defend myself.
As the sun drooped and the sky darkened from blue to violet, the Burya sailed toward a port on the Batiysk Sea’s opposite coastline. Once there, we exchanged a few passengers, collected more coal to feed the furnaces, and returned to the open waters. The ship’s captain promised that if we continued making good time, we’d arrive in Dreutch by dawn the morning after next.
After dinner, Niffin and Malita retired to their tiny berth. I took the compartment next door. A sliver of moonlight shone through my room’s small porthole, providing the only light besides the glow from a single flickering candle at my bedside. I cracked open the porthole, letting in a stream of fresh air, diluting the musty odors in my room. The excitement of clashing with Alyona’s gang, the use of my powers, and the strain of remaining alert and wary had drained me. My eyes felt gritty and dry as I slipped into bed. My last thoughts were of Gideon, and I prayed to my ancestors, begging them to keep him safe.
My eyes must have been closed only a moment before snapping open when sharp voices jarred me awake.
“Se iyen o da?” Niffin’s tone was indignant.
The tenor of Malita’s reply matched his. “Mi o mo!”
Tuning my ears, I listened, breath held. The ship’s thin walls might as well have been sheets of parchment. Niffin and Malita’s voices were clear, as though they stood in the room with me. They were speaking Malita’s language. I couldn’t translate their words, but I understood their tone. Terse and angry, this fight was nothing like their usual lovers’ tiffs.
Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes and debated knocking on their door to ask if everything was all right—if they might not prefer a night of separation. Before I could make up my mind to interrupt them, they fell silent, but their animosity seeped through the walls, as frigid as a winter breeze.
When I lay down for the second time, sleep didn’t come so easily. I exchanged my prayers for Gideon for ones about my friends and asked for wisdom in deciding what to do next.
***
A heavy blanket of silence covered our table as we ate breakfast—plates of eggs, dried sausages, and toast that tasted like sandpaper. Hostility coated every bite in a rancid oily flavor. Malita’s shoulders drooped, and dark circles had collected under her eyes. Niffin’s hair was spikey and disheveled, his pale complexion downright deathlike. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who’d slept poorly.
