Chapter 11
· YEMI ·
They made the ride in three days, free of incident by sticking to forests clear of main roads, military outposts, and arterial railways.
Cutter had an ambler to himself, while Yemi and Nova alternated steering the second so the other could sleep.
This was damn near impossible for Yemi—the sleeping on a mechanical crab bit—but Nova dozed to snoring almost as soon as Cutter told her he’d keep watch.
She’d slump against Yemi’s back, arms wrapped around her waist, and Yemi kept the ride as gentle as she could so as not to disturb her.
When they did stop to give their backs a break, it was the middle of the day, and Yemi stole fitful naps against tree trunks or across Nova’s lap if she was lucky.
She dreamed of her mother’s stone face: the way it angled to the side, looking for her, and heard her reverberating screams inside the stone shell. She dreamed of Ursla’s smoky smile and cigar cherry winking at her like an angry eye on the horizon at sunset.
Beverre was a township in a valley some miles from the coast but near the border.
That was a problem. Border towns had an increased military presence, and everyone was looking for the three of them.
Cutter left Yemi and Nova to make camp on the more secluded side of a hill while he ventured into town to run recon and find the address where they were to leave the amblers.
He returned as the sun was setting, the world awash in purples and oranges.
The gates of Beverre were marked by a towering alabaster statue of a Mer king with a trident.
He was bald, the rolling waves tattooed on his skull vaguely outlined.
His prominent brow gave way to deep, hooded eyes and a stern expression.
Lanyards of sun-bleached shells draped over his broad and chiseled torso.
Yemi recognized him as her great-grandfather.
At its base, a small cadre of uniformed soldiers inspected carts traveling the road.
Cutter steered clear of them, moving along the tree line on a northern ridge on the Beverre side of the gates.
The inert amblers lay splay-legged in heaps on the grass.
He handed her a newspaper. Dahlia Drake had declared the royal animus of her rule before the blood had even dried on the palace floors. Hers would be the first Year of the Harpy.
So like a bird to choose a bird, Yemi thought. And then she turned to the full-page spread. They were circulating the picture she’d taken with the dancer in the streets, cropped to just her face so she’d be easy to identify.
“Great,” she said.
“It is, as long as we’re not spotted,” Cutter replied. “There’s a camp just north between the tree line and the border. The second shift for the soldiers down at the gates.”
“Do you know them?” Nova asked. She sat up from where she’d been reclining on their pile of coats.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see faces, but there are four of them,” he said, regret souring in his voice. “I’m loath to kill anyone in uniform, particularly anyone who might fight for us on the turnaround. But one way or another, we have to get through that camp.”
Nova nodded solemnly. “I don’t imagine the Drakes would send anyone of questionable loyalty to be the last stop before the border.”
“Neither do I.”
Yemi idly folded the paper and wondered about the royal army.
Would they fight for the crown, whoever held it?
Her father had always taught her to develop her relationship with the soldiers, but who knew now if those efforts had been worth anything?
They hadn’t even gotten a firm answer on how far the Drakes’ influence had penetrated their ranks.
If Ursla had helped the Drakes take the throne, would she have corrupted the soldiers as well?
What had Dahlia given up in return? Yemi herself had so little left to give—what else could the witch take from her?
“What do you think our odds are?” Yemi asked, dusting herself off and squinting toward where the sun was setting over the hills.
“Of what? Not dying in custody?” said Nova.
“Say we make it to our friends in Muris. Muris manages to keep us secret, because if they don’t, Ixia attacks and obliterates the country. Then what?”
“We use whatever resources they grant us to make a play for the throne. Isn’t that what you want?” said Cutter.
“But do you think that’s realistic? Them having to mobilize in secret before Ixia realizes what’s happening? A land war isn’t possible. They’d be crushed just south of Beverre. And they’ve relied on the Ixian navy for generations.”
Cutter shook his head, and Yemi nearly lit into him about what had become a steady string of impertinence on his part.
She wasn’t just his charge, some child who needed guiding away from her own impulses.
She was his queen, unless survival’s necessity had snatched the title from her.
It was this dismissiveness, as far as she was concerned, that had landed them all here in the first place.
“She’s right, Cutter,” Nova said before Yemi could snap. “They don’t have the military numbers to back our campaign for the throne, especially if Kespia is on board with the Drakes.”
“We might be putting Luzon in danger for no reason,” Yemi added.
“There are seventeen nations in this corner of the world who can be petitioned—” Cutter started.
“Only three on this continent, and they’re the only ones who give a shit about what goes on here,” Yemi insisted.
“The world does not turn on your whim! These things take time, and you’ve never been patient! Never,” Cutter barked.
“No, Cutter, you’re just too slow.” Yemi took a measured breath, if only because a moment of calm would justify her rage later.
“I wanted the Drakes dealt with immediately because I knew this would happen. We’re not playing old-world games anymore.
I don’t know what it’s going to take for you to see that. ”
“Can we agree that this is something best shouted about when we’re not a mound of dirt away from armed soldiers who most likely want to kill us?
” Nova interceded, hands pressed into her eyes like she was warding off a headache.
“Let’s put our energy into the night. Get past the camp and across the border.
The king of Muris probably has eighty-seven different rooms you can argue in.
Won’t that be nice? We get to the palace, we grab a bath, you two duke it out in an area I’m not also in. ”
Yemi relented, tossing the newspaper furiously onto the ground between them before turning away to watch the soldiers and bide her time until full dark.
Cloaked by the night forest, they crept toward the glow of campfire among the trees.
Yemi emulated Cutter’s and Nova’s crouched stance, solid footfalls, heel to toe, spears aloft and balanced over the low brush of the forest floor.
Her mother’s mask was little use here. A glint of moonlight would give away their position.
They stopped at the edge of the camp, a collapsed tree trunk and a line of fidgety horses between them and their targets.
“Just five?” Nova scoffed. “I’m a little offended.”
“We keep this quiet,” Cutter whispered, looking pointedly at Yemi, who had insisted on helping. “Separate them, pick them off. Look for guns. Anyone gets a shot off, you run. North.”
They watched as one soldier walked off beyond the far side of the camp, likely to relieve himself. Another disappeared alone into a tent near the back.
“Moving,” Nova declared, edging around the log toward the tent.
Yemi hesitated, unsure of whether to follow or wait for her own target to present themselves. She didn’t know why she looked to Cutter for guidance. He might not ever let her live it down.
He nodded at her and gestured with his chin for her to follow Nova. “Eyes open. Go on.”
Quickly and silently, she rounded the back of the camp in time to see Nova disappear through the tent’s rear flap.
She pressed herself against a tree on the outside, careful not to step on the spear Nova had left on the ground, as she watched for movement from the others still clustered around the campfire.
Cutter disappeared from behind the log. She hoped the quiet sounds of rustling she heard were him moving into position and not, say, a bear.
Or an ambush, she thought. That would be inconvenient.
“The queen you serve. Name her,” she heard Nova say in a low voice.
And then there was the rasping of the word harpy before the wet squelching sound and rush of air that was a windpipe being severed, followed by the soft thud of a body being laid carefully in the grass.
Nova exited the tent the way she’d entered and looked toward the far end of the camp, where Cutter had just dispatched the second soldier.
“These are not friends,” she whispered, but the disappointment in her voice was still plain. Yemi felt her own rage simmering. How had these soldiers been turned so quickly? Did they owe her nothing?
The trio of soldiers was still talking around the fire, though one of them was now looking away toward their designated piss spot as if anticipating his comrade’s return.
“Stay here. Don’t make yourself a needless target,” Nova said. Yemi nodded curtly and kissed her, if for no other reason than it seemed they were overdue for it. Nova winked at her and took off for their original vantage point behind the horses.
Yemi entered the back side of the tent and was immediately crouched over the body of the woman Nova had killed.
She’d folded over on top of her hands, vacant eyes gaping at nothing, the flicker of firelight through the front end of the tent illuminating the discarded dagger in her dark pool of blood.
Why was she so unbothered by grisly death?
Yemi stared at the woman’s lifeless face, the hapless heap of her body.
What was it about the odor, the liquid sheen of blood, that made her salivate?
She pressed her fingers to the skin of the woman’s cheek and found its clamminess a curiosity, although it retained its bounce.
Something in her, small and deep like a pilot light in the dark, wanted to bite it.
“Hal, what’s going on?” one of the soldiers called, and Yemi snapped back to the present danger.
She grabbed the dagger and edged toward the front slit in the tent.
Hal could have been either of the dead soldiers.
Sure enough, the others were stirring, staring off in the direction of where Yemi knew Cutter was still waiting in the shadows.
But she heard a twig snap, and their heads swiveled instead to the right.
Nova.
The horses startled, and the soldiers got to their feet. Yemi made an instantaneous decision and donned her mother’s mask before they could take too many steps toward Nova.
“Your queen. Name her,” she said in a menacing voice as she stepped out of the tent. The soldiers turned and squinted in her direction as her heart raced, grip slick and sticky on the hilt of the bloody dagger.
“Who are—” one of them started.
“I said name her!” Yemi roared.
Before anyone could speak, Nova and Cutter struck from the flanks, and while they tried to get the bodies off their spears, the third moved to get a gun off his hip.
Yemi crossed the space between them in short, quick steps and jammed the blade into the side of his neck, holding it there and forcing his hand from his hip until he began to sink to the ground.
“Traitors die a traitor’s death,” she muttered. She caught herself smiling, lips twitching, before the vision of a maddened Dahlia grinning as they wrestled forced her to shut her eyes and remember herself.
The last traitor’s body collapsed at her feet. Cutter and Nova examined the carnage with solemn faces.
“You’re alright?” Nova asked her. Yemi nodded. Head spinning and unable to describe what was happening within it, she took off the mask in hopes it would help her think clearly.
They began checking around for supplies. Yemi returned to the tent to collect her spear, wiping her hands free of blood on the fabric. From here it was on to Muris, but that felt wrong, more so now that they were so much closer than ever before.
She mounted one of the horses as Cutter doused the fire and cast them all back into the dark. Maybe it was time, as her mother said, to get to know the Mer side of her family. At least it wasn’t cowering in exile.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Cutter hissed.
“Selah. She knows how to find the sea witch, and I need her help getting to the Mer,” she declared.
“Mer?” Nova yelped, probably louder than she intended.
“Yemaya, get down from th—” He took a step toward her.
“Cutter, you are not my father!” The words rang out in the forest, but it appeared they’d embedded themselves in Cutter’s gut. She regretted them instantly, watching the panic in his eyes shift to sadness. She knew he meant to keep her safe. But safekeeping wasn’t what she needed just now.
“You were right about retiring,” she said in a tone she hoped was kinder. Nova’s head snapped violently in his direction. “You cross the border. I’ll meet you in a week or so. Tell Luzon to look for me by sea and use his network to find our remaining friends in Chairre.”
“Yemi, the countryside is crawling with soldiers who know your face,” Nova protested.
“You should stay, too,” Yemi said, though her resolve crackled at the thought of being away from her. She turned away as Nova gaped. “I love you both. See you soon.”
She prodded the horse into a gallop and made for the tree line again, barely making out Nova’s “Yemi, wait! Shit!” over the din of hoofbeats.
By the time she was bolting over the moonlit hills, she was able to hear galloping noises behind her.
Nova emerged from the trees on a horse of her own, and caught up to her before long.
“There is no scenario where you make me go back,” Yemi yelled as they rode.
“I go wherever you go, remember? The last of the queen’s men.”
Yemi looked at Nova. Her expression was hardened, angry. Hurt.
“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she asked.
Nova didn’t respond. For her, Cutter was a mentor and father figure. To be the last one to know he was leaving certainly amounted to some kind of betrayal.
She kept her eyes forward, fixed on some imagined target beyond the horizon. Yemi took it as a sign that she should do the same.