Chapter 20
ACKER
“Do you think the message to Jovie made it through?” Wells muses.
Hard to say with the winter storm that brought snowfall to Mount Zallis’s peak in the distance, but I keep my eyes set on a Maile ship as we sail by.
A purple flag with an emblem of a golden butterfly on it waves above a white flag inscribed with black lines.
The markings are distinct, and it is easy for me to surmise their significance.
The similarities between them and the scars the Strou warriors are known to wear are immediately apparent.
“If I’d had more than an hour’s notice before we left Kenta, I could have sent a bird well ahead of time,” Olivia smarts.
Wells attempts to sooth with her ire. “Liv, you know why. We couldn’t risk the message getting intercepted.”
“According to Acker,” she retorts, shooting me what feels like the hundredth glare today already.
“Will you all shut up?” We turn and look at Irina. She’s standing with her eyes closed and her back to the main mast, bare feet on a patch of soil in a shallow crate we brought specifically to enhance her ability use her magic over water. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
She was unsure of her full capabilities, as was I, considering she’s never used her magic on a scale of this size before.
As the princess of Strou, she’s never wanted for much, and she had no call to use her magic more than superficially.
But the Maile ship is the first we’ve come across since moving closer to their waters and they don’t seem to be making any move in our passing direction.
I’m not sure what they’re seeing from their perspective, but whatever Irina came up with has them barely sparing a glance.
Olivia glares at her, sourly. “She can’t be the only option we had for an illusionist.”
Gritting my teeth, I share a look with Wells before walking away.
I give orders to the crew to get the pinnace ready.
We’ll be at Maile’s breakwater before nightfall, and I don’t want to waste time getting the small boat into the water.
I instruct them to remove and stow away any personal weapons below deck on the off chance we get intercepted, not wanting to appear hostile by any means.
But my nerves are getting the best of me, voice coming out clipped when I give the orders.
I’ve been fending off the familiar craving to see her for days now.
Ever since I left the palace two weeks ago, the need has intensified.
Every inch, every breath, every heartbeat is filled with anticipation.
I’m less than a day away from being able to look her in the eyes.
I spend my time watching the shoreline, and fuck me, I wasn’t even this anxious to see land after being stranded at sea for weeks.
My hands feel empty without a blade as I pace the deck.
We pass fourteen more Maile ships without any issues before the wharf comes into view.
I’ve heard stories of the stone dock, but none of them did it justice.
Giant masonic arches stretch over the water in both directions, curving from the land like a shield.
Evelyn built the wharf to divide what she considers to be her water from everyone else’s beyond.
The only ways to reach Maile from Kenta are either a precarious trek over the mountain range branching from Mount Zallis along our shared border, or by sailing directly into their waters through this defensive wharf.
We set anchor a distance from the breakwater.
A contingent of Maile’s armada sits inside the protective barrier of rocks set before the wharf, ready to defend the city from direct sea attack.
Each one with the same flags as the one before it: the butterfly emblem with the death count flying below it.
Wells meets me at the bow. “This is going to be tricky,” he says.
It’s easiest to cast an illusion that’s believable from far away, which is why we’re safe for the meantime, Irina’s gift still shielding our ship. Up close, however, things become much more difficult.
“We’re going to have to take the pinnacle the rest of the way,” I tell him.
“And what of this ship?”
I look at Irina. She hasn’t moved for hours.
Sweat cascades from her hair and down her temples.
She’s never stretched her ability to this level before and is likely to pass out as soon as she’s relieved of her duties.
Hopefully she can hold on long enough to continue hiding the pinnacle once the ship is underway.
I return my attention to Wells. “Do you know if there’s a water or air elemental on board?”
He tilts his head in contemplation. “If there is, I doubt anyone would be likely to admit to it.”
I suppose not, considering my father’s history of collaring Heirs, so I nod, accepting his statement for truth. “We need to turn, and as soon as we drop the pinnacle in the water, the crew will open the sails and make a run for it.”
The crew is quiet as we tack, shifting the boat to face the opposite direction, back toward Kenta.
Wells helps Olivia into the small boat, kissing her on the cheek when she’s settled and running his hands reverently over the swell of her belly.
Wells speaks softly into her ear and whatever he says makes her smile shine, sweet as pure sugar, her eyes softening for the first time I’ve seen in the time we’ve been together on the boat.
As strange as it is to me for my childhood friends to be on the verge of becoming parents, it’s impossible not to admit that it suits them.
One of the crewmen on board tests the line to the smaller boat, then gives me the go signal with a dip of his chin. “Ready, sir.”
When I turn to tell Irina she’s next, I find her swaying on her feet, moments from losing the battle to stay upright.
I wrap an arm around her waist and assist her into the boat, and she falls heavily onto the bench next to Olivia.
One of the crewmen hands me a couple of waterskins and I pass them to Wells.
“Don’t waste time,” I instruct the commander standing nearby. “Sail as fast as you can. We’re far enough away right now that they might not notice you in time to catch up.”
He acknowledges the order, wishing us godspeed and waving to us in farewell as our pinnacle is lowered.
Once we hit the water, Wells and I release the lines, using our oars to push away from the vessel.
Irina looks as if she’s going to lose her lunch and I urge her to hold the mirage on the ship for as long as she can stand it.
Taking pity on her, Olivia takes one of the waterskins and helps her to drink a few sips, but it’s no use.
Irina’s abilities can’t hold up with the increasing distance from her current target, especially considering we’re over open water.
Slouching, her breath comes out in a rush. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t anymore.”
I dig the end of my oar through the water in sync with Wells, pulling the handle in toward my chest forcefully and pushing out again. “Do you have us?”
She nods. “Yes, yes. We’re concealed.”
This boat is almost the same size as the one Jovie and I sailed in from Alaha. We’re crammed together, knees knocking into one another, but it doesn’t take long for color to return to Irina’s face, the strain of her magic easing now she’s working to illusion a smaller target.
“I think they’ve spotted the ship,” Olivia says, focused on the Maile ships still between us and shore.
Sparing a look behind me, I can see the nearest ship pulling anchor, the crew readying for departure. Wells and I pick up our pace. Irina’s already at her breaking point, so we have to hope that the fleeing Kenta ship is enticing enough to keep the navy’s attention.
The water calms once we’re inside the line of rocks that makes up the breakwaters, although the wake of the warship that glides past us on their way out sets us to bobbing again.
It’s the closest we’ve come to one of their ships, but though Irina seems nervous, she’s wholly focused on maintaining her shielding illusion.
The first ship is just the beginning. One after another unfurls their sails and heads toward the open water. The shouts of men echo over the water and we’re able to make out that they have, in fact, spotted our retreating ship in the distance.
The wharf is lined with soldiers. They stand about every fifteen feet, inspecting the water below.
With our backs to it, Wells and I are helpless, relying solely on Olivia to monitor for any particular attention aimed in our direction as we row.
By the grace of the gods and Irina’s hard work, we manage to row underneath the wharf without being spotted.
It’s the first time we’re able to get a good view of the capital.
The city ascends up toward the base of Mount Zallis.
Cottages are nestled close together, streets cutting a winding pattern up the hillside.
Trees sprinkled throughout. It’s daunting to see it from below.
The beach itself is rocky and manned in the same manner as the wharf with soldiers dotting the shoreline.
Boats are anchored along the wharf, closer to the shoreline.
Wells cusses.
“They’re either really prepared or really paranoid,” Olivia muses.
“Both,” I say.
“If we can make it to shore and past the initial line of guards,” Wells says, “I can take Olivia to the palace while you two find somewhere to lay low.” I begin to protest when he cuts me off with a look that leaves no room for negotiation.
“I’m already letting you use my pregnant wife as leverage to prevent yourself getting killed on sight by your own Match.
At least let me be the one to deliver her there safely. ”
I concede with a tip of my chin.
“Besides,” Olivia says. “The princess consort here is going to need a nap.”
We all look at Irina’s disheveled hair and sweat-soaked clothes with concern. She normally takes a lot of pride in her appearance, but she doesn’t even have the energy to snipe at Olivia’s observation. If anything, a nap probably sounds incredible to her.
We resume rowing, leaving the shade that the wharf temporarily provided.
Squinting against the onslaught of sudden sunlight, it takes a second for my sight to adjust. In the next moment, I’m finally able to set eyes on the wharf from the Maile side.
A soldier stands on the edge of the stone bridge, bow at the ready.
“Can he see us, Irina?” I ask.
She shakes her head, gritting her teeth. “I don’t know.”
“Just a little longer,” Wells assures, urging her to fight her exhaustion.
But it’s too late.
I hear the whiz of the arrow right before it pierces the hull of the boat with a loud thunk of splitting wood. Water immediately begins to seep in. Attached to the arrow is a rope. A line, I realize, that they’re using to reel us in.
Olivia moves to yank the arrow free, but Wells and I both move in to stop her. “We’ll sink,” he says.
“It’s best if we just surrender,” I agree.
She lifts her hands as if to show she’s not a threat. “It’s your funeral.”
Irina groans, shoulders dropping as she releases the illusion she couldn’t fully maintain. “I tried. I promise.”
It was a lot for me to ask. Too much, apparently. There’s no one to blame but myself.
We’re ankle deep in saltwater by the time we’re towed back toward the wharf.
Underneath one of the arches, there’s a loading dock of sorts.
A host of soldiers wait on the small platform.
There are steps leading to the top of the wharf behind them and there’s a slew of soldiers overhead with arrows knocked to their bows, ready to be drawn and fired in an instant.
The message is clear: don’t do anything to provoke them.
But the soldier who released the first arrow stands at the top of the stairs with his bow drawn, wooden arrow pointed at me … specifically.
It’s apparent he knows who I am, or that arrow would be tipped with metal.
Our little boat has lost some of its buoyancy, and it rocks jarringly when I climb onto the wharf.
I turn to help Irina, but a soldier whips his sword up in front of my chest to stop me.
Gritting my teeth, I eye the steel, gaze flicking to the archer atop the stairs before finally taking a step back.
Irina stumbles a bit but is successful in pulling herself up onto the dock. Then Olivia, and Wells last.
Olivia is slow to move clear of the boat, obviously struggling with the transition from rocking boat to firm ground in her condition, and when a nearby soldier attempts to prod her forward with the tip of a sword, Wells barks at him: “She’s pregnant!”
I say his name in warning, but it’s of no use.
He knows how important it is to not cause a disturbance, but he doesn’t back down.
Instead, he hops quickly out of the boat, immediately reaching for Olivia to help her regain her equilibrium.
As soon as Olivia is steady, the soldiers move in to separate them, which Wells does not take kindly to.
I lose sight of them in the commotion, but there’s no mistaking Olivia’s yelp of pain.
It happens so fast. Wells grabs who I assume to be the offending soldier by the back of the neck. I don’t know where the dagger in Wells’s fist came from, but he has the blade to the man’s throat in the span of two heartbeats.
“Don’t kill him!” I yell.
I allow myself to be knocked to my knees, keeping my eyes locked on my friend and his hostage.
The archer shouts down from above. “Tell him to release our man and we won’t.”
I don’t waste breath clarifying that it wasn’t him I was speaking to.
But Wells knows.
“Don’t,” I repeat, holding my hands out in a placating gesture.
It feels like the moment stretches out forever before he finally relents, his teeth clenched as he shoves the soldier away.
Wells keeps his gaze on the man to make sure there’s not any intention to retaliate, only dropping the blade when satisfied.
I risk a look at Olivia to make sure she’s okay.
Another soldier has her arm in a viselike grip, which he promptly releases when Wells levels him with a murderous glare, fearful of the clear threat.
I’m grateful for the man’s instincts, because I know I could do little to stop Wells from torching every soldier on the wharf if he wanted to.