26. The Prophecy and The Fortune
The Prophecy and The Fortune
Dezeeves rotates to me. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mother,” I repeat, thinking on my feet. “That’s the sign-off on Riss’ code. I’ve just realised it means the Queen. She’s known as the mother of the country – which has always been a matriarchal society.”
Drake – maybe sensing there’s more to this – nods in agreement. “If you have received a code signed that way, then it must be from the Queen herself. It is how she signed all messages to The Bridge on The Dragoness.”
“Thank you,” I say.
And I don’t mean for his insights into the Queen.
Dezeeves says, tersely, “I will ask you to please discuss the semantics of signatories with me at another time.”
“Sorry.”
I step backwards, aware that although the other officers are focusing on the window again, I have Meg’s full attention. She clearly hasn’t bought my rambling one bit. But she hasn’t said anything. Yet.
And I can’t not respond to my mother.
Subtly, as if scratching an itch, I turn the dial on the side of my band. Cough lightly, as if clearing my throat.
Mother’s reply, in my ears, is full of relief.
“Thank the Sisters. Don’t speak or draw attention to yourself.
You were scoped by a pilot. I had to take the risk.
” She breathes heavily down the frequency.
“Listen to me. Pass the tests they have for you. Do whatever you have to do – the Queen will forgive you. Do not do anything that will get you killed. The end is in sight, Darling.”
Tests?
Does she mean Integration? How would she even know about that?
I keep listening, desperate to hear her voice again.
But I hear only static.
It’s the loneliest sound in the world.
“Cosmos,” someone says, pulling me back to the room. Another officer gasps. I can hear the clamours from pilots ringing out from the radio band Dezeeves is wearing.
“We’re dead men,” Samson chokes.
I look up. And see it.
Out on the horizon, another wave of Rhavnan ships is approaching, their lights flashing through the dark. Dezeeves’ rounded eyes are like the reflective plates in our cabins. The oncoming lights are mirrored in them.
Ephraine shouts, “Discharge the weapon, Dezeeves. That’s all we can do.”
“The weapon isn’t ready,” he barks.
Meg turns to Ephraine, handing him her own radio band. “Take over, Ephraine. Get on the pilot frequency and tell them we’re abandoning ship and to start Evacuation.”
Ephraine yanks on the band and speaks into it. “Distress. All to emergency stations to await crew pick-up. Evacuation commencing. Distress. All to—”
My radio band is crackling, as if a message is about to come through.
“Everyone, stop for a second,” I yell.
My mother’s voice comes through, clear as a bell. It must be flooding every frequency, because I hear it through Dezeeves’ band, too.
“A message from Mother. Forgive me for ringing the bell. But dinner was getting cold.”
“Means nothing to me,” Meg says. “Anyone else?”
“Are they turning away?” Samson asks.
I look back at the wave.
It’s true. The formation is going wide, wheeling in the air like a flock of gulls. The ships guarding Deck 1 are also lifting up and away.
Some of the Hevallan ships take advantage of the situation, firing at the retreating ships.
Dezeeves roars into his band, “Hold your fire!”
The ships sail away, becoming spatters of light in the distance. Like they’re nothing but more stars.
I’m still in The Bridge, now on the other side of the room, watching through the window as the engineers tackle the fire on the hull.
Most of the officers have left – there was talk of checking on pilots and gunners. Ephraine, Dezeeves and Meg are having their own conversation at length by the control table, their backs to us and words inaudible to me.
I’m aware Drake is beside me, but I’m trying not to look at him. I really don’t have the energy for a conversation with him. I feel fogged up. Soft, like maybe part of me is still recovering from the osimidite.
Watching the engineers is fascinating. Their ships are only large enough for one person and seem to be operated by pedal.
The hoses they’ve been fastened with are quenching the flames with water and a kind of foam, and whorls of black smoke are whipped up by the strong wind force that seems to exist out there.
“How are you feeling?” Drake’s voice asks me quietly, in Rhavnan.
I sigh. I knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore him forever.
“Terrible,” I say, turning to him at last. “We helped Hevalla against Rhavna. Which is exactly what we didn’t want to do.”
“It was one battle,” he states. “Not the war.”
“What was the point of the battle? The Queen had us in the palm of her hand. And she just retreated?”
“You lived in the Palace with her. You tell me.”
“I can’t help but think it was all to deliver that message.” I wince. “A stupid message about dinner!”
“Just because we do not yet understand her message, does not mean it was stupid. From what I know of the Queen, she is a lover of one thing.”
“Theatrics?” I say, with a scoff.
It’s a joke.
But Drake keeps his dark eyes steady on mine.
My teeth graze my lip. “That’s what you think this is? Why you think she killed a bunch of our soldiers – and got some of hers killed in the process? She just wanted some drama?”
“It is the only conclusion. She could have killed us. She did not. She is not known as the Queen of Hubris for nothing.”
I’m starting to see it.
“But what could that message possibly be about? For her to decide to deliver it with such… flair?”
Outside, the last of the flames have been doused and the smoke is clearing. The engineers travel down towards the docking pods.
It’s only us now, and the night sky.
Drake shifts his weight between his feet. “Perhaps it is not what the message is about, that is the point.” His eyes flick towards the control table. “But to whom it was intended.”
I nod. The words swoop out of me like seabirds. “It was for Dezeeves. He was completely thrown by the situation. He couldn’t believe it.”
Drake levels his face with mine, and it’s like something brews between us.
My words come out thin. “You think he could be a—” I stumble over the word. “—a traitor?”
I expect him to flinch at my words. Give me ten reasons how that couldn’t be possible.
He is completely, unnervingly, unfazed.
“You already thought he was,” I whisper.
“It’s why I needed the radio,” he says, an edge to his voice. “I needed to ask some contacts if they could confirm that. Unfortunately, they could not.”
I wince. “I’m sorry, Drake. About the radio—”
“We do not need to discuss it. But I do need you to help me, if there comes another time. If you really are loyal to Rhavna.”
“Right,” I say. “Of course. I just couldn’t. Last night.”
He seems to accept that. I stare at our captain’s hunched back. He looks so mild. Just a tall, thin middle-aged man in uniform and a ponytail.
Could he really be capable of fooling everyone on this ship?
“What made you think he was a traitor?”
“My first corrective instruction session,” Drake answers quickly. “I had started to think the conversion was done using blood magic.” He smirks. “And so, to be beaten in a sub-standard way that wouldn’t break any of my bones and hurt me beyond superficial bruising, yes. It did make me think.”
The room – and the stars at our heads – are blurring.
I try to stay steady on my feet. Think this all through.
And it makes sense.
“It couldn’t possibly be blood magic,” I say, confidently. I lean right into his ear. “Meg is immune to it.”
He frowns, his full attention on me. “You are sure.”
“Yes. She told me. And I’ve seen it. When I tried—”
He looks at me patiently.
I forgot he doesn’t know.
“Drake,” I say. “The link between us. I seem to be able to…”
I let the sentence hang.
Because he’s just smiling.
The floor seems to sway under me.
“How did you know?”
“You used it on me, at the Captain’s Dinner, if you remember.” He puffs out air. “It was rather like being stabbed with my own sword.”
I have no breath in my lungs. I’m tight. Solemn.
He really is always one step ahead of me.
I’m glad he’s my ally – my friend.
Because he’d be a frightening opponent.
“What do you think it could be?” I breathe. “Am I stealing from you, somehow?”
“Stealing? No. The opposite. The magic is stronger when we’re near each other.” He glances around, then says, calmly, “I was able to get hold of a radio today after all.”
I’m completely lost.
“How?”
“When the bellringer came, Riss slept in. By a few minutes.”
“Riss slept…” I trail off. Blink. “You made her sleep in?”
The thought makes me uneasy. I don’t like it at all.
Yet I’m also finding myself… impressed? My mouth parts.
He nods. “She didn’t hear a thing. I have never been able to do that.”
He reaches for my hand. Lifts it, but moves his palm away, so we are connected only by the tips of our fingers.
I gasp.
I can see it. The magic, like tiny pinpricks of white light, springing from each of my fingers into his. And from each of his, into mine.
It’s beautiful.
And I know that no one else would be able to see this. This is our magic, visible to our eyes alone.
I look up. His black eyes meet mine. They’re lit up from the sparks between us and the night sky behind us.
Warmth spreads through me for a second.
And in the next, I’m freezing. It’s hit me on the back of my neck, cleanly and coldly, like the blade in a guillotine, what I’m doing.
The extremely intimate nature of this moment.
I separate my hand, sharply.
What was I thinking?
Something came over me. Yet I don’t think he was using his blood magic on me.
Cosmer.
What would Cosmer think? The man I love, who is currently in the brig for me?
I’m so embarrassed – and furious with myself. I wish I could take it all back.
I open my mouth, summoning the words I need to say.
But before I get the chance to make it very clear to Drake that I didn’t mean to stare into his eyes, in any way, misleadingly, Meg calls out to me.
“Ara. I’m done here. Do you want dinner?”
“Yes,” I call out, looking away from Drake.