Chapter 5 — Across the Sea
The ocean defeated Amara before breakfast.
She had survived an ambush, fought armed men, been dragged onto a ship, and spent her first night as a prisoner without giving her captors the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Then the sea became rough.
Within an hour, she was lying on the narrow bunk with one arm across her stomach, reconsidering every confident statement she had ever made about courage.
Lela sat on the floor nearby looking equally miserable.
“I hate the ocean,” Amara whispered.
“You said you liked ships.”
“I have changed my position.”
The vessel rose, paused, and dropped again.
Amara closed her eyes.
“Make it stop.”
“I'll speak to the captain.”
“Tell him I am a princess.”
Lela stared at her.
Amara opened one eye. “That was a joke.”
“Your jokes are becoming dangerous.”
“So is breakfast.”
Neither woman had eaten it.
The bread remained untouched on the table.
The door opened and the red-bearded guard entered. Amara had learned his name from the crew: Briggs. He was large, unpleasant, and seemed personally offended by the existence of prisoners who refused to fear him.
He looked at the untouched food.
“Eat.”
Amara did not move.
“Take it away.”
“You'll need your strength.”
“If I eat that, you will need a bucket.”
Briggs smiled. “Not my problem.”
“It will become your problem very quickly.”
Lela covered her mouth.
Briggs frowned at her. “Something funny?”
“No,” Lela said.
“Yes,” Amara said at the same time.
Briggs kicked the door shut behind him and stepped closer.
“You think you're clever.”
“Normally, yes. Today I am too sick to be certain.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her upright.
The room immediately seemed to turn sideways.
Amara swallowed hard.
“Let go.”
“Or what?”
She looked at his boots.
“Or you are about to discover exactly how sick I am.”
He released her.
Amara smiled weakly.
“Excellent decision.”
Briggs left with the tray.
Lela waited until the lock clicked.
Then she began laughing.
Amara stared at her.
“What?”
“You frightened him.”
“I threatened to vomit on him.”
“It worked.”
“Diplomacy takes many forms.”
Her victory lasted less than a minute.
The ship rolled again.
Amara leaned over the bucket.
By afternoon, the sea became calmer.
Amara recovered enough to continue studying the vessel.
Every time the door opened, she watched.
Every time footsteps passed, she listened.
She now knew the routine of several guards. Briggs usually appeared in the morning and late afternoon. Thomas brought water and occasionally food. Another sailor guarded the passage during the night.
Thomas remained the most promising weakness.
He still avoided unnecessary conversation, but he no longer avoided Amara's eyes.
On his next visit she asked, “How long until we meet the other ship?”
His hand stopped briefly.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
“I brought water.”
“And I asked a question.”
Thomas placed the jug on the table.
“Don't try anything.”
“That is not an answer.”
He turned toward the door.
“Thomas.”
He stopped.
“Where are they taking us?”
His shoulders tightened.
“I don't know.”
This time she believed him.
“Do they?”
He looked back.
“Rourke does.”
Then he left.
Amara smiled.
One question answered.
Lela watched her. “He's helping us.”
“Not yet.”
“But he told you something.”
“He forgot not to.”
“Is there a difference?”
“A very important one.”
Amara wanted Thomas to choose to help them. A frightened sailor who accidentally answered questions was useful. A sailor willing to unlock a door could save their lives.
She needed time.
The ocean gave her plenty.
Days became difficult to measure below deck. Amara marked them by scratching tiny lines beneath the bunk with the piece of bent metal she had hidden.
One.
Two.
Three.
On the fourth day they were allowed onto the deck for a short period.
Briggs escorted them.
Amara inhaled the fresh air greedily.
The sea extended in every direction, enormous and indifferent. No coastline. No fishing boats. No familiar sails.
Nothing that could carry a message home.
For the first time, the true distance separating her from her family became real.
She gripped the rail.
Her father would still be searching.
She knew that.
But where?
Would he know which direction the ship had taken?
Would survivors from the ambush remember enough?
Would royal vessels find the right route?
Amara refused to imagine her mother's grief.
She concentrated instead on the ship.
Ropes. Sails. Hatches. Boats. Weapons.
Crew.
Routes.
Briggs noticed her watching.
“Planning to swim home?”
Amara looked over the rail.
“How far?”
He laughed. “Far enough.”
“Then I'll wait.”
“For what?”
“A better opportunity.”
His smile faded.
Amara smiled instead.
Their dislike had become mutual.
Briggs enjoyed reminding her that she had no authority aboard the ship. Amara enjoyed reminding him that authority and intelligence were not the same thing.
When he ordered her to move, she asked why.
When he told her not to speak, she spoke to Lela.
When he tried to frighten her, she studied him as though he were a disappointing servant.
The more irritated he became, the calmer she appeared.
Eventually even some of the sailors began enjoying it.
One afternoon Briggs pointed toward the stairs. “Below.”
Amara remained at the rail.
“We have only been outside ten minutes.”
“Below.”
“Thomas said twenty.”
Briggs looked at Thomas.
Thomas immediately became interested in a rope.
“I said approximately twenty.”
Amara nodded. “We have discovered the honest member of the crew.”
A sailor nearby coughed suspiciously.
Briggs glared at everyone.
“Down.”
Amara turned to Lela. “He has such a limited vocabulary.”
This time two sailors laughed openly.
Briggs's face reddened.
Amara decided that was enough victory for one afternoon and went below voluntarily.
She was still smiling when the door closed.
Lela shook her head.
“One day he is going to throw you into the ocean.”
“Then you must insist he throw me near land.”
The humor disappeared the following night.
Amara woke to a violent impact that nearly threw her from the bunk.
Lela screamed.
The ship rolled sharply.
Above them came shouting and running feet.
Thunder exploded somewhere beyond the hull.
Amara sat up.
Another wave struck.
The lantern swung wildly.
“What is happening?” Lela asked.
“A storm.”
The ship dropped so suddenly that Amara's stomach seemed to remain behind.
Water began leaking beneath the door.
Not much.
Enough.
Amara crossed the room and tried the handle.
Locked.
She struck the door.
“Open it!”
Nobody answered.
Another crash came from above.
Something heavy slid across the deck.
“OPEN THE DOOR!”
Lela joined her.
“Thomas!”
The vessel rolled again.
This time the small table tore partly from the wall.
Amara jumped back.
The lantern fell.
It went dark.
For several seconds there was nothing except blackness, thunder, and the sound of water against the hull.
Lela found Amara's hand.
“If the ship sinks—”
“It won't.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because the alternative is unhelpful.”
Another wave struck.
Amara braced herself against the wall.
For all her planning, there was nothing she could do against the ocean.
No argument could stop it.
No title mattered.
No clever escape plan could open the sea and create a road home.
For the first time since the kidnapping, she felt completely powerless.
The feeling terrified her.
Then footsteps came through the passage.
A key scraped against the lock.
The door opened.
Thomas stood there soaked from head to toe.
“Come out.”
Amara stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because water is coming into the lower passage.”
That was sufficient explanation.
He led them upward.
The deck was chaos.
Rain struck Amara's face so hard it hurt. Sailors fought with ropes while the ship climbed and fell through enormous waves. Lightning turned the night white for an instant.
Rourke shouted orders from near the wheel.
Briggs grabbed Amara's arm.
“Stay here!”
She pulled away. “I can stand without assistance.”
The deck tilted.
Amara immediately slid several feet and crashed into him.
Briggs caught her.
For one humiliating second she found herself holding tightly to the man she disliked most aboard the ship.
He looked down at her.
“I thought you could stand.”
Amara pushed away.
“I was testing you.”
Even Briggs laughed.
Then another wave hit.
This one swept across the deck.
Lela screamed as water knocked her down.
Amara saw her sliding toward the rail.
“LELA!”
She lunged forward and caught her cousin's wrist.
The force pulled Amara down too.
For a terrifying moment both women slid across the wet boards.
Thomas threw himself toward them and grabbed Amara around the waist.
Another sailor caught Lela.
Together they dragged both women away from the edge.
Amara lay on the deck, gasping.
Lela clung to her.
The laughter was gone.
Thomas shouted over the storm, “You have to stay tied to something!”
A rope was secured around them and fastened to a strong section of the deck.
Amara did not object.
That frightened her almost as much as the storm.
For hours, the ship fought the sea.
Amara and Lela remained near the center of the deck because the lower compartment had partially flooded.
The storm seemed endless.
At some point Briggs appeared with a blanket and dropped it over them.
Amara looked up.
“Is this kindness?”
“Don't become sentimental.”
“I would hate to damage your reputation.”
He walked away.
Lela leaned closer.
“I think he likes you.”
Amara stared at her cousin.
“If we survive this storm, I may throw you overboard myself.”
Lela laughed weakly.
The sound was absurd under the thunder.
It was also exactly what Amara needed.
Near dawn, the storm finally weakened.
The waves remained large, but the violence had passed.
The ship looked wounded.
One sail was torn. Several barrels had broken loose. Part of the railing had been damaged.
One sailor had a badly injured shoulder.
Another had blood running down his forehead.
Nobody had died.
Amara sat against the wall, exhausted and soaked.
Thomas passed carrying rope.
She stopped him.
“You saved us.”
He shrugged. “I did what anyone would do.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Not anyone.”
For the first time, Thomas smiled slightly.
Then he continued working.
Amara watched him go.
One more small door had opened.
The storm changed the mood aboard the ship.
Rourke became impatient.
Their route had been altered, and the damage would slow them.
Amara overheard two sailors discussing the rendezvous with the other vessel.
They might miss it.
That was good.
Anything that disrupted Rourke's plan was good.
Later that morning, she was brought to him.
He stood in his cabin examining a chart.
Amara immediately looked at it.
He folded it.
“Curious.”
“Always.”
“You nearly went overboard last night.”
“So I noticed.”
“Still not frightened?”
Amara considered lying.
Instead she said, “Terrified.”
Rourke seemed surprised.
“But you're still causing trouble.”
“Fear and obedience are different things.”
He studied her.
“You're an unusual merchant's daughter.”
“My father says the same.”
“There is something you're not telling me.”
“There are many things I'm not telling you.”
Rourke walked closer.
“Who is your father?”
“A businessman.”
“What business?”
“Many.”
“Name?”
Amara smiled.
“No.”
The single word hung between them.
Rourke's expression hardened.
Amara felt a strange satisfaction.
He had weapons, men, a ship, and control over the locked doors.
She had one word.
For now, it was enough.
He sent her away.
That evening, the ocean became almost peaceful.
Amara and Lela were allowed a few minutes on deck while repairs continued.
The sunset spread gold and red across the water.
For a moment, it was breathtakingly beautiful.
Amara hated it for being beautiful.
“How can something so terrible look like this?” Lela asked.
Amara understood exactly what she meant.
She leaned against the rail.
“Do you think they're looking for us?”
Lela asked the question quietly.
Amara did not hesitate.
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because my father is probably making life unbearable for every soldier, sailor, minister, ambassador, merchant, and ruler within a thousand miles.”
Lela smiled.
“And your mother?”
“Making Father's life unbearable.”
They both laughed.
Amara looked toward the horizon.
Somewhere beyond it was home.
She no longer knew how many miles separated them.
But distance was not the same as defeat.
The storm had taught her something.
The men who held her were not invincible.
Their ship could be damaged.
Their plans could fail.
Their crew could disagree.
And at least one sailor had already risked himself to save her.
She was still watching.
Still learning.
Still waiting.
Sooner or later, there would be an opportunity.
When it came, Amara would not waste it.