Chapter 17

The sound of low, rolling thunder pulls me awake. The boat rocks on the ocean, Acker asleep next to me. I check his breathing with a palm on his chest and am relieved to see more color in his cheeks.

I climb out from under the sail and spot black clouds hovering in the distance. The weathervane atop the mast stutters, but the wind is steady. It's far enough away to not be a threat. It's difficult to figure out how far we've drifted off course with clouds blocking the stars in the darkening sky.

The boat is meant to be manned by two, but it's possible with one if they're experienced enough. Given the lessons we had as guards at thirteen, I'm not an expert, but I've helped and watched Messer and Kai fish plenty to get by.

I ransack the fishing supplies. There are poles and lines and a variety of tackles for attracting different kinds of fish, bobbers and hooks and weights, but we're really in need of a system to catch drinking water.

Finding what I'm after, I use my blade to cut an individual fiber from the fishing net and unbraid it from the woven pattern. Once I get a long, single strand, I tie it around the mast and stretch it to one of the livewells in the hull. Rain will hit the mast, then the line, and follow it down into the well—a basin for drinking water .

Lightning cracks overhead and it must wake Acker up, because a loud thump sounds, followed by a colorful array of curse words.

I pull back the makeshift shade cover. "Good morning, sunshine."

He leans on an elbow, squinting up at me before taking in the sky and the sea around us. "How long have I been out?"

I shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine. I woke up not long ago."

"You've been busy," he says, noticing the supplies I've dragged out.

I step down from the side of the hull and kneel beside him. "How do you feel?"

Without me having to ask, he lifts his stained shirt to reveal his dressing. I prod it a little, satisfied by how well it slowed the blood flow. Thunder claps on the horizon.

"How worried should we be about that," he says, eyes on the monstrosity of a storm miles away. "Not very," I tell him, pulling his shirt back down. "But we should use the outer winds to our advantage. We've been drifting for a while." A very long while.

He sits up before wobbling into a stance. "Tell me what to do." He's either masking it very well, or the salve is working miracles, because there's not a trace of pain on his face. I'm suspicious, but I can't put the mast back up without his help.

Working together, we roll the sail back into position. I demonstrate how to tie it back to the bow, then to the mast, knowing we'll be repeating this job often. With a lot of tugging and pulling and cursing on both of our parts, we're able to get the jib in place, then I climb the mast to hoist the canvas into place. The weathervane begins to spin as the storm shifts positions.

"That's good," I tell Acker, handing him the halyard for the main sail. "Pull this while I steer."

Sitting with my back to the stern, I keep a hand on the tiller as Acker heaves the rope, pulling the mainsail up with each downward motion. Then we're moving, cutting through the water as the sail balloons.

I point to the standing end, a handle on the deck. "Tie the rope there."

He repeats the knot I taught him, and I smile, impressed by how quick he's picked up on it.

"Get down. I'm going to swing the boom."

Acker sits on the opposite side of the cockpit, facing me, legs wedged against mine.

I shift the rudder, and the boom swings to the side, sending the boat into a heel. Water kisses the top of the side of the boat as we turn. I keep my eye on the compass and the sails, finding the perfect combination of wind and direction. With the bow turned northeast, the boat loses some of its pitch, and we're cruising at a decent speed.

I did it.

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to bask in the wind. I'm doing it. I'm going to get to put my feet on solid ground. At least, if we make it. There've been deserters before, and there's no telling if they ever saw land. Kenta is a long way to travel in a small fishing boat, but it's the best we have.

When I open my eyes, Acker is staring at me.

"What?" The word escapes my mouth like a barb more than a question.

A small smile flares across his face, gone as quick as it appeared. "I'm impressed. That's all. "

I'm ashamed of the blush trying to flood my cheeks. The solitude of the boat and the vast sea make it all the more difficult to withstand the intensity of his attention. "So easily fooled, are you?"

He scrunches his nose, playfulness in his expression. "I heard the guards talking about Kai's match being surprisingly good with a sword."

I cringe. "Don't be so sure about that. I'm nothing compared to you."

"Is that a compliment?"

"No."

He laughs.

After a moment, I say, "If you could fight like that all along, why didn't you just…escape?"

He shifts his head from side to side. "I could have, but I needed to get an idea of how ingratiated you were, how deep Kai's hold went. And I needed you to trust me."

It's presumptuous of him to assume I trust him now, but he's got a fair point. I got in this boat with him despite watching him take down four grown men by himself. I'm either stupid or desperate. Maybe a little of both.

"You fight like you've been to battle."

My assertion causes a shift in his demeanor. It's slight, almost unnoticeable, but definitely there just behind the eyes. "I joined the army when I turned thirteen, and I saw battle that very same year."

The image of a young, wiry boy with dark hair fighting against grown men makes my stomach turn. Only desperation teaches soldiers how to kill with that type of savagery. There was no hesitation when he killed the Alaha guards, and there was no humanity in his eyes when he was about to kill Kai .

"Why? Were they so desperate for warm bodies that they'd sacrifice their youngest?"

He doesn't react to my blatant distaste for sending children to war. "The Kenta you saw at the Market weren't an honest portrayal of how our people have fared. We've been in and out of conflict with a neighboring territory for decades. It's not uncommon for kids to join the service young, to begin training in adolescence. My friend joined, so I went as well."

I struggle to contain my disdain. "According to your logic, all war and conflict should have ended when you exiled Wren."

A flicker of anger surfaces in his eyes. "It did. For a hundred years, we lived in peace. It wasn't until your abduction that it fell apart."

My voice is laced with sarcasm when I reply. "Oh, well, in that case, my apologies for getting myself kidnapped."

"Are you always this difficult?" he asks.

"Only when I abandon everything and everyone I know to venture to a new land that is riddled with conflict and I'm stuck on a boat with you, it seems."

There's a tick in his jaw as he looks out over the water, gaze pensive. "Osiris, the leader of Roison, admitted to taking you, and your mother killed him."

But, as we now both know, he did not.

"I haven't figured out why he would have confessed to something he didn't do," he says, "knowing the outcome would mean his death. When his brother, Chryse, seized the throne, he reignited the call for a revolution, having been a sympathizer of Wren's from the war."

There's a period of time where there's nothing but the sound of the waves beneath the boat and the catch of the sails between us. We spend the majority of the day in our own thoughts, in our own tiny space on our respective sides of the hull.

When a rogue wave causes the boat to dip, he winces in pain. I tie off the tiller so the rudder remains in position and gather the bandage supplies, folding myself into the space next to him. He lifts his shirt without question. His side is coated in sticky blood, a mixture between old and new.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I attempt to pull away the gauze, and he sucks air in through his teeth.

"Oh, I have no idea," he says, voice laced with pain and sarcasm.

I smile. I can't help it.

I reach for my blade, and he goes still as I maneuver the tip underneath the bandage, pulling with a swift motion to cut the fabric away from his body. Fresh blood drips from the wound.

"It needs sutures."

He nods, like he already suspected as much.

I retrieve what I'll need from the fishing supplies: a line and a hook, more salve. I begin to shut the hatch when a dark bottle rolls out from under the hull, knocking against the wood. Smiling, I hold it in the air as I look at him. "Look what I found."

He holds out his hand for me to give it to him. He uncorks it and brings it to his nose, making a face of abject horror. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Mead is considered to be contraband in Alaha, so there's no telling how long it's been hidden in there."

He takes one last sniff before taking a swig, face contorting as he swallows. Then he lifts the shirt clean from his body and pours the liquid right over his stab wound. He groans through his teeth, veins popping out of his neck and chest as he waits for the burning to pass, releasing a sharp breath when it does.

He lies flat on his back, looking up at me as I cut the excess line off the hook with my blade. "Do your worst."

My eyes pause on a scar in the shape of a V below his ribcage. I focus my attention to the wound and bring the hook down to the top of the gash. "I'll see what I can manage."

He huffs out a small laugh, but it's cut short when the tip of the hook sinks into his flesh. His stomach goes taut as I press hard enough to get the hook back through the other side.

"One down."

He releases a breath and says, "Tell me about your childhood." I can feel more than see his eyes on me as I tie the line into a knot, readying another stitch.

"What do you want to know?"

"What was it like?"

Realizing he needs a distraction, I tell him. I describe living with the captain and Faline for the first few years. They treated me the same as Kai, the same schooling, the same chores. We spent summers swimming and fishing and playing hide and seek across the entire grove. Then I tell him about the trouble we got into, the stealing and pranks and overall havoc we caused as preteens to the point that we had to be separated.

I was given my own shiel, located at the top of the grove with the other parentless and unmatched individuals. It did a number on me at first. No one my age wanted to be seen hanging with the kid who lived on Urchin Row.

It was lonely, but I grew accustomed to the solitude. Once I was old enough to enter the bid to become a guard, it gave me a sense of purpose. I lived to train and formed friendships with Messer and Aurora. Or, looking back, I realize I became friends with Messer, and Aurora tolerated me. Which shouldn't be discounted, because Aurora tolerates no one.

Tying the last stitch, I look up at Acker. He inspects my work and must deem it satisfactory, because he sits up to give me better access to dress it. After I'm done, he places his hand over mine, stopping me from pulling away.

He doesn't remove his hand. "I spent years hoping you died that day. The alternative only left space for me to imagine the worst things happening to you. I'm glad you have good memories there, even if I wish they would have been at home instead." There seems to be more he wants to say, but he releases me.

"My childhood wasn't perfect, but I've known peace living in Alaha." It's more than he can say for himself. There's something that's been bothering me though. "Why did you make me put my hand on the stone wall?"

"I knew if Alaha kept you this entire time, you missed your awakening."

"What do you mean awakening ?"

"When someone comes into their magic. I knew the only way I could be sure it was you was to get you to touch the land."

"You knew it would hurt."

"Yes," he says, apologetic. "That's why I followed you. I told myself it wasn't possible. It would have been stupid of Wren to allow you back if he was the one who took you, but I couldn't convince myself to let you go without being sure. "

I realize my hand is still against his side when I feel the shift of his muscles under my palm. Self-conscious, I pull my hand back, and he follows the movement with his eyes, but he doesn't draw attention to it.

"Why does it hurt? The awakening…"

"It's like growing pains hurt during adolescence. You just weren't introduced to it over time, so you got the full dose at once."

"So this is it," I say, tossing the blade into my other hand. "The power to call a single blade."

"No." He smiles, shaking his head. "That's child's play. Your true powers won't be revealed until you finish the awakening."

My stomach falls. "You mean what I felt at the Market wasn't it?"

He shakes his head. "I've only heard stories of people who've experienced a late-in-life awakening, and from what I've been told, it's painful but over within a day or so."

I jab the knife into the hull of the boat. "Let me get this straight. You're leading me to land where I'm going to have to experience the worst pain I've ever felt for an undetermined amount of time?"

He makes a face. "More or less."

Clenching my teeth, I call the blade into my outstretched hand. It zips the short distance into my palm. "It better be a damn spectacular gift."

"I have a feeling it will be."

After checking to make sure we're still headed in the right direction, I return to the stern. It's quiet for a long time, hours it feels like, both of us lost to our thoughts and the pull of the sea.

Then a thought occurs to me. "So you're telling me if I whittle a spoon from the hearthstone," I say, eyes narrowed on him, "and I use said spoon to gouge a man's eyes out, I'll be able to call it back to me?"

He rolls his eyes, but a smile begins to form at the corners of his mouth. "I guess it depends on if you whittled it with the specific intent to gouge people's eyes out with it."

I'm contemplating what other weapons I could disguise as an everyday object when I feel Acker's eyes on me.

"For what it's worth," he says, face lined with regret, "I am sorry."

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. His apology isn't worth anything, but it's a nice sentiment anyway.

I shrug. "Me too."