I laid the mat of magic on the side of the Royalist ship, holding it firm against the resistant wood. Not below the surface—I wanted any shots to wreak havoc on the decks and, I admitted, wound sailors and marines, not sink the ship with shots below the waterline. The ship had a sea osprey carved into her bow—I wondered, briefly, if that was her name. The Nightingale against a fearsome raptor—I didn’t like those odds. I would have to weigh them in our favor. I pressed the magic against the sea-hardened oak of the ship’s hull. The oak fought back like a living thing, stubborn and strong.
Even when I had time at my disposal instead of the life and death unfolding before me, working curses into wood was difficult. I pressed on the upper part of the hull again, feeling its strength rebelling against me, and revised my tactic. I sensed, beneath the magic, the grain of the wood, straight and true but stable. I didn’t understand wood as I did fabric; that was my trouble. But as I felt it, sensed it, I discovered something—that though it lacked the openness of fabric’s weave, it had a set pattern within the grain. It wasn’t as easy as burrowing a charm into sailcloth, but sliding the curse into the grain of the wood worked better than pressing it.
I slid lines of dark curse into the grain of the hull, haphazard and resolutely unscientific. As I pulled back and looked at my work, it looked very much like the time Kristos had spilled ink on our kitchen table, the black winnowing its way into each point of weakness in the grain, spreading in unpredictable veins. Now all I could do was hope that the curse magic in the hull would draw the shot as deftly as the rigging had.
Almost without warning, we turned like a dancer in a reel and loosed a broadside on our foe. Annette had them aiming high, as I had assumed, for damage and death, not for breaching the hull and sinking her. The shots raked across the deck, and I turned away as I saw the wreckage wrought in an instant, a tangle of shattered wood and foot-long splinters and flesh and blood.
Within moments, it seemed, Annette was ordering the boarding party to ready, and the other two ships in our pod flanked the Royalist vessel. She had pennants of surrender out before the boarding party could even assemble on her decks, and I thought I saw a bit of disappointment in the faces of some of our newest marine recruits, though the older men were visibly relieved.
One older tar leaned against my platform as the negotiations began between Annette and the dour Royalist captain. “The Sea Hawk,” he said, jabbing his thumb toward the name, painted in swirling scarlet on the captain’s personal banner. “And to think I’ve sailed on a Lioness and a Spearhead but beat a Sea Hawk with a Nightingale.” He grinned, showing me a few missing teeth.
I smiled back. “You don’t mind that you didn’t get to see much action?”
“A battle won without sweat or blood is still a battle won.” He shrugged. “Just saves the blood for another time, eh?” He squinted. “You have something to do with that?”
“Maybe,” I hedged.
He grunted and turned his attention back toward the ships’ captains. The crux of the negotiation came down to whether the sailors and officers of the Sea Hawk would be free to go or be taken prisoner. Annette forged ahead with terms taking all of them prisoner, but I knew she would retreat to only holding the Royalist officers.
With the captain and his lieutenants secured in our brig, and the Sea Hawk outfitted with a complement of our own sailors and marines to ensure the loyalty of its temporary crew, we continued our patrol up the coast.
31
THE SEA HAWK YIELDED CRATES OF POWDER, BOTH MUSKET AND cannon shot, and an impressive stockpile of hard biscuit and dried beef, as well as a fine complement of Equatorial rums and the captain’s private stash of Galatine vintages. After that, however, we didn’t have any more luck intercepting other Royalist vessels before it was time to return to shore and meet with the northbound army.
“Still a successful foray,” Annette said as we watched the sun set over the hazy shore of Galitha’s coastline. “And who knows—the other porpoises might have caught even more fish.”
“What next, then?” I wondered out loud.
“I’ve got the coordinates of where Sianh expects us to meet up with them.”
“Yes, I figured that,” I said. “What about you?”
“Shore up and prepare for the naval side of the Battle of Galitha City,” Annette said. “I’m hopeful we won’t have long to wait.” She shifted her weight and spread the tails of her pale blue coat behind her. It was nearly the same color as the court gown my shop had made her for the Midwinter Ball nearly a year ago. It suited her better than the structured gown, though I did, privately, think that it could use a bit of the same silver trim.
“Once we’ve won the Battle of Galitha City?” I asked, tentatively adding, “Will you be going back to Port Triumph?”
Annette’s confidence faltered. “I don’t know. When we bought the villa, we never expected that West Serafe would ally with the Royalists—we didn’t even think there was going to be a war like this at all.” She sighed, her delicate shoulders ratcheting toward her ears. “So it may well be that we won’t be able to return at all. Especially not after this.”
“And Viola?”
“Is understandably upset about that.” Annette’s smile was lopsided. “Galatine Divine, but I miss her. She would hate this,” she added with a laugh.
“Which part?”
“The sailing, that’s never been her favorite. All this lovely sun and salt spray would ruin her paints.” Annette smiled ruefully. “And she certainly didn’t want a war, and wouldn’t want to be in the midst of one.”
“Do any of us?”
“Well, of course not, but some of us seem to have taken to it better than others.” She raised an eyebrow. “Your skills have certainly developed.”
“What was it that Theodor said about desert plants and Taiga lichens—botanists think that they developed certain traits in response to environmental pressure.” I drummed my fingers on the deck.
“Your Kvys friend would say they were perfectly created for the environment in which they grow,” Annette said. “And I don’t know which of those is true of you, but you fit here. Strangely and impossibly, but you’re very badly needed.”
“I hope it’s enough. Can something be inadequate and too much, all at once?” I sighed. “I’m afraid, Annette. I can’t take back what I’ve done, what everyone will know is possible.”
“None of us can go back,” Annette replied. “I can’t go back to being Former Princess Annette, most desirable spinster in Galitha, not after commanding a ship and wearing breeches and causing all sorts of scandal. Galatine Divine, I can’t go back to my family—wherever they are.” She exhaled thinly through her nose, and I saw the pain that estrangement and uncertainty leveled at her.
“But you don’t want to go back to being Former Princess Annette.” I pressed my lips together. “For everything, I’m not sure who I’m going forward into being.” I shook my head, trying to clear the intrusion of memories, of golden afternoons in the public gardens with Theodor and chilly mornings lighting the stove in my shop, of picnics at horse races with my brother and long talks over strong coffee with my Pellian friends. I couldn’t go back, and the memories themselves began to feel like places on a map that were impossible to reach. Annette reached for my hand, and let me sit in the silence that I needed.