Winking, I push off the rail. “Something Reds share no matter what—we live to piss you people off. And I’m not giving some drunk prince the satisfaction. He’s got enough in this world.” Before I can stop myself, my hand grazes her arm. It sends an electric shock trailing from my fingers all the way down my spine. “He doesn’t get you.”
I leave her sputtering behind me, all my focus on keeping my back straight and my steps quiet. My cheeks flare with heat. I’m glad for the darkness as I pass Gill.
Ashe, why are you like this?
“Smitten,” I think he hisses under his breath.
If not for the Lakelander prince pursuing us, I would push him into the river.
Instead I gesture for him to lean close.
And I whisper the plan formulating in my head.
SIX
Ashe
Sometimes I wonder if the differences are more than I realize between Silver and Red. I’ve never known a Silver, or cared to know one before. There is the blood, of course: the color and what it gives. Abilities I cannot understand or comprehend. Great speed, control over water or fire or metal, animals, weather, or superior strength like Lyrisa’s. But beyond that, is there more? Are they born different from us, more rigid and cruel and violent, or do they become that way? I used to think the former. Now I’m not so sure.
I’ve spent many a sleepless night on the river. I’m used to the exhaustion. Either Lyrisa is too, or she’s talented at hiding weakness. I guess both.
The sun rises on familiar banks and growing signs of civilization along the widening river. The confluence is a major point of crossing, and docks start to peek out among the roots and rushes of the Freeland banks. To the north, the Lakelands are still mostly fields, though the road is coming. It winds down from Sanctum farther north, to dead-end at the point where the Ohius and the Great River meet. Here Lakelanders can enter the Freelands if they so dare.
I wonder where the prince and his cackling hunters might be. Are they watching us now? Are they close? I hope you’re enjoying this, jackass.
Other boats, big and small, joined us as the night lifted, giving way to dawn. Some are barely more than rafts poled by children, a pastime I knew well once. They swarm near the keels, hoping for castoffs. I toss a few apples, the familiar ritual bringing comfort.
In his scurry, Big Ean waves to a few, calling them over. He’s doing as we planned, passing on news of a Lakelander prince nearby, a fine prize for any who might think to rob or ransom him. The wet and tanned kids spread the word eagerly, paddling back to their docks or farther into the boat traffic.
Lyrisa isn’t a pale, porcelain-skinned Silver, the kind who might be spotted from yards away. Her skin is darker, like cold copper, but she still takes precautions. I don’t know where she found a hat, but she tucks her hair up and away. Despite the ill-fitting uniform, she could pass for keel crew and not a princess. As she finishes the transformation, I nod at her, and even Riette offers a bob of approval.
The sun is hot already and I can feel the humid press of the day. I can only imagine what a long summer we’re in for.
I shade my eyes and look for the telltale sign of the confluence—a strip of brown water against the horizon, the muddy churn of the Great River meeting the gray blue of the Ohius. While my normal route would take me farther out into the middle of the river, where the current is strong and fast, I keep the keel as close as I can to the Freeland banks. It slows us down but keeps us at least half a mile from the Lakelands, and out of the kind of deep water a nymph could turn against me. Should the worst happen, at least we have a chance of making it to shore.
There’s a bustling market town just south of where the rivers join, part of it built out over the water. If I can get us there before Orrian strikes again, put in at the docks . . . Will I leave her? It seemed like an easy decision last night.
I clench my teeth. I’ll cross that bridge if it comes. For now I focus on the water right in front of us, and what to do if Orrian appears before we reach the market. The crew is in on the plan, with everything in place. Lyrisa too, though she only knows a piece.
The pistol never leaves my side, and we’re careful to place our rifles at the rails, hidden just out of sight. For once, I wish I were gunrunning too, with a vast store of ammunition at our disposal. As is, our supplies are terribly finite.
The confluence gets closer by the second, and my heart races with the current driving us forward. It takes all my restraint not to maneuver farther out into the river, away from the bank traffic, where I can open up the motor and fly. I don’t know how much more of this my nerves can take. An hour? A minute? It’s excruciating.
I nearly jump out of my skin when a fellow keel captain shouts hello, his own boat turning out into the river.
Lyrisa abandons her post at the stern to stand next to me again, this time the rifle tucked close under an arm. Her eyes dart along the bank, taking in the docks and the meager settlements set away from the water. I doubt she’s seen anything like it.
“You remember the plan?” I ask.
Her nod is curt, focused. And almost insulted. “Of course.”
“We’re putting word out about Orrian, and I told Hallow to do the same ahead of us.” The river rushes on, quicker by the second. “News travels fast in places like this.”
It comforts her, if only a little. “Good. Let’s hope we’re lucky.”
“I’m not a fan of either.”
“Hope and luck?” She grins a true smile. “Me neither.”
I think it’s her smile that sets him off.
The river explodes around us with a roar like a thunderclap, sending walls of water ripping up into the clear blue sky, caging us in for a split second of terror. It’s as if a giant hand has slapped the surface of the river, disturbing the current all around us. The water falls as quickly as it rose, smashing down in a scream that drenches us to the bone. Gill’s pole snaps in his hand and Riette throws hers to the deck, replacing it with her rifle. Big Ean already has his sights trained on the Lakelander banks, so far to the north. Too far for any gun we possess.
Lyrisa knows better.
“In the Freelands!” she shouts, pointing to the bank, so close I could almost reach out and touch it.
I whirl and my body goes cold.
I count eight of them, seven Silver nobles ringing the unmistakable Lakelander prince standing in the shallows. One of the Silvers—a woman—has dogs, two drooling hounds, their noses pointed at the boat and Lyrisa.
Orrian Cygnet is skeleton thin and pole tall, limbed like a nightmare. His skin is pale and sallow, his dark hair wet and slicked back against his skull in a tight braid that pulls at his face. I can’t see the color of his eyes but I can see his smile, wicked and sharp. His clothing is dark blue, a river color. I’ve never feared the color blue before, I think wildly.
He’s armed with a gun and a sword, just like his companions, though his greatest weapon is all around us.
“Come now, Lyrisa, you’ve had your fun,” he crows, his attention only on the princess.
She doesn’t condescend to answer, keeping her head high. Even as the keel halts on the current, impossibly still on a moving river.
Around us, the boats and rafts scuttle like insects, pushed away by the ripples of Orrian’s power. White-faced and slack-jawed Rivermen watch in terror or turn their crafts to flee, all of them knowing the telltale signs of a nymph with a temper. On the shore, the few Freelanders traveling on foot slink into the trees, disappearing.