جهان پشت سر 5

FIVE

Ashe

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

I should throw her in the river and be done with it. Leave her to splash around until her prince fishes her out. Get her away from my keel and my crew. And somehow I just can’t damn do it. Riette and Gill keep watching me like I’m insane. Big Ean has a stupid grin wider than he is. All three of them are probably thinking the same thing. That I’m smitten with the infernal Silver nuisance, and willing to risk all our lives to get her where she needs to go.

Just the accusation, even unspoken, makes me itch.

Easy job, easy river.

Well, this is a difficult fucking job on a suddenly difficult fucking river.

I decide to put as much distance between us as I can, leaving her to watch the stern while I patrol the bow. I point out rocks and errant obstacles on the current far more than I should, especially for Riette and Gill. They’re good enough to ignore my nerves, letting me nanny them through the next few bends.

The sun dips ahead of us, approaching the western horizon. The trees thicken on the Freeland bank, and the Lakeland fields, open and empty, stretch to the north. The current quickens beneath us. Every second feels stolen and each breath is a gasp.

We should be at the confluence by morning, and that’s where I’ll leave her for good. There’s no way I’m taking her to the Gates like this, not with a Lakelander prince lurking river knows where, hunting our ship. He could dry up the riverbed for all I know, leave us stranded in the mud to pick off as he likes. Silvers have done worse. I know it. I’ve seen it firsthand. We aren’t human to them. We’re just things to be used and discarded.

That’s how she sees us. That’s why she’s here, to use us to get downriver.

So why save the kid?

She jumped into the river knowing a nymph was waiting for her, ready to drown her or drag her away. All for some quiet Red kid she didn’t know from a stump. A Red servant’s son, nothing and no one. And a Silver princess jumped into that water to save him, knowing what it could do to her. Knowing the danger. I can’t shake it from my brain, what a risk she took, and for who.

I almost wish she hadn’t. Then I wouldn’t care what happens to her.

I shake my head. Ludicrous.

I’ll dump her at the confluence docks when the borders open up. I’ll give her a chance.

The chance she never gave us.

At the stern, she keeps her back to the keel, vigilant as a watchtower. If only I’d left her ratting on the Ohius docks, begging for passage with the rest. She’d be someone else’s problem instead of mine.

Or she’d be as good as dead, chained to a cruel man, with no life but a cage.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

When I was young, my mother read me stories from her old collection of books. Before he died, my father used to bring them to her when he got them on the river or by trading on the docks. Most were reprinted a dozen times over, handed down through generations, translated and copied. Stories of warriors, kings, impossible creatures, bravery, and adventure. Stories of Red men and women defeating impossible odds. I wish I’d never known those stories. They are for fools.

And I’m certainly acting like a fool now.

As a Riverman, I’ve always felt safest on the water, but for the first time in my life, that isn’t true. We don’t dare keep the lights running, and instead make do by the moon. Thank the river, it’s full tonight, bright enough to move by. I get Riette and Gill sleeping in shifts, one of them always ready should the current change. Big Ean sleeps in his scurry, ready to paddle off if we need to abandon the keel all together. I don’t plan to sleep at all, my mind abuzz with half-formed battle plans. The princess doesn’t sleep either.

Lyrisa said her Lakelander prince liked to hunt. I suppose he enjoys the sport of it, watching prey flee, terrified for its life. I wonder if he’s watching us now, in shadows and silhouettes across the water, moving without making a sound. I’ve passed Silver patrols this way before. I’m good at what I do. But those could always be paid off or tricked. Those weren’t noble Silvers, bred and trained to their abilities. Those weren’t Silvers with revenge in their blood, hungry for something far more valuable than grain or alcohol or illicit guns.

Once or twice, I think I hear a distant chorus of laughter beyond the bank. It could be the wind in the fields or the splash of a fish. Or nothing at all. Every noise sets me further on edge, pushing my nerves beyond reason. By midnight I feel like my teeth may shatter in my clenched jaw.

When the moon is high above us, Lyrisa abandons her post at the stern. Her steps are quiet and steady, but she doesn’t know which planks to avoid. Which ones creak and groan. I hear her move despite her best efforts, and so does the river.

Half asleep at his post, Gill shoots her a glare only I can see.

I move silently, joining her halfway down the deck. She leans over the rail, squinting into the darkness on the far bank. The moon glints off half-high cornfields, the perfect cover for anyone watching the river.

“You can sleep if you want,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. You should sleep. I’m abandoning you tomorrow. You need the rest. Guilt claws at my stomach.

Lyrisa shakes her head. “Absolutely not.” Then she sighs, resting her head on one hand. She stares into the dark without seeing. “He’s enjoying this. Orrian.” Like all Reds, I carry a bone-deep hatred for Silvers. But this one inspires another layer of disgust I’ve not felt long these days. “You’d think a Silver would have far better and more interesting things to do. There’s a war on, last I checked.” I expect her to smile. Instead she seems to shrink. I can almost forget her ability, looking at her now. How she could break me and this keel in half with a twist of her fingers.

“There’s war everywhere these days,” she says. “North, south, east.”

“Not west?” That’s hardly true. I say it just to speak, to give me a reason to keep my eyes open. Even we know of the raiders up and down the Prairie borders, Silver outcasts with no flag and no allegiance. The Prairie warlords are in constant flux. The Tiraxean triarchs are always chafing one another. Nowhere is quiet, not in the world ahead or the world behind.

“Not west,” Lyrisa murmurs. “Have you heard of Montfort here on the rivers?” Ah.

“The Free Republic.”

“That’s what they call it.” She hesitates, her whisper catching. “Do you think it’s true?” What I think to be true and know to be true are two very different things. And the many rumors of the Republic, even what the citizens of it themselves say, are varying stories, all at odds with one another. “I’ve heard as much. Reds, Silvers, whatever the others are. All together, equal.” I hesitate as I say it. Somehow, I don’t want to mislead her, or give her hope she shouldn’t have. “But I don’t believe everything I hear. I get it wrong half the time.” “Well, that’s where I’m going.” Her voice sharpens with resolve. “At least, that’s where I’m trying to go.” That explains the money, her coin counting. Saving payment for another long journey. “After the Gates.” “I planned to try and get passage up the Ark, but there’s too much traffic. Scarlet Guard, Prairie armies, raiders. And if the Silver alliance in the east decides to attack Montfort directly, that’s the route they’ll take.” Lyrisa traces each step on the wood grain of the rail, and I see it in my mind, familiar as my charts. “So I’ll hire a boat in Mizostium. Cross the Sea of Tirax. And find another boat to take me upriver, along the Rion Granda. Into the mountains. And freedom.” I puff out a breath. “That is a long way.” Obviously, idiot.

She doesn’t move. “It’s worth the cost.”

Money, she has to spare. But her life? I want to tell her what danger she’ll be in, and not just from a Lakelander prince. The triarchs, the raiders—and then when she reaches the Republic itself. Why would they take in a Silver princess?

“You’ve been planning this for a long time” is all I say instead, feeling like a coward.

She shrugs. The moonlight bounces off the water below, rippling on her face. The dark freckles across her cheeks stand out, highlight the upturned angle of her eyes. She seems made of stone, not flesh.

“Not really. I knew I wanted to run, but that was it. Until Montfort revealed themselves in their attack on Norta, I had no plan. I just knew I had to run.” Her face is still but her hands are nervous, fingers twitching over one another. “Now there’s an opportunity for something different.” “A land where you’re equal to any Red standing next to you.”

She turns to me sharply. Her gaze is electric, charged with something I don’t understand. “I heard the Disputed Lands were like that too.” “We call ourselves the Freelands. And I wish that were true. Just like in the Crownlands, a divide exists. We might not live at the mercy of Silvers here, but we certainly live apart, our worlds separate even on the river.” I suspect the Republic is secretly the same. Divided and weak. “I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever met a Silver willing to give up so much over a bad marriage.” Her eyes narrow to slits and I feel like I’ve misstepped. My skin crawls. Idiot.

“Red or Silver, men always have trouble comprehending the lives of women.” All I can do is bob my head, nodding. Anything else feels like another mistake. “My mother would agree with you,” I finally say, hoping to turn the conversation. I don’t want it to end. If nothing else, it’s helping pass the terror of this night. “She lives in Mizostium, near the East Gate.” Lyrisa knows what I’m doing but allows it anyway. She looks back to the river. “Is that a . . . good part of the city?” “Better than most.” It’s the truth. East Gate is comfortable, a strong community with deep roots. Red streets, Silver streets. Lovely gardens and fountains. I don’t know why, but I picture myself showing it to Lyrisa. If only from the deck of the keel. I shake off the thought as suddenly as it comes. I’m leaving her behind as soon as I can. “The city governs itself, and some parts are truly without law.” “The Freelands certainly live up to their name,” she offers, sounding diplomatic. More like a Silver than before. It’s a stark reminder of who she is and who I am. The very clear divide between us, in more ways than one. “I’m excited to see more.” “And you will,” I answer quickly, without thinking.

Her lips twitch, curling into a bitter smile. “It’s good at least one of us believes that.” “Lyrisa—”

She waves me off easily. This time, it doesn’t feel so dismissive. “If it comes to it, if Orrian gets the upper hand, if whatever happens tips past what you and the crew can scratch your way out of . . .” She falters, searching for the words. “Let me know. And I’ll end this.” Under the moon, I realize we look the same. Her blood and mine could be the same color. I watch her as she stares, waiting for me to give her my permission. To surrender, and be taken away. I should do it. For Riette’s life, Gill’s, Big Ean’s, and mine.

“Nah,” I drawl, turning back to the river with a shrug.

Her eyes widen in a flash, pupils blown in the dim light. Her nostrils flare in frustration. “I beg your pardon?” she says, almost too loud.

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.