Water & Storm Country

When he looks back at me, I flinch, becausethe shame and guilt I was so sure was plastered on his face wasn’treal, and the whole time he’s been smiling, gri

“Swimming?” I say, unable to hide myastonishment at his suggestion.

“Why not?”

“It’s cold.”

“Not that cold.”

“There are monsters in the water.”

“Not this shallow.”

“It’s wet,” I say, wishing I could think of abetter excuse.

“The water’s wet? Now that’s a strange idea,”he says, mocking me with both his words and expression.

“It’s getting dark,” I say, but it’s reallynot, despite the best efforts of the pregnant clouds.

“We’re going swimming,” he says, and thistime it’s a statement and I get the feeling that he’ll try to carryme in if I don’t agree. I’d like to see him try, Ithink.

“I won’t force you,” he says, as if readingmy mind. “But I’ll never forget how you were scared of a littlewater.”

And with that, he’s gone, whooping as hesprints for the ocean, ru

A moment later his head pops up. He deliversa smile that would rival the bottom quarter of a crescent moon. Hegestures for me to join him.

I stand, suddenly feeling tingly in a waythat both angers and delights me. Surely I can’t follow a naked boyinto the ocean. Can I?

But my mother’s not around and my father’slost inside himself and I’m feeling reckless, not in search ofself-destruction but for a way to keep my mind off of the missionto ice country, and, well, this is as good a way as any.

I walk toward the water.

Remy’s smile grows bigger as he splashes inmy direction.

I step into the water, feeling an instantbuzz through my body as the coolness fills me from the bottomup.

“Your clothes are going to get all wet,” Remysays, a gleam in his eye.

“Keep dreaming,” I say, taking anotherstep.

“I’ll turn around,” he says, demonstrating bywhirling away from me. “And I won’t peek.”

Surely I can’t. Surely.

My mother’s face burns through my mind and Iclamp my eyes shut against it but still it remains, flames lickingat her hair and her eyes and her lips, and I can’t make it goaway.

I can’t.

Unless…

It’s crazy, but—

I pull off my shirt, holding it across mybreasts, watching Remy for any sign that he might turn his head.The wind licks at my skin and instead of cold, it’s warm, andexhilaration swarms through my head and chest. My mother’s face isgone, I realize.

Remy stays facing away and I toss my shirtaside, well out of reach of the rising waters. My pants are nextand I discard them quickly, pushing forward into the water andslipping below before even the circling gulls can see me.

The ocean washes away all my fears.

“Are you in?” Remy says when I surface.

“Yes,” I say. “Thank you for notlooking.”

Remy turns, his short, black hair shiny andspeckled with water droplets. “That’s two thank yous in oneday,” he says. “I must be growing on you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I say, splashing him,feeling foolish even as I do it. And yet, even as a fool I feelbetter now than I did sitting alone on the beach with my darkthoughts.

I can tell he’s about to splash me back, andI’m already turning my head and closing my eyes—

—and then I hear it. A shout. A cry. Firstone, then two, then a chorus.

I don’t know if Remy splashes me or not,because I’m already facing the shore, searching for…

The Riders.

Black and shadowy and riding like the windacross the plains, and there’s something wrong, because…

There are so few of them.

Chapter Fifteen

Huck

I’m tired of dreams,because most of the time they turn into nightmares—nightmares frommy past.

For once I wake up and I’m not in a coldsweat, not holding my breath in terror, not clutching at my pillowlike it’s a lifeline. Sadly, I’m smiling, because my dream was notof my mother falling from the ship, but of her holding me, watchingthe sunset like we pla

And the boat lurches—

And I know it’s time for her to go, for me tofail, for the blood in the water, for my father’s dark andunforgiving stare—

But my mother just stumbles against the railand holds on and laughs.

So I wake up smiling, sad that this beautifuldream is the biggest lie of all, further from reality than blue skyor peace between the Stormers and Soakers.

A beautiful lie.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” a voice says,startling me. Barney. Watching me sleep, or awake, or both.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, squinting,rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with a fist. When I can see again,the yellow of Barney’s smile is like a lantern in thesemi-darkness. If anything, his brown beard and hair are moreunkempt than the last time I saw him.

“I’m your steward, sir. It’s my job to staywith you. And since Lieutenant Hobbs has dismissed me from hisservice, I guess my every waking moment will be spent catering toyour every need. Sir.”

I sit up, rest my back against the wall. “Whywould Hobbs dismiss you?” I ask.

There’s a twinkle in Barney’s eyes that’ssomewhat disconcerting. “Since your father ordered Cain and Hobbsto conduct the investigation into your attack, Hobbs doesn’t wantany distractions. And apparently I’m a distraction.” There’s noanger or frustration in Barney’s voice, despite him being releasedfrom Hobbs’ service. If anything, I sense humor, like it’s all abig joke.

With his words, everything comes screamingback. Getting knocked out by the girl, how neither Barney nor Cainsaw what happened, how Cain and Hobbs volunteered to investigate.The brown-ski

Which is probably what she deserves,right?

Then why does the thought send shivers up myspine and acid roiling through my stomach?

“I’d like you to monitor the investigation,”I say softly. “Inform me if they find anything.”

Barney nods thoughtfully. “I thought youmight show some interest in the apprehension of your attacker,”Barney says, winking. “The first day yielded no promising leads,sir. Perhaps tomorrow will be more fruitful.” There’s something inhis tone that tells me he doesn’t think so.

Wait. A day? “How long have I beenasleep?” I ask.

Barney chuckles and the hairs around hismouth dance and bob. “If you count the time when you werepretending to be asleep while your father questioned us…”—he laughseven harder when he sees the frown that creases my lips—“…you’vebeen out for near on a few days. Sir.”

That long? I absently lift a hand to myforehead and feel a bulge. The wooden handle on the brush packedquite a wallop. And the bilge rat’s aim was near-on perfect. Whyshouldn’t I turn her in?

“Did you want this, sir?” Barney says,reaching out to hand me an object, flat and hard on one side andrough and bristled on the other. A brush. No. The brush. Thevery one that hit me, obvious only from the specks of dried bloodon the handle. My blood. Evidence.

Barney lied to my father. He lied to theadmiral. Right to his face, knowing full well I was awake andlistening.

“Why did you—” I start to say.

“It wasn’t my choice to make,” Barney says,still holding the brush in the palm of his hand.