Water & Storm Country

Together, we trot over to Siena and I offerher a hand, pulling her up behind me. Clutching her bow with onehand, she clamps her other arm around my stomach, squeezingtightly, like Passion might toss her off at any moment. But Passionremains calm, occasionally stamping her feet in impatience. She’sready to run. Like me, ready for her first battle.

“Are you ready?” I ask Siena. Gard pulls Feveonto his steed, while two other Riders take Buff and Dazz.

“I don’t know,” she says, and I appreciateher honesty.

I nod, look back.

“Fightin’ don’t come naturally to me like itdoes Skye,” she says.

Although she might believe it to be thetruth, I don’t.

A Rider trots past us with Circ hanging ontoher like he’s in the middle of a fierce storm and she’s a tree.Behind me, Siena laughs. “It’s nice to see him doing something heain’t good at. I never thought I’d see the day.”

For some reason, her light comment slows myracing heart and evens out my breathing. Remy and his horse sidleup alongside us, Skye sitting behind him. She’s not hanging on,just cracking her knuckles and laughing. Remy appears ratheruncomfortable with the whole arrangement. “Back home they’d thinkwe were wooloo,” Skye says. “It’s like sittin’ on a sand dune thatkeeps shiftin’ and bouncin’ between my legs.”

“Only you could make riding a horse soundso…interesting,” Dazz says nearby. Somehow he’s managed to twisthimself around, facing the wrong way. The Rider who received theunfortunate assignment of riding with him is struggling to get himturned back to the front.

Maybe bringing them along wasn’t such a greatidea after all. But then I see Feve’s dark expression, full ofintensity and focus, and I know we’d be fools not to accept theirhelp.

My attention turns back to Remy when he kicksmy leg. “Be safe,” he says, before urging his horse forward.

Siena whispers in my ear. “I see.”

When Gard digs his heels into Thunder,starting him into a gallop, Passion springs forward automatically,not requiring any urging from me. On either side, the Stormerscheer us on, waving black squares of cloth.

Today every single Rider will ride.

Today we stop waiting for the Soakers to cometo us.

Today we go to war.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Huck

She didn’t. Shecouldn’t. Why would she leave me?

I don’t want to believe my father, but I haveto, because I remember now. I remember everything. Whatever wallI’d constructed in my mind has been knocked down; not pulled apartbrick by brick, but destroyed in one powerful moment, like athunderous wave leveled it.

The fights, her screams as he abused her, thedays and days and days of silence that followed, as if by notspeaking of the past we could wipe it clean.

My mother: changing. She became less and lesswilling to do my father’s bidding, almost relishing the beatingslike a badge of honor, as if her version of the medallions on myfather’s uniform were bruises and scratches and scars.

That night. She didn’t ask me to meet her atthe railing to watch the sunset…no. That’s what I wanted tobelieve, because that’s what we always did. The sunsets were theone time my mother looked happy, her sad eyes sparkling with hope,as if the red sun could reach out over the Deep Blue and take holdof her, carrying her away to a better place, to a better man. Maybeit could. Maybe it did.

Her last words to me were, “Huck, Mama needsto watch this sunset on her own. Just tonight. Just this one night.It’s for the best—for both of us. I love you, my son.”

But I couldn’t stay away, perhaps becausedeep down in my child’s heart I knew.

I knew, and I tried to save her.

Like she tried to save me from seeing it.

Suddenly it all makes sense. Why my fatherwould seek a bride for me from abroad. Someone obedient. Someonemoldable. Someone as unlike my mother as possible. He never wanteda wife—only a slave, another bilge rat to do his every bidding.

I’m proud to say my mother was no one’sslave. My mother loved me.

Tears spill down my cheeks as I watch thesunrise. I reach a trembling hand out and catch a ray of warmth onmy palm, and I can’t help but to smile through the tears. Because Ifeel her, my mother’s touch, her hand on mine, carried by thesunshine. She found that place after all.

“I love you, Mother,” I say, standing.

Then I turn to deliver the beating of Jade’slife.

~~~

Jade doesn’t meet my gaze as I approach,pushing through the crowd that has already gathered to watch. Iwant to punch them, to kick them, to shout at their carnal need towitness the punishment I’m being forced to deliver. I know shedoesn’t look at me for both our sakes.

If my father hadn’t appeared last night,would I really have set her free? Would we have stolen a landingboat, slipped away into the night? My heart skips and stutters, outof rhythm, because I realize the answer:

Yes.

Even before my father shucked off his coat oflies and showed me his true colors, I would have left. Therealization bends me at the waist, like I’ve been punched in thegut. I don’t need him to be proud of me anymore. I don’t needhim.

Does that mean I’m really a man now?

Do men whip the ones they care the mostabout? If my father is any example, then yes, but he’s the lastperson I want to emulate.

He waits for me beside Jade, cat o’ ninetails in hand—a long leather whip that splits into nine thi

Can I do this?

Do I have a choice?

As my father hands me the whip his eyes boreinto mine, and I consider turning it on him, cracking, cracking,cracking it against his face until the casual smile he’s wearing isred with blood. His guards, three burly men with broken-nose faces,will be on me before I can snap the whip even once.

If I refuse to do this, what then?

My father leans in, whispers in my ear. “I’llkill her if you don’t do this.”

With one hand gripping the whip, I reach myother hand to my neck, which is still tender. I picture my father’shands surrounding Jade’s neck, choking the life out of her and thentossing her overboard like a bucket of fish bones. He’s notbluffing. He doesn’t bluff.

I have no choice.

The crowd jeers and taunts and stomps theirfeet. There’s not much entertainment on the ships and this is asgood as it gets.

Although I’m gripping the whip so tightly myknuckles are splotched with red and white, I can’t feel it, like myfingers have gone numb. I take a deep breath.

One of my father’s guards spins Jade around,pulls the ropes attached to her hands tight around the wooden poleso she won’t be able to turn away to soften the blows. Her backfaces me.

Sweat trickles down my spine.

I’ll kill her if you don’t do this.

Is beating her to save her life something tobe proud of?

My father speaks, his voice instantlysilencing the crew. There’s no doubt who’s in charge here. “Forunlawful entry into the bird’s nest by a bilge rat and endangeringmy son’s life, this rat—”

“Jade,” I mutter under my breath.

“Excuse me?” he says.

I go to look at him, to repeat her name, butmy gaze stops on Cain, who’s just behind the admiral. No, hemouths, shaking his head.

He’s right. Though I’m trembling with angerand fear and disbelief at what my life has come to, now is not thetime for boldness. Boldness could end the life of the girl standingbefore me. And that can’t happen, not when I’ve begun to feel somuch…so much what? What is it really? Caring? Concern? Righteousanger at her plight and the plight of her people? Somethingmore?