Erin Hoffman - Sword of Fire and Sea

In her exhaustion-not, Vidarian would not allow himself to think, defeat-her usually precise diction faded into the snarled ship-speak of her humbler youth: “Belay that, Cap'n. The time it could've availed me's long past, so it's naught but empty words.”

He knelt, heedless of protocol. “If it is in my power to correct this, after we've returned, you know that I will.” He searched her posture for hope, for the spirit that had driven her these many years. For forgiveness.

She would not look at him, and he had known her too long to think it was out of fear. “You did your duty, Captain. I'll do mine. ‘Twas my choice setting foot on this ship, knowing what I did.”

He moved to try again, mustering a stern argument about acts of heroism and the Naval College, but at that moment Lifan appeared in the doorway. “Sir? The midshipman. He's regained consciousness.”

Vidarian looked from his first mate to the windreader. Lifan, hidden away from the fighting, nonetheless was now seeing its aftermath. Though she bore up bravely, she was shaken as any child would be. He stood, thanked her, ruffled her hair affectionately (and took some small relief in the relaxing of her taut shoulders after; the reassured smile-at least he could do that much), and headed for the quarterdeck.

The ship's carpenter had been supplied and dispatched to take care of what mast damage he could with tar and rope, and what crew not assigned to assisting him or other repair work had gathered around Ilsut and Vanderken's midshipman.

“Ye warned them, Cap'n, there be no shame in what they got.” This was one of many statements in response to Vidarian's grave demeanor. Little did they know that his concern could be measured less than nothing for Vanderken and his lice-ridden crew.

“Agreed,” Vidarian murmured, startling them by lifting his voice for the first time since the Starless had gone down. “They should have known the consequences.” His eyes rested, not on the poor wretch before them, but on the ladder down into the hold.

“But why would they risk their entire crew to board, Cap'n? It don't make no sense.”

“That,” Vidarian answered grimly, drawing his sword and resting its tip on the shoulder of the bleary survivor, “is precisely what I intend to find out.”

Vidarian had hardened himself to the notion of a grueling interrogation, but in the end it was very simple. When Ellara, unasked, had fetched Ariadel, they had no need of so much as rope for restraining. The midshipman began to weep and babble as soon as her cloaked figure appeared in the doorway.

Ellara gave Vidarian a nod, then turned to face the rapidly confessing prisoner. Vidarian offered the priestess his arm and they retreated from the quarterdeck, the sounds of a grown man's sobbing following them in echoes off the wooden walls.

If Ariadel's touch before was fire, her hand on his arm now was a brush of palest smoke. The faint scent of it even seemed to cling to her presence, though he wasn't sure if it was merely his imagination. Her feet barely seemed to touch the deck as she walked, and her skin was a uniform angry red in color. Darker rose marked her cheeks in a persistent flush.

In silence they walked the length of the deck, finally approaching the ladder that led up into the forecastle. When they reached the anteroom, Vidarian led the priestess to a high-backed chair, then moved to close both of the doors. When they were secure, he returned and set about pouring kava for both of them. Without being asked, he treated hers liberally with brown sugar and verali cream.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, handing her the cup.

She nodded. “I'll be fine.” Her voice was not quite a whisper.

Vidarian settled down into a chair opposite hers, fingers laced around his own silver cup. “Then perhaps you can tell me what in the name of all that's holy happened out there.”

“I called on Sharli-and she answered.”

“I'm afraid that's not good enough, Priestess. I know you are weary, but if my guess is correct, the Vkortha now know our exact position.” Memory recalled to him the sensation of burning steel filling his hand, and it hardened his words. “Why did you come abovedeck?”

The priestess's body language conveyed a blush, but with the current state of her skin it was impossible to tell. “Men were breaking into the lower hold,” she said, emotion coloring her hoarse voice. “They set off some kind of explosive. I-panicked a little, I'll admit. I called on Sharli. I did not expect her to answer-so forcefully. It was she who ascended the staircase.”

“And left your body like this?”

Ariadel nodded. “It will pass within a few days. I experienced this at my initiation rite, much more dramatically than this. Sharli is the Living Flame; we cannot host her in our mortal bodies without some aftereffect.”

Vidarian frowned, subdued. He finished his kava before answering, letting the warmth fill his stomach. “I have already directed our warrant officer to set a course for the nearest port. We will pick up medical supplies there. I have some here, of course, but none that would treat burns such as yours.”

The priestess straightened, wincing as her back thumped hard against the chair. “Captain, you said yourself, the Vkortha know our position. We cannot stop!”

Setting the empty cup on its tray, Vidarian shook his head. “I'm afraid we have no choice. There's only so much the ship's carpenter can do-one of their volleys cracked our aft mast, and we've sustained damage to the hull, not to mention the explosion site. Only the Empress's sound construction prevents her from taking on water even now. We must dock, if only for a little while.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I'm sorry, Priestess.”

Ariadel sank down into her chair, staring. “Do not be, Captain. Sharli's will or no, this is on my shoulders-and I have endangered your crew.”

Vidarian leaned forward earnestly. “Think not on it, Priestess. My crew does not fear the danger you bring-you've seen it yourself.”

She laughed bitterly. “And now they avoid me in the passages, Captain. It will not be the same after this.”

“They'll get past it,” Vidarian insisted, though his own heart caved with doubt. “We've seen more than you might think.” He smiled then, and would have reached to pat her hand out of reflex, but caught himself in time. Instead he stood and gave her a bow, reminding them both of his duty. “The crew of the Empress Quest remains at your disposal, priestess. We will see you safely to your destination, I promise you.”

They sailed through the night and approached Westhill Harbor just as dawn was pooling crimson on the eastern horizon. The crew worked with silent efficiency to bring the Empress into port, dropping anchor under Marielle's direction, though Ilsut had ordered her restricted to her quarters. Vidarian selected a dozen crewmembers to accompany him ashore, separated into two groups. One group he intended to return to the Empress after the supply run-the other he did not.

As they were making their preparations to disembark, Vidarian stood before the door to Marielle's cabin. He adjusted the boatswain's pipe-captain's gold-around his neck, running his thumb across the engraved Rulorat lettering on its throat. Then he knocked.

Marielle opened the door, and a jolt of surprise registered in her eyes, fast fading with her perfunctory nod and salute. “Captain,” she said only, and pulled the door further in wordless invitation. The reef charts for Westhill were spread across her cot, but this was the only defiance of neatness. She was, of course, already packed.