Hello!!!
Immediete continuation of the previous chapter!
Let's get into it.
First Person - Y/n
"Your confidence will probably get us killed," said Mal from beside me.
"It hasn't so far," replied Sturmhond.
Sturmhond gave Privyet, who was oddly dressed like him, an envelope sealed with a blob of pale blue wax, then clapped him on the back. Maybe it was the moonlight, but the first mate looked like he might cry.
Tolya and Tamar slipped over the railing, holding tight to the weighted ladder secured to the schooner.
I peered over the side. I'd expected to see an ordinary boat, so I was surprised to see a little craft floating alongside the Volkvolny. It had two hulls that looked like pair of hollowed-out shoes, and they were held together by a deck with a giant hole in its center.
Mal, Alina, and I followed, stepping slowly onto one of the boat. We waddled our way across it and boarded the central deck, towards the sunken cockpit.
Sturmhond leaped down after us, then swung up onto a raised platform behind the cockpit and took his place at the ship's wheel.
"Y/n, if you please," said Sturmhond pointing to the space next to him.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I said please," replied Sturmhond. "And because I like your company."
"What is this thing?" I asked as I went and stood next to him as he smiled like a little child with candy.
"I call her the Hummingbird," he said, consulting some kind of chart that I couldn't see, "though I'm thinking of renaming her the Firebird."
"I will leave," I snapped.
"No, please don't," said Sturmhond before he grinned, "Cut anchor and release!"
Tamar and Tolya unhitched the knots of rope that held us to the Volkvolny. I saw the anchor line slowly disappear over the Hummingbird's stern and fall into the sea.
I would have thought we'd need an anchor when we made port, but I supposed, more so hoped, that Sturmhond knew what he was doing.
"Make sail," called Sturmhond.
The sails released. Though the Hummingbird's masts were considerably shorter than those aboard the other ship, its double sails were huge, rectangular things, and required two crewmen each to maneuver them into position.
A light breeze caught the canvas, and we pulled farther from the Volkvolny. I looked to my side and saw Sturmhond watching the ship slip away.
I had the weird sense that he was saying goodbye but I didn't understand why. He would be back to it.
He shook himself, then called out, "Squallers!"
A Grisha was positioned in each hull. They raised their arms, and wind billowed around us, filling the sails. Sturmhond adjusted our course and called for more speed. The Squallers obliged, and the strange little boat leaped forward.
"Take these," said Sturmhond. He handed me a pair of goggles into my lap and tossed another two pairs to Mal and Alina. They looked similar to those worn by Fabrikators in the workshops of the Little Palace.
All of the crew seemed to be wearing them, along with Sturmhond. We pulled them over our heads and the speed of the boat picked up.
"Why are we in such a hurry?" I asked but Sturmhond just shrugged. "What's the point of having me stand next to you if you're not going to talk to me?"
He still didn't respond and the Hummingbird continued to speed up over the water
"All right, Squallers," commanded Sturmhond, "take us up. Sailors to wings, on my count."
"You can't possibly be serious," I said turning to Sturmhond who was smirking, "Sturmhond, I swear on the Saints-"
"What does he mean, 'take us up'?" yelled Alina.
"Five!" shouted Sturmhond.
The crewmen started to move counterclockwise, pulling on the lines.
"Four!"
The Squallers spread their hands wider.
"Three!"
A boom lifted between the two masts, the sails gliding along its length.
"Two!"
"Heave!" cried the sailors. The Squallers lifted their arms in a massive swoop.
"One!" yelled Sturmhond.
"Sturmhond!" I yelled but it was too late.
The sails billowed up and out, snapping into place high above the deck like two gigantic wings. The Hummingbird took flight.
Sturmhond slowly interlocked his free hand with the one at my side and smiled at me.
"Don't you close your eyes," said Sturmhond. "Keep your eyes on the sky."
I slowly opened them and looked around. We were surrounded by stars. Above us, white canvas stretched in two broad arcs, like the taut curves of an archer's bow. Below—far below—the moonlit waves rippled like the bright scales of a slow-moving serpent.
We were flying. Flying.
"This is impossible!" I mumbled.
"Sunbeam, let this be a life lesson," said Sturmhond, "When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable."
With the moonlight gleaming off the lenses of his goggles and his greatcoat billowing around him, he looked like a complete madman. His hand and mine were still interlocked and I didn't dare let go.
"Where did the Hummingbird come from?" I asked Sturmhond.
"I designed her. I built her. And I crashed a few prototypes," replied Sturmhond, "Have to break a few eggs to make an omelet."
I saw Mal lean over the lip of the cockpit, trying to get a better view of the gigantic guns positioned at the foremost points of the hulls.
"Those guns," he said. "They have multiple barrels."
"And they're gravity fed. No need to stop to reload. They fire two hundred rounds per minute."
"That's—"
"Impossible? The only problem is overheating, but it isn't so bad on this model. I have a Zemeni gunsmith trying to work out the flaws. Barbaric little bastards, but they know their way around a gun. The aft seats rotate so you can shoot from any angle."
"And fire down on the enemy," Mal shouted almost giddily. "If Ravka had a fleet of these—"
"Quite an advantage, no? But the First and Second Armies would have to work together."
"This is all we would have to do," I mumbled, "Unite the Armies, rather than expanding the Fold."
"You're finally seeing why I don't agree with the Darkling," said Sturmhond.
I thought of what the Darkling had said to me so long ago. The age of Grisha power is coming to an end. His answer had been to turn the Fold into a weapon.
But what if Grisha power could be transformed by men like Sturmhond? I looked over the deck of the Hummingbird, at the sailors and Squallers working side by side, at Tolya and Tamar seated behind those frightening guns. It wasn't impossible.
I was pulled from my thoughts by a bright light shining off the port bow. The great lighthouse at Alkhem Bay. We were close now. If I craned my neck, I could just make out the glittering towers of Os Kervo's harbor.
Sturmhond did not make directly for it but tacked southwest. I had an uneasy thought about where we might be going, but I brushed it off thinking that he wouldn't dare.
Or would he? If I knew him even the slightest bit, it was that he did dare. He did have me on the ship right now.
Soon I lost sight of the lighthouse beam. Just how far south did Sturmhond intend to take us? He'd said he wanted to reach the coast before dawn, and that couldn't be more than an hour or two away.
My thoughts drifted, lost to the stars around us and the clouds scudding across the wide sky. The night wind bit into my cheeks and seemed to cut right through the thin fabric of my coat.
I glanced down and was shocked. We weren't over the water anymore. We were over land—solid, unforgiving land.
I looked around until I turned towards Sturmhond.
"Where are we going to land?" I asked.
"Not to worry," said Sturmhond. "I have a lovely little lake in mind."
"How little?" I questioned, but then I saw that Mal was climbing out of the cockpit, his face furious. "Mal, sit down!"
"You lying, thieving—"
"I'd stay where you are. I don't think you want to be jostling around when we enter the Fold."
Saints.
Mal froze, Alina gasped and I pulled my hand away from Sturmhond, who looked offended that I had.
"You can't be serious," I said.
"Not on a regular basis, no," said Sturmhond. "There's a rifle secured beneath your seat, Oretsev, and Starkov. You both may want to grab it. Just in case."
"You can't take this thing into the Fold!" Mal bellowed.
"Why not? From what I understand, I'm traveling with the one person who can guarantee safe passage," said Sturmhond turning towards me.
"Is this why you tried to befriend me?" I asked angrily. "So I could get you and your crew safe passage across the Fold?"
"No," replied Sturmhond, "I befriended you because...I wanted to. This was always the plan, whether you hated me or liked me."
The landscape was unrolling beneath us at a terrifying pace.
"You lying son of a..." I mumbled looking forward.
Behind us lay stars, moonlight, the living world. Ahead of us, there was nothing. He was really going to do it. He was taking us into the Fold.
"Gunners, at your stations," Sturmhond called. "Squallers, hold steady."
"Sturmhond, I'm going to kill you!" I shouted. "Turn this thing around right now!"
"Wish I could oblige. I'm afraid if you want to kill me, you'll just have to wait until we land. Ready?"
"No!" I yelled and Sturmhond let go of the wheel for a brief second and cupped my face.
"Trust me, please," whispered Sturmhond and for a second I thought he would kiss me.
He let go in the next second leaving me wondering why I didn't pull back but it wasn't for long because we were immediately drenched in darkness.
It was like no night ever known—a perfect, deep, unnatural blackness that seemed to close around us in a suffocating grip. We were in the Fold.
The memories from the last time we were here flashed through my mind. The Darkling, the waves of shadows, the truth about my mother.
"Damn you, Sturmhond," I yelled before I threw up my hands.
A golden dome of sunlight erupted around the Hummingbird, with barely any effort. It was the power of the two amplifiers.
I tested its edges carefully, sensing none of the wild disruption that had overcome me the first time I'd used the bracelet. Including the shadow stag and sea whip.
But something was very wrong. The Fold felt different. I told myself it was just imagination, but it seemed like the darkness was moving over my skin.
I'd been on the Unsea twice before, and both times I'd felt like I was at home, but now it was as if the Fold was outcasting me, wanting to send me away.
I knew it made no sense. The Fold was a dead and empty place, not a living thing.
It knows me, I thought. Like calls to like.
"They're coming," Sturmhond said beside me. "Listen."
"Order your men not to kill a single one," I said immediately, "The dome will keep them away from us as we travel. But I will let us all die in seconds if even a single volcra is killed."
"Did you drink something?" asked Sturmhond shocked and confused, "These are demon creatures that would kill us-"
"Not a single one, Sturmhond!" I yelled.
He angrily mumbled something before he turned towards the lower deck, and said, "No fire! No volcra are to be killed!"
There were mutters of confusion but I saw Mal and Alina nod. They knew why I had made Sturmhond give the order.
"Why?" asked Sturmhond as we kept moving.
"I trusted you, now I am asking you to trust me."
"Fine," said Sturmhond, and the ship began to fly a little faster.
"I guess it's an easy feat to have men under your finger, Y/n."
That cool voice. My eyes flew open.
The Darkling stood before me, his black kefta rippling over the Hummingbird's deck. I gasped and stepped back, staring wildly around me, but no one was watching.
"Sturmhond," I said quietly.
"He won't see me. It's our connection, Y/n."
"Don't worry," the Darkling said gently. "It gets easier with time. Here, I'll show you."
He slid a knife from the sleeve of his kefta, and before I could react, he slashed toward my face. I threw my hands up to defend myself. The light vanished, and the ship was plunged into darkness.
I stumbled backward, ready to feel the piercing sting of Grisha's steel. It didn't come. People were yelling in the darkness around me. Sturmhond was shouting my name. I heard the echoing shriek of a volcra. Close. Too close.
No, said a voice in my head, and my powers acted on their own accord.
I saw the shadow stag and sea whip emerge, brighter this time, but still made of shadows. They fought back the volcra as Sturmhond's hands grabbed me.
"What's wrong?!" he asked.
I didn't respond only stared at the spot that the Darkling had been in just moments before. I'd seen the Darkling. The man that I loved. I'd seen him.
"Are you all right?" Sturmhond was asking beside me. "Are you hurt?"
I couldn't look at him. I shook so badly that I thought I might fly apart. I focused all my effort on restoring the dome of light.
"Is she injured?" shouted Mal.
"Just focus on the volcra!" Sturmhond replied and I heard the guns go off, as he turned back towards me, "Talk to me, Y/n, talk to me."
The volcra were shrieking and whirling, beating at the circle of light. Monsters they might be, but I wondered if they understood vengeance. The Hummingbird rocked and shuddered. I looked down and saw gray sands rushing up to meet us.
And then suddenly we were out of the darkness, bursting through the last black wisps of the Fold as we shot into the blue light of early dawn.
The ground loomed terrifyingly close beneath us.
"Lights out!" commanded the crew member who was at the wheel of the boat, leading.
I dropped my hands but they were lifted immediately by Sturmhond who had interlocked his with mine. He was worried.
The shadow animals were gone, and I could see a long stretch of road, a town's lights glowing in the distance, and there, beyond a low rise of hills, a slender blue lake, morning light glinting off its surface.
"Just a little farther!" cried the crew member at the wheel.
The Squaller let out a sob of effort, her arms trembling. The sails dipped. The Hummingbird continued to fall. Branches scraped the hull as we skimmed the treetops.
"Everyone get low and hold on tight!" shouted Sturmhond, who now pulled me towards the cockpit.
"Get ready!" Sturmhond roared before he turned towards me, "Breathe."
He brought me into his arms, shielding everything else as we struck the land with a bone-shattering jolt.
There was a loud splash, and suddenly we were skimming across the water. I heard a terrible wrenching sound and knew that one of the hulls had broken free. We bounced roughly over the surface and then, miraculously, shuddered to a halt.
I tried to get my bearings. I was on my back, pressed up against the side of the cockpit. Someone was breathing hard beside me.
I turned and saw a crew member. Sturmhond had disappeared. Water was flooding in through the cockpit's floor. I heard splashing, people calling to one another.
"Sturmhond?" I yelled, but there was no response, "Mal? Alina?"
"We're okay," Mal replied. He was somewhere to my left. "We need to get out of here."
I peered around, but Sturmhond was nowhere to be seen.
As we clambered out of the cockpit, the broken ship began to tilt. We heard a large snap, and one of the masts gave way. We jumped into the water, kicking hard as the lake tried to swallow us along with the ship.
I saw Tolya and Tamar paddling free, followed by the other crewmen. Tolya had the wounded Squaller in tow. Sturmhond swam behind, supporting an unconscious sailor beneath his arm.
I was relieved that I could see him and that he was alive.
We hauled ourselves out of the water, and laid down on the sands of the beach.
Tolya was helping the injured Squaller, finishing the business of healing his arm, instructing him to flex his fingers, bend his elbow. I heard Sturmhond come ashore and hand the last sailor into Tamar's care.
"He's not breathing," Sturmhond said, "and I don't feel a pulse."
Tamar had her hands pressed to the sailor's chest, using her power to draw the water from his lungs and drive life back into his heart. The minutes seemed to stretch as the sailor lay motionless on the sand. Then he gasped. His eyes fluttered open, and he spewed lake water over his shirt.
I heaved a sigh of relief. One less death on my conscience.
Another crewman was clutching his side, testing to see if he'd broken any ribs. Mal had a nasty gash across his forehead, and Alina's arm was slashed. But we were all there. We'd made it.
Sturmhond waded back into the water. He stood knee-deep in it, contemplating the smooth surface of the lake, his greatcoat pooling out behind him.
Other than a torn-up stretch of earth along the shore, there was no sign that the Hummingbird had ever been.
The uninjured Squaller turned on me.
"What happened back there?" she spat. "Kovu was almost killed. We all were!"
"It's my fault," said Sturmhond before I could reply, "I should have given her more warning."
Then Sturmhond removed his hat and goggles, and my rage disappeared, replaced by complete and utter bewilderment.
Mal was on his feet in an instant.
"What the hell is this?" he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I sat paralyzed, my pain and exhaustion eclipsed by the bizarre sight before me. I didn't know what I was looking at, but I was glad Mal and Alina saw it, too. After what had happened on the Fold, I didn't trust myself.
Sturmhond sighed and ran a hand over his face—a stranger's face, although he looked familiar.
His chin had lost its pronounced point. His nose was still slightly crooked, but nothing like the busted lump it had been. His hair was no longer ruddy brown but dark gold, neatly cut to military length, and those strange, muddy green eyes were now a clear, bright hazel. He looked completely different, but he was unmistakably Sturmhond.
And he's still handsome, I thought with a baffling jab of resentment.
Mal, Alina, and I were the only ones staring. None of Sturmhond's crew seemed remotely surprised.
"You have a Tailor," I said.
Sturmhond winced.
"I am not a Tailor," Tolya said angrily.
"No, Tolya, your gifts lie elsewhere," Sturmhond said soothingly. "Mostly in the celebrated fields of killing and maiming."
"Why would you do this?" I asked, still trying to adapt to the jarring experience of Sturmhond's voice coming from a different person's mouth.
"It was essential that the Darkling and you not recognize me. Neither of you have seen me in years, but it wasn't something I wanted to leave to chance."
"No," I said as I realized who was standing in front of me. "You...people said you were abroad!"
"Who are you?" Mal asked furiously.
"That's a complicated question."
"Actually, it's pretty straightforward," Alina said, "But it does require telling the truth. Something you seem thoroughly incapable of."
"Oh, I can do it," Sturmhond said, shaking water from one of his boots. "I'm just not very good at it."
"Sturmhond," Mal snarled, advancing on him. "You have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself, or Tolya's going to have to make you a whole new face."
Then Tamar leaped to her feet and said, "Someone's coming."
We all quieted, listening. The sounds came from beyond the wood surrounding the lake: hoofbeats—lots of them, the snap and rustle of broken branches as men moved toward us through the trees.
"I knew we'd been sighted. We spent too long on the Fold," groaned Sturmhond, "A wrecked ship and a crew that looks like a bunch of drowned possums. This is not what I had in mind."
The trees parted, and a group of mounted men charged onto the beach. Ten...twenty...thirty soldiers of the First Army. King's men, my men, heavily armed.
They raised their weapons, and I moved in front of everyone. Sturmhond, which wasn't his real name now that I knew who he was, had done the same but faster and stood in front of me.
"Y/n, careful," whispered Sturmhond, "They might not recognize you."
"What about you, your royal-"
"Don't even say it," said Sturmhond before turning back towards the soldiers, "Stand down."
A young captain, who didn't seem to see me, drew his blade, "In the name of the King of Ravka, throw down your arms."
Sturmhond stepped forward, placing himself between the enemy and me. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Our weapons are at the bottom of the lake. We are unarmed."
"State your name and business here," commanded the young captain.
Slowly, Sturmhond peeled his sodden greatcoat from his shoulders and handed it to Tolya.
An uneasy stir went through the line of soldiers. Sturmhond wore a Ravkan military dress. He was soaked through to the skin, but there was no mistaking the olive drab and brass buttons of the Ravkan First Army—or the golden double eagle that indicated an officer's rank.
An older man broke through the lines, wheeling his horse around to confront Sturmhond. I couldn't stop the gasp that escaped me.
With a start, I recognized Commander Zakharov. Had we crashed so close to town? Was that how the soldiers had gotten here so quickly?
"Explain yourself, boy!" the Commander yelled. "State your name and business before I have you stripped of that uniform and strung up from a high tree."
Sturmhond seemed unconcerned. When he spoke, his voice had a quality I'd never heard in it before.
"I am Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Soldier of the King's Army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second son to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne, may his life and reign be long."
I turned back towards Mal and Alina whose jaws had dropped. Shock passed like a wave through the row of soldiers. A nervous titter rose from somewhere in the ranks.
Zakharov did not look amused. He leaped from his horse, tossing the reins to a soldier.
"You listen to me, you disrespectful whelp," he said, his hand already on the hilt of his sword which was raised and now coming towards him.
"Leo," I said quickly, moving so that I was now standing in front of Sturmhond.
He froze and he opened his mouth and then closed it. He didn't expect to see me, and I could see it in his eyes.
"Y/n?" he asked dropping the sword.
I nodded, and Zakharov took multiple steps backward.
"It's him," I said now that I had his attention, "It's Prince Nikolai Lantsov."
Abruptly, he dropped to one knee and bent his head.
"Forgive me, moi tsarevich," he said, gaze trained on the ground before him. "Welcome home."
The soldiers exchanged confused glances.
I saw Sturmhond turn a cold and expectant eye on them. He radiated command. A pulse seemed to pass through the ranks. Then, one by one, they slipped from their horses and dropped to their knees, heads bent.
"You've got to be kidding me," Mal muttered from somewhere behind me.
I'd hunted a magical stag. I wore the scales of a slain ice dragon around my wrist. I'd seen an entire city swallowed by darkness. But never had I thought that the king's second son would be Sturmhond.
Sobachka, Genya had called the prince. Puppy. He insisted on doing his military service in the infantry.
Sturmhond. Storm hound. Wolf of the Waves.
Sobachka. It made sense...somewhat.
"Rise," commanded Sturmhond. His whole bearing seemed to have changed. The soldiers got to their feet and stood at attention.
"It's been too long since I was home," he boomed. "But I did not return empty-handed."
He walked up next to my side, and wrapped his arm around my waist. Every face turned, waiting, expectant.
"Brothers," he said, "I have brought the Eclipse Summoner back to Ravka. But she is not just the Eclipse Summoner."
I turned towards him, slightly afraid of what he was going to say.
"She is the future Princess Lantsov, Commander of the First Army."
-☯-❁-◉-❂-
:)
Onto the next chapter!!