Several hours of discussion brought us no closer to uncovering the traitor. When we could not delay any longer, Trebalda sent several of her own guards with Mik's guards, Gort, and Sakap as they departed, both for their protection and for surveillance. The plan would proceed, bolstered by a handful of woefully inadequate precautions.
Like slipping on shoes before charging into fire.
I slept very little that night, and I pulled myself from my bed the next morning with a bitter lump in my throat and a pinching sensation in my stomach. The escape from Rakim, the journey to the Tribe of Trebalda, the negotiations with representatives from all over Najila — what good had any of it done? I would abandon Finny again still not knowing she was safe. I would not be able to safeguard Niako during battle. And if we lost, the entire nation would cower at Makash's feet.
I needed to practice sword fighting. Or scream. Or cry.
Or maybe vomit.
The weather seemed to agree. Engorged clouds hung heavy in the sky, obscuring the rising sun, and oppressive humidity clung to me. Even the bird calls trailed off in falling glissandi.
Feet shuffled and voices murmured as others around me prepared for our departure, but I headed straight toward Finny's lodgings. Halfway there, Finny charged me and leaped into my arms. She was not as light as I remembered but just as squirmy as ever, and I clutched her thigh and back tightly to hold her up.
"Whoa, what is this? What happened?"
Her chin dug into my collarbone as she turned her head toward mine. "Nothing, just... when I woke up, it was really quiet. And I kind of thought you already left."
"Oh, Finny." I tugged her in closer, crushing her to me. "I would never leave without saying goodbye."
She planted her palms on my chest and pushed back slightly to raise her eyebrows at me. "Goodbye?"
"For now. I'll be back soon, I promise. But Finny, you might not be able to trust everyone here. If you get any bad feelings —"
"I know, Toom. Chief Trebalda already told me."
I studied her. "Told you what?"
Face and voice somber, she said, "That I'm in charge of keeping everyone safe while she's gone."
I huffed a laugh. "That's fine, but your first priority is to keep yourself safe."
Finny rolled her eyes. "She told me that, too."
"Well, good. Because if anything happened to you, I would..." My voice broke as I remembered slipping to the ground during the Serving Ceremony, succumbing to a splitting agony so much worse than twenty-seven lashes.
I swallowed and shook my head. "Seven hells, I don't know what I would do."
Finny wrapped her arms around my neck, pressed her face into my shoulder, and whispered, "Watch your damn language."
"You're incorrigible," I said.
"I love you, too," said Finny.
* * *
A couple of hours later, I rode down the mountainside with Ruck, Mitzy, Trebalda, Niako, thirty or so guards, and a few wranglers who would lead the horses back to the tribe after we boarded the ship. At the base of the mountain, we cut through the meadow of goats to the creek. The horse hooves clobbered the rocky riverside as we followed the narrow stream down toward the nearest dock.
A ghost of past panic tightened over my chest. I had first ridden this way fearing Niako was dying. Were we now riding toward his death?
Toward all of our deaths?
Where the creek widened to a rushing river, a docked ship jutted up from the water and reached toward the cloudy sky. Whirlpools gurgled at the base of the tremendous wooden frame. Strung from towering poles, several tattered sails fluttered in the breeze like moth wings.
The horses clip-clopped to a staggered halt, and the Trogolese crew already aboard the ship slid a wooden ramp down to the dock. I swung off my horse and to help roll carts up the ramp to the ship, and a dozen fur-faced women and men hauled the provisions onboard. The Trogolese heaved and tossed boxes and bags with brutal efficiency and not so much as a glance at any Najilans.
Caught up in the therapeutic physical toil of the assembly line, some time passed before I noticed one person was not helping. Niako still stood with one hand on the saddle of his horse, studying the sea vessel.
Though sweat slipped down my back and dampened my tunic, his thin lips and furrowed brow indicated even more arduous labor. As the last cart rolled up the loading dock to the ship and everyone began to board, I broke off from the group and jogged toward him.
"We are done loading," I said.
"I can see that."
"We should board."
"We should."
A wrangler strode toward us, slipped her hand through the reins of Niako's horse, and dipped away to lead the horse toward the others. Niako's hand flopped down to slap his side. But his feet still didn't move.
"You don't need to come, you know," I said, "You can return to the Tribe of Trebalda with the wranglers."
"I'm not turning back."
I swept my gaze up to the dock, where the last members of the group now hopped onboard. Ruck slouched over the railing at the top of the ramp, watching us.
I captured my lip under one canine tooth as I turned my attention back to Niako. "What can I do? Do you... do you want me to hold your hand?"
Niako snorted a humorless laugh and smacked a palm to his forehead. "No, Toom, I don't need my hand held. Just go. I'm coming."
"Alright," I said, drawing the word out into three or four syllables. Then I forced myself to start toward the ship, ambling down the dock and scaling the ramp. Only after I reached Ruck's side did I allow myself to look back.
Niako shuffled onto the dock as though invisible chains bound his ankles, eyes spearing the wooden planks just ahead of his feet. The planks which had felt quite sturdy beneath my own feet seemed to waver beneath Niako. As he shambled toward us, I was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the spray splashing the dock from below. Of the water bubbling and swirling around the ship's base. Of the sway of the ramp connecting the dock to the ship.
Several feet from the ramp, Niako stopped.
A Trogolese crew member called out to Ruck somewhere behind us, but Ruck remained motionless at my side, eyes fastened to Niako. Tension crackled over him like static, and I heard a clicking sound when he swallowed.
Niako started forward again.
At the base of the ramp, his foot hovered in the air for three endless seconds. Then he planted the foot down. Step. Step. Step, step, step.
When did the ramp get so fucking long?
Then with one big step that looked suspiciously like falling upward, he finally boarded the ship. Beside us, a few oblivious crew members brushed past Niako to lug in the ramp, but Ruck and I still watched him. He had resumed his usual proud stature, and he shot the two of us a withering scowl.
"What?" he said, voice flippant but also a little breathless. His chest heaved as though waging a war against the air.
I opened my mouth, but only a crackle of meaningless sound left my lips.
Then Ruck said, "You alright, kid?"
I twisted to stare at Ruck. Kid? I had never heard anyone call Niako that before, not even when we were children. And though Ruck's voice was gruff and manner off-handed, the soft roundness of that word brought a different one to mind.
Son.
Niako brushed off his palms on his trousers and cleared his throat. "Yes. I'm fine."
Ruck turned away. "Rona," he called, and the female Trogolese guard whipped around to face us. "Show these two to their cabins, please."
Then he lumbered off toward the rest of the crew.
When Rona marched toward us and jerked her head to the side before stomping off again. Niako and I followed her through a narrow door frame at the center of the ship into an even narrower wooden corridor. After we passed the first few doors, the floor beneath us lurched, flinging me and Niako into the wall on our left.
I pushed off the wall and straightened. Ahead of me, Niako rubbed his left shoulder, glaring at the wooden offender. Past him, Rona had already propped open two doors and turned back to wait for us with thinly veiled impatience.
"Here are your cabins," said Rona, and then she continued down the hallway.
Niako started toward one of the open doors and slipped into the room. I jogged after him.
And the door shut in my face.
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling in a silent plea to Goddess Rashika. Then I pressed one palm against the door and said, "Niako."
"What," came the muffled voice from behind the door.
"Is your shoulder alright?"
"Yes."
"Are you alright?"
"I already said I'm fine."
I blew out a breath and let my head fall forward so my forehead thudded the door. "Why are you shutting me out?"
"I just need a few minutes alone. Is that too much to ask?"
I picked up my head and pulled back a step, nodding to myself in an effort to accept his words even as irritation prodded my chest like a fire poker. Then I pivoted on my heel and tramped back down the hallway and ducked out onto the ship's deck.
Voices mingled, footsteps rapped the wooden floor, and oars splashed water. I leaned out over one of the railings, watching the water ripple in smooth accordance with the gliding sea vessel. The rocks and trees flowed past us, an eerily still image against the gray sky. My damp shirt clung to my back, refusing to dry in the humid breeze that sifted over the ship.
When I dragged myself away from the railing, Ruck caught my eye and gestured for me to join him. He slumped on a wooden stool beside Rona, elbow on his knee and a finger stroking his scarred face. When I approached, he lifted a foot to slide a stool toward me.
As I sank down onto the stool, I found my eyes drawn to the Trogolese manning the oars. They threw back and forth crass jabs and crackling laughter.
"This crew," I said, nodding toward the oarsmen, "Are they sailors or fighters?"
"They are Trogolese," Ruck grunted.
Beside him, Rona snickered. When I raised my eyebrows, she obliged me with a translation: "Both." Then she chomped off an aggressive chunk of the apple in her hand.
"I'm surprised you could persuade them to join this fight."
"I didn't," said Ruck. "Rona did."
Rona nodded in acknowledgement, wiping apple juice from the fur around her mouth with the back of her hand. I shifted slightly to face Rona as I reevaluated her. Silver strands wound through the wavy bronze hair spilling over her shoulders, but the sleek fur feathering over her face and her timeless stature of solid muscle obscured any other indication of her age.
"Why? Why would you help us?"
"I owe a favor to the old lady who leads the Legion of the Three-Legged Lion."
I blinked at her. "Do you mean Epsa?"
She stiffened, and her hand holding the half-eaten apple dropped to her lap. "How do you know Epsa?"
Remembering the flashing copper emblem on the farmhouse, the blade digging into my back, and the porridge in the barn, I smiled. "Long story short, she saved my life."
Rona tilted her head. "Huh. Guess we have something in common."
Then the floor jerked beneath me, and I flailed to keep from toppling off the stool.
"Guess we've reached Zarku," said Ruck, appearing utterly unaffected. He placed both hands on his knees as he pushed to his feet, and then he and Rona both started toward the wooden ramp folded at the side of the ship.
A bitter taste coated my tongue at the thought of more contact with Zarku. However, I knew we needed these reinforcements even more now that Trebalda had sent a dozen of her own guards with the representatives. So I rolled back a little on the stool and forcefully evened my breathing.
Until a white-blonde ponytail and a head of auburn curls bobbed into sight.
I shot to my feet, sending the stool clattering to the ground at my feet as I strutted toward Zaria and Zeb. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
They both jerked to a halt and shot up placating hands. "Prince Toom." Zari 's measured, appeasing tone only splashed alcohol over the fire in my gut. "Trebalda's messenger asked for Zarku's best warriors... and we are Zarku's best warriors."
"Get off this boat. Now!"
Zaria took one uncertain step backward and glanced at Zeb.
Trebalda jogged between us, staring at me. "What is going on here?"
"Chief," I spat through gritted teeth, "These two almost killed Niako."
Zaria swiveled to face Trebalda and dropped into a deep curtsy. "My queen, please forgive me if I have wronged you. I was under the impression you did not consider Niako a brother, and I did not wish to dishonor my sister by passing up an opportunity to avenge her."
Trebalda's face shifted almost imperceptibly, a twitch of the brow and thinning of her lips. "Niako... harmed your sister?"
My jaw clenched, and my hand closed over the hilt of my sword.
Zaria's eyes darted to my hand and then back up to Trebalda. "Makash — Makash Claimed my sister, Your Majesty."
"I see." Something flickered in Trebalda's dark eyes, but her voice remained even. "And what does that have to do with Niako?"
"Well, Makash is his..." She trailed off, dropping her gaze to Trebalda's feet and licking her lips.
A sudden flashback danced before me of Niako's dilated pupils when I woke him up in Epsa's stable, and I supplied my own ending to her unfinished sentence.
Makash is his worst nightmare.
That thought snapped the remaining thread of my self-control. I took two swift strides toward Zaria and Zeb, jerking on the hilt of the sword. But before the blade could slide free from the sheath, a familiar hand closed over my forearm.
"Toom, stop," said Niako from just behind my right shoulder. "We need their help. And what happened was only a misunderstanding."
I spun to face him so fast he flinched. "A misunderstanding? They fucking strung you up and riddled you with holes."
Two seconds passed in silence. Then he said quietly, "Two."
"What?"
"Only two holes. I hardly think that qualifies as 'riddled.'"
I heard a growl, and the rumble of my chest told me the sound came from me. Through clenched teeth, I hissed, "Go back to your room."
Niako sighed. "Toom, you really need to calm —"
I seized the front of his tunic, and his voice broke off and eyes widened. The now silent crowd around us parted quickly as I dragged Niako back toward the cabins. I yanked the door to his room open, shoved him through, and kicked the door shut behind me. Then I pushed him up against the wall beside his bed.
"What in the seven hells are you trying to do?" I demanded.
He met my gaze in silence, face pinched slightly in... anger? Fear?
Then I noticed the flex of his abdomen under my left hand, and I realized my thumb pressed against his wounded hip.
He was in pain.
I released him and staggered back two steps. "Niako, I — fuck." I threaded my fingers into my hair and tugged at the roots. "I'm hurting you. I'm fucking hurting you, and you didn't say a word. If you won't even tell me when I'm hurting you, how am I supposed to take care of you?"
He blinked at me, appearing uncharacteristically unsettled. "I never asked you to take care of me."
I dropped my hands to press my knuckles into my hip bones. "Yes, well, I can't just sit back and watch you get hurt without doing anything. Not everyone has that particular skill."
His hands twitched and jaw ticked as he registered the jab. For a brief moment, I thought he might apologize — that he would say 'I wish I could have stopped them sooner' or even just 'I didn't enjoy watching it.'
But instead, he raised an eyebrow, eyes hard as steel, and said, "Then maybe you should work on that."
For the first time, I would have preferred he avoided my gaze.
When my lungs found breath, I said, "Maybe I should."
And I turned to leave.
* * *
When the rain started, each irregular droplet splished the river with a musical plip followed by a fleeting dark ripple in the water's smooth surface. Soon, the sound grew to the snapping sizzle of cinnamon crisps on a griddle. I perched on a stool under the shelter of a circle of woven leaves and sticks as I watched the dancing water. The rhythmic patter eased the tension in my chest just a little, like shedding pent-up tears. Still, the thought of Zaria and Zeb in a cabin just down the hallway from Niako ate at my chest.
Then maybe you should work on that.
I rose to my feet and stepped out into the rain. Rain spattered my face and soaked my clothing. Then I spotted Aunt Mitzy sitting alone on a bench made from a split tree trunk. The water poured over her motionless portly frame as she gazed at the river.
I dropped down on the bench next to Mitzy. She turned to smile at me and slapped a wet hand over the knee of my wet trousers.
"Toom, did you know I hated your father when I first met him?"
"Well... I heard you slipped a dead mouse into his stew."
"Ah, back when I was young and crazy." Her smile broadened, apple cheeks rerouting the rivulets streaming down her face. "Before I became old and crazy."
I laughed despite myself, and the laughter relaxed the vice over my chest a little further.
Aunt Mitzy said, "You know when I stopped hating him?"
"When he almost ate the mouse?"
She shook her head, turning her eyes back to the river. "No. I stopped hating him when I saw how he looked at Lessy... like he would gladly give up all his gold in exchange for a smile."
Memories both good and bad washed over me like the rain, clogging my throat and blurring my eyes. "He really loved her."
Then Mitzy's gaze returned to me, and her smile grew a little sad. "Toom... you look at Niako the same way."
My eyes fell closed again. I turned my face up into the rain, losing myself in the sting of the cool drops as I spoke. "He has so much hurt, Mitzy, and I don't know how to help. He just traps everything inside and keeps me out. He... he fights me every time."
"Hmm," said Mitzy. "Then I guess it's lucky I raised a fighter."
Then she squeezed the ticklish spot just below my kneecap. My eyes shot open, and I gave a startled laugh and swatted her hand away. When our eyes met, she nodded at me.
"Go to him."