Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(59)

“Move,” I snarl, shoving the captain toward his boat.

I waste no time, the boy still cradled in one arm. He’s featherlight. I barely notice his weight. I’m a strongarm, after all. Carrying around an underfed ten-year-old is nothing.

The captain pushes me ahead of him, toward the boat rail, as if I’m useless. I scoff at him, seize him by the collar, and toss him bodily over the side.

I go next, one hand more than enough to lift both me and the boy back up and into the keel.

The boy sputters still, spitting water as his mothers descend, wrapping him in dry blankets.

At the rail, the keel crew keeps up the volley of gunfire, and the captain sprints to the helm behind the cargo hold. He spins the wheel of the boat and guns the motor, letting it roar beneath us. We pick up speed, but not much.

Without a word, one of the polers hands a rifle to me.

I’m no grand shot, but I know how to lay down cover, and that’s exactly what I do.

Orrian’s hunters must be clustered in the single growth of trees and rushes on the bank, hidden from sight. They were waiting. I keep up my fire, round after round, in rhythm with the keel crew. When someone reloads, another takes over for them, giving the keel enough time to maneuver around the next bend.

The Lakelanders are not without guns of their own, but we have better cover, using the thick plank rails as shielding. I expect a swift to dart across the river and drag me screaming back into the Lakelands. Or perhaps a magnetron to shred the motor of the keel. A greenwarden to turn the riverbank plants against us. But so far, it seems, only a nymph lies in wait. Has Orrian come to retrieve me alone? Is he only traveling with Red guards to aid him, because he knows he needs little more than that to bring me back? Or are he and his Silver friends taking sport in this, hunting me slowly?

My teeth rattle with every round, the rifle pressed tightly in the crook of my shoulder.

At first I think the silhouette is a trick of the light. The sun on the rushes and the leaves, casting an odd shadow. But then it’s unmistakable. Orrian parts the plants with a hand, his wicked smile visible even fifty yards away. I take aim and miss, the bullet plunking into the water. His grin only deepens. He doesn’t need words to threaten me. The smile is enough.

When the keel rounds the bend, the captain shouts something I can’t hear, but I feel relief all the same. His friend, the other keelboat captain, has stopped his craft in the middle of the river, waiting for us.

And standing on the cargo bed, loaded and waiting, is a fixed and ready heavy machine gun, perched like a black iron spider. The ammunition coils next to it, a snake of bullets.

With the grove of trees out of our sight, now hidden behind the river bend, everything falls quiet. No gunfire, just my thundering heartbeat and the gasping breaths of every person aboard the keel.

I keep my eyes behind, waiting for another strike, as the captain maneuvers the keel up to his friend’s boat. Both crews are quick to lash the crafts together, working as diligently as ants in a colony.

Softly, Melly starts to cry.

My focus is still on the river, on the stand of trees just out of view, when the planks of the deck shudder beneath heavy footsteps. The captain’s voice growls in my ear, his breath hot against me.

“You lied, strongarm.”





FOUR

Lyrisa

Lied about not being a danger. Lied about no one pursuing me. Lied, lied, lied.

“A smuggler taking offense to dishonesty? There’s a sight,” I snap, stepping back to put some distance between me and the captain. The rifle is still under my arm, and his eyes trail along the barrel. He’s gauging if he’s fast enough to take it back.

I make the decision for him, and press the gun into his chest. “They’re done with us for now.”

Jem stands over her son, still crumpled on the deck. She glares at me with a leveling fury. “You care to explain who they are, Silver? The ones who tried to murder my boy?”

I’m suddenly aware of the dozen eyes watching me, both on this keel and the one tied up alongside ours. The other captain stands behind his machine gun, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. He looks like a skeleton leering down at me. I detest such an audience, and my insides crawl.

“Not hard to figure it out,” one of our polers—the woman, Riette—drawls. “The princess got sick of the palace, and now her uncle’s sent soldiers to bring her back. Without regard for anyone who might get in the way.”

Captain Ashe narrows his eyes. “They were on the Lakeland side of the river. And you’re far from Prince Bracken’s Lowcountry.” He steps back into my space, crowding me against the rail. “Seems like an awful long way for them to follow. You didn’t outrun those Silvers all the way from Citadel.”

No, just the border.

Scowling, the captain surveys me again. This time his eyes snag on my clothing, the dark blue of the Lakelander uniform soaked through with river water. He grabs my collar, rubbing the fabric between two rough fingers. I slap him away, working hard to keep my strength in check.

His eyes are livid; he’s angry with me, and with himself. “You weren’t traveling with a convoy, Princess, and you weren’t attacked by rebels.”

I don’t expect a Red to understand. They don’t know what it’s like for us, what it’s like to be sold the day you are born.

“Keep the payment,” I hiss, stepping around the young captain. “I’ll make my own way from here.”