Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(88)

Before I can even process the words, he’s ten feet off the ground.

Well, damn. I don’t think. I just leap.

I’ve never done this, but I’ve watched his crew do it a dozen times now, and I’m no stranger to climbing. There are dozens of footholds, and this is easier than scaling the wall of the Royal Sector. Weeks ago, the rebels dislocated my shoulder when they took me prisoner, and I feel it give a twinge now, but I ignore the pain. I look up at the miles of chains and netting and try to find a path, but I cling to the outer edge and swing myself higher with each pull, hooking the ropes with my feet to gain more momentum. Harristan taught me to climb when I was a boy, and I can still remember his voice. Just keep your eyes on the rope, Cory.

I’ve always been a strong climber, swift and nimble on the ropes. When Tessa and I were making rounds as Wes and Tessa, she was brilliant with medicine—but I was twice as fast at getting over the wall. I’d take the harder runs because of it.

To my left, the captain is quick, using a combination of ropes and rungs, but I’m nearly even with him. In another ten feet, I’ll be close to the first crossbeam and I’ll have better leverage. When he glances down to check my progress, I enjoy the flare of surprise in his eyes when he finds me nearly even with him.

“You should’ve picked the fight,” I say.

“You’re on the outside edge, and it’s a good way to fall.”

I brace my foot against the ropes and half leap, half drag myself ever higher—ahead of him. “I’ll take my chances.”

He redoubles his speed. “Did you really break Lochlan’s arm with your bare hands?”

“Yes.”

“And you claim there’s no basis for your reputation?”

“I never claimed that.” We make it to the beam, and the wind is strong up here. My fingers grip tight to the rigging, and I fight a wave of vertigo. I have to keep my eyes on the ropes, because if I look out over the sea, I know it’ll be disorienting.

I can’t believe we’re only halfway.

Rian puts a hand on the next section.

I let go of the ropes entirely, thrust my feet against the rigging, and jump.

For what seems like an eternity, I’m weightless, nothing around me but wind and sky. When my fingers close on the rope, a gust of wind catches the sail, and I nearly miss it. My feet miss the rigging entirely, but I haul myself upward with my hands, rope fibers tearing into my palms. That twinge in my shoulder turns into a needle of fire.

If I survive this, Harristan might kill me. Or Rocco might beat him to it. Down below, the shouts are incomprehensible.

There. My feet find the ropes, and I shove myself higher. The netting is narrower here as we near the top, with extra ropes and chains that make the climb more complicated. My breathing is ragged, my heart wild, but it’s worth it, because I gain a lead. I scramble along the ropes as the boat tips and sways with the current.

“If we catch a gust of wind,” Rian calls, “you’re going to end up in the ocean.”

“Save you a lot of trouble then, won’t I?”

But then, like he summoned it, a gust of wind hits the sails so hard that I lose the rope between my feet, and for a single terrifying moment, I’m suspended by nothing more than my grip on the rigging. It’s so sudden that I slip at least six inches. My palms burn, and I can’t breathe.

I make the mistake of looking at the water, and the horizon spins. The people down below seem to be a mile away.

“It’s there,” Rian says. “Just there. Swing your feet up a foot and you’ll find it.”

His voice is a bit closer, and for a second, I can’t comprehend what he’s saying. My thoughts are too focused on survival, and that means gripping this rope forever.

But then I swing my foot higher and I find the rigging. My hands are so badly rope burned that it’s a miracle they’re not bleeding, but the pain hasn’t set in like it has in my shoulder.

I stare across at Rian. I’m almost panting, my heartbeat a roar in my ears.

He doesn’t move. “Take a moment. Get your bearings.”

I don’t know if he expects me to take a breath or count to three or acknowledge some kind of fresh start, but I have no interest in those options. We’re ten feet from the top, and I know what I want. I break the eye contact and shove myself upward.

He swears and rushes to match my pace. We scrabble for the top of the mast at the same time.

But he taps it a second earlier.

For an instant, I almost can’t process that I’ve lost. We’re both a little red-faced and breathless, glaring across the inches of netting that separate us. Anger fills my gut, chasing breath out of my lungs, leaving me speechless.

His chest is heaving from the exertion. I expect to find victory in his eyes, but there’s only relief. That chases some of my anger away.

Whatever is in that room, he really doesn’t want me to see it.

Then he says mockingly, “At least you got to keep your dagger.”

“Can you not win honorably, Captain?”

“Honor!” he snaps. “What do you know of—”

He breaks off, staring out at the sea. I follow his gaze, and it’s like I’ve forgotten how high we are. The horizon tilts and shifts, and I want to close my eyes, but then I notice that those ships have drawn even closer.