Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(18)

“We must all be kind,” Anit said. “While we’re still able. Khalila? I never wanted any of this.”

Khalila knew she shouldn’t ask, but she had to. “Will you help us?”

“No,” Anit said, and smiled. “But somehow, I know that won’t stop you.”

Khalila left and was glad of the strong blast of wind on the deck, even as it bleached the heat out of her. She needed to feel something bracing. She’d been ready to take Anit hostage, if need be, but she thought Anit wanted to help. And under just the right circumstances, she might be free to do so.

All that remained was to work out how those circumstances needed to occur.

But first, they’d need to save Glain’s life.



* * *





She remembered little of the evening. Eating the drugged meal had been hard, but the worst had been watching Glain consume it, too, all unknowing. Out of an abundance of caution, Santi and Thomas had elected not to eat or drink at all, though they made a good simulation of it.

Glain hadn’t noticed.

By the time the meal was done, Khalila already felt the drag of the medications and sent Thomas a half-panicked look as Glain yawned. Dario had eaten only a little of his own food, probably because of his still-unsteady stomach, but he also yawned. It was hard to say whether it was a sympathetic response or the drugs at work in him, too. Did Anit lie to me? Did she tell them to drug us all? At least Santi and Thomas will still be effective.

But that also might mean they’d be watched, and prevented from acting.

Glain collapsed into bed almost immediately when they reached their cabin, but Khalila tried hard to keep herself awake, hour after hour . . . pacing, praying, resorting to pinching herself when her legs failed to support her anymore. At the last, she crawled into her bed, and the drag on her eyelids became irresistible.

Khalila woke with a pounding headache, a dire thirst, and the ship tossing like a toy boat in the teeth of the storm . . . and when she crawled out of her bunk and checked, Glain was not there.

Glain was not there.

“No,” Khalila whispered, and swept the covers aside, as if somehow the young Welsh woman could have been hiding underneath them. She dragged herself to her feet and threw on a fleece-lined robe that Anit had loaned her, cinched it tight, and staggered outside into the teeth of the wind. Her hijab nearly tore loose, but she clamped a hand to it as she tried to see what was happening.

The deck was nearly deserted, only a few sailors struggling about their tasks. She didn’t see Glain.

She didn’t see any of her friends.

Khalila ducked back into the shelter of the hall and hurried to the cabin that Thomas and Dario shared. Empty. She tried Captain Santi’s room.

And found all of them gathered there.

Dario rose immediately and came to her as she stood panting and shaking, unexpectedly weak. He tucked a stray lock of hair that had come loose back under the cover of her hijab; she hugged him fiercely and felt such an intense relief that it made her knees threaten to buckle. She tried to speak, but tears choked the words. She lingered on every face, especially Glain’s; the Welsh woman sat nursing a drink, paler than normal. She had a bandage around her head and another winding her forearm.

She wasn’t the only one with injuries. Every one of them had visible bruises or bandages, or both. Dario winced when she squeezed too tightly, and she instantly released him and held him at arm’s length to study him.

“I’m fine, madonna,” he told her, and fitted his hand to her cheek in such a natural, gentle motion that she closed her eyes for a moment to control the racing of her heart. “We’re all fine.”

“Speak for yourself,” Glain growled. “I’ve got a nasty hangover and my ears are still ringing from hitting the damned railing.”

Khalila felt breathless. She knew the kind of fight each one of these people could put up, and the fact that they were all injured . . . it meant she had missed something truly violent.

Santi said, “Sit before you fall, Khalila.” He moved a chair forward, and she gratefully took it. Dario’s chair, she thought; he stayed on his feet. She wasn’t certain that he’d conquered his seasickness, but at least he was able to stand upright and not look as though he might spew. Small victories.

“What happened?”

They told her in bursts. First Santi related watching their cabin, with Thomas as backup. The arrival of four sailors to retrieve Glain in the dark of night had been foiled, but more had come, and then others had joined the fight.

Glain had been dragged out by Anit’s crew and towed toward the side. Dario had managed to grab Glain just as she’d been pushed over the railing, limp and unconscious. He’d suffered bruised ribs while unable to fight back, but he’d grimly held on to her arm and kept her dangling above the waves, until Thomas’s strength had come to save her.

Then they’d surrounded Glain, who’d begun to revive in the cold wind and rain, and kept her safe until Anit ordered the attack to stop, for fear of killing her father’s valuable prisoners in order to dispose of a useless one.

“Useless.” Santi shook his head. “Even half-unconscious, she fought like a devil. She’s worth her weight in gold.”

“Captain,” Glain said. “I fought like a drunken rag doll. But thank you for the kindness.”