Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(63)

Valyn broke away from Annick’s stare, hesitated, then stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

“Ah, the Light of the Empire stepping up to lead his feeble subjects by his own bold example.”

Valyn ignored the gibe. “What do you want me to do?”

“You?” Fane asked. “I don’t want you to do anything.” He scanned the cadets. “Annick, get over here.”

As the sniper stepped forward, the trainer produced a lead weight twice the size of Valyn’s head, and a length of stout rope. Fane dropped the weight on the deck with an audible thump, and handed the rope to Annick. Valyn felt his muscles tighten and willed himself calm. It’s just an exercise, he told himself. Whatever happened up in that garret, this is just training.

“You idiots have done this drill before,” Fane continued, “but always in shallow harbor water. Today we’ll find out if you’re ready to swim with the sharks. Go ahead,” he said, turning to Annick, but she had already started.

With quick, confident motions, she looped the rope around Valyn’s ankles once, twice, three times, cinching it so tight on each pass that he started to lose feeling in his feet before she was finished. She looked up as she worked, ice blue eyes drilling into him, but said nothing before returning to her task, threading the rope through the large eyelet in the anchor, then twisting it over and over and back on itself. Valyn tried to see what sort of knot she was tying out of the corner of his eye, but Fane cuffed him across the face.

“When I want you to cheat, I’ll tell you,” he said curtly.

Valyn raised his eyes to find Balendin watching him from a few paces away. “Good luck down there, O Noble Prince,” the youth smirked. “I hope today’s drill works out better for you than our little scuffle last week.”

Valyn felt the blood rise to his head, and he started to take a step forward, before remembering that Annick had lashed his ankles together. He teetered, straining against the bonds, before the sniper drove a vicious fist into the back of his knees, dropping him to the deck.

“He’s done,” she said, turning to Fane as she straightened.

“That was quick,” the trainer replied. “I hope you didn’t go too easy on him.”

“He’s done,” she repeated, then stepped away, evidently indifferent to the outcome.

Fane shrugged. “You heard her. Over the rail with him, then.”

A dozen hands gripped Valyn, hoisting him into the air. He tried to turn himself upright, to get his bearings before they tossed him from the ship, but Sami Yurl had his head, and the blond youth grinned down at him before twisting it so sharply Valyn thought his neck would break. He ground out a low, angry curse and then, the next moment, he was free, free and falling, thrashing wildly before he slammed down into the water.

He managed to suck in a quick breath, catch a glimpse of the dark hull of the vessel, and then the leash on his ankle was pulling him beneath the chop. He clamped his lips shut. He’d hit at an odd angle, but the lead weight would straighten him out. Now it was time to avoid drowning.

The water, pleasantly cool on the ocean’s surface, grew colder as he sank. He tilted his head back, straining to see the sun, but the dozens of feet of murk above him had dulled its blaze to a fickle, sullen glow. Even here, barely a quarter mile off the coast, the ocean was deep enough to swallow a whole sailing vessel, masts and all. The weight of it pressed down on him until he could feel the pain piercing his ears, the pressure against his eyes, the full tons of seawater piled on the heart laboring in his chest, slowly crushing it into submission. And still he sank.

The urge to free himself and stroke for the surface was strong, but he thrust it down. Quit being an ass, he told himself harshly. You’ve been under less than a minute, and you’re already starting to twitch. He knew well enough what to expect from the shallow-water versions of the exercise. The knots binding the anchor to his ankles would be complex and difficult to untie under the best of circumstances; they would be impossible to loose with the weight of the metal still dragging on them. He had to wait until his feet touched the bottom, had to gain some purchase on the ocean floor that would allow him to put enough slack into the ropes to work the knots free. To struggle with them now would be a waste of air, and Valyn could not afford to waste air.

Instead, he counted his heartbeats, trying to slow them as he’d been trained. Higher heart rate meant less air, and if he could still that hammering in his chest, he might gain himself the extra seconds necessary to live through the ordeal. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three … If anything, they seemed to be coming faster, but Valyn kept counting. Not much else to do down here, he reflected grimly.