Текст книги "Water & Storm Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Nooo! He tricksss you! The Sssoaker tricksss you!

killkillkillkill

I grip my sword tighter, heat rolling through my knuckles.

killkillkill

Strength roars through me. Enough strength to cut clean through him, to end him.

killkillkill

But it’s not me, it’s not me, it’s…notmenotmenotmenotmenotme…is it? Paw’s face. Mother’s face. Father’s face….Father! His face, his calm demeanor, his words—yes, his words.

Our existence is not all about killing Soakers…the more important choice is not when to take a life, but when to spare one…your choice and your choice alone…it will change everything.

But no, it’s not my choice. The Evil, whatever it is, has taken over, is controlling me. Its lust for blood must be satisfied.

Yesss!

No! It is my choice. You are not my master. You are not me.

That’s when I realize.

I realize.

The. Evil. Is. Me.

It has been all along, my lust for revenge, a hot desire to bring someone—anyone—to justice for the death of my family. My choice and mine alone. Not the forest, not some mythical Evil forcing me to perform horrible acts. An excuse to make bad decisions. A scapegoat for my own anger.

Me.

KILL!

“No!” I scream, startling the boy, making him jump back, his hands shooting to his neck as if he expects to have to hold it together because I’ve stabbed him. But I haven’t.

You will never find peace, the Evil says.

“I already have,” I say.

The Evil spits and screams and fades…fades…fades…away, until it’s gone. And I know it’s gone forever.

I turn Passion and ride back toward the battle, determined to help end it.

Huck

What was that?

Jade’s face was flashing over and over and over in my mind, and I knew it was because I was going to die, and all I wanted was to see her before I did. But then…

Then the Stormer Rider turned away. She spared me.

My hands return to the boat, and all I want to do is push off, to paddle back to the Mayhem and make sure she’s okay.

Something stops me. A feeling. Guilt mixed with strength mixed with anger. Someone has to end this, and it might as well be me.

I run—no, sprint—up the beach, chasing after the Stormer Rider girl. Beyond her the battle rages fiercer than ever. Riders, on horse and on foot, battle seamen and officers alike, cutting, slashing, ending each other’s lives.

My father is locked in a one-on-one battle against the Stormer war leader. He’s outmatched, but his red-faced, deep-lined hatred is making up the difference. So much hatred.

Enough for all of us.

Enough to fill the world.

Enough!

The Stormer leader pushes Father back, seems to have him right where he wants him, and then he—

–I can’t believe it but he—

–he stumbles, loses his balance, falls.

My father springs at him and the war leader barely manages to block his attack from his knees, raising his sword.

Enough!

I make right for my father—who continues to slash at the fallen Stormer leader—from behind, and he doesn’t see me coming. I’m almost positive Gard sees me, but he doesn’t give my presence away with his eyes, just continues to protect himself from my father’s slashing sword.

I’ve got him in my sights, closer, closer, closer, on silent feet. I close my eyes and—

–lower my head, flexing every muscle in my body in preparation for the impact, and—

–crash into the backs of his knees, sweeping him off his feet, only then opening my eyes to find my arms wrapped around his legs, his body flush with the drenched sand.

His sword scattered off to the side.

And Gard’s sword at his neck.

Father’s face is awash with the paleness of surprise, just a flicker as he stares at me in bewilderment. But the flash is gone in an instant, replaced by an anger so red and so fierce I wonder if his head will explode. He spits in my face, but he has so little moisture in his mouth that I can’t feel it amidst the rainfall. “You’re no son of mine,” he says.

“If only that were true, Father,” I say. “If only.”

I stand, turn toward the remains of the battle, which is finally winding down, with most warriors on both sides exhausted, injured, shooting glances in our direction, trying to figure out what’s happened, which leader won the day.

“STOP!” I scream.

Any heads that were facing away from me turn, the Soaker girl who saved my life included. Her eyebrows lift in surprise, as if I’m the last person she expected to see back up on the beach.

“Stop,” I say more calmly. “Enough. Admiral Jones is defeated. We must fight no more. The time for war is over. He”—I point at my father—“is to blame.”

My father goes to say something, but Gard warns him off by poking him in the skin, drawing a trickle of blood.

“He’s lied to us all,” I say, my voice gaining strength with each honest word. “He created our hatred for the Stormers, because he lives for violence, for control, for war. When really it’s him and him alone that has brought us here. He trades bags of dried seaweed for the children of fire country, only to force them into battle, only to be slaughtered by his own men. You should be ashamed of yourselves. We all should.”

There’s silence, and then a laugh.

My head twists back to my father, whose entire body is convulsing with laughter, oblivious to his neck bouncing against Gard’s sword, which continues to slice into him, spilling blood from ragged breaks in his skin.

He looks completely mad.

“Shut it or you die,” Gard says.

“No,” I say. “Let him speak.” Gard’s eyes bore into me, but then he pulls the tip of his blade back an inch.

My father’s laughter fades. “So what?” he says. “So what if I live for this—for all of this? So what if I get my slaves for worthless bags of sea plants? So what? It’s my life, I’ll do what I want.”

One of the Heater warriors—the girl with the sword—steps forward, by my side. “What the scorch did you say ’bout them bags of sea plants?”

The admiral laughs again. “Goff, Roan—your leaders are fools! They perpetuate the child slave trade to save their own lives from the disease, but guess what? There was no magical Cure! They were just worthless plants! None of us are safe from the Scurve. None of us. Which is why none of this matters. What we do, what side we’re on, who we kill. We’ll all die in the end anyway.”

“Kill him,” I say. He has nothing left to offer us. He’s caused so much death, drove my mother to take her own life. “Kill him,” I repeat.

My father snarls at me. “You don’t give the commands! You’re nothing! You never were! You couldn’t even save your mother’s life.”

No more. I will hear no more. Calmly, I draw a knife from my belt, step forward, and drive it into his heart.

Sadie

Although the lightning is distant now, the storm moving past us, I’m as shocked as if every bolt is running through my body. He came back. The boy came back.

No, he did more than that. Much, much more. He helped end the battle, killed his father. Showed he’s not like him at all—not the enemy.

He leaves the knife stuck in his father’s chest, stands, looks away, out to sea, toward one of the ships.

Still riding Passion, I approach him and he shrinks back slightly, eyeing my sword warily.

“I’m sorry about before, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “I understand.”

I nod. That’s all I need. “Go to see her—the girl you were talking about. We’re okay now.”

If I chased him with my sword he wouldn’t go any faster. He sprints away, down the beach, shoving a boat with all his might and clambering on board, his arms working the paddle wildly.

I look away from him, take in the carnage around me. Bodies—so many bodies—broken and bleeding, many of them not moving, some of them groaning and rolling about in agony. Realizing the battle is over, the Healers who rode behind the Riders are creeping from the forest, picking their way through the bodies, tending to those that still have life in them.

Gard says, “That was unexpected.”

I shrug. “My father was right,” I say. “As always.”

Gard looks at me strangely, but doesn’t respond.

“Is it really over?” I ask.

“There is always evil in the world, Sadie. But for now, I think it’s over.”

The pain in my hip screams out, but I ignore it, urging Passion toward the plains, where I last saw Remy.

Skye and Siena wave at me to stop, but it’s Passion they should be heralding, because she halts without any command from me. “Where’s that wooloo boy goin’?” Skye asks, pointing out at the water. I turn and follow her gaze. Lieutenant Jones is halfway to the ship that’s missing the wind-catcher, the one where all the activity was when we first arrived.

“To see a girl,” I say.

“He told Feve and Circ there’s a girl on the ship that looks like us.” This time it’s Siena who speaks.

“Go,” I say. “Find your sister.”

They look at the water, then back at me. “Uhh…”

“I can take you,” a man says, striding forward. He’s weaponless, his face covered in streaks of blood. He’s clutching one of his arms, blood seeping through his fingers. He’s wearing a dirty and torn blue uniform.

“We don’t need anything from you,” I say.

“My name’s Lieutenant—” I wait for him to finish. “Name’s Cain. Just Cain,” he says. “I’m friends with the boy…the young man that just killed the admiral. I’ll take you to where he’s gone. As long as you do the rowing.”

“Yes!” Skye and Siena say at once.

“I don’t know a searin’ thing ’bout what rowin’ is,” Siena says, “but we’ll do whatever you tell us if you can take us to our sister.”

“Are you sure—” I start to say.

“Yes,” they repeat, once more in unison.

“I don’t know anything about your sister, but I’ll take you to meet the Heater girl that Huck’s going to see.”

Excitement flashing in their eyes, Siena and Skye follow Cain down the beach to one of the boats.

Again, without command from me, Passion trots up the wet-sand beach and clambers over the dunes. The plains are rain-drenched and muddy, but she never misses a step. I try not to look at the bodies staring unblinking and vacantly at the sky.

Remy waves to me as we approach. Dazz is being worked on by a Healer, his friend Buff hovering over him.

All of a sudden I find tears springing up as emotion swells in my chest. The desire to be close to someone again hits me so hard I swear someone’s pounding on my stomach. I have no one to hold, no one to comfort me. My mother and father are still with me, yes, but too far away to give me what I need. I have no family.

Remy stares at me, his eyes wet with sadness. Or is it just the rain in his eyes?

I start to dismount, but a flame of pain shoots through my hip. With everything that’s happened, I’ve almost forgotten about my injury. I’m pretty sure it’s not life-threatening, but it hurts like being dunked in a bath of spearheads.

But I don’t need to dismount, because Remy runs to me, grabs me around the waist, pulls me down. The shock of the pain in my hip and his hands touching me is overwhelming, swarming over my skin and through my blood like a warm blanket and a lightning strike and the thrill of battle.

My legs wrap around him and the pain melts away and he holds me in his arms, kisses my neck, nuzzles me with his head. I want to kiss him, but not now, not with the bodies around us, not with the lives of our people so casually ended.

But I will hold him, forever and ever and ever if he lets me.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Huck

As I climb the rope ladder to the deck, I’m scared about what I’ll find.

When I left her there was so much blood. Should I have fought my father then? Could I have? I know the answer is no, that he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her then and there, but I still wonder.

I whipped her half to death. At least I hope it’s half and not whole.

Just before I swing my leg over the railing, I whisper a silent prayer. Deep Blue let her be alive. If only so I can say goodbye properly.

The moment my eyes find their way above deck, my heart beats erratically.

Because she’s there. Not unconscious and lying in a pool of her own blood—the blood that I beat out of her—but standing, looking right at me, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

My feet are nailed to the planks. I can’t move toward her, because what will I say? What will I do?

One of her hands pokes through a gap in the front of the blanket. Her fingers gesture me to her.

Does she mean it?

I lift a heavy leg, then another, stumbling forward. I don’t care if she forgives me, don’t care if she ever wants to see me again after today. None of that matters, because she’s alive. Of her own strength, she’s alive.

When I’m two or three steps from her, I stop again. Her black hair is wet and hangs in shiny strands around her face. She looks so calm, her wounds hidden behind the blanket and her emotionless expression.

What do I say? Should I even try for her forgiveness?

She speaks first. “Huck…”

I wait for it. For the anger, for the blame. It’s what I deserve. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. I have to try. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m a terrible, terrible person and I’ve lived a terrible, terrible life. Everything I’ve touched has turned to—”

“Huck,” she says again, but I wave her off with a hand.

“No,” I say. “I have to say this. I’ve hurt you in so many ways. I never should have let it go this far. I was weak, still am, but maybe a little stronger than before. My father will rule me no more. He can’t—not from where he is.”

“Huck,” she says once more.

But I’m not listening, my mouth on automatic. “You should hate me, you should leave me far, far behind. Never look back, Jade. Never look back at these miserable yars. Forget about—”

“Huck!” she says, this time more forcefully. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to move on. I forgive you.”

“What?” My vision blurs, but I blink my way back to clarity. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” Jade says, stepping forward, closing the gap between us by half. “You risked everything for me. You killed for me. You hurt me to save me. I heard what your father said. If you didn’t…do it…he would’ve killed me. I don’t blame you.”

She steps forward again, right up against me, her face just below mine. My arms want to wrap around her, but I can’t because of her ripped, torn back. I can’t hold her because of what I’ve done to her.

“Are you sure?” I say, feeling her breath on my lips as she breathes—really breathes!

“Yes,” she says, and then she rises up on her tiptoes and kisses me. Soft and tender and forgiving, and she doesn’t want to leave me, doesn’t wish to forget me, and I’ll never do anything to hurt her again—never ever ever—and although I’ve never kissed a girl before, it’s easy, because it’s her. It’s her.

I curl my hands behind the back of her head, careful not to touch anywhere that might be raw. We kiss twice, thrice, four times, just little pecks, before pulling away to look at each other.

And in that look is everything I’ve ever wanted. The pride of someone who cares about me. It never had to be my father—never should have been my father—just someone. Someone worthwhile. Someone like Jade.

If a rainbow were to appear, falling from the sky, coming down to shine colors for each of my emotions, it wouldn’t have enough colors. ’Cause I’m feeling so much, every emotion there is and everything in between, streaking through me and around me and across me and in me.

I’ll never let this girl go. Never ever ever. Not in my heart, at least.

“Jade,” a voice says from behind.

Siena

The boy’s taller’n her and partially blocking her, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it is her.

“Jade,” I say, calling out to my long lost sister.

Her little head that’s so much bigger’n it should be—or at least bigger’n how I remember it—pokes ’round the Soaker boy, the one who helped end the battle.

She’s the spitting image of my mother, beautiful from head to toe, although I can’t see much of her ’cause of the blanket ’round her shoulders.

Skye pops up beside me, a moment behind on the ladder. “It’s her,” I whisper, but I don’t hafta say it, ’cause she knows too.

“Burnin’ chunks of tugblaze,” she says, but her voice is way behind me, ’cause I’m already running, crossing the wooloo moving wood floor in five steps. The boy blocks my path.

“Get the prickler-burnin’ scorch outta my way,” I say.

“Sorry, I—I just wanted to tell you to be gentle. She’s injured. On her back.” The boy steps aside.

“Don’t touch my back,” Jade says, rushing forward and smashing into me, hugging me so fiercely that she warms me from head to toe like there’s a fire and about ten tugskin blankets inside of her. My arms don’t know where to go, ’cause I’m not s’posed to touch her back, so they just hang in the air all awkward-like. Maybe I can’t hug her, but I can kiss her, and I plant a dozen on her head, on her hair, which is wet and don’t smell so good.

But I don’t care, ’cause it’s my sister and she’s hugging me and I’m saying over and over again, “JadeohJadeohJadeohJade.”

And then Skye’s there and she’s hugging us both, and the boy’s reminding us to “Be careful of her back!” and I think one of us grazes her skin once or twice because she shudders but don’t cry out, ’cause she’s our sister and tougher’n a pack of green-eyed Killers.

We got no parents, but we got each other. And if Skye or me got anything to say ’bout it—which I ’spect we do considering we’re here, ain’t we?—we’ll stay together till the Fire takes us all.

“Take me home,” Jade murmurs into my chest, and I wanna tell her we will, but I can’t get the words out, which is stranger’n tugs sprouting wings and flying, stranger’n Perry the Prickler having something nice to say.

But Skye covers me, says, “We’re takin’ you home, Jade, you can bet yer life on that. We’re all goin’ home.”

I hear a gasp and finally pull my face outta Jade’s hair to see the Soaker boy staring out across the big ol’ pond everyone keeps calling “the ocean.”

And there it is, a sight I swear to you I ain’t never seen. Almost as big as the sky itself, arcing ’cross the waters, full of so many colors I couldn’t count ’em without taking my moccasins off, there’s this thing, hanging in the air, lit by the sun, which is fiery and red and breaking through the clouds.

“A rainbow,” the boy murmurs.

“No—our rainbow,” Jade says, hugging me even harder.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Sadie

A week after the largest—and strangest—Soaker/Stormer battle, the first ever multi-tribe peace conference is held in storm country, which probably isn’t the best idea considering the dark clouds that are swirling overhead, always threatening rain.

But the boy—Huck Jones—and his friend Cain insisted on it.

Everyone is invited. Every last living Soaker, Stormer, and the visitors from fire and ice country. The Heater children who survived the battle sit at the very front of the crowd, their legs crossed underneath them.

Inviting everyone was also Huck’s idea. He said we all need to know the truth. It turns out there’s a lot more to the boy whose life I spared than I ever could have imagined. Even now, the thought that everything might’ve been different had I let my lust for vengeance move my hand to kill him tingles through me.

But you didn’t kill him. You chose not to. You chose right.

My father’s voice in my head calms me. “I love you, Father,” I whisper.

“What was that?” Remy asks from beside me.

“Nothing,” I say, taking his hand. “Nothing to worry about.”

He smiles, squeezes my palm.

Gard stands to address the audience. Although both tribes’ numbers have been decimated, and now the women, children, and elderly outnumber the young and the strong, there are many more than there could have been. We should count ourselves lucky.

“For the first time in any of our lifetimes, we are here to discuss peace,” Gard says.

An uneasy cheer rises up, but falls silent when someone shouts, “How can there ever be peace?”

Gard raises a hand. “I understand. When all you’ve ever done is fight, you know no different. I know no different. But I’m willing to listen, and so should all of you. Please, I implore you all, listen to what he has to say.”

Gard steps back and motions for Huck to take his place.

Huck takes an uncertain step forward. I hear whispers slide through the crowd like rustling leaves. “They say he killed his father during the battle.” “No, I heard he tried to kill Gard.” “Did you?” “Definitely.”

Huck clears his throat. “We were wrong,” he says. “All of us. Although my father’s leadership took the Soakers in a direction we never should have gone, we followed him. I don’t know why the leaders of the Heaters and the Icers let themselves be used by him—I can’t speak for them. All I know is that we have no excuses. We can’t bring back the dead. We can’t apologize for their deaths, because, although we are deeply sorry, we know words are meaningless when our actions have spoken so loudly.”

The audience is silent, craning their necks forward, hanging on his every word, recognizing the wisdom in them. He’s not saying what I expected him to, not making excuses or laying the blame solely on his father.

“We can only say that we want things to change. Those who refuse to be a part of it will be sent away. We don’t need them. It will take time, but we will try, if you will. We want peace. I want peace. What say you?”

Silence. Heads turn, looking at neighbors, looking at friends, at husbands and wives and children. No one speaks. No one.

And then…

A sound pierces the silence, but not a voice. The scuffling of feet, moving fast, scraping across the plains, skimming past the edges of the tents. No one is on guard, because who would they guard against? Every last Soaker is here, except for the injured.

The crowd shifts as one, gazing in the direction of the sound. Behind us, a form bursts into the center of camp, stopping suddenly when she sees us.

“I’m here to request your help,” she says, panting, sweat streaming from her brown-skinned forehead. Her voice has a musical quality to it, like the tinkle of a stream, or the pitch-perfect sound of a reedpipe.

The four Heaters stand, followed closely by Buff and Dazz. “Wilde?” Skye says.

Huck

The arrival of the new Heater has created quite a stir and temporarily stopped the peace process. I’ve been called into a private meeting to discuss what’s happening.

I sit next to Jade, who her sisters refuse to let out of their sight. From the Stormers are the war leader, Gard, and Sadie, the girl who spared my life. The four Heaters are here, too, along with the newcomer, who they call Wilde. The two Icers round out the group. A strange and unexpected assortment of parties.

Taking control of the meeting, Gard says, “Tell us why you are here, Wilde.”

She shakes her head. “Tell me everything first. I need the whole picture before I can move forward.”

I’m surprised at how boldly she refuses the Stormer leader, but her tone is strong, commanding attention and obedience. If I had to guess, I’d say this woman is a leader in her own land.

Gard stares at her for a moment, and then shrugs, an expression that looks funny on such a large man. “As you wish,” he says. He begins, telling her about the long struggle between the peoples of storm and water country. He tells of how the Riders discovered my father’s slave trade, how witnesses saw the bags of dried seaweed. How the Stormers never understood what they were for until the Heaters and Icers showed up. To his credit, his story is balanced. It’s interesting to hear it from another perspective.

“The Cure,” Wilde says.

“Yes and no,” Gard says. “The sea plants were sold as a cure, but they never really were. It was all an act of fraud by a master of deception, used only to get what he wanted: the children. There was never really a cure.”

Wilde nods, as if she could have guessed as much.

Jade’s sister, Siena, says, “Don’t make no searin’ sense. Why did my father and King Goff go to so much trouble for something that wasn’t even real? It’s wooloo if you ask me.”

Wilde looks at her. “We may never know for certain, but I have a guess. The fear of death is a great fear indeed, a major motivator; it drives even the best men to madness.”

Between Wilde and Siena, Jade’s other sister, Skye, says, “And our father wasn’t the best of men, I can ’sure you of that.”

Siena scrapes her toe along the rug, still shaking her head. “No sense,” she repeats. “How could everyone be so stupid?”

Wilde says only, “Men believe what they want to believe.”

Dazz, one of the Icers, turns to me and says, “Did you know more was being traded for than just slaves?”

“I…” I don’t want to admit it, but I must. The only way this—this peace—can work, is with honesty. “I found out not long ago. My father was attempting to trade the fake Cure for an Icer girl.” I pause, wary of Jade’s eyes, which I can feel staring from beside me. “He wanted me to take her as my wife.”

Dazz is up and moving across the room so suddenly that I don’t even have time to raise an arm in my defense. And then she’s in front of me: Jade.

Dazz’s fist is pulled back, ready to fly, and she’s standing in front of me, the guy who beat the skin right off her back not a week earlier. Protecting me from getting hurt. I almost want to gently remove her and let the Icer beat my face to a pulp. But before I can, she speaks.

“He wouldn’t have bloody married her,” she says. “He’s not like his father. Once I thought he was, but I was searin’ wrong. He saved my life more’n once.”

His muscles still flexed, Dazz says, “The Icer girl—she’s my sister. She almost died because of this Soaker’s father.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I say, speaking around Jade. I don’t know what else to say. “I wish I had done more, I wish I had stopped him sooner.” Why was I so weak? Why was I so desperate to obtain the pride of a monster?

“Dazz,” the other Icer says—Buff I think his name is. “It’s over. Both of the men who hurt your sister are dead or soon to be.”

Skye rises and places an arm around Dazz, pulls him back and down, where he sits blank-faced, staring at his lap, where his fists have finally unfurled.

Jade shifts over, once more at my side. She lays her hand gently on mine. I’m ashamed because it feels so good.

“Now please tell us why you’re here,” Gard says to Wilde, forcing the meeting back on track.

“The Glassies are preparing for war. But not just against us, the Icers too. Maybe everyone.”

Sadie

I want to go with them—with the Heaters and Icers, back to their lands to fight alongside them, like they did for us. Gard’s already said that it’s not the right time for us to wage another war, not when we’re not even sure whether we have an enemy. But my situation is different. There’s nothing for me here, right? My family is dead. The Riders, while still intact, won’t be needed now that the peace has finally been agreed with the Soakers.

“Is there any reason for me to stay?” I ask aloud.

Remy kicks my foot, startling me. I almost forgot he was sitting next to me in the sand. “I hope so,” he says.

“What?” I say.

“I hope there’s a reason for you to stay. I hope I’m a reason.”

“You? But…” I’m stupid, so stupid. I’m not used to this, to any of it. I’ve lived my whole life for duty, for the honor of becoming a Rider one day, and now I’m finally one and I don’t know how to be normal.

“I just thought…never mind.” Remy looks away, out to sea.

“No, Remy, I didn’t mean—” I stop because I’m about to tell a lie. I did mean what I said—that there’s nothing here for me. But it’s not because I don’t care about him, it’s just because…

“I’m not used to you yet,” I blurt out.

He doesn’t look at me, but a smile tugs at his lips. Although I’m not sure I said the right thing—do I ever?—I know I didn’t say the wrong thing. “You think I’m used to you?” he says, unable to hold back the smile that quickly turns to a laugh.

I laugh too and before I can stop, his arm is around me and I’m leaning into him and he’s kissing me, but I’m kissing him back more, probably doing it all wrong, but not caring, because it feels so—so perfect.

When we pull apart I can’t keep the smile off my face and I don’t want to. Things might be all messed up and sad and maybe getting worse, but at least what I’m about to say is the truth, even if only a few minutes ago I didn’t even know it.

“I have a reason to stay,” I say. “You’re my reason.”

Huck

“Tell me again that I’ll see you again,” I say, although I have no right to ask for such a promise.

I can feel an embarrassing number of eyes watching us, but I won’t let them ruin this moment, this goodbye.

“I’ll see you again,” Jade says, her hands curling around my neck, her lips rising up to meet mine. The kiss is warm, like sunshine, and I let it linger, letting her decide when to pull away.

“I’ll see you again,” I mimic, adding my own promise to the mix. “One way or another.”

“All right, break it up. Quit yer lip-wrestlin’ and love-talkin’ and get yer butt over ’ere,” Skye says.

Jade laughs and the sound pulls saltwater into my eyes. I’m glad for her—bloody sad that she’s leaving me for now, but glad that she’s found her sisters, that she’s going home.

And so am I. Back to the sea, to a new life as the Admiral of the Soaker fleet, where we’ll trade and live in harmony with our new Stormer friends on the shores. From now on we’ll swab our own decks, repair our own sails. Given the dangers in fire country right now, the Heater children will stay with the Stormers, protected, until a time when it’s safe for them to return home.

“Are you sure you won’t come?” Jade says, one last time.

“My people are broken and scared. They need me,” I say, wishing I was born to a regular sailor—that my duty was only to myself.

She nods, kisses me on the cheek. “I understand,” she says.

And then she walks away. She walks away and I just watch her.