that by now.
As they reached the wheelhouse level metal creaked alarmingly, and the stairs swayed under Tremaine’s feet, sending her careening into the wall. She fell back against Ilias, clinging to the handrail, suddenly aware how high up they were. “What the hell…?” she gasped. It was like being at the top of a tall and unsteady tower in a hurricane.
“The ship’s heeling over,” Ilias told her, bracing his feet on the steps to keep them both upright.
She looked over her shoulder at him, trying to keep up a pretense of calm. “Is that another word for sinking?”
“Turning,” Gerard explained, grimacing as he hauled himself up the railing. “Without slowing down.” Recovering his balance, Averi reached the top, wrenching the hatch open.
With Ilias urging her, Tremaine managed to pry her hands off the rail and drag herself up. As they reached the hatch, the deck began to sway back to a more level plane. Following Averi and Gerard, Tremaine bounced off the opposite wall of the short corridor and stumbled into the officers’ chartroom.
The room held a polished wooden chart cabinet in the corner, and there was a large table bolted to the floor, covered with maps and papers. The place was full of disheveled uniformed officers and worried civilians. Tremaine recognized the captain even though he was in his shirtsleeves and a younger man than she had expected to see; he was standing in the center of the room, hands planted on his hips, anger written in the tense way he held himself and the grim resolve on his windburned face.
He confronted an older man in a brown walking suit nearly as well tailored as the ones Niles wore. Captain Marais was saying, “And I’m telling you, we’re not going to run again. We were forced to abandon Ile-Rien—”
“Your orders were to take this ship to Capidara,” the man interrupted briskly. He was tall, sharp-featured, with carefully cut gray-white hair. “The civilians, the women and children on board—”
“I know what my orders say, I don’t need you to repeat them,” Marais snapped.
It’s happening, Tremaine thought, not realizing she had been unconsciously expecting this until now. The reality of Ile-Rien’s fall was starting to sink in, and the chain of command was breaking down. From her family background Tremaine might have been expected to be an anarchist at heart, and she was a little shocked to discover this was simply not true; Captain Marais’s defiance worried her, even though she wanted to save Cineth more than he did. The other men in the room looked angry, determined, tense. She saw Niles standing back against the wall, arms folded, his lips thin with annoyance.
“Apparently you do need your orders repeated,” the other man shot back. “No one wants to see an undefended city attacked, and I admit an alliance of some sort with the native people is imperative. But this isn’t a warship.” He threw a glance at Ilias, who stood near the door with Tremaine. Ilias’s eyes moved from one man to the other, wary at the air of tension in the room. Tremaine knew he couldn’t understand the conversation, but she didn’t want to chance interrupting it with a translation.
“We’re at war with an enemy that doesn’t recognize the concept of noncombatants, Count Delphane,” one of the other civilians pointed out, his voice acerbic. He was an older man, balding and somewhat stout, dressed in a battered dark suit and fanning himself in the warm room with a folder of papers. “And we carry weapons, so of course we’re a warship. The conventions of international law simply do not apply.”
A solicitor, Tremaine thought, pegging him instantly. A solicitor on our side, more’s the better. And the opposition is Count Minister Delphane . And she had been unnerved by Lady Aviler’s presence. Delphane gestured in exasperation. “Taking us into battle with the Gardier is as good as murdering everyone on board.”
Marais’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve
As they reached the wheelhouse level metal creaked alarmingly, and the stairs swayed under Tremaine’s feet, sending her careening into the wall. She fell back against Ilias, clinging to the handrail, suddenly aware how high up they were. “What the hell…?” she gasped. It was like being at the top of a tall and unsteady tower in a hurricane.
“The ship’s heeling over,” Ilias told her, bracing his feet on the steps to keep them both upright.
She looked over her shoulder at him, trying to keep up a pretense of calm. “Is that another word for sinking?”
“Turning,” Gerard explained, grimacing as he hauled himself up the railing. “Without slowing down.” Recovering his balance, Averi reached the top, wrenching the hatch open.
With Ilias urging her, Tremaine managed to pry her hands off the rail and drag herself up. As they reached the hatch, the deck began to sway back to a more level plane. Following Averi and Gerard, Tremaine bounced off the opposite wall of the short corridor and stumbled into the officers’ chartroom.
The room held a polished wooden chart cabinet in the corner, and there was a large table bolted to the floor, covered with maps and papers. The place was full of disheveled uniformed officers and worried civilians. Tremaine recognized the captain even though he was in his shirtsleeves and a younger man than she had expected to see; he was standing in the center of the room, hands planted on his hips, anger written in the tense way he held himself and the grim resolve on his windburned face.
He confronted an older man in a brown walking suit nearly as well tailored as the ones Niles wore. Captain Marais was saying, “And I’m telling you, we’re not going to run again. We were forced to abandon Ile-Rien—”
“Your orders were to take this ship to Capidara,” the man interrupted briskly. He was tall, sharp-featured, with carefully cut gray-white hair. “The civilians, the women and children on board—”
“I know what my orders say, I don’t need you to repeat them,” Marais snapped.
It’s happening, Tremaine thought, not realizing she had been unconsciously expecting this until now. The reality of Ile-Rien’s fall was starting to sink in, and the chain of command was breaking down. From her family background Tremaine might have been expected to be an anarchist at heart, and she was a little shocked to discover this was simply not true; Captain Marais’s defiance worried her, even though she wanted to save Cineth more than he did. The other men in the room looked angry, determined, tense. She saw Niles standing back against the wall, arms folded, his lips thin with annoyance.
“Apparently you do need your orders repeated,” the other man shot back. “No one wants to see an undefended city attacked, and I admit an alliance of some sort with the native people is imperative. But this isn’t a warship.” He threw a glance at Ilias, who stood near the door with Tremaine. Ilias’s eyes moved from one man to the other, wary at the air of tension in the room. Tremaine knew he couldn’t understand the conversation, but she didn’t want to chance interrupting it with a translation.
“We’re at war with an enemy that doesn’t recognize the concept of noncombatants, Count Delphane,” one of the other civilians pointed out, his voice acerbic. He was an older man, balding and somewhat stout, dressed in a battered dark suit and fanning himself in the warm room with a folder of papers. “And we carry weapons, so of course we’re a warship. The conventions of international law simply do not apply.”
A solicitor, Tremaine thought, pegging him instantly. A solicitor on our side, more’s the better. And the opposition is Count Minister Delphane . And she had been unnerved by Lady Aviler’s presence. Delphane gestured in exasperation. “Taking us into battle with the Gardier is as good as murdering everyone on board.”
Marais’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve
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