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.”