Break the Chains

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Pelkaia held her tongue until the door to her cabin closed. She let her hand rest on the cold metal knob for a while, feeling the chill of the world through her fingertips. The rain and the wind were loud enough to drown out any shouting, but she didn’t want to shout at Coss. The last thing she wanted to do was to piss the man off when he was already so clearly displeased with her. She took a breath, pushed her shoulders back, and turned to face him. She almost recoiled from the look in his eye.

“You gave an order I didn’t issue,” she said carefully. Not an accusation. Just raw facts.

He leaned back, putting distance between their bodies, and crossed his arms over his chest. The defiant lift to his chin would have been enough to piss her off on any normal day, but after Petrastad… She was too tired to be angry with him. And wanted, desperately, to know why he was angry with her. She was surprised to realize she wanted to fix that. To repair what she’d broken and beg amends.

“I gave the order you should have given. That’s my job as first mate, isn’t it? Interpreting the best course of action when you are otherwise unable to do so.”

“I was right there. I was perfectly capable of making the call.”

“The right call?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes.”

“And that’s where we disagree. Captain.”

She kept her face a mask of placid calm, wishing to the blessed stars that she had some more sel with her to hide her real features. Having her true skin exposed to the air when she was otherwise vulnerable made her scalp prickle with anticipation of disaster. If only she had another face to hide under, then she could pretend a little longer that Coss was arguing with that person – not her.

“You disagree, you take it up with me in private. That was our deal.”

“Doing so now, ain’t I?”

Her fists clenched. “You know clear as the skies are blue what I mean. You knew I wouldn’t have made that call. Knew it would have made me look weak to override you after you’d called it out.”

“Maybe you need to look weaker.”

“What in the fiery pits is that supposed to mean? I’ve a ship to command, a war to win. I’ve no room for weakness, especially not in front of my thrice-cursed crew.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Fighting a war?”

Her mouth gaped open. “Whose ship have you taken berth on, Coss? Where do you think you are? I’ve been fighting this war since I spilled Faud’s blood in Aransa, and I won’t stop until Thratia joins him in the dirt.”

“That’s just the problem, isn’t it?”

“Gods,” she muttered and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “For the love of a clear sky, explain what you’re getting at. I’m too sandblasted tired to wiggle my way through your nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” He snorted and shook his head. “Let me make the problem real clear for you, captain. You’re fighting a war. Where’s your army?”

“My crew–”

“Those aren’t your soldiers!” She clapped her mouth shut from pure shock at his outburst. “Your crew out there, those souls you order about like they should know the meaning of military discipline. They’re not soldiers. They never have been soldiers. They’re deviant sensitives, yes, and some of their abilities may lean toward a military persuasion, but they’re civilians, Pell. Skies above, they’re refugees. You’re shoving refugees in the path of the monster that’s oppressed them and demanding they scream your battle cry. Demanding they draw blood, when half of them haven’t slaughtered so much as a chicken before in their lives.”

“I seem to recall you saying they were ready for this,” she snapped. “I seem to recall you telling me to give them more rope, more freedom to get involved.”

“I said they were ready to save their own people, ready to learn to carry arms in defense. I never said they were ready for this…” He grasped the air as if he could squeeze the words he wanted out of it. “This wholesale slaughter.”

She sat hard on the bench before her vanity, and let her hands dangle between her knees. She stared at her hands, wondering when she’d gone from rearing dear Kel to spilling blood in his name. She clenched her fists.

“I never asked for this.”

“Neither did they. This is your crusade, and it could be theirs, too, but you’re pushing them too quickly. Expecting them to take up blades of battle right after setting down their damned cheese knives. That’s not a group of killers you have out there. And that’s a good thing. But you’re scaring the salt out of them with all this let-the-watchers die talk. Shit, Pell, some of them are people who just weeks before we picked them up would have happily gone to their local watch with any trouble in their lives. Petty thieving isn’t murder. The two don’t translate.”

“It’s Honding,” she protested. “He’s pushed things forward too quickly, didn’t give me time to get them acclimated to the fight–”

“Honding’s a catalyst, I won’t deny it. But he’s only showing off the cracks that were already there. It’s not his fault the crew’s shying from your fight.”

“It’s mine.”

“Yes,” Coss said, and the word weighed heavy in her heart. He knelt before the bench and reached out to take her clenched hands. With his big, scarred fingers he eased her fists open, smoothed out the taut and spasming muscles of her palms, then held her, gentle as could be. She dared to pick her head up, to look him in the eye. He smiled, and she felt a little lighter.

“Come on, captain. Let’s get back out on deck and show them how strong that heart of yours can be.”

“Lead the way,” she said, and stood, hands still wrapped in his.

“I already did.” He dropped her hand and gestured toward the door. “The rest is up to you.”