Burning Bright (24 page)

She rested her hand on the mizzenmast, found she needed its support because her back hurt as if she’d torn it open, and leaned more heavily on it as she said, “Mr. Wynn, what has happened?”

“Ha’ took ‘un,” he said, nodding at the larboard side ship, “ ‘n ‘sall o’er but ‘t scrappin’. Yon giv’un ‘t colors, like t’ droppin’ ‘er drawrs.” He pointed toward the silent ship to starboard.

Elinor understood barely two words of that. “Does it mean… we won?”

Wynn nodded. “Ayuh.”

Elinor took a few paces toward the nearer ship, glanced over at the other one, and her legs gave out and she sank to the deck, shivering so hard she thought she might rattle the planks. “Tell Captain Ramsay I have gone below,” she said to the air, and crawled down the companionway ladder until she could stand and walk, still shaking, to her bed.

She lay down, but had no intention of sleeping; when she closed her eyes, she could still see the sloop’s deck spotted with short, fiery pillars that screamed and thrashed.

I didn’t have a choice it was their fault I had to save the ship what have I done?

That blackened face floating in the grey-green water stared at her.

I killed him. I have killed a man. Dear Lord, I have killed dozens of men
.

How many pillars was it? She couldn’t keep from counting, then lost track and had to do it again before giving up.
At least sixty. How can they possibly fit so many men into those tiny ships?
And all of those who drowned because they couldn’t swim, weren’t they to her account, too? She had been a fool, a
damn
fool, to go so blithely to war without realizing that the primary purpose of war was to kill the enemy so he would not kill you.

She hugged her knees to her chest. She had done the right thing. She had protected the ship. She wasn’t the only one who’d killed; the gun crews killed the enemy too. If she understood Wynn at all, some of
Athena’
s officers and crew were on that battered ship right now, fighting and killing pirates to take control of the ship and keep them from killing anyone else. Was she so much better than they, that killing in defense of ship and country was beneath her?

But it wasn’t the killing—or not entirely the killing. It was that she’d done it with fire. Her precious, beautiful talent that filled her with such joy, used to turn men into so many piles of bone and ash and grease.

She held her hand well away from the bed and set it afire. It still didn’t hurt. It was gold and lapis and ruby and a dozen other precious stones, limning her fingers with fire, and it was so beautiful it was impossible to think of it being used to destroy—and yet wasn’t that the point of fire, ultimately, to destroy? Even fire that gave heat to a house had to destroy coal or wood to do it. She flexed her fingers and drops of fire fell away from her hand, dimming and going out before they struck the floor. Frenzied, she tore at her clothes and flung them away until she stood naked next to the bed and set her whole body alight.

Smoke rose from the floor, and she drew the fire up until she seemed to be wearing flaming trousers, but otherwise let it pour over her, her face, her hair, her chest and bottom and legs. The fire consumed her misery and her fear and filled her to bursting with joy.
This
was what the fire was for, this intense, beautiful feeling that hurt no one, and with that thought she again felt guilt and despair and began sobbing.

Her tears spat and hissed as they struck her fiery cheeks, so hot they did not even leave traces of steam. She cried, her sobs barely audible over the crackle of the fire as it burned and burned and did not consume her. When she had cried herself out, she extinguished the fire and staggered with weariness and pain all down her spine. So it was not completely harmless, after all. But she could endure any amount of weariness if only she could feel that way again.

She dressed and put on her shoes and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting. Someone had to have seen what she’d done, which meant Ramsay would know, and although Elinor did not think he would detest her for it—he was too rational and generous of spirit—he would never be able to treat her the way he had before. And that would be the end of any friendliness from the crew. How likely was it that those men would believe she might not turn her talent on them?

Someone knocked at her door, startling her. “Miss Pembroke?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“You disappeared rather thoroughly. I thought I’d check to see that you were still with us.”

“I think I should be asking whether you still
want
me with you.”

Silence. Then Ramsay said, “We captured both ships, though unfortunately Bexley killed himself rather than be taken prisoner. One of the ships surrendered without a fight. Apparently the sight of men burning like torches made them consider the benefits of not trying our patience.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“You should be. You performed brilliantly today and saved many lives.”

At the cost of others
. “That is why I’m here, Captain.”

She heard him make an impatient sound, and then he opened the door and entered. His sleeve was black with blood and he had a bloodstained handkerchief tied securely around his upper arm. “Stop that,” he told her.

“Captain, your arm—”

“Hays will fix it later. You need to stop indulging in self-pity. You’re alive. They aren’t. That’s all that matters.” He closed the door and sat on the floor to lean against it.

“I beg your pardon, Captain, but you don’t know a… a
damn
thing about it.”

“Language, Miss Pembroke. You think I don’t?”

Elinor shouted, “How could you possibly understand?”

Ramsay leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I killed a man when I was fifteen,” he said.

Elinor, ready to shout again, closed her mouth in astonishment. He sounded so weary, and yet so matter-of-fact, that she could not think of a reply.

“It was murder, actually, nothing less than murder. I’d had my first posting and there was this other midshipman who wouldn’t stop harassing me—the details aren’t important. I…wasn’t good at controlling my temper—”

Elinor made an incredulous noise, and Ramsay smiled without opening his eyes. “Nothing like killing someone in a murderous rage to teach you to bridle your emotions. He went too far one day. I struck out with my talent, threw him as hard as I could at the bowsprit and cracked his skull. He fell into the water, and when I pulled him out, he was dead.”

“If it was…murder…were you not punished?”

He smiled again. “That was the day my Extraordinary talent manifested. I Flew to pull him out of the water and then as fast as I could to the nearest Extraordinary Shaper. The service—let alone the government—can’t afford to waste an Extraordinary by executing him, even if he deserves it. So it was quietly hushed up and ruled an accident. They said I was too powerful and didn’t know the extent of my Moving capacity. Which was correct, but not true. If you see what I mean.”

“I think so.”

Ramsay opened his eyes and looked at her, clasping his hands loosely on his knees. “You’re more disturbed by having used your talent to kill those men than you are about their deaths.”

Elinor gaped at him. He added, “I have this magnificent, beautiful talent. Moving is—it’s as if you can feel these currents, all around, and you Move things through them and it’s unbelievable how good that feels. And Flying is a hundred times better. And I used it to take a life for no better reason than I was tired of being teased. So yes, I do know what it’s like. And I honestly can’t tell you what to do about that. Fire is meant to destroy, after all. But it doesn’t taint you or your talent that you’ve used it to kill. I swear to you that’s true.”

So much of what he said mirrored Elinor’s own thoughts that for a moment she could not find a response. Finally, she said, “Everyone will be afraid of me.”

“Does that matter? That is, does it change who you know yourself to be?”

Elinor shook her head. “But it is an uncomfortable feeling.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. You forget half these men have sailed the Caribbean before and know what pirates do to Navy sailors when they capture them. It’s a good deal less pretty than burning to death. The other half are being told stories about it. By now every man on this ship believes your actions have paid back in equal measure everything those pirates have ever done to us. They may be trying to put your face on the figurehead as we speak.”

Elinor gasped and then laughed, covering her face with both hands. “That is far worse than being feared.”

“That is a good attitude to have.” Ramsay pushed himself up and, after a moment’s thought, extended his hand to her. “You’ve made a tremendous sacrifice today, and I want you to know I appreciate it. Would you care to join me for supper? Only the two of us, unfortunately, as Livingston and Fitzgerald are in command of the prizes and the others are all engaged in putting
Athena
to rights.”

His hand was warm and firm and his smile made all the rest of her disquiet fade. “I do not call that
unfortunate
, Captain,” she said.

In which there is an unpleasant development

espite knowing that the prizes were under their control, even if one of those doing the controlling was Livingston, whose abilities she doubted, Elinor could not help worrying. Her imagination presented her with scenarios in which the pirates might break free of their prisons, wrest control of their ships and turn their guns on
Athena,
sailing helplessly between them.

She spent many hours on deck, pacing from side to side and making plans for how she would destroy the ships if that became necessary, until Ramsay guessed what she was doing and confined her to the great cabin. “You’re making the men nervous,” he told her, “and that’s affecting the ship. So stay here. Read a book. Write in your diary. Anything that will keep you off the quarterdeck.”

“Am I a prisoner now?”

“I think it would be difficult to keep
you
locked up on what is essentially a floating box of wood. So I’m making it a forceful suggestion.”

Elinor made an exasperated noise, but did as she was asked. She needed to catch up on her diary, which she pretended was a series of letters to Selina, and finding a way to explain what had happened in the battle was difficult. More difficult was the realization that for the first time, she was concealing things from her sister, albeit a fictional version of her sister—though who could say she might not someday be able to give it to her? In the end, she simply glossed over the deaths and said only that she had burned the ships’ masts so they were unable to maneuver, which was true as far as it went.

Captain Ramsay
, she wrote,
has turned out to be a true friend, which surprises me as I did not expect ever to call a man “friend.” I suppose it is because all the men I have known, apart from papa, have either been indifferent to me because we have nothing in common, or far too interested in me as a potential bride. It is in part because of the talent we share and in part, I think, because we
do
have much in common, though our backgrounds could not be more dissimilar; his mother is dead, his father a tenant farmer who was thrilled to see his son escape that life of drudgery. Whatever the reason, I am glad to have a friend, because this place is not at all what I am accustomed to.