The Destiny (Blood and Destiny Book 4) (3 page)

“I must say, I was surprised to learn of
your discharge from the Sky Force, Captain Holt,” Admiral Vries said as he
paced up and down the length of his cabin. Holt sat on a chair in the center,
because he’d been instructed to do so—though not an order, he obeyed regardless.
He didn’t want to admit to the fatigue tugging on his limbs, weakness spreading
through his body like a gentle breeze. He grew fearful of sleep; each time his
heavy eyes closed, he wondered if they would ever open again. Strength only came
with a substantial hit of
Anthonium
running through his veins or in
close proximity to Larissa. He tried not to overanalyze it—if his time was
running out, it would be better spent being productive, not sitting around
brooding about things that would never be. He looked up at the Admiral. It seemed
odd to hear someone call him Captain again. It had been many years since anyone
had done so—anyone besides Larissa.

“Did the woman distract
you from your duty?”

“No, sir. I met Miss
Markus only recently.”

“Shame,” Vries said as
he stared through the porthole, watching the fields below pass by.

“It’s a shame I only met
her recently, sir?”

“I wouldn’t know about
that. I meant it’s a shame you left. You were a good Captain. The Gods know we
need as many good men as we can get with this offensive the President has
ordered.”

“Are you attacking
directly, sir?”

“You know I can’t
discuss the details of the mission with a man who no longer holds his rank.”

“Yes, sir.” He took a
deep breath. Everything he had been trained to do, to keep his mouth shut when
held prisoner—which was technically the case now—seemed to make no sense here.
These were his men from his country; he owed it to them to help even when it
went against protocol to do so. He thought of Larissa again and his own advice
to her regarding the honest approach. What harm could it do to offer up
information which might help Vries to choose a less suicidal course of action?

“The coast of Eptora is
well guarded at all points,” Holt began. Vries turned slightly to look at him
from the corner of his eye. “You would lose a great number of ships by sending
the entire fleet to strike at one entry point.”

“I’m not sure I can
trust any intelligence willingly given by a man with a dishonourable discharge
to his name.”

“You can take my advice
or you can leave it,” Holt said.

“I’m listening.” The
Admiral moved to sit behind his desk, locking his fingers together on its
surface.

“The President likely
ordered you to attack from a certain point. He may have told you he has
intelligence to say that point is less guarded than anywhere else.” He paused,
watching Vries carefully for any sign of reaction. The slight bristle in the
man’s moustache was all the clue he needed to tell him he’d picked the right
track. “He has no intelligence.”

“Are you giving me a
judgement of the man’s character, or are you calling him a liar?”

“Both.”

Vries snorted, and
though the moustache hid it, the crinkle in his eyes showed a smile.

“This is the act of a
desperate man who, despite his military training, has no mind for strategy,”
Holt added.

“You seem to know him
well.”

“I made it my business
to know him well,” Holt said, omitting his intention to murder the man.

“Let us say I believe
what you’re telling me. What would your strategy be?”

“To delay the attack,”
Holt said. He instantly regretted it; he could think of no valid military
reason for such a suggestion.

Vries narrowed his eyes.
“I have already been forced into a delay by the arrival of you and your
friends. You can relay your concerns and comments to the President himself and
see if he feels the same way.”

“We both know he won’t
change his mind.”

“Right. We are a few
days from the election. Once the vote has passed, our fate is secured.”

“He already knows he’s
going to win?” Holt asked, unable to hide the suspicion in his voice. It would
be no surprise to discover the election had been rigged.

“It has been assumed,
of course. Things may change,” Vries answered carefully. “I will take you back
to your cell and speak with Colonel Kerrigan next.”

Holt stood, feeling
awkward as his body wanted to snap to attention and salute. He missed it more
than he realized—and more than he would ever admit out loud. The Admiral
collected something from his desk drawer, slipping it into his pocket before
Holt could see. He wondered if it were some torture implement the man intended
to use on Kerrigan, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

When he arrived back in
the brig, he could see Larissa, her nose pressed between the bars of her cell,
eyes filled with a mixture of hope and worry. He wanted to tell her to stand
back, to not give so much of herself away in her expressions. For all his
training and everything they’d been through together, it seemed incredible to
think she hadn’t become as hardened as he expected. If anything, the stress and
upheaval only made her more feminine side seemingly enhanced. He couldn’t
really communicate easily with her in the presence of so many others, even if
she now counted some of them as friends. To him, their company consisted of
enemies to varying degrees, with Larissa being the only notable exception.
Perhaps her feminine side had rubbed off on him too much.

Vries collected Colonel
Kerrigan and turned to face Larissa’s cell. He took the item from his pocket
and poked it through the bars to her.

“Playing cards?”
Larissa said.

“It’ll be a long trip. Should
keep you and your crew entertained.”

“You wish to entertain
us, or are you giving something to keep us from discussing pertinent matters
amongst ourselves?”

“The cards will keep
you entertained. The guard will keep your lips tight,” Vries said, and, as if
he’d been conjured up, a marine descended the steps to take up residence in the
corner. Holt stifled a groan; the presence of the guard would make planning an
escape even more difficult.

“Don’t you have a deck
with Fat Balls in it?” Larissa asked. Vries gave her an incredulous look in
response. “I know they’re only for the Officers to use, but it does make the
game more interesting.”

“Indeed. I will have
the extra deck sent down,” he said, giving her one last, thorough look up and
down before he left, taking Kerrigan with him.

“I think you impressed
him,” Holt said.

“Twice in one day.
Imagine that.”

“He’s not an easily
impressed man.”

“Yes, I got that
inkling. Should I be trying to impress him?”

“It can’t hurt.”

“You should show some cleavage,”
Larissa’s cellmate Sandy said. “A man like Vries, who spends all his time in
the company of men, has probably forgotten what breasts look like or how nice
they are.”

“Why didn’t you show me
your cleavage when we met, cutie?” one of Kerrigan’s men called from the
opposite line of cells.

“Oh, Gods, don’t you
start again. We’re talking about Larissa and her lovely assets, which might go
a long way towards getting us out of here.”

“Um…” Larissa
interrupted.

Holt saw the flush on
her cheeks through the gap in the bars; her entire face down to the tops of her
shoulders had turned bright pink. It was a good thing they were locked up. Holt
wouldn’t have minded silencing such disrespectful banter with the use of his
fists, even if it came from a woman.

“I’m sure I can get us
out of here without having to resort to showing anything to anyone,” Larissa
said. Cid grunted in approval from somewhere nearby. Holt felt like grunting in
approval too, only it seemed a bit too late and redundant to do so. Instead, he
simply looked through the cell bars until Larissa met his gaze, the flush on
her face still there. He nodded once, then slipped out of her view, determined
to clear his mind of thoughts about her assets.

It seemed odd, looking down at funny
drawings of bygone Emperors on the playing cards in Larissa’s hands, knowing
they were, in fact, her ancestors. It seemed even more peculiar referring to
her great-great-great grandfather as Emperor Fat Balls. One Eye and Hook Nose
were bad enough. It was a miracle she hadn’t been born some lopsided freak with
a bulbous head, having these people by way of a bloodline. She stared at the
cards for a long time, avoiding Sandy’s gaze, who sat opposite her, knees
pulled up to her chest. Kerrigan had returned long ago and said nothing of his
discussion with Vries. The remainder of their group had all been for
discussions with the Admiral, but as the brig now had a permanent Marine on
guard, speaking freely would be impossible. She’d slept for a while, curled
into a ball, and awoken to an uncomfortable situation when she found her ankles
entangled with Sandy’s knees. She wasn’t sure which was worse—the sleeping spot
beneath the desk of the old pirate ship, or being stuffed into a tiny cell with
Sandy.

Larissa hadn’t managed
to think up a plan for getting off the ship. Short of jabbing Holt with another
injection of
Anthonium
—which she couldn’t do at any rate, as she had no
access to anything which could melt the small block remaining in her pocket—even
if she could manage to make him disappear for a while, such a trick would only
get them so far. They had the invisibility stone. Sandy claimed an ability to
destroy the locks to the cells, but she could hardly get on with destroying locks
while they were watched. So they seemed to be stuck. Larissa had twice suggested
attempting a game of cards, but her suggestions were met with groans and
refusals. Her apparent
lucky
win the first time she’d played had her
marked as either an extraordinarily lucky woman or a cheat.

“Excuse me,” she called
to the Marine who stood with his back to the far wall, rifle clutched to his
shoulder.

“What do you want now?
I emptied your piss pot an hour ago.”

“How long have we been
on this ship?” she asked. All sense of time had slipped from her mind, and she
had no pocket watch.

“A day and a half.”

“How long till we reach
the Capital?” Her second question went unanswered.

“Three more days,” Holt
said. “Depending on which route he takes. I believe we have been traveling
steadily north, though I can’t determine the speed with any accuracy from this
disadvantaged position.”

“Somewhere between
fifty and sixty miles per hour,” Cid said. Larissa was still amazed how the men
could figure out such details from the sounds of the rotors or whatever other
clues they used.

“We will pass over
Sallarium first,” Holt said as he shifted position to lean his shoulder against
the bars, his face pressed close to one of the gaps. He sat slumped, a trail of
sweat dripping down his face.

Larissa scooted to sit
beside him, the bars preventing the level of closeness she would have liked.
She wondered if Vries would approve a request to switch cellmates and let her
be locked up with Holt instead.

She thought of Sallarium
City, her home for so long—how different it would look now with no Hub. Would
someone else have moved into her apartment? Would Greyfort have hired a new
assistant? Did anyone miss her at all?

“We will likely pass
over Sallarium in a few hours,” Holt said quietly.

“How do you know this?
Just from the sound of the rotors and a guess at the direction?”

“I have been trying to
triangulate our position. We passed by a town not long ago. I could hear the
thumping of machinery in the distance. Most likely the twin mining towns. Vries
wouldn’t bother to take anything less than a direct route, and there is no risk
to him on our own soil save for a few pirate ships. And there aren’t many of
them who would be stupid enough to pick a fight against the biggest ship in the
entire Sky Force fleet. Ask to speak with Vries when we approach Sallarium, see
if you can renegotiate our position. If we are delivered into the hands of the
President and his team of subordinates, we will be hanged the moment our feet
touch the ground.”

“What makes you think I
can renegotiate our position? Please don’t tell me you think I should show him
my cleavage?”

“No,” he barked. The
single syllable—loud enough for everyone to hear clearly—fell flat in the room,
and if it hadn’t been quiet before, it seemed as though a dark blanket of
silence had descended. “Sorry,” Holt whispered, the word barely audible even to
her ear, inches from his face. “Maybe you could challenge him to a game of
cards.”

“You think that would
work?”

“No.”

“We’re you attempting
to make a joke?”

He paused. “Yes.”

The silence returned as
a warming smile spread across her face. His delivery was so dead-pan, she
wondered if she would ever be able to spot his rare attempts at humor. “I don’t
want to leave you when you’re being funny,” she said.

“You think I’m funny?”

“No. You wouldn’t know
how to tell a joke if your life depended on it.”

“It’s a good thing our
lives do not depend upon me possessing such an ability in that case.”

“I could teach you how
to make a joke, but I fear I’m not particularly good at it myself. It would be
like Cid trying to teach you how to talk to women.”

“I heard that,” Cid
said. The corners of Holt’s mouth curled into a smile. Perhaps she was better
at telling jokes than she thought.

“Some people are simply
incapable of learning certain skills,” Holt said.

“Thankfully, you didn’t
think me incapable of learning to fight. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“You still have much to
learn.”

“Holt…”

“What is it?” he asked
when she didn’t manage to complete the question. She wasn’t sure what the
intention had been at the start. She wanted to tell him so many things, to
thank him for everything, to tell him she loved him even though he already
knew.

“Don’t die yet,” she
said simply.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Guard?” Larissa called
out.

“What is it now?”

“Please send a message
to Admiral Vries. I’d like to speak with him.”

The guard glared at her
for a moment, then disappeared to return a few seconds later, presumably having
passed her message up the chain.

“You have a plan?” Holt
whispered.

“Not exactly,” she
said. “Sandy, I need the stone,” she whispered.

“All right.” Sandy
dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled the stone out, handing it to Larissa.

“How do I…”

“Hold it tight in your
palm. It’s activated by heat. You have to keep your fingers closed over it to
make it work. I can’t guarantee how well it will work or for how long, so
whatever you’re planning on doing with it—”

“Be quick about it. I
understand. Thank you.” Larissa sat holding the stone lightly in her palm,
feeling an odd tingling sensation from it. If she hadn’t experienced the power
of illusion-enhanced objects before, she would have disbelieved Sandy entirely.
Clearly, Sandy had far less experience than the Cleric, and while Larissa
couldn’t blame her for that, it did make her cautious.

A long wait followed.
Larissa sat fiddling with her hair and glancing at Holt on occasion. He had
retreated to a spot at the back of his cell and sat hunched into a ball. She
couldn’t see him well in the dim light from the single lantern at the center of
the corridor, but she could see his suffering, and it made her heart twinge to
think he might be close to death. What if while she wasted time trying to
escape up top, he breathed his last?

“He’ll be fine,” Sandy
said with a sympathetic smile. “Just don’t spend too long away from him. He
copes better when you’re nearby, it seems.”

“You think?”

“That’s what I’ve
observed.”

Larissa felt a frown
tug on her brow, and she ran her fingers over the stone again. Her hands were
clean and clear—no scars or marks despite all the trauma they’d been through.
She thought of the Cleric, his moments before death, how he’d believed she
could save him, and then she remembered the plane crash with Cid and his leg…

It can’t be that
simple, surely?

“The Admiral will see
you now,” a Marine grumbled at her as he unlocked the cell. She jumped a
little, having been oblivious to the man’s appearance, so entrapped in her own
thoughts. She looked between Sandy, the Marine, and Holt, who had slumped down
completely and appeared to be sleeping. There was nothing she could do now to
test her newfound theory, and she could offer no reasonable request for wanting
to join Holt in his cell.

“Are you coming, or are
you just wasting my time?” the Marine barked.

Larissa knelt, toppling
slightly and bumping into Sandy, who frowned at her. Then a pair of hands
wrenched her from the cell by her shoulders and unceremoniously marched her out
of the brig.