Conquering The Unbroken

Chapter 63

The main deck of the ship is cluttered with rebels, Saebia's men, and Idokren's most valuable soldiers. When we reach the top step leading below deck, they're all standing in one place, their hands braced against the beams on the starboard. Their words are muttered, but their attention and focus are clear; for out in the distance, and sailing directly towards our fleet, is an Esaria ship.

It's evident by the royal emblem on the mast, fluttering in the wind and bigger and brighter than anything else on the waters. Our luck hasn't run out yet, and it's possible that we may have extended it by sailing back at the perfect time. I whirl to Renit. "Your father might be on that ship," I blurt.

His eyes widen. He hadn't thought about it, neither did Silas. They exchange a look and it's Silas first that shouts at the captain, "Position her broadside! We're sinking that ship!"

The message travels from ship to ship and just like that, through Silas's simple order, each of our ships takes formation—one in front of the other. Like an assembly line of death. But we're not a warship. What we brought from Esaria is for merchants to transport goods from one place to another. The entire hold is bigger than any other room on the ship and we don't have a gunwale.

But Idokren and Saebia do. I whirl to find them, lost in the chaos, and spot the fluttering flags of both lands up ahead. They're at the front of the lines and will likely be the first to intercept Esaria. Possibly the king. We have a chance to kill him out here, in the middle of the ocean, and return to our homeland without the threat of being attacked. Silas will be king. There's no stopping it.

Tesha appears out of nowhere, slapping a bow against my stomach. "You're with me," she orders. "Your power is useless out here."

She's right. The kernels of it are deep down within my reservoir, but they're of no use to me here. I don't have the strength to take up the ocean; Citlali doesn't either. We must do this the old-fashioned way.

I take Renit's arm. "You need to be careful," I warn him. "If your father is on that ship, he won't waste the opportunity to kill you."

The banished prince rolls his silver eyes, brighter out here by the sun's glow against his skin. "I wouldn't allow myself to be so foolish. There will be archers on the other ship; the one that needs to be careful is you."

I grip tighter onto his forearm, directly over the vambrace. "Over recent days, I've watched you and Silas swing from ship to ship. The last thing I want to see is you on the enemy deck. Understand?"

He smirks, making no promises, and kisses me softly. Though I don't release my grip when he tries to saunter away, leaving our conversation hanging in the air. When he meets my eye again, I am certain he finds no sense of the admiration I'm so prone to tossing in his direction without care.

The sun has tanned his skin over recent days and his hair seems to permanently be crusted with sand. With nothing else to do other than train and sleep, he's added bulk to his once-lost mass. After not being able to find the time due to attempting to rescue me at the fault of his father standing in the middle; Renit is finding his way once more. He's back to looking as full and strong as when we first met.

"Spitfire, I must do what needs to be done. The fastest way to take down their fleet is to storm the deck," he says softly. Still, his words sting like someone just slid a knife into my chest to poke at my heart.

"If it were the other way around, would you feel confident if you spotted me on the enemy deck?" I try not to ask the question through my teeth; it's foolish I have to make him see it my way rather than through the scope visual of his own.

He searches over my face, and his eyes soften. "I'll do what I can to stay safe. That's the only promise I can make. If Silas needs me—"

"Go," I snap. "You won't listen to me anyway."