A staff plunked onto the wooden planking, barely an inch from Jàden’s nose. She gasped and scrambled away, her mind and body sludging through half-sleep.

  “Morning.” Thomas crouched next to the staff, a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. “Ready to feel some pain?”

  Her stomach squeezed tight. Too tight. Jàden slapped a hand to her mouth as last night’s dinner pushed into her throat. She scrambled to her feet and raced past Thomas. Twice she tried to swallow everything back, but as soon as the icy air hit her face, it was a losing battle. She grabbed the deck rail and leaned over the side, throwing up everything in her stomach. This time because she’d eaten too much and her body couldn’t process it fast enough.

  Jàden leaned her head against the weathered wood and breathed in the frigid air until her stomach settled.

  Theryn yelled across the deck. “Ready for breakfast, Jàden? Dusty and I just caught some fresh fish.”

  She glared at the splintered rail, flecks of paint still buried deep in the cracks. Jàden may have saved his life, but now she wanted to punch the laughter right out of his throat.

  Gray swells rocked the Darius. Snowflakes fell in a quiet haze, the wind gusting them every so often into dancing swirls. A wall of mist surrounded the ship, making it impossible to see further than a few hundred spans. Jàden lifted her head, breathing in the icy storm.

  “If you’re done throwing up, let’s get started.” Thomas. His voice needled at her senses as he waited behind her like a heavy boulder about to squash her flat.

  For Kale, she told herself.

  Jàden sighed and turned away from the gentle beauty of the mist.

  Thomas led her below deck, away from the laughter of those who had witnessed her weak stomach. Back to the enclosure where he grabbed a bucket and shoved it in her hands. “The horses get taken care of first. This is your duty now. Food, water, clean stalls and brush them down. If they aren’t well and healthy, we don’t ride.”

  A small sense of relief flowed into her. This, at least, was something she could do. She’d spent years taking care of her grandfather’s horses, mucking out stalls, feeding, training, and even taking notes on his research while he had his eye to a microscope.

  She moved slow, her skin still burning around the embedded metal, but one horse at a time, she brought them fresh water. Then grain. While they ate, she brushed Agnar from head to tail, checked his hooves for stray pebbles, then cleaned out his stall and tossed the muck over the side of the ship.

  Next was Jon’s black. She greeted the stallion with her palm out. He huffed against her hand, then turned away and grunted.

  So, you’re ignoring me now. At least this was an improvement. Jàden brushed the black, though he did not offer the same affectionate nips as Agnar.

  One by one, she went to each horse, noting how they all seemed to have similar quirks to their companion riders. Ashe and Theryn’s horses greeted her, pushing their noses against her pockets in search of treats. Dusty and Andrew’s horses showed curiosity but shied away and let her work. Malcolm’s horse seemed to know his business, stretching his neck for a brushing or picking up his feet when she inspected his hooves.

  But Thomas’s horse snorted at her hand and reared up before she even had a chance to say hello. Bright red fur grew through the black, making the stallion’s hide a speckled mess of color.

  She’d dealt with strong-willed horses all her life. Holding out her palm, she kept still until the fiery beast exhausted himself trying to scare her off. He snorted a warning as she pressed the soft brush along his nose then his cheek. Soon, the horse settled, grunting his displeasure as he leaned into the brush.

  “I’ve never seen horses like these,” she said. For weeks she’d been with Jon and Mather but never really took notice of the finer points of their mounts. “The lines are different, and stallions never get along this well.”

  “They’re norshads. Tower-bred stallions. Somewhere in the past, strong mountain horses were mixed with notharen blood. These hybrids are stronger, smarter and faster than the average equine.” Thomas patted his horse on the shoulder. “You won’t find better mounts anywhere in the world.”

  “Notharen.” Jàden sized up each horse again, recalling her grandfather’s research on the horse-like notharens. Stallions herded together. They roamed prairie lands and marsh lands and were extremely territorial.

  But the notharen had more in common with an octopus than a horse. Their fur could change color as part of a camouflage defense, and they grazed in shallow tidepools, pulling urchins and small creatures off coral reefs when the prairies were flooded.

  “Twice a day. Fed, watered, stalls cleaned. Brushed every morning, walked in the evenings on the top deck to keep them active.” Thomas grabbed the bucket from her hand. “Now, we have fun.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Every morning over the next few weeks, Jàden could barely move. Pain shot through every part of her body. She ate, held heavy rocks, scrubbed floors, polished saddles, tended her wounds and cared for the horses when she wasn’t training. All part of Thomas’s torture to “build her strength.”

  When she did have a few moments of silence, she was so exhausted she fell asleep wherever she curled up.

  Storms across the sea grew darker, fiercer, and every time Jàden pulled a horse on deck for some air, she kept one eye on the sky and her hood pulled low.

  Frank was still out there. She knew it in the deepest part of her gut. If he followed the ship, she’d have nowhere left to run but the bottom of the sea.

  Jon strolled over, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “You two ready? I want to see what she’s got.”

  He’d barely said two words to her since that first night. Jàden forced back her frustration as the faintest hint of a smile touched the side of Thomas’s mouth. “You heard the captain. Let’s go.”

  Jàden handed Agnar’s lead line to Dusty to return to his stall. As she breathed the cool afternoon air, Thomas pressed a staff into her hand.

  Waves crashed against the hull as the women running the ship stopped their duties and edged toward Jon’s men to watch, leaning against the rail and whispering with their heads together.

  Hiding in the stall with Agnar sounded like a good idea right about now.

  Except Thomas stood in front of the door to the lower deck. “The captain has two rules of fighting. One, everything’s a weapon. Two, don’t die.” He crossed his arms and stepped close, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Every Rakir spends years in training. You will need to learn everything twice as fast if you’re going to survive.”

  Jon pulled the half-spent cigarette out of his mouth. “We have enemies hunting us on the ground and in the sky. That means we have to be stronger, faster and smarter. There are no secrets between me and these men. We stay alive because we know one another’s strengths and weaknesses, and there is a bond of trust between us. You will have to earn our trust, just as each of us will need to earn yours.”

  “Part of earning that trust,” Thomas said, “means you don’t stand idly by while others fight. You have a duty to protect your own life, and I expect you to fulfill it.”

  She gripped the staff close to her chest. Hadn’t she just protected herself and Theryn?

  Something else burned beneath Thomas’s warning. A deep anger edging his tone. When she met his eyes, their depths sliced her to the core. He blamed her for Mather’s death. If Theryn had died, she doubted even Jon could have stopped Thomas from pitching her overboard.

  “Time to work.” Thomas placed his feet shoulder-width apart. “Hit me as hard as you can.”

  She clenched the staff, a deep ache burning in her chest.

  “Come on, Jàden,” Theryn shouted. “Kick his ass.”

  The others laughed at the words and added their jeers.

  Releasing a held breath, she closed her eyes and swung the stick, hitting his solid form. She froze on contact and cracked an eye open. The tip of the staff pressed against his shoulder.

  “I said hit me.” Thomas’ voice grew sharper.

  “You feel anything, Thomas? I sure didn’t see anything.” Theryn leaned against the rail, a woman to either side of him.

  Jàden hunched her shoulders and pulled the staff back then swung it again, hitting further down his arm.

  “I said hit me!”

  She jumped then swung as hard as she could, the wild movement slamming the staff across Thomas’ jaw. Her mouth fell open. “I’m sorry! I—”

  “About damn time.” Thomas ripped the staff from her hands and swung.

  Jàden flinched and shielded her head.

  He stopped a hair’s breadth from her neck. “That’s how you fight. All your strength into every hit because you never know which one’s going to be the last.” He smacked the staff against her burn. “Again.”

  She seethed under the fiery sting in her hip. He’d smacked it dozens of times over the past few weeks, always saying the same thing over and over.

  “You fight with the pain, or you die.”

  The crew laughed. Made fun of her. Shouted comments to both her and Thomas as he put her through an excruciating training regime.

  Every inch of her body burned, ached and throbbed. Sweat poured down her neck, under her arms. All the while, Jon watched, never speaking a word. The jeers were easy to ignore; she’d spent two years taunted by Frank. But Jon’s silence was getting under her skin.

  “Pay attention.” Thomas stripped the staff from her hand and slapped it against her shoulder.

  The hit stung.

  “Sorry,” she muttered when he handed it back. She wiped a hand across her brow, sweat and cold drizzle making her palms slick. Her eyelids were heavy and her stomach growled, but she held the staff tight. She pulled back to swing.

  But Jon caught her wrist. “Not like that.”

  He moved directly behind her, sliding her hands along the staff until she held a wider grip. Jon pressed her shoulders down, moved her arms into a stronger alignment, then grabbed her hips and shifted her stance.

  Fire ached in her gut from the intimacy of his touch. She held her breath, barely able to focus with Jon standing so close.

  “Like this.” His breath blew across her ear, raising bumps on her skin. “Don’t swing with your arms. Use the power within your body.” He laid his hands over hers and slammed the staff forward, straight into Thomas’ jaw.

  Thomas stumbled away, holding his cheek. “You fucking ass.”

  Laughter erupted across the deck.

  Jàden clenched the staff, Jon’s warmth enveloping her hands.

  “Feel the speed,” Jon said. “The power coiled in the movement, not in your grip.”

  But the only power she craved in that moment was Jon’s mouth against hers. She dropped her eyes, biting down on her lower lip so no one could see her longing.

  “That’s enough for tonight.” Jon released her and stepped away. “Get the other horses handled. Then go rest.”

  And like that he ignored her again.

  The horses were already bedded for the night, so that was one thing she didn’t need to do. Clenching her jaw in frustration, she handed the staff to Thomas before disappearing below deck. Dressing her wounds, she dug into her gear for a fresh blanket and retreated to her sleeping space. Picking up the thin wool coverlet, she frowned at the datapad nestled beneath. Exhausted by Thomas’s aggressive training schedule, she’d forgotten all about it.

  Jàden rifled through Jon’s saddle bags for a firemark. Curling up with the blanket around her shoulders, she pushed away thoughts of returning to Jon’s side. Maybe a woman would seek out his company, though that needled a jealous pang into Jàden’s heart.

  But Kale always had a way of making her smile, and tonight she needed to see his face. Jàden pressed the glass orb into the small indention on the front of the datapad.

  Violet light traced across the seams and lit the screen. She pressed her thumb to the bottom corner so it could read her biometrics.

  “All right, Kale. I need a little help here.”