2
I’m halfway down the ladder by the time Lemon’s voice snaps over the all-call. “This is navigation. We’ve got an inbound cetoid Reckoner on our instruments. Await further instructions.”
Beneath me, the main deck is abuzz. The crew comes pouring out from the warmth of the lower levels, leaning over the railings, hoping for a glimpse of the monster on its way. But something far more dangerous is stalking through our ranks, and as I jump from the ladder, I nearly crash headlong into her.
“Cas,” Santa Elena says, catching me by the shoulders. Even with a massive winter coat softening her, the captain gleams with wicked edges. Her teeth flash bright against her warm brown skin, and her eyes shimmer with a challenge. “I have a feeling we’ll be needing your expertise.”
I’m still not used to the captain chumming with me, but it’s so much better than being in her crosshairs. The fact that she’s stopped calling me “Cassandra” is just the beginning of the benefits that come from being one of her precious chosen protégés. It’s strange to think that she was my greatest enemy less than a month ago. Now, under her tutelage, I might just survive these seas.
Surviving her is another matter entirely.
Santa Elena steers me toward the aft of the ship, her fingers twisted in my jacket’s baggy shoulders. The chaos of the main deck fades, and I let the quiet focus me, knowing the captain’s mind is already ten steps ahead. Even with this impossible monster on the radar, Santa Elena’s unflappable.
I draw a few deep breaths to clear the last of the panic from my head. I need every inch of my wits if I’m going to make the right calls. “It’s probably drawn by the noise the engines are making,” I say, eyes dropping toward the rumble beneath our feet. “Can we spin them down? It’ll get cold, but it’ll give the beast less of a target.”
Santa Elena nods. She plucks the radio from her belt and raises it to her lips, her breath fogging the plastic. “Captain to engines. Bring us down to minimum spin, but don’t let us go all the way cold. We might need to move at a moment’s notice.”
But quieting the ship down might not be enough to get this beast off our backs. “Best bet is to send out the herding dogs,” I tell the captain, jerking my chin toward the nearest Splinter dock. “Head the beast off with a smaller, quicker target. Cetoid’s brain will get latched on the puzzle, giving us a chance to draw it away.”
“And if it doesn’t get drawn away?” Santa Elena counters.
I swallow. Dread churns in my stomach, but I crack a weak smile. “Got a harpoon?”
A minute later, I’m clambering into a Splinter on the starboard side of the ship. I lean over the needleboat’s outer edge in time to catch Chuck dropping into her own Splinter on the deck beneath me. She flashes me a thumbs-up as she settles into the narrow white ship’s cockpit, then starts to braid her waves of inky hair. I return the gesture, sit back, and pull the safety straps over my shoulders.
“Cas will take point, for obvious reasons,” Santa Elena’s voice announces in my earpiece. “If she gives an order, you follow. Understood?”
“Understood,” I reply immediately.
“Understood,” Varma says from one of the port side Splinters. I can almost hear his smile.
“Understood.” Chuck’s voice comes loud and clear through the earpiece, soft and distant from below.
There’s a pause, and somehow that pause kills me even more than the familiar voice that mutters, “Understood.”
Murderer. Poisoner. I swear I smell Reckoner blood. The venom sinks into my thoughts before I have a chance to steel myself against it. I grit my teeth and clench the controls. There are bigger things to worry about than the girl in the Splinter on the other side of the ship. I focus on the task at hand. I cut through the chaos and hone in on the only thing that should matter, the truth of what I saw on the monitor.
There should only be one free-swimming, unbonded Reckoner in these seas, and he’s not a cetoid. Half the reason we fled south was to ditch Bao—we retreated to cold waters to keep him from following us.
But cold waters are nothing to a cetoid, and somehow this one is fully grown. Its size on the monitor put it at nearly the same length as the Minnow itself. It shouldn’t exist.
Bao wasn’t supposed to exist either, but Fabian Murphy’s greed found a way around that. The IGEOC agent stole Bao—Bao and so many others—from the stables that trusted him, and he pawned those pups off to pirate buyers hoping to raise the beasts for themselves. Santa Elena was the first to realize she needed a proper trainer to do it, so she went through the trouble of kidnapping me. But as long as Fabian Murphy’s dealings are unaccounted, no Reckoner in these waters is completely impossible.
“Splinters away at my mark,” Lemon announces over the all-call. “Three. Two. One.”
The snap of pneumatics launches me violently sideways. My needleboat sails in a neat arc over Chuck’s as we both drop. It plunges into the still, icy seas, sending up a spray that winches my muscles tighter as it ghosts over my face. I bring my Splinter to life with a twist of my wrist. On my left, Chuck revs her engines to match.
Being a pirate trainee is mostly pain. Mostly backbreaking work. But I kinda like this part.
I let the Splinter fly, and it leaps forward like a coiled spring, pouncing across the water. With Chuck on my tail, I round out in front of the Minnow, letting the stern of the needleboat kick up a wave that nearly plows over Varma as he crosses my wake.
I ignore the third boat at my rear and set my sights on the distant horizon. “Lemon, give me a heading.”
“See that big berg? Looks like a serpentoid Reckoner?”
So she has been paying attention. I scoff.
“Point yourself right at it and keep going.”
I cut across the waves, glancing back at the Minnow to gauge my heading. Its patchwork figure rears against the gray skies, and a glow of pride sings through me. The ship’s a survivor. I joined up as a trainee because I was desperate for protection and desperate for someone who could teach me how to survive these oceans. At the start, I never wanted to be the captain’s successor. But I can’t deny the way my heart swells at the sight of the Minnow and the thought that, if I earn it, someday it could be mine.
Four months ago, I’d have wanted that boat at the bottom of the NeoPacific. My whole life up until that point had been devoted to crushing piracy, to wielding the absolute power of Reckoners against ships like this one. That was before Bao. Before the truth about Murphy. Before…
“Cas,” Santa Elena snaps in my earpiece as we streak out into the NeoAntarctic. “I’ve armed Swift with the weapon you’ll need to take it out, just in case.”
My heart shrivels.
“Anyone else feel a chill?” Varma deadpans.
Chuck cackles into her comm. “You know, I didn’t think it could get any more frigid down here. You two had better watch it. Might freeze us in place.”
“Hey, could be handy against this freak Reckoner,” Varma shoots back.
“It’s not a Reckoner,” I mutter, surprised at the sudden wave of defensiveness that rushes through me. “Reckoners are trained. Reckoners aren’t wild.”
“Fine. Varma, what do we call it?”
“Santa Elena.”
“What do we call it that won’t get us gutted?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You do the honors, rani.”
“Stop flirting,” I snap.
“Someone’s gotta,” Varma retorts.
“A hellbeast,” Swift says.
Silence. My hands tighten on the controls. I drop my gaze to my lap, taking in the feeling of the Splinter’s engines rattling through my bones.
“Yeah, sounds about right,” Chuck says.
It’s the last thing I hear before the sea erupts in front of me.
I wrench the Splinter’s wheel, sinking into the surge of water as I swerve to avoid the plated snout that explodes out of the waves. A hellish shriek rings out as the monster releases a blast of fetid air from its blowhole.
“Split!” I scream and whip my head around to make sure that all three Splinters have steered clear of the bus-sized maw that snaps down with a vicious crack. The Hellbeast—Swift’s right, that’s exactly what this thing is—twists, its massive eye rolling in its socket as it points itself right at Varma’s retreating tail.
It’s definitely not a Reckoner. A Reckoner wouldn’t attack without signals. Something about us is driving this beast into a fury, and with no way to communicate, there’s nothing we can do to calm it. It slides underwater, speeding after Varma with a few pumps of its flukes.
“Watch your keel!” I shout. “Cetoids ram from beneath.” I gun my engines, taking off after the Hellbeast.
Varma’s the best Splinter pilot we have, but he’s nothing compared to the monster’s speed. Its dark shadow closes the distance in seconds. The sound of Varma’s heavy breathing echoes in my ear.
“Swerve now!” I yell.
Varma twists the Splinter so hard that he nearly rolls it, just as the cetoid’s snout rockets out of the waves. This time I see more than the gray hide, the keratin plating, the powerful flukes. I see the scars raking its skin. I see the broken ropes hanging from hooks embedded in its flesh. I see the metal ring wound through its blowhole.
Someone tried to keep this beast. Someone failed.
I check over my shoulder and find that Chuck and the other Splinter have regrouped at the base of a massive berg.
“You two, get on my tail,” I call, setting my sights on the Hellbeast’s shadow as it twists around and sets its sights on the hum of my engine. “Varma, circle wide. These things can’t turn fast. That’s our advantage. Use it.”
“Got it,” he grunts, rounding out on the other side of the monster. A building scream behind me heralds Chuck’s approach, and I throw down the hammer. I tug the wheel, sinking into an arc that sets me flying past Varma. We circle, and the Hellbeast slows, unsure which Splinter to go after.
“Keep circling,” I holler. “It’s getting confused. So long as we keep moving, we can keep it guessing and keep it slow.”
“Cas,” Chuck says. “The Minnow can’t make tight turns either. And we’re not fast enough to outrun this thing.”
I close my eyes, just for a second. Just long enough to let her words sink in. There’s only one way to escape this monster. I swore when I joined the Minnow’s crew that I would never kill a Reckoner, but this is different. It has to be different, or we’re all dead. It’s not a Reckoner, I tell myself. It’s a Hellbeast.
“Swift?” Her name feels like a forgotten language on my tongue. The last time I spoke it aloud, she was strapping my armor on me. We were saying our goodbyes, neither of us knowing that I’d be coming back. Neither of us knowing that it would take a single sentence from Santa Elena to make me hate her. Neither of us knowing what it would mean when we kissed like we had nothing left between us.
“Cas?”
“Finally,” Varma mutters under his breath.
“What exactly did Santa Elena give you?”
The shriek in my ears builds as her Splinter sidles up alongside mine. I keep my eyes fixed on my hands, watching the tendons pulse in my wrists. One glance confirms that the cetoid is still turning on the inside of our circle, still trying to get a lock on one of our boats.
I lift my eyes to meet hers.
“You’re going to hate me even more for this,” Swift says, her voice hollow, and hoists the weapon sitting in her copilot’s seat.
It takes me a second to fully register what it is and what it means. The familiar, brutal lines. The heft and weight of the thing. The captain lifted it like it was nothing the day she used this rocket launcher to drive four shells into Durga’s already-decaying body.
This is a sick joke, I want to scream, but that’s not it.
This is a test.
Santa Elena’s found an opportunity to further my training. She wants to test my mettle. She wants me to work with the girl who ripped my life in half and use the weapon that finished what she started. Santa Elena wants to see if I’m cut out for command. She’s telling me to show her that I can overcome the hatred that’s been paralyzing me for the past three weeks.
“Fuck the captain,” I groan, not caring that she’s probably listening in on the line.
The corner of Swift’s mouth twitches upwards. Just barely, just enough that I know I’m not seeing things. And weirdly, unfairly, inevitably, it makes me feel a little surer of myself. Sure enough to start coming up with a plan.
“On my mark, I’m going to break away,” I announce, checking to make sure the cetoid is still spinning after our tails. “It’ll give chase, and I need you three to be on its rear the very instant it locks on to me. Chuck and Varma, hang back, swing wide on my tail, just make sure it stays on its mark. And… you.” A blush builds in my cheeks that has no right to be there. “You stay on its tail like it’s on your line.”
“Cas, what are you planning?” Varma asks.
“Cetoid’s most vulnerable point is its blowhole. You blow it up, the animal’s drowning, either in seawater or in its own blood. It’s a small target, and we’re only gonna be able to hit it when the beast is right at the surface. Don’t miss.”
“I won’t,” Swift says, and I hate how much I believe her.
“You’re using yourself as bait?” Chuck asks, her tone incredulous.
I grin, my fingers tightening on the controls. “If no one else is volunteering,” I say with a shrug, then yell, “Now!” before any of them have a chance to reply. With a brutal yank on the controls, I spin out of the circle and throw down the hammer. The Splinter leaps forward like a horse from the gate, bucking up against the waves.
“It’s on your tail,” Varma confirms.
I glance over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the Hellbeast’s shadow, but I come up empty. “I’m blind,” I shout, trying to wrestle down the itch of fear building in the back of my throat. “I can’t see it at all—someone’s gotta let me know when it’s about to surface.”
“Watch your front!” Chuck yelps, and I swerve just in time to avoid the iceberg in my path. I squint against the icy air, acutely aware of the way my heart is pounding. Is this what leadership is? I wonder, bending lower over the controls. Being scared shitless all the time?
The whine of the Splinter’s engines blocks out any static on the comm, and the water spraying off my hull is scattered into fine mist by the wind. Tranquility settles over me, and for a moment my head feels clear.
“Coming up now!” Varma shouts, just as Chuck screams, “Cas, swerve!”
But I can’t. I know I can’t. Everything relies on Swift lining up that shot, and if I deviate from my path, so will the cetoid. She needs a perfect target, one that she can’t possibly miss.
I hold true.
The swell of water behind me marks the Hellbeast’s approach, and I brace myself as the rear of the Splinter lifts. “Swift!” I warn.
“Cover your ears,” she replies.
I rip my hands from the controls and clap them over my ears just as I hear a slight puff from over my shoulder. The world tilts. The cetoid’s plated snout snaps upwards, sending the back end of my Splinter spinning into the air.
And then the blast. The noise of it crushes into my skull, and the heat washes over me as the Splinter jerks forward. I scrabble for something, anything to grab onto. The restraints snap taut against my chest, choking the breath out of my lungs.
The Splinter’s nose points straight down. The realization hits me with eerie calmness. I might not walk away from this.
The waters beneath me flush red and thick just before I hit them. Ice floods my veins, blackness floods my vision, and then blankness floods my mind.