Tides of Maritinia Read online

 

  I was frozen, my back glued to the mat. Cotton-­mouthed, I tried to swallow. Footsteps came closer and closer, sounding like the dwindling ticks of a time bomb.

  A figure appeared in the doorway. She wore a loose-­fitting white shirt over a silky yellow wrapped skirt that hung to her ankles. “Hello, Drake. I’m home.”

  I croaked out something unintelligible.

  “Did I wake you?” She was short, even by Maritinian standards. Five feet at best. But she stood tall, her chest held out front, her chin raised in defiance of some unseen power. She dropped her bag and approached me with sturdy steps. “I’m exhaust-­ed.”

  “Sure you are,” I replied though she looked anything but.

  She stopped at the sleeping mat’s edge. “You’re on my side.”

  “Just keeping it warm for you.” I scooted over.

  She dropped down with an audible exhale, then curled into me and draped her leg across my boxers.

 

  My cheeks flushed, and I suddenly felt hot all over. She nuzzled into my shoulder, curly hair tickling my cheek.

 

 

  “Don’t ever let me do that again,” she said. “I can’t handle Mother that long.”

  “How long is too long?”

  “The first day was nice. The other thirteen were torture.”

  Gone for two weeks? I couldn’t believe the timing.

 

  I turned my head toward the closet, her hair tickling my nose. I could see the body through the gap between the curtain and the floor. She’d see him, too, if she only rolled over.

  I wanted to scream. Wanted to scream and run away.

  She breathed quietly, her fingers raking through my chest hair. I told myself not to fight it. She couldn’t tell I wasn’t Kell. We were an exact match. Kell had been through body scans all his life. The Empire knew every last detail.

  Her index finger stopped on the scar near my shoulder, and she traced the war wound all the way down to the bottom of my rib cage, then slowly back up. He’d earned the scar in the Secession Skirmishes.

  “You ready for the ceremony?” she asked. “We leave this afternoon, remember?”

  “Of course, I’m ready.”

 

  She gave my bare chest a pat before sitting up.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I need to wash. I’ve been wearing these clothes for four days.” She stood and stepped over to her bag.

  said Pol.

  I was up in an instant, hurrying to put myself between her and the corpse, my heart pumping erratic beats. Dammit, I hadn’t seen any women’s clothes in there last night. But it was dark. And I was looking for rope.

  The bag was in her hand. She watched me with puzzled eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “You must be tired,” I said. “Let me take care of that.”

  “Really, Drake, I think I can handle it.”

  “No, you’ve had a long trip.” I reached for her bag. “Let me unpack for you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Please let me do it.” I grabbed the leather handle and yanked it from her hand.

  “Ow. What’s your problem?”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “Why are you always such a bully?”

  I stayed silent as I stood my ground, the bag’s itchy wool rubbing against my thigh.

  “I’ll be downstairs,” she said, but she didn’t move, her eyes focused on something behind me. “What is that?”

  I looked over my shoulder. At the wall, up near the ceiling. Blood.

  My stomach plummeted like a stone sinking to the ocean floor below.

  Pol’s voice slipped into my mind like a dagger between shoulder blades.

 

 

  She moved to the wall to get a better look. “Is that blood?”

 

 

 

  “Crab,” I blurted. “He was on the wall last night, and I went to grab him so I could toss him out the window. Nipped me good.” I showed her one of the gouges on my knuckles.

  “You didn’t think to clean up?”

  “It was late. I’ll tell the guards to clean it later.”

  She turned to stare at me, intense eyes probing and penetrating, like she was trying to detect the imposter inside. “Why are you acting so strange?”

 

  I ignored Pol and volleyed her question back at her. “Strange? What’s so strange?”

  “Why are you so damn cranky? I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “Maybe that ceremony is getting to me after all.”

  “You’re nervous about it?”

  “I guess so. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “I see it in your face. You look terrible. Are you sure you’re ready for a long trip?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  She smiled. “Good. It’s not like we can cancel when the whole world will be watching. I’m going to take my shower.” With that, she was heading down the stairs, pulling her shirt over her head.

  I watched her go, pulse pounding in my ears, sweat breaking on my forehead.

 

  I was in the closet, staring down at the hacked-­up corpse on its sleeping mat.

  I tossed her bag into the corner and grabbed hold of the mat. Squatting low, I walked backward, pulling the body along while I kept my eyes glued to the stairwell, willing her to stay downstairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Reaching the window, I swept the hanging cloth aside and poked my head out, eyes searching left and right. Neighboring balconies were empty, except for one. A woman drinking tea, her gaze aimed out at the water.

  I checked for boats. None were close, but several rode the golden waves a ways out. Fishing boats and a kelp barge.

  I said.

 

  It had to.

  I took hold of the body, hooked my arms under his armpits, his flesh cool on my forearms. With a heave, I tried to lift him off the sleeping mat, but the body slipped from my fingers, and his head clunked back down.

 

  I stopped trying to lift the body, so I could gather my thoughts.

 

 

  he said.

  I grabbed Kell
again and had to suppress a chill as I found a better grip by sinking the fingers of both my hands into a pair of deep wounds.

  Another heave, and I had him off the floor, then out the window.

  I watched the body descend, five, ten, twenty feet until he struck the water in a violent explosion of sea spray. Waves emanated outward, then rebounded back, foamy green water washing over his back.

  I looked at the woman on her balcony. She’d heard it. Her back was straight, her head lifted high like a cat listening for danger. I ducked under the cloth, one eye still peeking.

  said Pol.

 

 

 

  The woman on the balcony stayed in her chair, the noise not loud enough or unusual enough to investigate further. Soon she was back to drinking her tea. I checked the boats. None changed course.

  I nabbed the blood-­stained sleeping mat along with Kell’s severed fingers and sent them out the window. I went to the water bucket, still half-­full from last night, and gave the windowsill a quick wipe down, same for my bloody arms and hands.

  Leaning out, I watched for cuda fish, watched for fins slicing through the water. Didn’t see any, but the body did drift under the platform. Out of sight. Elation surged inside me.

  I felt a hand on my back. “What are you doing?”

  Startled, I wheeled on her. “Nothing.”

  She was in a towel, her forearm pinning it to her chest. “You’re all sweaty.”

  “I was just—­”

  “Were you doing your push-­ups?”

  I nodded.

  “A little early for that, isn’t it?”

  I tried on a nervous smile. “Never too early to exercise.”

  She dropped the towel. “Never too early for a lot of things.”

  My gaze wandered downward, her bare skin kissed by the sun’s early rays. I caressed her curves with my eyes. Then my hands.

  For Sire and Empire.

  CHAPTER 6

  “KWuba and Jebyl, Maritinias’ two castes. One the ariastocaracy. The other teh worker bees. All know their place. Such is the wisdon of the Sire.”

  –JAKOB BRYCE

  I looked at my guards, who sat across from me, facing sternward, firerods on their laps. The guards were new. A shift change must have come at some point during the night. Based on the silk scarves neatly folded in their pockets, both were Kwuba, their faces fixed in soldierly scowls.

  Looking past them, I could see the Ministry. On the water for ten minutes already, and it was still a long way off. The boat lunged and slacked, lunged and slacked to the beat of three squids jetting in unison.

  I relaxed into the rhythmic motion, my mind swinging to a similar rhythm, the sweet memory of a passion-­filled sunrise.

  I’d forgotten it could be that good. Forgot what it was like to have a physique I wasn’t ashamed of. There’d been no need to hide under the sheets, or subtly direct probing hands away from my flabby parts.

  It was like I was young again. Reinvigorated.

  She was an aggressive lover, and fearing I’d give my identity away by doing something Kell wouldn’t, I’d succumbed to her greed. I’d let myself be molded into whatever she needed, let her position my hands. My hips. My mouth.

  I let her control the pace. The ebb and flow. She was the moon, and I was the sea whose tide rose at her command.

  And I’d reveled in every second. Unburdened by the mission. Unshackled from my responsibilities.

  The things she made me do . . .

  Unbelievable.

  It was strange at first, knowing my political officer could see and hear all, but I got over it. Fourteen months since I’d touched a woman? I got over it in a hurry.

  I looked up at the sun and let its hot rays bake my face. For the first time since arriving on Maritinia, I didn’t mind the open water or broad sky. I was finally getting used to being outdoors.

  It was a gorgeous day, really. A warm breeze textured the rolling water with millions of tiny ripples. Vast fields of golden kelp swayed just below the surface with a natural grace that was totally foreign to my home world of all-­encompassing structures and enclosed spaces.

  High over the water, Admiral Mnai’s face shone brightly on a massive skyscreen, his austere gaze aimed at the city. His forehead tall and imposing as a prison wall. His cheekbones high as towers. Eyes like searchlights.

  The skyscreens were supposed to serve as the Empire’s voice. They surrounded all the major population centers to act as the conduit through which the Sire lavished praise when kelp yields were high or meted out criticism when quotas weren’t met.

  But after transmitting the video of the contingent’s slaughter, Mnai had severed all communication with the Empire. He’d taken control of the skyscreens and used them for his own purposes. Used them to scowl upon his population one long day after another. A stifling reminder of who was in charge.

  Soon, I lost sight of him as we passed underneath, the boat coasting between a pair of sturdy concrete stanchions that held the skyscreen and surrounding speakers more than three hundred feet in the air. Safely out of reach of the prying fingers of a technology-­deprived population. Such was the wisdom of the Sire.

  For the first time since I’d defied his order to kill the woman, the voice in my mind spoke.

  A stir of dread soured my stomach. I didn’t respond. Didn’t want to.

 

  Turning to my right, I watched as we lunged our way past another boat, the deck no more than a broad leather tarp stretched between pontoons made from bundles of sea bamboo. The Jebyl crew—­three of them—­bowed in our direction and touched their fingers to their hearts. Moving my gaze down past the water’s surface, I spotted tentacles sprouting from long, tube-­shaped shadows.

 

  I craned my neck to look back at my boat’s captain. “Can’t we go any faster?”

  “I can ask, sir, but the squiddies are a fickle lot.”

  “Ask.”

  Reaching for a tentacle that stretched across the hull, he gave the taut skin a triple tap—­code for giddyup. Didn’t do much good. Best I could tell, our forward lurching continued at the same sluggish pace.

  The captain gave me a bow of apology. “I try-­ed, honor-­ed sir. But the squiddies have chosen to heed only Falal today. Please forgive my inadequacy.”

  My ears perked at the word Falal. Some kind of cult according to the reports I’d read. I wished I could go back and surf the database more closely, but I’d had to ditch my comm unit when crossing into tech-­restricted space.

  Pol’s voice was tight as a violin string.

  I dropped my chin into my left hand. I didn’t want to disappoint my father, and I knew he’d be reading my mission reports. The old spy was proud I’d finally decided to take the challenge of being an operative. Finally followed in his highly decorated footsteps.

  We were a family of spies. Generation after generation of the Empire’s eyes and ears. Read an E3 org chart, my father would tell me, and you might as well be reading the Bryce family tree. We were the Empire’s first family of spies. We had a reputation to protect. Even a minor blemish on my record would be sure to earn his ire.

 

 

  n’t it? In the end, you agreed with my decision. Killing her would’ve brought more suspicion.>

 

  For the guards’ benefit, I struggled to keep signs of emotion off my face.

 

  The accusation stabbed straight into my heart, outrage spilling from the wound.

  A voice, a real voice said, “Are you okay, sir?”

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said to the guard. “Just thinking.”

  “You look ill. Perhaps we should take you back home. Let Sali take care of you. I’m sure you missed her. She was gone so long.”

  Sali. That was her name. “No. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Very well, sir.” The guard’s eyes went back to the sea.

 

 

 

  I closed my eyes to let the words sink in.

 

  He’d taught me this lesson many times before. I thought I’d understood. Thought that when the time came, I could do anything the Sire required of me. Anything.

 

  I wanted to argue that, given the circumstances, I’d made a smartest decision possible. But even if that was true, he and I both knew that the original reason I’d balked at killing her had nothing to do with tactics. I’d let my conscience get in the way. I opened my eyes and sat silent, knowing I’d screwed up. Knowing I’d been weak. Knowing I had no choice but to take my medicine.