guessing at the latter, but Sun Dragon had implied as much.
“I don’t suppose you have any proof of that,” Dak said.
“No. He spoke to me in my mind.”
“Wonderful.”
“How can they—I mean, you’re the president’s nephew, right?” Yanko asked, ignoring the surprised looks that Lakeo and Arayevo gave him. Even the mage hunter looked over, her eyebrows slightly elevated. “They must know that you wouldn’t act dishonorably or betray your nation.”
“As I told you, being related to someone important doesn’t mean anything in Turgonia. All that matters are one’s actions. And mine have been—” he ground his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching, “—called into question. If I hadn’t been integral in helping with the boiler, I might be receiving worse punishment than a stay in the brig.”
“But Sun Dragon isn’t influencing the admiral anymore,” Yanko reasoned. “He shouldn’t be... Why wouldn’t he believe what you told him? That I’m... not a rogue Nurian criminal. I’m...” Yes, what exactly was he? Until he cleared his name, he was a Nurian criminal. “Working for Prince Zirabo.”
“Do you still have the letter?” Dak asked.
“I—” Yanko patted his chest, checking for the familiar feel of the letter in his tunic before remembering that he was shirtless. He almost said that it would be in his clothes, but when was the last time he had checked for it? Before swimming out of Pey Lu’s ship? What were the odds that it still remained in that pocket? Even if it did, would the Nurians truly care? “It might be in my tunic.”
“It’s not. I was there when they dumped out your gear and searched everything.” Dak’s jaw clenched again. “They searched all of my gear too.”
“Oh.” Yanko didn’t know what else to say. Without that letter, he was... everything that Dak had said. Everything this Fleet Admiral Ravencrest apparently believed.
A ringing bleat sounded, something different from the alarm of earlier. A call to attention? After it finished, a man spoke in Turgonian over some contraption that piped the words down, even into the lower levels.
Cheers sounded, muted by the intervening bulkheads, but their pleasure was nonetheless decipherable.
“What did he say?” Yanko asked.
“We’ve cleared the landmass.” Dak glanced at the guards, then held Yanko’s gaze across the passageway. “We’re going to Turgonia.”
Yanko gripped the bars of his cell. He could burn through the lock with his mind, and maybe he could even get past the guards without being shot, but unless he could control Admiral Ravencrest’s mind the way Sun Dragon had, how could he get off this ship and back to his people? How could he find Prince Zirabo and tell the Nurians about the new continent before the Turgonians heard about it? How could he avoid being shot as an enemy, both to his own nation and to Turgonia?
“What would you do if you were in my position, Dak?” Yanko asked quietly, aware of the guards watching on.
Maybe it was unfair or selfish to ask for advice from someone who might be in an even worse position than he was, thanks to the help he had offered, but Yanko couldn’t stop thinking about his mission, about the honor he had sworn to return to his family. He had to try whatever he could to find a way back home, talk to whoever might have information he could use.
Dak backed away from the bars. “Listen, Yanko. For the sake of my career, I can’t help you anymore. This has turned into enough of a morass without further muddying the waters. I hope you will consider my debt repaid.” He inclined his head once, then turned and sat down, his back to the bars. And to Yanko.
Yanko swallowed and rested his forehead against his own bars. He still had Arayevo and Lakeo, but he couldn’t help but feel that he had just lost a friend. Perhaps forever. To add to the insult, he’d failed in his mission, he’d possibly brought more dishonor to his family, and he was on his way to the enemy nation, thousands of miles from home.
Arayevo swatted him in the shoulder. “Forget your grumpy cellmates, Yanko. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Escape.”
“From a Turgonian warship in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by a dozen other warships?”
“Of course. Are you or are you not Yanko White Fox, someone who very nearly qualified for Stargrind?”
He snorted. “Very nearly, yes.”
“That makes you the most powerful wizard around.”
“An alarming thought.”
“We’ll come up with something. I heard Lakeo is talented with mops.”
Yanko could think of plenty of ways to destroy the ship. He could think of fewer ways to convince it to turn toward Nuria and take him home, preferably before reporting back to Turgonia with word of the continent.
“We’ll come up with something,” Arayevo repeated softly.
Yanko nodded. “Yes.”
They had to. There was no other choice.
THE END