Stormbreak (Seafire #3) - Natalie C. Parker Page 0,35
quiet for a minute, shoulders shivering against Caledonia’s touch. It was easy to forget how young she was. She’d joined this crew with such insistent bravado and proven herself both brave and skilled. Giving her control of the helm had been one of the most natural decisions Caledonia had ever made. Nettle demanded responsibility in a way that placed her on equal footing with everyone else in Caledonia’s mind, but she was barely fourteen turns. And here she was, having just carried them through an impossible situation in the wake of a tremendous loss, trying desperately to hold on to her stony exterior.
Caledonia struggled to mark the moments when her crew was more in need of a kind word than a stern one, but she could see this clearly. Cloudbreak had been Nettle’s home before it had been any of theirs. Hesperus, Mino, and Kae were her family, and for all they knew, all three of them were gone.
“You shouldn’t hide that sort of thing,” Nettle admonished her captain. “Hiding it from us doesn’t make us stronger, you know. We know you’re not made of steel.”
“I wish I were.”
Laughing lightly, Nettle leaned back. Her round cheeks were flushed around the delicate scrolls of her scars. “That’s not a real wish, Caledonia.”
Caledonia smiled. “I’m allowed a ridiculous wish now and again.”
“If you say so,” Nettle said with a suspicious twist of her mouth. Then, with another deep breath, she pulled away from Caledonia’s embrace. “Do you want some good news, Captain?”
“Now is the perfect time for good news,” Caledonia answered, unsure what to expect.
“We did it,” Nettle started, her eyes glossy with tears. “Kae and I. Earlier tonight, just before everything happened. We cracked soiltech.”
“You—” It was so far from what she’d been expecting to hear that for a second, she didn’t believe it. “Soiltech.” She repeated the word.
Nettle laughed again, this time with real joy. “Yes. We were still working on it when we were called to the meeting, and I grabbed it. I thought I’d be able to show you then. But, well, the point is I know how to make it work.”
“Nettle, that is great news,” Caledonia answered, voice strained.
“With the right supplies, we can make more,” Nettle promised, popping up on her toes.
It was the smallest bit of light in an otherwise dark night. The smallest of victories.
“I will do everything I can to get you those supplies,” Caledonia said with a smile. “For now, keep it safe.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Caledonia studied her for a long minute before letting go. One day, Nettle would command her own ship. She would be smart and skilled and good, and Caledonia would do everything in her power to ensure that the challenges facing them today would not be the ones facing Nettle as she matured into a brilliant captain.
The thought swept the wind from Caledonia’s lungs and she placed a hand on the rail to steady herself. One day. It was a powerful thing to hope for, and she realized with a sudden crushing sadness that the only future she’d ever imagined for herself was the one in which she slid a knife into Lir’s belly.
For Nettle, she could hope for better things.
“Captain.” Tin approached from the main deck. She looked ghostly in the dim light, as though the fight had leached her capacity for anything but grim sorrow.
“Who did you lose, Tin?” Caledonia asked, her gut crimping.
The girl’s mouth pinched and twisted. Her eyes were suddenly wet and full of moonlight. “Lurin,” she said, a gasping, painful word.
Lurin Mary. A memory bloomed in Caledonia’s mind. Of the day they’d run the trails together, when Lurin had led the entire crew at a steady pace. When she’d endured the teasing of her sisters and her captain with a cheerful smile and a ready laugh.
“She fought well,” Caledonia said, letting grief soften her words.
Tin’s eyes brimmed with tears. She ground her teeth against them and swallowed hard, clearing her throat to speak in a voice that was all fire and stone. “I have a damage report.”
Bitterly, Caledonia realized that their world had been reduced to a single ship. The damage report Tin would offer would not include all of Cloudbreak, nor would it account for all the lives that had been ruthlessly ripped away in an instant.
“Continue,” she said.
“Our injuries are more structural than mechanical. We can sail as long as we’re careful about it, but there are two sections of the forward hull that we’ll need to patch sooner rather than later.”