The apollo, p.23
The Apollo, page 23
Dawn was breaking, the sky turning light blue and streak with orange and pink. In the light, they could make out a handful of Shaheeni ships, including the outline of The Mirage.
Matteo pointed it out to Mirjana just in time to see at least thirty cannons hit the ship directly. The ship, usually perfectly obscured by the light, erupted into flames. Everything from its balloon to its wings caught fire.
Nobody spoke.
It all happened so fast: The Mirage sinking into the sea and disappearing. As the waves engulfed it, Matteo inhaled, preparing to speak, to say something optimistic. But he didn’t have a chance to. All he heard was Mirjana’s scream.
She collapsed into his arms. “My mother was on that ship.” Matteo ran his hand over her head, searching for words. “My mother was on that ship!” Mirjana kept repeating it, choking on her own saliva as she sobbed into Matteo. “She’s dead. Did you see the flames? She has to be dead.”
Matteo tried to mumble something, tried to claim that maybe Adipe could have survived. But he saw Rihane shaking her head. In the distance, hundreds of silver flags were visible. They’d risen from every mast of every Shaheeni boat and skyship. He could see the boats retreating.
“Silver flags? Why? What’s silver mean? Are they surrendering?”
Mirjana cried harder and harder until Matteo worried she was going to faint from lack of air.
“Silver is the Shaheeni color of mourning, Matteo,” Rihane whispered in his ear, her voice the sad coo of a morning dove. “Silver means our queen is dead.”
Chapter thirty-eight
The sky was just starting to turn from deep black to the blue of early morning when Avira and Nicolo found Artemis. He and Diego were in the kitchen. Diego was binding a deep gash that ran across Artemis’ thigh.
“Just another scar,” Avira heard Artemis tell Diego.
“Artemis we need to move the ship.” She slammed the map down on the counter next to Artemis. “If we fire all we’ve got at this ship, it’ll send them all into the sea. It’s our best shot.”
Artemis scowled. “Let the Shaheeni fight them. I’ve done my piece.”
“What?” Avira didn’t understand. “We can’t just abandon them. The battle is just beginning. The sun is coming up!”
“And what happens if we’re hit with too many cannons on our way to executing your madcap little plan.”
“Please, Artemis. You need to trust me.”
“But I don’t. I don’t trust you. You are a little girl who ran away from home and started an entire war. I promised Adipe I’d protect you, and I did," she said, “Matteo wouldn’t go along with anything if we didn’t promise to protect you but look at me now. Look at my ship!”
Artemis spit on the floor, garnering a dirty look from Diego.
Nicolo, who had wandered to the window to watch the sunrise, moaned. Avira snapped her head to look at him. “What is it?”
“Look.”
He was pointing out the window. Avira walked to him to see what he was seeing.
Silver flags. Hundreds of them. While the Shaheeni sky ships were still disguised against the sky, the silver of their flags was unmistakable. Avira ran onto the deck, leaning over the side of the deck to look down at the sea. All of the boats had flown silver flags as well.
“Artemis?” she called. “Artemis, what does a silver flag mean?”
Artemis’ face fell. He launched himself off the counter, Diego still trying desperately to secure his bandage.
“We need to move the ship.”
“Yes, I know that. But what do the flags mean?”
“It means the Shaheeni have surrendered.”
“What? No. Why would they do that?”
Artemis began running across the deck, shouting to every man who would listen to hold his fire. He made it to the wheel that controlled the ship’s wings and helped steer and pulled it to the left as hard as he could with his arm as injured as it was.
“Artemis, answer me. Why would they surrender?”
“Because their queen has died.”
Avira fell silent. Nicolo too. Every man within earshot stopped moving and turned to listen to their captain. Avira could see the smoke cloud surrounding almost everything in the dawn light. Artemis furrowed his brow and pulled at the wheel again. The ship began to rock sideways.
“Adipe is dead?” Avira broke the silence.
“Shaheeni fly white when they surrender.”
“But those flags are silver.” Nicolo tried to sound optimistic as he spoke.
“I’ve only seen silver flags flown once before, when the king of the Shahenei died. It’s how they signal to their warriors in the sky that they’ve lost their leader.”
“So that’s it? They’re just done fighting? They can’t just let my father win like that. They can’t run away!”
“What would you do?” Artemis snapped. “Now somebody please help me with this wheel. We have to get out of here before the rest of your father’s men attack.”
Avira looked out over the crew of The Apollo. They’d set down their slingshots and swords. A few men were gathering the bodies of Bianco soldiers and pushing them overboard. She caught a glimpse Gavriel’s bandaged head just before Malvolio tossed the rest of his body over the side of the ship.
“No,” she said quietly. Artemis raised an eyebrow. “No,” she said again. “We’re not running. The Shaheeni can run, but we can’t. Not us. Not The Apollo.”
The crew, most of whom were battered, burned, and bloody, looked at her like she was crazy. Avira held her map high above her head.
“What if I told you we could end this once and for all? What then?”
She’d piqued a few men’s interest.
“If the Shaheeni are defeated by my father, then who’s next? He won’t stop until he controls everything. Every kingdom will fall to him. You, the crew of The Apollo, will be stuck on the run for the rest of your lives. You will be remembered as cowards, not as heroes, cowards who didn’t have the weapons or the wit to defend the Shaheeni against Grigori Bianco. But we can still win this. We can turn The Apollo into our weapon. If we steer ourselves right into that ship there, I promise you it will end this battle.”
Avira didn’t know what would happen if The Apollo collided with another ship, but she couldn’t imagine it would be good. If they could take down the weak link in The Bianco fleet, perhaps it would be worth it.
“If we crash The Apollo, we all might die,” one man called.
“I believe in the Goddess Aurora, protector of the skies. I believe in her love for Salicia and for the Shaheeni. I believe she will save us. Don’t you?”
Blank faces blinked back at her.
“Who’s with me?”
After a long pause, Nicolo raised his hand. Malvolio too. And Diego. Soon, all the men knew what they had to do. Artemis looked horrified.
“If you’re frightened, I’m sure we can flag down a Shaheeni glider for you to take to land,” Avira suggested.
Artemis raised his hand, too.
And the crew, once again, sprang into action. Avira cranked the wheel in the opposite direction Artemis had been turning it, causing the ship to buck wildly on the wind and flip itself around too quickly. Avira barely kept her footing and saw a few barrels of popping pepper fly off the side of the ship. She set the course steady towards the small ship she’d charted out on her map.
“Please let this work,” she prayed to herself. “Please, Aurora, Salicia, protect these men.”
Holding the wheel steady, Avira focused all her attention on the ship in front of her. She could see the ropes, the balloon, the golden falcon crest. Artemis, next to her, clung to the deck. The jewels in his hair shimmered in the firelight. Avira had never noticed them in such profound detail before. Nicolo, Diego, and the other men had gone to work stoking the furnace and pulling ropes so the sales were full and the ship could move faster.
“This better work,” was the last thing Avira heard Artemis say before a massive crack rang out in her ears, and she lurched forward over the steering wheel. She could feel that The Apollo had collided with the other ship, and now they were tipping.
“Everyone, hold on tight!” she shouted futilely as the ship rocked completely sideways, its front mast stuck in the center of the other ship. She could hear men shouting from both ships as they tipped and tipped and then collided with the ship directly beside them, which tipped and collided with the ship next to it.
She closed her eyes. The plan was working. Wind whipped against her face so hard she couldn’t breathe. Tiny bits of seafoam pelted her. They stung. She felt as she lifted off of her feet and tilted sideways, holding as tight as she could to the wheel. She thought of Nicolo and prayed that he would survive the collision. Even if she died, she wanted Nicolo to be with Benjamin. She wanted him to have that big Veronan wedding he’d talked to her so excitedly about. She sent out a hopeful prayer to Aurora to spare Nicolo. To spare all the men of The Apollo if she could. This wasn’t their war. They didn’t deserve to die for it.
If I die, I’ll be with Matteo. She felt herself smile at that thought. Shouts and cracks and screams and explosions made a symphony all around her.
When Avira was young, maybe six or seven years old, her mother had been pregant all the way to term with a baby that would never survive in the outside world. The baby was a boy. Avira remembered the day he was born, the way all of the maids had been alight with energy and joy, so ready to meet the baby boy. When Avira’s maid had tucked her into bed at night instead of her mother, little Avira had asked if the baby had been born yet. The maid had simply shook her head and changed the subject. That is when Avira first learned the way people are afraid to talk about death. Even as a small child, she didn’t understand. Death was frightening, of course, but fearing death only wastes the energy of the living. Avira had tried to ask her maid more questions. She was worried about her mother. But she’d gotten nowhere.
The boy had been a beautiful baby, the spitting image of his father, but he’d never opened his eyes or gasped a first breath. He had been completely still, like a sculpture. It had broken his mother’s heart. After so many failed attempts at giving Grigori Bianco a male heir, the loss of this perfect, beautiful infant was devastating.
Avira had risen from bed, determined to find her mother. Nobody would give her a straight answer as to if Cristina was okay. Avira was a child, yes, but she was wise enough to know something was wrong. She used a candle to light her way as she walked through the villa, past the scowling portraits of her family and ancestors, and found her mother’s chamber. Avira could hear voices coming from under the door along with the amber glow of light. She heard her mother’s voice first, quavering and weak.
“I’m sorry, Grigori, I don’t know why the babies won’t stay. It’s not my fault.”
“Of course, it’s your fault!” Avira had wanted to go in and comfort her motherbut she was too frightened of her father to open the door. “If you weren’t so miserable all the time, perhaps the babies would be more viable. Perhaps they would stay.”
“I can’t help my misery. I can’t help it. I’ve given you a child, she is smart and bold and would run the company well. Why can’t you just leave it to her.”
A slap rang out from inside the room and little Avira drew back away from the door, her heart pounding in her throat. She hid in the shadows, hanging on every word. “You know damn well why I can’t leave the company to her.”
“I hate you.” Her mother’s words sunk deep under Avira’s skin. Her mother hated her father. Her father hated her. Little Avira hadn’t understood at the time how a father could hate his own child so much. Surely, there was some shred of paternal love left in his heart for her. But she never saw it. And slowly, surely, she began to reciprocate his feelings for her.
There were many more attempts at a son after the stillbirth of her brother, but none were viable. Avira had watched as her father’s hatred for her ate away at her mother’s life day by day. When she was old enough to understand the inner workings of her father’s company, she’d vowed to destroy it. If nothing else, as revenge for her mother, who was barely more than a corpse among the living.
“If you don’t leave me the company in your will, I’ll start my own. I will!” A teenaged Avira had said to her father one night in a fit of rage. He had slapped her across the face so hard it made her nose bleed and then laughed at how stupid the idea of a woman running a company as large as his was. But Avira did not think the idea was stupid or laughable. She’d wiped the blood from her face, stood tall and strong, and spit onto her father’s foot. For two weeks after that she was not allowed to go beyond her bedroom. Those were the two weeks she used to sketch out the massive trade map from memory across her bedroom floor.
Little did Avira know that the rest of the world saw her father exactly the same way she did. Her father was a liar, a hateful, angry man who would not stop until he could suffocate the world in his fists.
The night before Avira had fled, she’d had her mother up to her room. It had been a tradition of theirs since Avira was small to share a glass of tea and a discussion of politics before bed.
“I know what you’re planning,” Cristina had said in her same soft voice as they sipped cups of clove and orange peel tea.
“And what might that be?” Avira had tried to play dumb. It had not worked. Her mother was no fool.
“You’d rather run away and start a new life than marry Gavriel. I am your mother, don’t insult me by insinuating that I don’t know my own child well enough to see that.”
Avira had sniffed stubbornly. “And if you’re right about this plan of mine - which I’m not saying you are - how do you feel about it?”
Cristina had given a smile, a sad smile but a smile, nonetheless. “You could start a trading business. You could become a pirate queen. You could do anything you set your mind to. But, selfishly, I pray every night that you won’t leave me. I will die without you here, I know it. Since you were born, the only thing that’s kept me going was you. If I were to lose you. You know what? Nevermind.”
Cristina had silenced herself and soon after, she’d gone back to her rooms. Avira had packed her bags and left the very next day, praying that her mother would forgive her. She had seen what marriage looks like, what it means for a young woman to become a wife. And she could never let herself endure that.
I’m so sorry, Mother, she thought as she walked away from the villa, her hair cut short. I am not a person who stays. I don’t know that I ever will be.
Avira’s body contracted like a rag doll as soon as it hit the cold water. She felt it embrace her, soaking her clothes and sending chills like lightning through her body. She began to sink below the waves, paddling with all her might to stay afloat, but her arms were floppy and hard to move. She couldn’t see or hear anything. All she could taste was the burning salt of the seawater and the iron of her own blood.
She began to sink, inhaling a bit of water and choking it out as she fought to get above the surface of the water only to be engulfed by another wave. When she finally forced her eyes open, everything was blurry. Pieces of various ships, fire, even people were falling all around her into the water. She looked up just in time to see a gigantic mast with the sail still attached plummeting towards her, a beacon of flame. She didn’t know what else to do so she swam down, forcing herself to keep her eyes open under the water. When she thought she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she swam deeper. Her head hurt from the pressure. She flipped onto her back, watching as the sail sank towards her through the water. Everything moved in slow motion beneath the water. She’d never been a good swimmer but with the only other option being death, she did her best.
Fighting her way towards the surface, she gasped, and air flooded her lungs. No matter how many screams for air her lungs let out, she couldn’t get enough. Out of the corner of her eye, a shock of red hair glinted. She turned her body and saw an unconscious Nicolo hanging for dear life on what looked like a piece of The Apollo, a door or something.
“Nicolo?” She swam towards him as quickly as her aching body would allow her. She was close enough to touch his cold skin when another wave caught her and pulled her so far back that all her progress was lost
“Nicolo!” The desperation in her voice scared her. Still, he didn’t respond. She pushed her body harder and reached him just in time for another wave to crash over them. Avira grabbed onto the piece of wood he was using to stay afloat. She ran her hand along his cheek, panicking. He couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t allowed to be dead. She was supposed to die. Not him. If Nicolo died, if he never got to return home to his family and his love, then she would have truly lost everything today. Matteo and Nicolo were, as much as admitting it scared her, the only people in the world who really cared about her.
“Nicolo please wake up. You have to wake up. You need to go back to Veronii and throw that big wedding for Benjamin. Remember? Remember the wedding?” Avira shook him again. She pressed her fingers to the skin below his nose and was thankful to feel the smallest bit of air coming from his nostrils. He was breathing. Thank you, Aurora. She thought.
Nicolo’s eyes fluttered open. “Avi?” Avira pulled him in, hugging him tight. “Why are we wet?”
"We crashed the ship, remember?” She couldn’t help but let out a breathy, exasperated laugh.
“The Apollo?”
“The Apollo!”
Avira looked up, her neck burning with pain, she must have bruised something. Maybe she’d bruised everything. It sure felt like she had. Fire and debris rained down. If she squinted her eyes, she could almost pretend they were shooting stars.
“What do we do now?” Nicolo said, his usual optimism a bit dull.
“I don’t know.” Exhausted, Avira rested her head on the piece of wood that was so expertly holding her and Nicolo afloat. In the distance, she thought she could see the rocky cliffs of the Shaheeni coastline but she knew trying to swim to them would be futile. “I wish I knew.”
