The Forbidden City by K. A. Dowling

Author:K. A. Dowling [Dowling, K. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-06T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

The Rebellion

“Bring her about!”

“Heave to!”

The voices that cut through the viscous heat of the afternoon scarcely register in the slumbering mind of Emerala the Rogue. She smacks her lips once—twice—and sinks farther down into her swinging hammock. She is far away, whisked off by her subconscious and dropped in the merciless tundra of the Eisle of Udire. She dreams of cold, blue ice. She dreams of her blood upon the snow, frozen and glittering like rubies. In fits of gasps and starts, she dreams of circular golden eyes watching her in the darkness—waiting just beyond her reach.

“Loose anchor!”

Somewhere in the waking world there is a sickening lurch. Emerala is thrown out of her cot and onto the damp floor below. Waves collide with the hull of the ship as her spine cracks against the floor. She grunts loudly, the dregs of sleep falling quickly away from her with the impact. Coils of heat press against her skin, slick with sweat. She gasps, inhaling the mildewed scent of saturated wood.

“You often sleep in just your shift in the company of men?”

The voice above her forces another gasp out from her chest. She gathers her coarse blanket to her body, scrambling upright to find a pair of bright golden eyes blinking down at her from the cot directly overhead. The Hawk flashes her a wicked grin and winks, sliding off of the cot in one fluid movement and dropping to the floor.

“I can hardly sleep fully dressed anymore,” she sniffs, wary of his proximity in the claustrophobic room. “It was never this hot back in Chancey.”

“You’ll see a lot of things out here that you’ve never seen back in Chancey, I reckon.”

Seeing him lingering before her in the musky light of the sailor’s quarters brings an uneasy sensation swarming into the pit of her stomach. She is suddenly cold in spite of the pressing humidity. His gaze bores into the exposed skin just above the fraying edge of her blanket. Her shoulders prickle and she frowns darkly in his direction.

“Why have we dropped anchor?”

He shrugs at that, his tongue pressing at the inside of his cheek. “We’ve reached the ports of Caira. If you can call them ports,” he adds wryly. “The natives here en’t much for seafaring.”

Somewhere below, the anchor pulls at reef and rock as the ship is buffeted by a sudden, sweeping wind. Emerala lurches uneasily, nearly falling forward into the Hawk’s arms. She steadies herself, grabbing clumsily at a splintering post as she tries in vain to maintain what little cover she has. Up above, several voices are shouting, their words overlapping one another in a jumble of incoherent commands. Above the noise cuts one clear order.

“Bleed the sails!” shouts the Lethal. “Douse the canvas, quickly now!”

Before her, the Hawk’s chin is cocked slightly to the left as he listens. His expression has darkened considerably. Only when he notices her studying him does his gaze relax. He tilts his chin back towards her, his eyes gleaming. “Storm’s coming.

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