Clarke had never been hungrier than she was the week following her trial. Each day, she was brought a single apple for breakfast and a piece of stale bread for dinner by one of the guards. Some of the particularly rude ones wouldn't even hand them their meager meals. They simply threw them onto the floor in the cells. Clarke identified these guards quickly and anticipated this. She'd improved at catching her bread slice before it landed on the filthy floor.
Each cell was only designed to hold one person, as they were about as wide as Clarke was tall. Had there only been one inside, she could have tried to stretch her body while sleeping at night. But there were two others sharing the cell with Clarke: Monroe and Octavia. The rest were all in adjacent cells, either sharing bars on the same side of the hall or separated by a narrow walkway. No matter where anyone stood, there was no hiding from anyone else. Privacy, it seemed, was not one of the luxuries offered to prisoners, even to relieve themselves or to change into the disgusting, ill-fitting prisoners outfits they were provided on their first day.
Despite the shabby conditions, there was some scant optimism on the first and second day. Many still reveled in the fact they escaped a death sentence. On the third day, that all started to change. Bickering started in many of the cells. An actual fist fight broke out between Bellamy and Wells, who'd given each other bloody noses and black eyes before causing such a ruckus that the guards were forced to intervene. The two were removed from their cells, flogged, and subsequently spent the remainder of the evening with their necks and wrists in the stocks. That was a message, and after that, there was no further violence.
As the days started wearing on, Clarke also noticed that she was deliberately being ostracized. Her cellmates, Octavia and Monroe, deliberately ignored her whenever she said anything, choosing instead to speak to someone else one or two cells over. On more than a few occasions Clarke overheard her name being sneered at the opposite end of the bastille. She could tell that these comments weren't exactly pleasant, but nobody seemed to care if she overheard or not. It was as if there was an unspoken decision that all this was somehow her fault, and now in addition to the sentence Jaha would give her, she was being punished by her friends as well. After several failed attempts to have a conversation with Octavia, with Finn, with anyone, she'd simply given up and receded to the furthest corner of the cell by herself. She passed the time by ticking away the hours as the sun passed through the sky, watching the tiny slivers of sunlight sneaking in from the damaged roof drift across the floor.
A man's footsteps echoed outside. Judging by the position of the light, Clarke reckoned he was more than a couple hours early to be giving them dinner. The footsteps stopped outside her cell, and Clarke saw his boots. They were not the freshly shined black ones that the guards wore. These were well worn brown ones. She glanced up to see Marcus Kane staring back at her.
"Clarke Griffin, I need you to come with me," he said in an authoritative tone. Clarke watched him nervously as he unlocked the cell.
Clarke followed him down the hall—the same direction she saw Bellamy and Wells hauled off the other night. She didn't know what else she could have possibly done wrong since she'd been locked up. She'd actually been behaving quite well and keeping to herself since her friends were ignoring her.
The room where Marcus led her was enough to make Clarke worry more. In the center of the semi-dark room stood a row of stocks, and mounted on the wall beyond it, hung lashes, clubs, and some horrifying device that looked like it was worn around the torso with its inner surface covered in rusty nails. Her body stiffened involuntarily at the sight of it.
"Come and sit," Marcus said, more kindly now that they were out of earshot from the rest of her friends. He sat down on a bench near the front of the room and gestured for Clarke to sit next to him.
"Did I do something wrong?" Clarke asked. "Something else wrong, I mean?"
"Not at all. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."
That sounded suspicious to Clarke, and instead of joining him, she stayed where she was. They'd already been found guilty—and Clarke couldn't dispute that, no matter how unpleasant the conditions were—but answering more questions only invited the possibility that she'd further incriminate herself by accident. She'd known Marcus for years, and he'd never intentionally misled her (like her mother did). She trusted him more than she did the other council members, but she was suspicious why he was arriving now of all possible times.
She nor any of her friends had been sentenced yet. If she gave him the wrong information, would he use it to get their sentences increased? Clarke couldn't be sure. But there was a reason he wanted to speak to her in particular, and Clarke wanted to know why.
He seemed to understand her reticence when she did not immediately move to join him on the bench. "This is no trick, Clarke," Kane assured her. "Nothing you say here will leave this room or earn you any further punishment. You have my word on that. Consider this a gesture of good faith."
Clarke was about to ask what he meant, but before she could, he pulled a small package in paper wrapping from the inside of his jacket pocket. She recognized the pattern on it instantly. It was chocolate from the only sweets shop in town. Only the wealthiest people could afford it, and it had been years since Clarke tasted any. After a week of nothing but stale bread and apples, the mere thought of chocolate made her mouth water.
"Go ahead," Kane said, holding it out for her to take. "It's for you. Just don't tell the others, if you don't mind."
The temptation was too much. She accepted Marcus's invitation, sitting on the bench next to him and tearing into the wrapper greedily. The chocolate was even better than she remembered, and she made an inhuman sound after taking the first bite.
"I would take it slow if I were you," Kane said. "That's the only one I brought, I'm afraid."
Clarke didn't slow down, but after she inhaled her second bite, she paused. "So what did you want to ask me?"
"The story the council publicized was that the new ship was being taken on a fishing expedition to the bay. How did you and your friends know our destination was the western shores?"
Admitting she'd been snooping during their meeting seemed like a bad idea, no matter how many times Marcus promised her there would be no further consequences. Instead, she took another bite of chocolate.
"Clarke, you've been out of loop for the past week, so let me fill you in on a few things—see if that doesn't change your perspective on why I'm asking," he said. "Since the explosion, the political climate here has grown more fragile every day."
"How so?" Clarke asked.
Marcus Kane described the public's reaction to the gunpowder bombs they'd rigged. For the oldest generation, it trudged up unpleasant memories from the past, when the Fire Nation—that's what they called the invaders back then—burned much of their old land. Back then, bombings were regular occurrences, and none of them appreciated the terrifying reminder of that unfortunate bit of their past. So the general public's opinion started turning strongly against Clarke and her friends. Some were going as far as begging Thelonious to hold a re-vote for capital punishment. Seeing Clarke's worried expression, he assured her again that this was impossible, but Thelonious was under considerable pressure to lock them up for as long as he could.
In the past week, there had also been growing malcontent among the council and the guard, Kane explained. The mission's purpose had been a closely guarded secret, and there was endless speculation attempting to explain the leak in information. The public still didn't know, but if there had been a leak, they needed to identify the source before it happened again.
"What do they think happened?" Clarke asked after Kane's long explanation.
Marcus answered her with another question: "Well, who in your group has ties to the council or the guard?"
"There's Wells, and then there's me," Clarke said.
"Wells's involvement in this has been the strangest. His confession will still stand, but none of our witness accounts have been able to corroborate his involvement, and nobody appears to consider him the source of the leaked information."
"So they suspect me then."
Kane nodded. "Abby has been temporarily suspended from the council pending an investigation. So I'm asking this as a personal favor for a friend of mine… How did you and your friends find out about the mission?" he asked again.
As angry as Clarke was with her mother at the moment, she still felt a pang of guilt over her suspension from the council. She'd been a council member even before Jake died, and it had become an integral part of her life.
"You remember coming into the infirmary to call my mom for the meeting?" Clarke asked.
"Yes, I remember. Aurora had just passed. You were with the Blake siblings."
"Yes, but I didn't stay with them at the infirmary," Clarke told him. "I went to the town hall, and I overheard yelling so I went to listen. I was standing outside the council chambers the entire time."
Marcus frowned. "And Wells? Why wasn't he helping your group?"
"He knew we were planning something, but he didn't know what. He's innocent of everything. The only reason he confessed was to try and save us from being executed."
"I figured as much," Kane said, his voice full of sadness. "But unfortunately, I don't have the ability to wipe away his confession. He will serve his sentence, same as the rest of you."
Marcus sat with her in the strange torture room while Clarke finished the treat he'd bought her. The others would undoubtedly think she was facing some sort of extra punishment, and Clarke had no intention of correcting them. The only person that didn't hate her guts was Wells, but she wasn't about to shout across the hallway to tell him that she'd had a long discussion with Marcus Kane which included him giving her chocolate. If they didn't hate her before, they certainly would after that.
When she'd finished with the candy, Marcus took the wrapper back, replacing it in his jacket and hiding all evidence of its existence. He led Clarke to the door, after which he would return her to her cell.
"Councilman Kane?" Clarke asked before he opened it.
He stopped short of opening the door. "Yes?"
"Why haven't we been sentenced yet?"
Judging by the surprised look on his face, Marcus hadn't been expecting the question. He seemed hesitant to give Clarke an answer, like he wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed or not.
"Nothing you say here will leave this room, I promise," Clarke said, echoing his words from earlier. "Consider it a gesture of 'good faith.'"
The faintest hint of a smile played at the edges of Marcus's lips. "Since the council has been dealing with some internal conflict recently, there are a number of events that have been postponed—not just your sentencing." He gave Clarke a knowing look, one that her mother would also give her when she wanted her to work out a problem on her own.
She replayed his words over in her head and was struck by a realization. "You and your crew haven't set sail yet either," she mused.
"We will be leaving soon, but considering recent events, we've had to make some personnel changes. Once everything is settled in a few days, we will leave."
"What about our sentencing? Will Jaha decide on that too?" Right now, she was locked in a cell indefinitely, but the moment she got a sentence, at least she could look forward to her release date and put this all behind her.
"I'm currently working on a solution that will be both fair and appealing to the general public. I'll be proposing an idea to the chancellor today for him to review."
"And?" Clarked asked, unable to contain her curiosity. "What is it?"
"I don't want to get your hopes up, Clarke. You'll find out one way or another in a few days. I just wanted you to know there are still people out there that care about you—that are still fighting for you." He looked at her seriously, trying to convey an unspoken message. "Your mother sends her love, by the way. She would have visited herself, but under the circumstances…"
Marcus's cryptic message was easy enough for Clarke to understand. Whatever solution he was pitching to Jaha was ultimately her mother's brainchild. Even though Abby had been suspended from the council, she was still trying to reach out and help any way she could. Clarke still wasn't ready to forgive her for lying about her father for ten years, but she made a mental note to at least start talking to her again.
"I think I understand," Clarke told him truthfully.
"Good," Kane nodded. "Remember—hang in there. We'll get this figured out as soon as we can. In the meantime, I want to impress upon you how important it is that you don't cause any more trouble. That goes for everyone else too. No more fights. If there are any more incidents, it will be harder for me to make my case to the chancellor."
Clarke agreed, though she secretly doubted there would be any more conflicts in the cells. She more or less accepted that everyone would be angry with her now. After all, she'd been the leader of this movement that landed them all in the bastille. When Bellamy and Wells returned bloodied and limping a few days ago, the grumbling still persisted, but everyone was more subdued. If Clarke could handle the casual insults thrown her way, everyone would be fine.
Councilman Kane put his emotionless mask back on as he led Clarke back to her cell. He really needn't have grabbed her arm, but he had to keep up appearances. For the first time in several days, Monroe and Octavia actually looked at her.
"What was that all about?" Octavia asked once the cell door had been locked and Kane was out of sight.
Monroe's questioning young eyes were asking the same thing.
Clarke simply shrugged, returning to her designated corner of the cell. She curled into a tiny ball on the dirty floor and feigned sleep while every pair of eyes fell on her.
Marcus Kane kept his promise. Three days later, the fourteen prisoners were removed from their cells one at a time, and taken to the hold behind the bastille, where they were offered a bath before their sentencing. Nobody returned to the cells after they left, so Clarke didn't realize what was happening until she experienced it herself.
She was so desperate for the bath, she nearly scrubbed off her skin in places, leaving angry pink patches across her body. She was far past caring whether four guards stood by to prevent her escape and took her time, making certain that her body was clean. For the first time in a week, Clarke could finally distinguish her own scent from the fetid cells she'd been sleeping in. Her hair was clean, and there was no longer an embarrassing accumulation of dirt underneath her fingernails. She was doubly shocked when her clothes were returned to her, apparently freshly washed as well. She emerged from the bastille still under armed guard with her hands bound, but she felt like a new person.
The rest of the freshly washed prisoners were already waiting at the council hall where Abby Griffin was still notably absent. Thelonious waited until each of them arrived before addressing them.
"Each of you have been summoned here for your sentencing."
There were a few confused and concerned looks going around. None of this surprised Clarke, but she'd kept her promise to Kane too and didn't tell her friends anything.
He continued: "Since your crimes were committed against the people of this town, it was only fair that their concerns were addressed. However, as chancellor, I must also take into consideration what is best for our people, regardless of public opinion."
Marcus said something similar three days ago, Clarke remembered. The vice chancellor met Clarke's eyes briefly before looking away, and Clarke was almost certain Jaha accepted his proposal—whatever that was.
"Each of you is at least an apprentice in your chosen craft. The loss of these skills to our people cannot be understated, which is why as part of your punishment, you will continue providing your services to our people without compensation. You will be working under guard supervision at all times. When you are not at work, you will be confined. The duration of your sentence I will leave to the discretion of Vice Chancellor Kane. Is that clear?"
It was a better deal than Clarke could have ever hoped for. She looked to Marcus, whose features were unreadable. He seemed more interested in the heavily folded paper in his hands. Something was off. Nobody else appeared to have any misgivings about the decision. For the first time in over a week, many of Clarke's friends were smiling.
"You may take them now, Marcus," Thelonious concluded.
With the guard's assistance, Kane led each of the fourteen out of the town hall and through the square, which was suspiciously empty. They bypassed the bastille, then the infirmary, then the mason's lodge, then the carpenter's lodge. At least five should have been released by now to begin work, but either the guards nor Kane allowed for any questions. Clarke was hushed three times before she was threatened with a flogging. After that, nobody said anything.
It wasn't just the square that was emptied. The narrow streets, which were only wide enough for oner person pulling a cart in each direction, were also barren. During the daytime, that hardly ever happened. Their group reached the edge of the town wall before the atmosphere changed.
Just like it had been the day of the explosion, the beach surrounding the port was packed with onlookers. Many applauded when they saw Marcus and his guard and jeered when they saw the prisoners. They marched forward through the angry crowd. John Murphy was hit in the face with an egg, but the guards didn't appear too concerned about it. Before long, The Ark came into view, still tied up at the end of the dock. They would be taken as prisoners and put to work building their new settlement in the west. It was a sick twist of justice. Clarke would be going after all, she just wouldn't be free for a long, long time. Whether that was ten years or forty years, how long depended on the whim of Marcus Kane.
Wick saw them approach and pushed through the crowd to see Raven. He'd been one of the original townspeople selected to go on the voyage west, so he knew their true destination already. His features were full of worry as he sought out Raven from Kane's entourage. He might have hugged her, but his way was blocked by a guard intent on separating them.
"Raven!" he called out, getting her attention. He continued weaving through bodies to keep up with her.
Raven's head turned around, finding his tall figure easily in the crowd. Relief flooded her face. By this time, all of the prisoners had deduced their fate. "Wick, thank God. You're coming too, right?"
Wick shook his head sadly, some of his light brown hair falling into his eyes. He dropped his voice lower so that he wouldn't be overheard. "Most of us got reassigned now. No sense taking two yet when one will suffice, right?"
He was only talking about engineers, but Clarke began to fill with worry. There was no sense taking two when one would suffice. That meant her mother likely wasn't going either. There was no telling if Clarke would ever see her again, especially if the epidemic continued to worsen as she predicted. Her throat involuntarily started to constrict.
"Clarke!"
Clarke recognized her mother's voice instantly. She too looked around anxiously for its source. They were nearing the entrance to the dock and didn't have much time.
Her mother appeared not long after, her expression also filled with worry. Her anger over Clarke's actions was gone. Clarke's own issues with her mother were easily pushed aside in this moment, and the guard had to hold her back in line with the other prisoners.
"It's going to be fine, sweetheart," Abby promised her, though she didn't seem entirely convinced herself. "Marcus isn't going to let anything happen to you. I just need you to do exactly as he says, all right?"
Clarke nodded.
"I'm sorry… about everything. Your father, especially." Abby appeared uncomfortable, but she didn't look away during these last remaining moments with Clarke. "I wanted to protect you as much as I could, but I couldn't. I'm sorry," she said again.
No words came out of Clarke's mouth. She simply nodded again.
"You be safe, Clarke. I'll talk to Thelonious, and I'll be there with you as soon as I can. I promise." Abby's voice grew stronger the closer they got to the dock. "I love you."
In a daring move, Abby reached her hand underneath the guard's arm to grab ahold of Clarke's and squeezed it reassuringly. Somehow, it provided Clarke comfort. She smiled weakly at her mom. "I love you too."
Their hands were forced apart as Clarke stepped onto the dock. Abby stood with the others being left behind, next to Wick, who had been separated from Raven too. There were also a number of other parents, siblings, and significant others who just managed to utter their goodbyes in time. They weren't allowed to go any further, but they stood at the front of the crowd until the boat left the dock and disappeared into the horizon.
Clarke forced herself not to look back at them. She would lose her nerve. Instead, she followed every order the guards gave her.
The biggest and strongest, Wells, Bellamy, and Finn, hoisted up the anchor, a feat that should have easily taken five fully grown men. The others were assigned various roles: untying the gaskets, tightening the sails, and hoisting the braces. Then everyone was separated into groups at the foremast and the mainmast. The endless rope pulling made Clarke's soft hands raw. She was a training physician and didn't have the calloused hands of a hardened laborer. When blisters started forming, she tore bits of her sleeve off to wrap over her palms. Raven and Monty saw her, doing the same when their skin started cracking and bleeding.
By the end of the evening, all of the prisoners were too tired to be mad at Clarke anymore. They were locked in individual cells, which were clean in the brand new boat. Each came with its own cot, a significant improvement from their imprisonment at the bastille. Loud snoring filled the brig, but Clarke couldn't sleep. Her body was hurting too badly.
The next day brought more of the same. Many of the guards hardly worked at all, while Clarke and her friends did everything. Gradually, the malcontent in her group of friends started to shift away from Clarke and toward the lazy guards. Clarke was merely grateful that people were gradually starting to talk to her again. Bellamy even offered to help her pull the upper yards around, a nearly impossible task for a single person. They wound the excess rope together, and Clarke noticed the freely bleeding wounds on his hands.
"Let me see your hands," Clarke said. Bellamy winced when she touched the sides of his hands. He'd neglected the injuries far too long, and Clarke feared the wound growing even deeper. She tore off the cuffs of his shirt and fashioned a pair of bandages similar to the ones she wore herself. "There. See if that helps."
Bellamy flexed his fingers and wrists, trying out Clarke's new invention. He nodded in appreciation. "That's… much better, actually. Thanks a lot."
"You just remember that next time Kane has me swinging around the topsails by myself again."
Bellamy smiled at her before staring out at the open water. They'd long since lost sight of land, and there had been nothing but a wide expanse of blue ocean for nearly an entire day. He squinted, bringing his hand up to shield his dark eyes from the sun.
"Umm… Clarke?"
Clarke had busied herself with piling the excess ropes into neat piles for easy access later. There had been no new orders given since they'd finished. "What is it?"
"I think I see something." There was uncharacteristic concern in his voice.
Clarke stood upright and moved to join him near the railing. She too squinted into the distance where Bellamy was already looking. Her heart started beating more quickly, and the hairs on her neck stood on end.
There on the farthest edge of the horizon, just barely visible to the naked eye, was another ship.
The Regium Maris docked in Port Victory last week, the last and greatest of the pirate strongholds this side of the equator. Lexa didn't make regular trips to Port Victory, but her flagship was in dire need of repairs. Lightning struck the mainmast during a storm earlier last week, snapping it in two. Her crew managed to extinguish the flames, but there wasn't much that could be done to salvage the mast. They'd abandoned it to sink in the ocean and headed to Port Victory for a replacement.
She could have fashioned a new mast using the vast woodlands surrounding Polis, but that would have taken weeks and hundreds of workers. There were plenty of pirates passing through Port Victory with commandeered merchant vessels willing to sell them for their loot and parts. Luckily for Lexa, there was a brand new full-rigger brought in the day before they arrived. The owner was more than happy to sell the mainmast for fifty gold coins. "At that price," he said, "I'll even have my men install it for ya'." That had been six days ago. The new mast was now ready, and Lexa was inspecting it before they headed back to Polis.
Gustus and Indra were the only ones that stayed with Lexa at the ship. The rest of the crew had been enjoying the raucous entertainment Port Victory had to offer: rum, gambling, and prostitutes. Only rarely did any one crew member partake in all three. There were also merchants and specialty stores, but none of these compared to what they had back home in Polis.
Gustus was the general of Polis, and Indra was the general of Tondc, a smaller village a full day's ride south of the capital. Like with Lexa, the frivolity of Port Victory didn't appeal to them. Instead, all three stayed in the captain's cabin and planned for their return voyage. There was still plenty of food in their stores, so Lexa anticipated a more leisurely pace for their return trip. Her crew had been sailing hard for weeks and could use the break. For the sake of her crew, she also was in no hurry to return to Tondc in its current state.
"Have you gotten word from Nyko?" Lexa asked Indra.
"Not since three days ago," Indra said. "His last update said ten more have fallen ill."
Lexa squeezed her hands into fists involuntarily. She could not yet prove it, but she suspected the Ice Nation was behind this most recent epidemic in Tondc. It wasn't a heavily fortified stronghold like Polis. These days it served primarily as a military outpost to protect the smaller villages closer to the capital; its gates were manned with sentries but weren't the high stone walls that could keep an entire army at bay. The disease was unlike anything Nyko—or anyone else, for that matter—had ever seen before. It had been spreading rapidly amongst the people for the past four months. Nyko was tirelessly searching for a cure, but he'd been unsuccessful thus far.
The Ice Nation was under new leadership, and since then, they'd been far more aggressive in their attacks on Lexa and her people. Previously, Lexa's fleet had the run of the sea surrounding Polis unchecked. At its height, she'd grown her fleet to a hundred ships strong. Since the Ice Nation resurrected the old war between their people, the fleet dwindled to eighty. They were gaining confidence on the open water, and they were starting to attack on the ground as well, using tactics unfitting for a nation of warriors. They attacked children and poisoned their water and brought disease to their camp. Lexa wanted to take their king by the neck and strangle him with her bare hands.
A white homing pigeon flew through the open window of the cabin, landing on Lexa's shoulder just like he'd been trained. It was Mercury, their designated messenger. He would fly from ship to ship carrying messages in exchange for seeds, and he came bearing a tiny roll of paper tied to his leg. Lexa removed a handful of sunflower seeds from her pocket and fed him while she removed the message.
"Is it from Nyko, Captain?" Gustus asked. Nyko was one of Gustus's good friends, and he remained concerned about him.
Lexa read through the message in Trigedasleng quickly. The people of the Ice Nation did not speak it, so it was useful for Lexa and her crew to send messages in their native tongue in case their messages were intercepted. Mercury was the fastest of their racing pigeons. Lexa bought him from a vendor in Polis ten years ago, and since then, he'd never failed to complete his mission. But it still didn't hurt to be safe. She told all the captains in her fleet: Keep the messages short. This one was little more than two lines long.
"It's from the Vengeance," Lexa said. "They say they've spotted an unidentified vessel while on patrol."
Indra bristled. "The Ice Nation?"
"It's hard to say. It's another full-rigger, at least a hundred fifty feet long."
Of all the ships Lexa had encountered, this ship came closest to matching the Regium Maris in size. They were judging from a considerable distance, so it might even be larger than originally estimated. It made Lexa just as uncomfortable as it did Indra. Gustus was difficult to read with his face behind his bushy beard.
This mystery ship would need to be addressed. The Vengeance would not engage in battle until Lexa's command. If this was indeed a ship with a highly trained crew belonging to the Ice Nation, the Vengeance wouldn't have the cannon power to defeat it. It was a somewhat smaller vessel, intended primarily for speed. Lexa would have to approach it with her flagship. The message supplied the vessel's latitude, minutes, direction, and speed. Anya taught her navigation years ago, and now Lexa was the only captain in the fleet who could perform the calculations in her head. She knew how fast she could sail with the wind at their back, which direction to steer them, and how long it would take before they met their target. To Lexa, these skills came easily, but it never failed to impress others, even one as experienced as Indra or Gustus.
"I need you to round up the crew. Indra, you search the alehouses. And Gustus," Lexa gave him an apologetic look, "you have the unhappy task of emptying out the brothel." She pretended not to notice the gloating smirk Indra sent his way at this announcement. "We set sail in exactly one hour."
"Captain, would it not be better to wait until the crew came back later this afternoon?" Gustus asked. Lexa couldn't fault him for wanting to avoid his task. One of the perks of being captain was that she avoided such unpleasantries.
"We have been here at Port Victory for an entire week, Gustus. It's time for us to go. If anyone refuses you, let them know that I will personally have their heads taken off and loaded into the cannons." She ran her fingers along the hilt of her sword menacingly. "Anyone who doesn't wish to part with their head is to come with you at once. Is that clear?"
Gustus nodded. "Aye, Captain."
"Very good. Get them ready. We will be sailing hard, and we will be there by nightfall tomorrow."
Lexa spotted the vessel easily in the night. The other ship's captain didn't find it prudent to put out the lights aboard the deck. In fact, it seemed as if they wanted to be seen. Were they a hostile crew looking for a fight with the Regium Maris? She could not help but suspect they had some trickery at their disposal. Lexa had already ordered every lantern be extinguished. Her crewmen were skilled enough to work under cover of darkness. The Vengeance had abandoned pursuit under Lexa's command, and now it was her flagship that would be approaching. If they were warriors from the Ice Nation, she wanted the element of surprise.
She stole another look with her spyglass. It wouldn't be long now. There was a stiff breeze at their back. During the nights in the early spring, the wind brought an unpleasant chill, so she shrugged into her long captain's jacket.
"It's odd, is it not Captain?" Gustus said at her side. "They sail under full lights, beneath a white flag. I've never seen the Ice Nation do such a thing."
"They are no strangers to deception. Do you not remember how they sunk the Esmerelda?" Lexa asked.
The Esmerelda had been a fine ship, one of the newest in Lexa's fleet. The Ice Nation sent one of their ships on a designated trade route, disguised as a merchant vessel down to the slightest detail, from the sails to the foreign flag atop their mast. The captain of the Esmerelda ordered the attack and had been ambushed. The Ice Nation knew the trade routes as well as Lexa's fleet and were using that against her. She wouldn't put any level of deception past them. Not knowing who or what they were approaching made Lexa uncomfortable.
"Aye." Gustus nodded. "I understand, Captain."
"I need you to do something for me, Gustus."
"Anything for you, Captain." His tone was sincere. Lexa had been sailing with him and Indra over half her life, and she trusted them above all others. In turn, they placed their trust in her.
"Until we know the intents of these sailors, I wish to remain hidden. We've yet to meet the Ice Nation at sea, and they do not yet recognize me as captain."
Gustus frowned, the scars above his brows becoming even more apparent. "You wish for me to present myself as captain in your stead?"
"I understand this is a risk. If it makes you uncomfortable, I will ask another."
He shook his head. "Ai na ron ain sonraun gon yu, Heda."
Lexa was touched by his declaration. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and gripped firmly. Gustus mirrored the motion. The gesture had long been used as a show of solidarity between former commanders and their best warriors, though it wasn't regularly practiced now. Gustus's eyes were alight with pride.
"There will be no need for you to give your life for me, Gustus," Lexa assured him. "Let us see if we can't avoid a massacre together. I will be watching at your left."
The only other Lexa trusted as much was Indra, but Indra was too aggressive to be useful during talks. She was a fierce warrior for years before she came aboard. If this was indeed the Ice Nation, Indra's sharp tongue could spark fighting the moment she stepped on the enemy's deck. Gustus was more cautious, more predictable. He would give Lexa the time she needed to assess the enemy.
Lexa shed her armor, helping Gustus into it instead. She had to loosen every buckle to fit it across his broad chest, and even then, the armor was much too small to be of any practical use. It did mark him as a person of importance, however. That was the goal. Lexa now looked almost diminutive in comparison. She loosened her braids and tied her hair back into one of the styles more typical of her crew before swapping swords, preferring to carry her more practical (and smaller) cutlass. Gustus needed a bit more war paint reapplied around his eyes, and when Lexa was finished with that, she was satisfied. Gustus looked the part of captain, and Lexa appeared to be nothing more than a swabbie.
Lexa instructed each crew member to address Gustus as "Captain" while they approached the ship. Their presence was still undetected in the dark night, and the Regium Maris grew ever closer. With her spyglass, Lexa could see The Ark clearly engraved into the starboard hull of the enemy ship. She gave the signal to Lincoln to throw the grappling hooks. He had the best throwing arm and best aim of anyone aboard. He tossed them across the gap between the two ships, and when the crew pulled the heavy ropes back, the teeth bit hard into the wood.
None of this came as a shock to Lexa's crew. They knew to expect the slight dip of the deck that followed. The young sailors above the other ship were not anticipating the movement, however, and there was a bout of alarmed shouting from every corner of the enemy's deck. Lincoln and his friends used their strong muscles to pull the ships closer together. Once they were close enough, Gustus would give the order to drop anchor and they would go aboard. Lexa waited at Gustus's side as if she were a servant.
An experienced sailor would have tried to dig the grappling hooks from the ship's side. Instead, these tried to reach out and slice the lines connecting the two ships, not realizing the hooks had a long metal attachment to prevent them from being cut on the enemy's side. The anchor dropped, and it dragged along the ocean floor far below them until the two ships came to a complete stop together. Lexa followed Gustus closely as he crossed to the other ship but made certain to stay hidden in the shadows.
"Who is captain of this ship?" Gustus bellowed. His voice rang out into every corner of the night air. Lexa allowed herself a smirk; he was intimidating and playing his role magnificently.
"I am," another man's voice came from the crowd. Lexa tilted her head to see him properly. He was of medium height and build, not the look of a career fighter. He didn't carry himself like a warrior either. Very few of them did, she noticed while looking around the deck. "My name is Captain Marcus Kane."
"Where are you sailing from, Captain Marcus Kane?" Gustus's presence and brusque manner of speaking was having the intended effect. The opposing crew shuddered every time he spoke.
"We sail from the nation formerly known as Arclandia. There is but a tiny fraction of it left. What remains is ruled by our leader, Thelonious Jaha."
"Do not lie to me, Captain Marcus Kane." Gustus drew his sword, drawing gasps from the other crew. He wouldn't attack yet, Lexa knew, but with a weapon in his hand, he was imposing enough to frighten nearly anybody. "I know the land of which you speak. It was all but destroyed. Tell me then, if you are who you say you are, how have you and your crew have come by such a fine ship?"
"One of our citizens is a talented engineer."
"I have a more plausible explanation. Would you like to hear it?" Gustus asked, stepping closer to the other captain. Marcus Kane swallowed nervously but said nothing. He was now in range of Gustus's sword. One well-placed swing could end his life. "You are not from the dead nation of Arclandia. You are from the Ice Nation, and the rest of your crew is below deck, awaiting your order to begin firing upon us."
Marcus shook his head vehemently. "There are no others. My entire crew is here."
He gestured behind him to the crew, which appeared to be some combination of trained land fighters and young, inexperienced sailors. Instead of swords, the armed crew carried rifles, which alone would not be very useful in a fight. The Ice Nation would have known that. Marcus Kane might be telling the truth… as unlikely as that seemed.
"Artigas, search below deck," Gustus ordered.
One of their youngest crew members, a teenage boy, took off for the nearest stairwell and descended to the lower levels.
"May we speak to the captain?" Marcus Kane asked. "We have no interest in a fight. Perhaps if we could explain our situation—"
"Who did you think you were speaking to?" Gustus asked. "You already have an audience with the captain." He spread his arms, indicating himself.
"I was under the impression that the Regium Maris was captained by another." Gustus flinched almost imperceptibly, and Lexa's muscles tensed. Nobody appeared to have seen it.
"You were mistaken. It is I, Gustus, that is captain of this vessel."
His face fell at Gustus's declaration, like he was disappointed to hear the news. How did Kane know to expect someone other than Gustus? He was wearing their full captain's regalia and had presented himself as their leader. Lexa took a step back, disappearing further into the shadows.
"Then please, Captain. Hear us out," Kane pleaded. "We don't want a fight. We only wish for the chance to sail west and move our people away from starvation."
"Our villages are spread throughout the coast. You would be as unwelcome there as you are here in our water."
"We would be willing to live together peacefully, side by side. Our people are talented. We have brought smiths with us, and masons, and carpenters—"
"Which we have in abundance in Polis," Gustus cut in, rolling his eyes for emphasis.
"—and engineers, and healers," Kane added desperately.
The last word gave Gustus pause. He considered Marcus for a moment. "You mean to tell me that you have brought a healer with you? There is a healer aboard this ship?"
The excitement in his voice was evident. One quick glance at Indra and Lexa knew she was equally as intrigued. If this healer was as talented as the person who'd built this ship, perhaps they had answers for the plague ravaging Tondc. Perhaps this healer was familiar with this foreign disease and could lead Nyko. Lexa didn't trust them enough to let their entire crew live amongst her people, but if they helped rid Tondc of disease and helped make them strong enough to fight the Ice Nation foot soldiers again, she would be willing to entertain talks between the two of them.
"Bring your healer forward!" Gustus called out.
One of the young sailors stepped forward. She was a young woman no older than Lexa herself and almost looked too young to be a competent healer. Her golden hair made her stand out among her peers. She looked scared, but she was making a valiant effort to hide it. She straightened the bag across her shoulders and looked Gustus in the eye while he appraised her.
"You have received formal training in medicine?" he asked her, none too gently.
She nodded once.
"There is a disease in one of our villages. Can you cure it?" Gustus asked.
The young woman shifted on her feet uncomfortably. "What are the symptoms?" she asked.
Gustus invited Indra to answer the question. As the general of Tondc, she spent more time in the village and was more familiar with the afflictions of her people. Gustus lived in Polis had only heard of it second-hand through his friend, Nyko.
"It starts with coughing and fever," Indra said. "Then the headaches and the vomiting start. The last is the rash, which breaks over the entire body. Nobody has yet to survive once the rash covers their skin."
"Are you familiar with this disease?" Gustus asked.
"I am," the blonde woman said confidently. "And I know how to treat it."
Indra was barely able to contain her excitement. Gustus fared no better. Despite their wealth of training as warriors, they still cared deeply for their people. The possibility of saving the remaining hundreds of lives in Tondc excited them. Lexa was able to control her emotions better than Gustus. She certainly wouldn't have smiled like he did.
"If you were to heal our village, it would demonstrate your peaceful intentions," Gustus said. "We could begin negotiations once you cured our sick."
To Lexa's surprise, the healer shook her head. "It will take time to create the treatment, and even longer for results. In the meantime, my people will need to be safe. We can't wait to have negotiations."
"Then you must tell us how to make the cure ourselves!" Gustus raised his voice. The young woman didn't flinch. Lexa was impressed.
"I won't do that," the healer said in a surprisingly even tone. "If I told you the cure, there would be nothing from stopping you from killing us all right now."
Indra cut in: "Don't think I won't hesitate to cut your throat this instant—cure or no cure!"
She would do no such thing, Lexa knew. At least not without a command. The others didn't know that, however. The younger crew members looked at their friend with terror in their eyes.
Artigas returned from his sweep of the lower levels shaking his head. He'd spotted nobody. Marcus Kane had been telling the truth.
Now Lexa and her crew were in a predicament. They knew nothing about these people, other than they came from a land that was in ruins (assuming that was truth as well). They were armed with guns but showed no violence yet. If Lexa let them roam freely around her villages, she still couldn't guarantee her people's safety. They'd never had strangers on their land living peacefully; there were only invaders, like the Ice Nation.
Then there was the issue of the cure itself. There was no guarantee this healer really was familiar with the disease. It could all be a ruse to move her people onto Lexa's land. They wouldn't know until the treatment was attempted on the sick in Tondc.
Gustus came to a similar conclusion. He gave a small, nearly imperceptible glance toward his left in Lexa's direction. She nodded at him once in response. These people had something that Tondc needed. If they wanted a chance to live on those lands, something must be given first. It would be proof of their supposed good intentions.
"Without a cure there will be no further discussions," Gustus repeated. "We will not trust your word blindly. If and when the cure has been proven, your people may sail freely through these waters."
The healer returned to her captain, Marcus Kane. The two had a short discussion in voices too quiet to be overheard through the wind and waves lapping the side of the boat. She returned moments later.
"If I am to work on your behalf, I need some sort of guarantee that my people will be safe in the meantime."
"You're asking a pirate for a iron-clad agreement?" Gustus asked, somewhere between shock and amusement. "What is your name, sailor?"
Her blue eyes met Gustus's with a steely determination. "My name is Clarke Griffin."
The name and circumstances stirred up a distant memory for Lexa, and she could tell the same for Gustus, though neither could explain why. Lexa looked more closely at Clarke Griffin. She was certain she'd never seen her before in her life.
The humor was gone from Gustus's voice when he said: "Well Clarke Griffin, here is the deal I will offer you: If you come to our village of Tondc and cure the disease we just described to you, your people will be allowed to sail across these seas at their pleasure. Until then, as long as they continue to follow our terms, I can guarantee you no harm will come to them."
Clarke seemed to consider this for a moment. She extended her hand toward Gustus. "I accept your offer."
The next few seconds passed in a blur. Gustus took Clarke's extended hand and suddenly pulled her toward the Regium Maris. Several lieutenants held her in place. Marcus Kane's crew took offense, and several of them raised their guns. Indra and one of her units had swords at their necks in an instant. Everyone stood still, waiting for the next move. If one shot was fired, or if one sword swiped across flesh, chaos would descend upon them.
It would do no good for Kane and his crew to retaliate. His people were outnumbered, and their skills were inferior.
"These are the terms of our agreement, which have been accepted by your spokesperson," Gustus called out to them. "No harm will befall your healer, and no harm will befall you as long as you do as we say. You are to set course back to your home port. When your healer has fulfilled her promise, we will send word for you that it is safe to return."
There were a few mutters among the unhappy sailors from Arclandia.
"If you do not abide by these terms, and you do not return home, that will be perceived as a direct challenge," Gustus continued. "We would have at least two from our fleet on your starboard and port sides ready to attack before the break of morning." He looked directly at Captain Marcus Kane. "Is that understood?"
The captain set his mouth in a hard line and nodded. He had no other choice. As long as he sailed without further permission, he would be outmanned and outgunned.
"Good." Gustus turned to the crew huddled behind him, where Clarke Griffin was staring daggers at the lot of them. "Then take her back to the ship, and let us continue on our course to Polis."
For the third time in five days, Clarke was thrown into an unfamiliar prison cell. These were nowhere near as awful as the bastille, but they didn't have the new, clean feeling of The Ark's. This ship was older, bigger, and more crowded. She was stripped of her belongings and locked inside while the crew returned topside to set sail. She could tell they'd departed when the rhythmic beating of the waves over the keel started.
Her people were gone—forced to leave without her—and it was her own damned fault for being so stupid. She should have seen the trap she'd fallen into from a mile away. Now she would be alone until she completed her work. She had very little doubt about the disease's cause, but she'd never treated it herself. All she had to go on was her mother's expertise, which had served her faithfully in the past. She only hoped it would help her again this time. Her friends' lives depended on it.
Various crew members passed back and forth down the hallway outside Clarke's cell. None of them paid her any attention, and Clarke found she liked it better that way. There was no getting around the fact that these people were pirates. She would rather not interact with them any more than absolutely necessary. She would act as a healer in their village and then leave them for good.
One of the generals came to her cell. Clarke recognized her from The Ark. She had short, cropped hair and dark skin. She'd threatened to cut Clarke's throat, if she wasn't mistaken.
"The captain will see you now." The women unlocked Clarke's cell, inviting her to leave, but Clarke didn't move. She huffed angrily and rolled her eyes. "You may stay here if you want. But you must go to the captain's cabin if you wish to retrieve your personal effects."
Clarke remained still. She would get her belongings back, but she wouldn't do it because she was being told. She didn't agree to be a prisoner. She also didn't care much for Captain Gustus either.
"Fine, you may go on your own time." the woman huffed. "But the captain doesn't like to be kept waiting."
She left Clarke alone again, but this time, the door to her cell was left ajar. Sometime later, Clarke took one step out, hesitated, then retreated back inside. For some reason, the idea being in the cell felt safer than climbing to the main deck. She stayed inside and closed the cell door, leaving it unlocked. Then she slid to the floor, curled her knees against her chest, and rested her head on her arms. Some hours later, Clarke was able to drift to a fitful sleep with the waves rocking her gently.
When Clarke awoke, sore from spending too long in an uncomfortable position, the ship was uncharacteristically silent. She crept from her cell, glancing down the nearby halls. There were crewmen sleeping everywhere, like many of them had passed out drunk during the night. She tiptoed past them and up the steps to the main deck.
There were a few working on the deck, but nobody stopped her or bothered speaking to her. Only one or two even spared Clarke a curious glance. She reached the cabin's entrance uninterrupted and pushed the door open.
The interior was old, just like the rest of the ship, but someone had taken great care for the decoration here. It was surprisingly neat. The desk had a large map stretched out across it, and there were several measuring tools Clarke didn't recognize stacked neatly to one side. Behind them, Clarke spotted her bag. She rushed forward to grab it, and as she did, the door clicked shut behind her.
Clarke whirled around, expecting to see Gustus's hulking figure standing in the doorway. Instead, it was a young woman no older than Clarke, wearing the same set of armor she'd seen Gustus wearing last night. The dark paint around her eyes hid much of her expression.
"I'm sorry," Clarke said. "I was told to come here. This is my bag," she finished lamely, holding up the leather shoulder bag she'd been stripped of last night.
"Clarke Griffin," she said, as if trying the name out. "As I recall, I sent Indra for you during the night. If this is your attempt at a fashionably late entrance, I'm not impressed."
Clarke ignored that comment. "This woman—Indra—she said the captain wanted to see me. Have you seen him?"
"Who? Gustus?"
Clarke nodded. "Yes, him."
"Gustus is my general, one of my best warriors. But he does not command this ship. I do." The young woman straightened her posture. The way she carried herself looked almost regal, even the way she rested her left hand on the hilt of her sword. "While you are aboard this ship, you may address me as 'Captain.' When we reach port in Polis, then you may call me Lexa."
Clarke's mouth dropped open involuntarily. She snapped it shut the moment she realized she was staring. This woman—Lexa—watched her closely, and now that Clarke realized Marcus had been right about the captain's identity after all, she became hyperaware of her slouched posture and the way her hair was mussed from sleeping crouched in the cell last night. She stood straighter and attempted to smooth the unruly bits of hair that were falling into her face.
Lexa mercifully said nothing. But she did not smile. She did not scowl. She did not exude any emotion at all. Clarke hated not knowing what she was thinking. Upsetting the captain that held the fate of her people in her hands wasn't what Clarke wanted to do at all, but Clarke couldn't tell what she was feeling or what she wanted.
"I'm sorry for intruding," Clarke gushed, unable to take any more silence. "I should have knocked, at least. If you want me to return to my cell, I—"
"That won't be necessary," Lexa cut her off. "It was never my intention to keep you under lock and key. You were to be released as soon as your personal effects were searched for weapons. These are the terms you set forth; you are no prisoner here."
If they searched her bag, then surely they found her father's old carving knife. Lexa didn't mention it, however, so Clarke said nothing.
Lexa eyed the crude bandages on Clarke's hands. "I can see that you're no sailor. I don't expect you to work in any capacity other than that of healer, but I do expect that when you are aboard this ship, you follow commands just as everyone else does. You agreed to this service for my people, so you will be given quarter in the lodges with the rest of the crew, should you choose to accept it."
For the captain of a pirate crew, Lexa was surprisingly well-spoken. The negative images seared into Clarkes brain of pirates—how they were needlessly cruel, boorish, and often times even physically dirty—were beginning to unravel with every sentence she spoke.
Clarke didn't know what to say, so she settled for, "Thank you, Lexa."
She offered a curt nod. "That would be 'Captain,' to you for now," she corrected. "We will be sailing several more days before reaching Polis. Try to make yourself comfortable, but be wary of the crew. They aren't used to sailing with strangers."
Clarke nodded, committing every word to memory. Lexa showed her to the door. The crew were starting to wake up, it appeared. More of them were slowly making their way topside.
"Welcome aboard the Regium Maris," Lexa said as Clarke exited the cabin.
Clarke thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile on the captain's face when she turned around, but she might have just imagined it. When she looked more closely, it was gone.