The Black King (Book 7) by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Page B

Skya hissed.
    Gift ignored her. “I’m a target. They’re running out of ammunition above. I need to get rid of the rest of it.”
    “You want me to be a decoy.” Rudolfo’s voice had more confidence than his body did.
    “Yes,” Gift said. “Stay low. Act as if you’re giving orders.”
    Rudolfo nodded. He started out, but Gift stopped him.
    “Wear my jerkin,” Gift said.
    Skya turned away as if she were angry. Gift pulled off his jerkin, hoping they were far enough back that the archers couldn’t see this from above.
    “I thought you didn’t believe in Black Family supremacy,” Skya said.
    “Oh, I only get to use it when it suits you?” Gift snapped, as he handed the jerkin to Rudolfo.
    “At least I don’t kill anyone.”
    Rudolfo winced. Then he slipped on the jerkin, and put a hand on Skya’s arm.
    “I’m proud to die for my people,” he said, and crossed the deck.
    The wood was slippery with blood and rain. Spray crashed over the side as another wave crashed into the bow. The Nyeian slid along the surface, stopping as he hit the feet of a Sailor on the port side.
    Arrows fell, following Rudolfo, but he zigzagged enough, his movement unpredictable. One seemed to graze him, but didn’t hit hard.
    Gift hurried to the wheel. Skya yelled at him, but he didn’t stop. He had no idea what he was doing, knowing only that someone had to right this ship or they all would die.
    “Skya!” he yelled. “Get the Nyeians up here. All of them. I don’t care how frightened they are.”
    She nodded and ran below. Gift struggled with the wheel. It slid beneath his fingers, heavier than he thought. He had to put his whole weight into it to get it to move. Not that he was sure which direction to turn it.
    The Navigators were no help. They issued instructions, their eyes glassy, as if the captain were still there to hear. They probably didn’t even know that the ship was under attack.
    Arrows continued to fall around Rudolfo. The ship rolled and pitched, marring the archers’ aim. For that, Gift was thankful. The archers were clearly good shots; they had killed Wave instantly.
    The ship seemed to be turning away from the cliffs and heading toward the center of the river. Gift glanced behind him. The sails were billowing, and one had a large rip in it.
    Skya was at his side again, a Nyeian beside her. The man looked terrified.
    “Steer this thing!” Gift shouted.
    The Nyeian took the wheel. There were other Nyeians behind him, all standing near the stairs, looking shocked. The deck was a mess of water and blood and bodies.
    Rudolfo was still moving. He reached the port side of the deck and suddenly an arrow caught him in the hip. He screamed and rolled on his side, clutching his leg.
    Gift braced for the next arrow to hit, but it didn’t come. Rudolfo pulled himself toward the one of the small emergency boats where he’d get a bit of shelter. No one else seemed to notice that he’d been hurt.
    The Nyeian had the ship moving forward at a fast clip. Gift had no idea how he’d done it.
    Gift glanced up at the cliffs, saw the whiteness of gulls against the sky, and nothing else. He started toward Rudolfo, but Skya grabbed his arm.
    “Maybe they realized it wasn’t you.”
    He had no idea how they would know that, but he didn’t argue. Rudolfo was leaning against the boat, his hand around the arrow shaft.
    The Fey who were supporting the Sailors were looking up as well, as if they expected to be hit at any moment. The waiting was almost as bad as the assault.
    Then a Gull Rider landed on deck, white feathers saturated in blood. The gull’s head was almost black and some of the blood had congealed, despite the rain.
    The Rider shifted back to his Fey form, growing to his full height, the bird body absorbing into his stomach. It was Ace. His naked body was covered with scratches, but as he shifted, the blood started washing off, leaving a pinkish trail on the deck.
    “There were only two,” Ace