Free The Firebrand Legacy by T.K. Kiser Page A

David said, pushing past her.
“I’ll be right back.”
    “Wait!” Carine yelled. She hadn’t noticed any
sign of a storm when they had been on the deck. It didn’t seem
right.
    But David had made up his mind. He was
halfway up the stairs when lightning struck again. It hit the
water, and the ship rolled so drastically that David crashed over
the banister.
    He slammed straight through the wood,
    splitting the banister in two. His body was
sprawled motionless over the cheese and dried meat. Blood flowed
from his forehead onto the yams.
     

17 Flood on Board
    “David!”
    Carine didn’t dare move until the ship seemed
to steady, though now the crew scurried overhead on deck, calling
to each other. Slowly, carefully, Carine crawled to the prince.
Fruit juice or blood—or both—stained the sides of his soft shirt as
his boots grazed the ground. He lifted his head. His forehead
folded in pain. Blood trickled down the crease and over his
eyebrows. Thank the flames he was okay.
    “What hurts?” Carine said.
    David moaned. “Everything.”
    Carine took his arm and draped it over her
shoulders. The banister was in splinters, completely broken
through. Water rushed down the stairs in a steady current, rising
already to the tops of Carine’s feet. Carine’s fingers fell on his
bloodstained shirt to help him stand. When he didn’t, she asked,
“Can you move?”
    David tried sitting up but fell back onto the
food boxes. “Give me a minute.”
    “I’m getting help,” Carine said, letting his
arm fall.
    “No!” David said from an instinctive pride,
but then said, “Fine.”
    Turning, Carine regretted her resolution.
Water gushed in, rising every second. She held onto the post that
remained of the banister.
    “Try to stand up, David. The water’s rushing
in.”
    David didn’t answer. She heard his movement
as she faced the river before her. The boat rocked side to side in
huge, unpredictable motions.
    Crack . Crack . Lightning snapped
outside.
    Bread soaked up water like sponges. Fruit
floated over the rising pool. The banister shook in her grasp.
Chills made her shiver. She took a breath and leapt up the stairs
until she reached the section from which David fell. He groaned,
trying again—unsuccessfully—to rise.
    She stepped again. The cold, pelting rain
flattened her hair against her skull and made her shudder. Carine
scrambled over the water flooding the stairs onto the deck and
closed the hatch door behind her, hoping that would keep the rain
from getting in.
    The deck was flooding too, from rain as well
as seawater crashing over the rails as the boat rose and fell on an
enormous wave. Carine paused at the hatch door, wanting to go back
downstairs. The clouds blocked the sun. The black sky flashed
white, enough to see that the waves were two or three times higher
than the ship.
    Thunder rolled and lightening flashed.
    Two crew members struggled to take down the
sail, screaming convoluted orders to each other. On the quarter
deck, the captain fought the steering wheel. Alviar stood central
on the ship, staring up at the sky. Darkness shadowed them
again.
    She called out to him, but thunder drowned
out her voice. On hands and knees, she clung to the deck for her
life. One slip and she would slide off into the pounding waves.
Water swirled around her wrists, and every ounce was going down
into the hatch. If someone didn’t help David, he would drown.
    She struggled over the ship to find help. Had
she moved an inch or ten feet? The sky went white. Alviar stood
before her, his hooves just inches from her fingers. The burns on
his face enhanced his frown.
    “Firebrand,” he said, not to her but to
himself.
    Carine’s heart pounded. “Alviar.”
    He turned, noticing her.
    The world went dark, to the rolling applause
of thunder. Suddenly, Carine felt Alviar’s large hand on her
shoulder. He placed it there with the same care that Mom used when
she told Carine that Grandma had died.
    Carine spoke first.