CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They sailed again inside the hour. The sea fanned open before them in endless bands of blue, crashing into the horizon, where the sky was trapped beneath a thick layer of clouds. The wind blew from the south, carrying an edge of warmth. Caledonia welcomed the kiss of salt against her lips, the cloak of fine sea mist, the sensation of the world rushing beneath her feet. It was a single good feeling in a crush of sorrow and loss.

The rendezvous was still more than a day’s sail from their current position, and Caledonia scanned the horizon for signs of pursuit. Finding none, she ordered Tin to walk her through each repair, the list of each wounded crew member, and the status of their supplies. When that was done, the only thing left was to stay alert and sail hard.

They weren’t out of danger yet. As a crew, they would need to mark the loss of their siblings, warriors, and friends. They’d need to mourn the loss of their home. And Caledonia would need a chance to regain her footing. There wasn’t time for all that now, but if she didn’t give herself a moment to breathe, she was going to suffocate.

“Pi!” she called across the deck. “You’re in command.”

Her sister gave her a nod before repeating the order for all to hear. “I have command.”

Belowdecks, the air was cool and smelled faintly of smoke and gunpowder, reminders that though they’d repaired the worst of it, their ship was just as compromised as its crew. Caledonia had chosen speed over repairs: one more decision that could get them all killed. If they had to fight before they reached the rendezvous, their recent wounds could become a liability. Before the attack, Caledonia would have made the call with confidence. Now uncertainty crouched on her shoulder, whispering urgent questions into her ear: Had she made the right call? Had she missed something vital? Had she lost her edge and put everyone at risk again?

Caledonia rushed inside her chambers and pressed her back against the cold steel of the hatch, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. When she’d managed three in a row, just as she’d instructed Nettle, she moved to the sink and splashed cool water over her face, dragging wet hands through her hair. Her fingers trembled as she cupped them beneath the spigot to bring water to her mouth, and she had to pause to grip the sides of the sink; her hands couldn’t shake when she flexed her muscles. But she knew the only way to stop this unsolicited reaction was to let it work its way through her body, so she released her grip and curled up on her bed.

As a shiver traveled from her hands to her shoulders to her torso, all she could think was that Nettle would be so disappointed that her captain was hiding again. Imagining the girl’s frown helped her breathe a little easier. They had lost so much. She had cost them so much. So much that she couldn’t even bring herself to quantify it in any way. She couldn’t even if she’d wanted to. Radio silence was her order. No one except a Bullet would be listening for her call.

When they arrived at the rendezvous, though, she wouldn’t have any choice but to quantify those losses in numbers—how many missing; how many dead; how many of them left to take up the fight or abandon it altogether?

And how had they missed it?

Three knocks sounded against the hatch. Without waiting for an answer, Oran pushed through, his face fixed in an expression of grim determination. Two long strides brought him to her side, where he kneeled to take her hands. His were rough and warm and when he wrapped them around hers, the trembling stopped.

“Did I do this?” she asked in a voiced thinned by exhaustion.

Oran’s sharp brows crashed together. “Caledonia.”

“I know you’ll say it was Lir, but if it weren’t for me, would he do any of this?” She sat up, and her head spun just a little.

“Caledonia.”

“If I hadn’t tried to build an army, this wouldn’t have happened. I don’t even know how many people died back there, Oran. How many people did I get killed because I thought I could stand up to him? Because I thought I knew how to fight him?”

“Caledonia, stop.”

“I can’t. Oran, do you understand that hundreds of people just died and I’m the one who got them killed?!” She stopped. Her mouth falling open in horror, her own words echoing in her head: hundreds of people.

“Caledonia.” Oran’s voice was softer now. He rose from his knees, taking her face in his hands and leaning in to press his lips lightly to hers. When she didn’t immediately pull away, he deepened the kiss until her moment of panic subsided. “I want you to listen to me,” he said, smoothing his hands from her chin to her shoulders. “Nothing I’m about to say is going to make any of this go away. It won’t even make it better. I honestly don’t know that anything can.”

“Then what?” Caledonia had never felt the spiraling sensation in her chest, this feeling that she was falling, sinking, plummeting beneath the surface.

“I can give you something to hold on to,” he said, sitting back on his heels. There was no sympathy in Oran’s eyes. Only understanding. Whatever she was going through, he’d been there before, and he was offering her a way through. Not out.

“Tell me,” she said, missing the warmth of his touch on her shoulders.

“The decisions you make now will never be over,” he began, careful not to touch her while he spoke, aware that even if he understood what she was going through, he couldn’t inhabit it with her. She was on her own, but that didn’t mean she had to be alone. “The consequences are too big, too important to end in a moment. You will carry them with you until the day you die, and others will carry them longer than that. Because that’s what it means to change the world. It means making the kinds of choices that people remember.”

“The ones who survive.”

“Yes, the ones who survive. They aren’t the only ones who matter, but even if they don’t like how you fought, they will always know that you fought for them.”

There was something almost calming in that statement. It felt inevitable and perhaps even simple in the way the Bullet Seas had always seemed simple. You were either a Bullet or you weren’t. Fighting or dead.

Except that wasn’t exactly true. Caledonia knew that. It was why she fought the way she did. Why she released Bullets after battle instead of killing them outright. Maybe if she’d been more ruthless Lir wouldn’t have been able to infiltrate her city, but she was trying to change the Bullet Seas without decimating them. But what would it matter if merciful tactics got everyone dead?

“How can I ask anyone to keep fighting for me after this? How can I ask them to keep trusting me when I hardly trust myself? What kind of leader does that make me?”

“It makes you exactly what we need.” His answer came quickly, without a breath of hesitation. “We missed this, and our losses are terrible, but you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s—war doesn’t work like that. Winning doesn’t mean you were right and losing doesn’t mean you were wrong. All it means is that Lir hit us harder this time.”

“Every time I think I’m capable of beating him, he crushes me instead, crushes my people, my home, and all I can think about is hurting him. I used to want to hurt him for all the ways he’d hurt me, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore. I—I’m afraid of what it will take to stop him.” She paused, realizing she’d pulled his hands into hers and now squeezed them to her chest, realizing also that this was the first time they’d spoken since Oran had confessed that he loved her. “I’m afraid of what I’ll do to stop him. I’m afraid of who I’ll be afterward.”

This time, Oran’s answer came more slowly. He pursed his lips, and his brow furrowed before he spoke again. “When you’re in command, you have the power to create change in the world around you. That’s what power is: potential for change. But you can’t create change without also changing yourself. And you can’t change this world without making decisions that will haunt you forever.”

Caledonia realized he was talking as much about himself as he was about her. All the decisions he’d made as a Fiveson were still with him. He’d done things she never wanted to imagine, and they would stay with him for the rest of his life. It mattered that he had changed course and now fought against the structure he once upheld. And it also didn’t matter at all. There was too much blood on his hands to ever be rid of it.

There was blood on her hands, too. Not because she’d done the killing but because she’d been in charge. She bore the weight of responsibility.

“The truly terrible thing, Cala, is that you are probably more prepared to be the one to lead us than ever. Because you know what it feels like to lose like this and it hasn’t broken you yet. Half of war is just enduring hell.”

It felt true. Every time Caledonia thought a moment would send her to her knees, she found a reason to stand up again. She’d been enduring hell since the night she met Lir. Surely, she could endure it a little longer. Besides, if she stepped down now, someone else would stand up in her place. Someone like Pisces or Sledge would have to shoulder this burden.

“No good options,” Caledonia said softly.

“No good options,” Oran repeated, watching her with a mournful expression. “And there will be even fewer tomorrow.”

Caledonia gave a grim nod. It would take them more than a day to reach the rendezvous coordinates, but the point remained: the number of ships that joined them now would determine her next move. Yesterday, she’d been hurtling toward the moment of sailing to the Holster and attacking Lir. Tomorrow, she might have only a handful of ships.

“But bad options have never slowed you down for long.”

Two sharp bangs on the hatch had both of them on their feet before the door swung open. It was Pisces. The news was on her face before she spoke, and Caledonia was reaching for her discarded gun belt when Pisces said a single word: “Bullets.”