“To stop a war!”
“To start a war!” Whisper fired back. When had her youngest sister become so tenacious? “This is how it happens—this is how it always happens. One side attacks, the other side counters with a larger force, and on and on until everyone is dead and I’m alone again.” The fight left her and Whisper’s head slumped into her lap. Her shoulders began to shake, the soft sound of muffled weeping rising to fill the sudden silence.
If someone entered the room now…Raven couldn’t let anyone see her sister like this. Sandes women did not cry or show weakness in public, if ever.
Raven slipped off her throne, roping an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Come, let us return to our quarters. A cold drink and a bath will serve you well.”
Whisper squirmed away. “Stop coddling me,” she said, dashing her hand across the tears on her cheeks. Her eyes were wet and red, but still sharp. “I’ll go myself.”
As Raven gaped at her, she stalked off, the hem of her dark dress brushing the floor behind her. Raven shook her head, still trying to come to terms with this new fierier version of Whisper.
Just then, one of the empire messengers entered, bowing slightly at the waist. He wore baggy white pants cinched at his knees and a gray vest with three silver buttons. “Two messages have arrived,” he said, handing her a freshly streamed note on moist parchment. He stepped back twice, giving her space to read in private.
What now? Raven thought.
She scanned the letter, her eyes widening when she noticed the sender. Aunt Viper. The strangeness wasn’t in the message itself, which was of a mundane nature—a recent profit report from the fighting fits of Zune, of which Viper was the mistress overlord—but the fact it was sent at all. She hadn’t heard from her aunt in years, not even after her mother’s death.
She realized the messenger was still standing, waiting, another message in hand. She folded her aunt’s stream for later consideration.
“Where is the second message from?” she asked the messenger.
“I’m not sure.”
Raven frowned. “To where was it streamed?” Generally certain senders used the same locations again and again.
“It wasn’t streamed, Empress. It came via pigeon.” The man held up a sealed scroll.
Raven’s frown deepened. Since streaming—the instantaneous method of sending messages using inkreeds through the water network—was invented, people rarely used birds anymore. The messengers generally just ran from the stream locations to deliver their messages and back again.
“Approach.” He strode forward once more and handed her the scroll. “Thank you. That is all.”
The messenger left, but Raven barely noticed, because she was staring at the wax used to seal the rolled parchment. It was blood-red and printed with a strange symbol—a sickle. In the south, the sickle was associated with the god of the Void, or underworld, Dragonus.
She cracked the seal and unfurled the scroll. The succinct message was scrawled in red ink.
Stop war or Whisper dies.
Raven stared at the words, her breath stuck in her chest.
The ink smelled distinctly metallic, coppery. From experience, Raven knew that smell. The message was written in blood.
Fifty-Nine
The Southern Empire, somewhere off the coast of Phanes
Grey Arris
Grey Arris was still getting used to this different version of his sister, Shae. Sure, she’d always been strong-willed, outspoken—stubborn as a mule, Shae was, if Grey was being honest.
But this Shae was all those things, and something else. Something more.
When she looked at him, as she was doing now, her gaze seemed to pierce him to the core, as if she was seeing his demons, his memories, his faults and his burdens.
“We are close,” she said now, snapping him away from his ruminations.
“Close to what?” he asked, but her stare had already moved on, out to sea, settling on something perhaps only she could see.
She didn’t respond, something else Grey was still getting used to. When she was like this, Grey knew it was fruitless to try to badger her further. It was like she’d folded into herself, a bat tucking its wings around its body, hiding in plain sight. On the Dead Isles, Shae had been through hell and back, and Grey wasn’t about to push her until she was ready.
All he really knew was that she’d dreamed about a man, a pirate, who was marked with the other half of the symbol on her palm, the one she’d been born with. Together, their two symbols formed a key, apparently. A key to open what, neither of them knew. Solving the mystery was the primary reason why they were now heading on a southerly bearing, toward Pirate’s Peril, an island off the southwestern coast of Phanes. As its name suggested, the isle was the known hideout of a notorious band of pirates operating in the Burning Sea.
Watching her stare out to sea, Grey had the urge to ask Shae more about her dreams, what the pirate looked like, why he, of all people, would bear the other half to her mark.
Instead, with the sun peeking over the horizon, he left her alone, off to see if Kyla, the captain’s daughter, was awake yet. Stomping across the foredeck, he passed several seamen, each of whom greeted him with respectful nods and tipped caps. It was an abrupt change to the way they’d treated him before, back when he’d been known simply as “the cripple.” Strangely, their newfound respect made him uncomfortable.
As he approached the stairs below decks, Captain Smithers himself emerged, blinking against the brightness of daybreak. Garbed in faded trousers held up by an old leather belt with a dull silver buckle, a stained button-down shirt, and a floppy brown cap, the captain could’ve been just another seaman starting work for the day.
But Grey knew better. When the captain barked orders, his men listened, else they face the stiff edge of his walking stick. Grey had known the captain’s wrath in the past, though now the man generally looked at him with a similar respect to his men.
Thus far, the captain had promised to take them within rowing distance of Pirate’s Peril. Smithers had said that any additional help beyond that was “to be discussed in good time.” They also had yet to speak about where the captain’s daughter’s place in all this was. Grey had been avoiding the conversation for a week.
“Well met, Seaman Arris,” the captain said now.
“Well met, Captain,” Grey said, removing his cap, his unruly black hair spilling out.
“You’re up early.”
“Sleep is hard to find these days,” Grey explained. In truth, he’d been up for several hours already, passing the early morning beside Shae, who seemed to sleep even less than he. Their predawn vigil had become somewhat of a ritual. As usual, they’d spoken little, watching the Phanecian coastline pass like the ghost of an enormous beast in the dark. A few days earlier, the smoke that had blanketed Phanes had dispersed, leaving the sky clear.
“For me as well.” The captain squinted into the distance, searching the red Phanecian cliffs they’d been staring at for a week. “We’ll all rest easier once we’ve passed the Southron peninsula.”
Grey didn’t know if that was true, but he agreed anyway, suddenly anxious to see Kyla. “Is your daughter awake yet?”
The captain grinned knowingly. He not only supported his daughter’s interest in Grey, but openly encouraged it, an abrupt turnaround from when he’d forbidden them from seeing each other. Grey had showed her kindness, and to a father that was much the same as retrieving the moons for her. “Last I saw, she was dead to the world. Feel free to wake her though, else she’ll sleep till midday.”
“Thank you, Cap’n,” Grey said over his shoulder, descending the steps.
Below decks the corridor was dim, the barest sliver of sunlight finding its way onto the landing. The first door on the right was the captain’s quarters, which belonged to Smithers and Kyla. Grey smoothed his salt-stained shirt with his hand before raising his fist to knock.
The door opened before he could finish the gestur
e, a hand shooting out to grab his collar. Off-balance, he found himself being pulled inside the chamber by Kyla, who proceeded to kiss him hard on the lips, stealing his breath.
When she pulled away he gasped. “What was that for?” he asked. Not that he minded.
Her brown curls bouncing, Kyla said, “For being you. For being here.” She had that telltale twinkle in her eyes, the barest of smiles on her lips. Combined with her button nose, rich brown skin, and sharp eyebrows, he found everything about her utterly attractive.
He leaned down to scoop a hand around her waist, using his stump to support her waist as he leaned her back and kissed her deeply. She came up giggling. “What was that for?”
“That was good morning,” Grey said.
The entire exchange left him giddy. Though their brief but intense romance felt sweeter than his last relationship, it was no less passionate. His smile quickly faded, however, when he saw Kyla’s bottom lip begin to quiver.
“Oh gods, Kyla,” he said, pulling her into his chest. She nuzzled against him, unfurling her arms around his back. She didn’t have to say anything. He knew. “You had the same dream?”
She shook her head, her voluminous hair tickling his chin. “Almost, except…” She trailed off.
“Take your time,” Grey said, cupping her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “I have all day.”
A shadow smile creased her lips. “What about your daily tasks? The decks won’t scrub themselves.”
“I could skip a week and your father would still think I walk on water.”
“But you won’t.”
“I will if you need me to.”
She dipped her head again, pressing her lips against his chest. He could feel the warmth as she kissed him through his shirt. “Where did you come from?” she asked.
“Knight’s End,” he said, though he knew that wasn’t what she meant. Though he’d told her a lot about his past—about his parents’ deaths, about Shae’s sinmark, about the furia’s capture of her and his subsequent mission to save her—he hadn’t told her everything. He hadn’t admitted to being a thief in a past life, nor that he’d bedded Princess Rhea under the false name Grease Jolly. He didn’t know why, exactly, he’d withheld these things. It wasn’t as if Kyla was naïve—she’d grown up a captain’s daughter, spending her time amongst cursing, gambling, spitting seamen.
No, he thought. I do know why. I’m ashamed.
She believed him a hero, when he was nothing but a recovering crook and swindler.
Could present goodness wash away past badness? It was a question he’d struggled with for some time. In the end, he’d had to put it into the voluminous category of things he’d didn’t know. All he could do was try his best to do good going forward, and protect his sister and Kyla and those he cared about.
Still, despite Kyla’s strength, sometimes Grey felt she was as fragile as a crystalline swan, ready to shatter if the wind blew in the wrong direction.
Kyla began telling him about her dream. Much of it was the same as her previous ones had been: her daughter, Myree, who had arrived stillborn, drifting away on her floating casket; her eyes suddenly flashing open, as brown as Kyla’s skin; the baby’s sharp intake of breath; the crying…but from there the dream changed. The child stood, a babe no more, and its eyes were sparkling blue, its blond hair sunlit, its cheeks fair and rosy.
Grey frowned when her story ended. He’d seen her baby. Her skin was a rich brown, albeit not quite as a dark as Kyla’s. And her head had been covered with a thin layer of black hair, plastered to its scalp by birthing fluid and blood.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Grey said.
“I know.”
They held each other in silence for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. “Are you okay?” Grey finally asked. He might not be able to interpret the dream, but he could comfort its recipient.
“I don’t know. It was hard enough losing her, but to have to see her again every night…and then to have her change like that? Into someone else’s child? It feels like torture. Every time, I wake up out of breath, like I’ve run a great distance.”
Grey raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think? That you were seeing someone else’s child?”
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Maybe. I don’t know why I said that. But there was something else.”
“What?”
“The child bore a strange marking.”
Grey’s blood turned to ice. The only skinmark he’d ever seen was Shae’s—her half-key that didn’t seem to do anything. “What marking?”
“Well, I don’t know if it was a marking exactly. Five letters. A word. H-O-R-D-E.”
“Horde?” Grey said. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Kyla shrugged, finally pulling away from him. “Probably nothing. But I felt scared when I saw it.”
“Land ho!” the scout shouted from the crow’s nest. As Grey looked up at him, he waved his hat wildly over his head. The other shipmen began to gather on deck, craning their heads over the railing and peering into the distance. Without the spyglass used by the scout, all they could see were endless waters.
Though Grey had expected to hear just such a cry for a few days now, it still sent a sensation through him. He didn’t know why, exactly, except that something about it felt like he was turning another page in the book of his life. Thus far, every new chapter had brought massive changes, not just in scenery but in him. He wondered what kind of person would emerge at the end of this chapter, assuming he emerged at all.
The weather had grown steadily warmer as they’d sailed south, while the wind had slowly died down. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, trickling down his cheeks, occasionally dripping from his chin.
He was also nervous, because he’d run out of time to talk to the captain about his daughter. He could imagine the conversation in his head:
What are your intentions toward my daughter?
Uh. I like her?
Is that a question, son?
I don’t think so?
Grey groaned just thinking about it.
“Arris!” Smithers shouted now, as if reading his mind. “In my office!”
Grey scanned the deck for Kyla or Shae, but found neither of them. The men winked at him, smirking, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the coin box.
There was nothing for it. He headed below decks, passing the closed door to the captain’s quarters. He wondered if Kyla was inside, awaiting to hear news of her fate. On the left were the seamen’s bunks, where he’d slept for the last several weeks, ever since he’d talked his way onto The Jewel in the first place. Surprisingly, he felt a pang of melancholy in his chest. His top bunk was lumpy and uncomfortable, lacking even a proper pillow, but he would miss it all the same, especially since twice Kyla had snuck in for a midnight cuddle.
At the end of the corridor was a scratched oak door with a miniature version of a ship’s wheel nailed into it. He collected his nerve, took a deep breath, and then knocked. “Git in here!” the captain’s gruff voice shouted.
Grey cringed, but opened the door. Inside, Captain Smithers sat behind a scratched up old desk covered with various items typical in a merchant vessel’s office: signed contracts, a brass compass, dozens of nautical maps, a tin lock box. His eyes narrowed at Grey as he entered. “You think me a damn fool!” the dark-skinned man bellowed.
Grey froze. This wasn’t the beginning to the conversation he’d expected. “No, I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took a step into the cramped room, closing the door behind him, which was when he noticed two others in attendance—Kyla and Shae. They were side by side, stuffed into a corner. Shae refused to look at him. Kyla’s eyes met his, and she mouthed I’m sorry.
Sorry for what?
The captain glared at him. “Kyla here was just telling me how you’ve been boasting about stealing her away, whisking her off on some foolbrained adventure in the land of the pirate
s.”
Grey’s jaw fell open. Not only had he and Kyla not discussed anything of the sort, but he didn’t take her for the type to tell such a lie, especially to her father. He turned to meet her eyes, but she’d looked away.
“I—no, I’m not planning to steal your daughter away. I never said that.”
“Then what are you planning?” Here it was: the conversation.
Grey collected his thoughts, determined not to say anything he would regret later. “The truth is, Cap’n, I barely know what I’m going to eat for breakfast, much less my plans for the future. All I know is that I care about your daughter deeply, more than I’ve cared about anyone in my life, save my sister, I suppose. And I know I must, once more, thrust myself into danger for the sake of learning about Shae’s marking, as I’ve told you. If I may have a rowboat, I will make the attempt on my own, asking only that you protect Shae and Kyla in my absence. If I manage to escape the isle at some point, I will seek you out, along your merchant route.”
“Is that all?” the captain growled, as if Grey was asking for the clothes off his very back.
Grey nodded, holding his breath.
The captain leaned forward, his jaw trembling with what appeared to be rage. And then he coughed, his face changing, a laugh bursting from his mouth, spluttering out with a splash of spittle. Grey raised his eyebrows as Smithers slapped both knees with vigor, all the while laughing so hard Grey thought the captain’s head might fall from his neck.
Grey turned to Kyla and Shae to find them both laughing, too, though not nearly as hard as the captain. He felt like the butt of a jape he’d completely missed the punchline for.
“I shoulda bin a play actor,” Smithers finally said, wiping his eyes, which were moist with amused tears. “You shoulda seen yer face, sailor! White as a ghost, ’twas!”
Grey was still trying to catch up, but he thought maybe the reaction was a good thing? “So you’re loaning me the rowboat?”
That spurred another round of laughter. “After what ye did ta the last boat I loaned ye? Never again,” Smithers said. “No, I don’ trust ye with me stuff. My daughter, aye, but not me vessels.”