6

Ash

After two sleepless nights and long days in the saddle, my body feels like it was pounded with a bone bag—then trampled by a team of mules.

But we made it.

Here on the cliffs overlooking Toretta with an hour to spare before dark, the whitecaps sparkle and the breeze is fresh with moist, salty air. I can’t see the harbor, though, so I wouldn’t know if anyone is shouting empty, or full of boats. But I’m optimistic.

“You’re always optimistic.”

Well, hope is the currency of the scribe, is it not?

Marcus leads us down the winding path, the dry red soil clouding beneath our horses’ hooves. Where the dirt roadway yields to cliff and plain, the knee-high grasses ripple in waves. It’s beautiful, but oh, the dust. My once-white shirt is brown, my mouth and eyes full of grit. No price is too high for a bath tonight. And, dear gods of the deep, may we all sleep in beds.

“Clean ones.”

Agreed.

It’s not long before we are through the gates and slap in the middle of Toretta’s noisy city streets lined with vendors peddling aromatic foods, bowls of steaming white rice, red chili soups, salads of bright-yellow mangoes and green papaya. My mouth waters.

Chickens in coops cackle and peck at the ground. Spotted goats with long, drooping ears are milked on the spot. In one stall, a big woman in an apron fills baking pots with apricots, dried fruits, and raw meats, ready to pop them into the hot wood oven behind her. Farther down, a short man sells plates of noodles and fish; the delicious smell of curry wafts from his stall. After two days of thin soup and rock-hard bread, I’m drooling like an old dog. We all are, though I don’t rest my eyes on the butcher skinning eels. I’m no fan of those. Too slimy.

Savants of various colored robes, mostly green and yellow, stand out, including Northern Aturnians with their breastplates of armor and streaming capes. Our group is strung tight as a bowstring, no doubt thinking about what, exactly, a host of Northern Aturnians would do if they discovered the Heir of Baiseen in their midst.

For once, thank the bones, Marcus isn’t drawing attention to himself. We seem to go unnoticed and I guess, with his green robe covered with grime and hood up hiding his golden curls, he’s as far from an image of the Heir of Baiseen as anyone can be.

Belair helps, too, riding close to Marcus on his tall bay, obscuring him even further. They seem to be getting along better now. I was worried Marcus would resent him all the way to Aku, but Belair’s too amiable for that, and the replacement really wasn’t his fault. I’m still shocked by the Magistrate’s decision to give Marcus’s seat on the council to Petén. Marcus kept his voice even when he told me, but I felt the bitterness underneath his words. A father should support his son, not betray him.

They’ll have a different opinion once De’ral, fully controlled by a yellow-robed Marcus, returns to them from Aku.

I smile at the thought.

We ride out of the main district and past quaint pastel buildings with bright flower boxes under the windows. Many of the older inhabitants are on the stoops, playing games of cards and dice.

Marcus twists around in the saddle when we come to a crossroad.

I draw out the map, balance it on my mare’s neck and the pommel of my saddle, but it’s not necessary. “Can’t you smell it, sir?” I point ahead, using the new title to remind him to be covert with his name. If I know Marcus, he’ll need it.

Young children kick balls and hoops back and forth in the street, darting out of our way as we approach. An elderly orange-robe savant with a lined face and skin dotted with spots from the sun snores from his low chair. Beside him, a phantom sits on its haunches. The brown bear is huge, easily eighteen hands high. It watches our approach, its gaze shifting between us and the children it appears to guard.

My mount tenses beneath me. “Easy, girl.”

We progress down the road, the bear’s black eyes locking with mine. In Baiseen, I’m used to the phantoms engaging me. Here, I don’t find the habit nearly as endearing.

My hands shorten the reins of their own accord. This isn’t Rhiannon’s little meerkat, twitching a whiskered nose about my bare feet, that’s for sure. I feel the bear’s eyes on my back as I follow the others, but we pass uncontested, finally reaching the entrance to the harbor. Still, the water is blocked from view.

“Half the size of Baiseen with twice the stink,” Belair says, a kerchief covering all but his eyes. I doubt anyone but me heard him over the cries of the gulls. The sky is full of them, and why not? There are at least ten cartloads of reeking garbage lined up, waiting to be loaded onto a barge and sent out to sea. The barrels of fish bones and shrimp tails are quite an attraction for the birds as well.

A few peddlers crowd the entrance, but this section is more for offloading goods and supplies than selling them. Winches and pulleys dominate the space, and giant cranes topped with bright flags stand out against the sky. One long building, a warehouse, I’m guessing, runs the length of the avenue, its peaked roof decorated with noisy gulls, cormorants, and the odd pelican.

“Come with me, Ash.” Marcus swings out of the saddle and motions me to follow while the others water the horses at a communal trough. He acts more like the Heir of Baiseen every step down to the wooden dock, as opposed to a humble initiate on his way to Aku.

“We need to cut right to reach the individual piers,” I say as I rush to match his long strides. Signs written in Aturnian, Tangeen, Gollnar, and Palrion point the way.

“I can read.” He continues on at a demanding pace.

I rub my aching shoulders, struggling to keep up. “Please slow down.”

For someone who wants to travel, I’m quite aware of how lousy I am at it. I train in hand-to-hand combat; I do. But I was not prepared for the long days spent in the saddle or sleeping on the ground.

When I catch up to Marcus as he rounds the corner, my physical complaints vanish and I let out a gasp. Thick tan ropes section off fifty berths, but everywhere I look, they are empty.

“That must be some fish run,” my inner voice notes, not the least perturbed.

Dak’n spit, it must. “Not here, too?”

“There’s one.” Marcus points to a large carrack near the end of the dock.

The sails are down, but the late-afternoon breeze ruffles the edges of the boom. I can’t be certain, but I think I catch a glimpse of black sailcloth. “That may not be the one for us.”

“Why not?”

I point, but all I can see now are white sails rolled up tight. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

Marcus heads straight for it, his boots clipping with each stride. “It’s the only one left.”

I follow and tug on his sleeve. “Don’t let your royal blood show or hint that we’re desperate for passage,” I remind him. We’d practiced bartering over the last few days. Marcus wants to do this himself, as he should, but… I guess seventeen years of commanding a palace full of servants doesn’t wear off overnight. “And check the sails,” I add. Just to be sure.

“It looks good to me,” he says.

I want to agree with him. The ship has a wide ramp for boarding horses and livestock. It sits high in the water, too, and the boards are wet. “Fresh in and unloaded,” I say to Marcus. “But the sailcloth.”

He studies it. “White.”

It does appear so. “I thought I saw—”

“Let me do this, Ash.” He marches up the gangplank. Tension vibrates from him.

I get it, I do. We can’t turn back. So much is riding on this, now more than ever.

“Ahoy!” Marcus shouts. “Is the captain about?”

“He ain’t.” An unshaven man in drawstring pants and a wrinkled shirt leans against a stack of wooden barrels off to the side, drinking from a large jug.

Marcus turns to face him. “We seek passage to Capper Point.”

The sailor grins. “That’ll have to wait.”

“We must book it tonight.”

“Not urgent, remember?” I whisper behind a cupped hand.

“Tomorrow is fine as well,” Marcus quickly amends.

“Sorry, mate. You’ll have to speak to the cap’n and, like I said, he ain’t here.”

Marcus draws himself up straight. “Listen to me, ‘mate.’ I’m the—”

I jab him in the ribs with my elbow. He grunts and clears his throat. “I’m a green-robed savant from Baiseen, on my initiation journey to Aku.”

“And I am the recorder for the journey,” I butt in. “May I ask where the captain is?”

The sailor looks me up and down. “Try the nearest pub, miss.”

I’m disgusted, but more worrisome is the snarl on Marcus’s face.

“Mind your eyes,” he snaps. “We’ll find another boat. C’mon, Ash.” He walks back down the gangplank with his long, I’m-the-Heir-of-Baiseen stride. I’m about to follow but my inner voice stops me.

What are we waiting for? I ask.

“Listen.”

The sailor toasts Marcus’s back and then turns to me. “There’s no other vessel sailing to Capper Point this week. Fish are running. Biggest catches on record.” He caps the jug and closes the distance between us, blocking my way off the ship. “Came up out of nowhere, just like you.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Is this what you wanted me to wait for?

I take one step back, but he presses in. His eyes are glassy and his legs unsteady. But I won’t underestimate him.

“He’s no threat.”

Thank you. I feel so much safer now.

I pull out my belt knife, eye on his next move. He gets one warning. “That’s far enough.”

“Can I help you, lass?” a voice calls from above.

The sailor backs off immediately. “She wants passage to Aku. I was discussing the options.”

I don’t comment on his version of the story. All my attention is drawn toward the young man descending from the crow’s nest.

He jumps to the deck, landing light on his bare feet, and I promptly forget how to breathe. He’s tall, with black, curly hair falling past his shoulders. His chest is broad and hairless, his abdomen ridged like a pan flute. He wears cutoff pants. That’s all. Not another stitch. I’ve never seen so much skin, such a deep, smooth brown, in my life.

I’m still holding my breath and it’s starting to make me dizzy.

“Then breathe.”

I exhale, and it comes out as a whistle. He blinks, but then a crooked smile tugs at his mouth. Oh, by the Deep, let the deck swallow me whole. As he steps closer, the hairs on the back of my neck rise again, albeit for an entirely different reason.

“Worth the wait?”

I ignore my inner voice and meet his dark, gray-green eyes.

“Did you plan to do more than stare?”

I reach for the ends of my long curls, remembering too late they’ve been recently cut. “I…um. We…” Oh yes, I’m truly a wordsmith just now. I point at Marcus, who is walking back toward us. “My…brother and I are traveling to Aku with three other savants.” My arm swings vaguely toward the north, but the belt knife is still in hand and he has to lean back, out of range.

“Maybe put the knife away?”

“Initiation journey?” He taps his fist to his chest, a traditional show of respect to savants. “Congratulations, but you’re cutting it a little close.”

“Thank you, and yes, we are. Circumstances beyond our control. Seems the fish are running.” I tuck the knife into its sheath. It takes two tries. What is wrong with me? “I’m the recorder but non-savant.” I turn my palms up like it can’t be helped, because it can’t. “Two of our party are going to train and compete.”

“You travel much?”

Why is he asking me that?

“To see if you know how to barter.”

Ah.

He ties his hair back, biceps flexing, and I lose my train of thought. He’s handsome in a way I’ve not encountered amid all my vast travels. I don’t know if it’s something earthy—er, oceanic—about him, or just something in the way he looks at me, but I’m captivated. Silly that.

“Travel?” my inner voice prompts.

“Actually, a bit,” I say. “Around Palrio. Nonnova Islands to the south and Tangeen as well. Once to Gollnar.”

“‘Yes’ would have sufficed.”

The unmistakable heat of a blush spreads up my chest and through my cheeks. “You travel much?” I ask him back.

“Did you not notice he lives on a boat?”

I laugh, completely out of context. The old gods can drown me at any time, please. It’s like I’ve never talked to a boy before. But I have! Plenty of times. And in multiple languages, no less.

He glances up at the mast. “I’ve been nigh everywhere.”

I can’t stop the sigh from escaping my lips. “Aku?”

“I was there last summer. We’re heading that way in the morning.”

“The sailor said—”

“He doesn’t know his left hand from the anchor chain. Pay him no mind.”

I turn to call Marcus back and bump right into him.

“Ash. Stop yammering to the crew.” He glares at the first sailor, who has gone back to his bottle. “We need to secure a ship, and this isn’t it.”

“They’re sailing for Aku in the morning,” I whisper.

“They’re all drunk.” Marcus isn’t whispering.

“Excuse my brother,” I say to the young sailor. “We’re looking for passage to Capper Point, but I understand your captain is indisposed?”

“I’ve never heard it put quite that way, lass, but the Sea Eagle’s captain is very much, as you say, indisposed.” His smile returns, and the sun shines brighter in the sky. “It’s his natural state when onshore. He leaves me to make the arrangements. Captain Nadonis will verify them in the morning.”

“He’ll be sober?” Marcus asks.

“Aye. We sail with the morning tide.” He nods at the barrels stacked on the dock. “We’re taking apples from your lovely Palrio coast to Capper Point.” His eyes wash over me at the word “lovely.” At least I’m inclined to think they do.

Either way, I’m a little breathless. Again.

“Then come back to the ground and check the boom.”

I barely hear my inner voice giving guidance, but I glance at the sails rolled tight around the boom. They are white, until the breeze catches the edge again, revealing black cloth beneath. Marcus spots it, too.

“No,” Marcus says flatly and tugs on my arm, trying to lead me away.

The sailor raises his brow.

“He’s disturbed by the black sails, and so am I.”

“Our voyage to Aku is under white sails, but in any case, the winter currents are coming early.” The lad looks skyward, as if he expects the season to change at any moment. “The Sea Eagle is your last chance to reach the Isle by ship.” He turns back to me.

There’s no argument to that, so I keep my mouth shut.

“What’s your name, lass?”

“Ash, but about the sails—”

“Ash.” The sailor picks up a loose rope and begins to coil it. “If you do decide to join us, how many in your party?”

“Five.”

Marcus throws up his hands and stalks away.

“Luggage?”

“Saddle, bridle, and halter for each, saddlebags, and a double-sided mule pack, half full.”

“Stock?”

“Five horses and one donkey.”

“Seaworthy?”

“The horses are. I’m not sure about the donkey.”

He nods. “Thirty-five gold each, two meals a day, and hammocks in the commonhold. Twenty per head for the livestock, more for the donkey if it gives us strife. You’ll be liable for damages.” He assumes it’s a done deal and holds out his hand to shake on it.

Oh, how little the sailor knows me.

I draw in a breath and counter. “Twenty gold each, three meals a day, and fifteen per head for the horses. Ten for the donkey.” I jut out my chin, a challenge, even though, on the inside, my thoughts are swimming in his features, the smiling eyes, strong jaw…

“Perhaps pay more attention to how you are spending the Magistrate’s coin than the merits of the sailor’s form.”

My face heats at that, and I catch him noticing.

“You’re letting him gain the advantage.”

I am not.

He leans forward. “Thirty gold,” he counters in his lilting accent. “Three meals, fine, but eighteen for all stock. I know how much those little beasts can eat.”

I scoff and fold my arms across my chest. “What, a mere donkey’s appetite? Twenty-two gold, and sixteen for the horses, twelve for the donkey, my top offer.” The words sound confident, but I’m shaking inside. From excitement? Fear? I can’t even tell how I feel.

And yet, he’s the one who falters. It’s only slight, but I catch it, his gaze lingering on my face. Unless he’s shocked by my short hair?

“Maybe he marvels at the dirt on your neck.”

Shut up. I brush at my collar.

He clears his throat. “Twenty-five and sixteen for all stock, three meals, my lowest offer.” He’s on his back foot and I could push for more.

But I don’t.

“Done.”

“So soon?”

No choice. Whether I’m excited or scared no longer matters. My upper lip is starting to twitch, and if he sees that, we’ll be back to thirty a head and I’ll never live it down.

I automatically thrust out my hand to conclude the barter. It slips into his, and this time it’s the hairs on my arm that rise. I try to say the usual square, or even, but no sound makes it out of my mouth.

“Done and square.” He speaks for us both, his voice just above a whisper. His eyes are full of questions, but he doesn’t ask them. Finally, he lets go and steps back, all business now. “Have the horses here an hour after dawn. We like to load them first.”

“What about the black sailcloth?” I insist, my gaze tearing away from him and going to the boom. “Are you visiting the Drop?” The deep-sea trench off the coast is the haunt for sacrifices of marred children—or was until the Magistrate banned them.

“I’m just the bosun’s mate and can’t speak of it either way. But I can promise you, lass, no harm will come to any on this voyage. I stake my life on that.”

His words sound earnest, still… “I’ll have to confer with my brother.”

“Do so, then. We sail, with or without you, on the morrow.”

I have to make myself turn away, because he hasn’t. He’s just standing there, slowly coiling the line, eyes on me. At last, I nod and walk away, but turn straight back. “Wait. What’s your name?”

“Kaylin,” he answers in his warm, swaying voice.

“Kaylin? Like the waterfalls in Tutapa?”

“Aye, lass. Like that.”

Which explains the island accent.

He smiles and disappears below while I hurry away to find the others. My thoughts should be on the very difficult task ahead, but I can’t help wondering what Marcus will decide, meaning if I’ll ever see Kaylin again.

“And this matters because?”

I can’t answer that. I just know it does.