61

Ash

“Blazes’ dak, what’s happening out there?” We’re hiding behind a head-high mound of coiled rope, thick as an arm, stacked neatly at the edge of the dock. “Can you tell?”

Kaylin gently lays Belair down, checks his pulse, and then peers around the coils. “Mother of Ma’ata…” he mutters under his breath.

“Ma’ata?” The word is faintly familiar, but from where? I make a note to ask Kaylin later, if we survive. “What’s wrong?”

He sighs. “There was a rowboat full of savants heading for the pier.”

“Was?”

“It appears to have sunk.”

“How?” When I look back, a bit of hull sticks out of a widening circle of dark water. “What are the odds?”

“In our favor, lass.” He doesn’t look so thrilled about it. “This is our chance.”

The Aturnians guarding the ship are alarmed by their drowning comrades. Six of them bring their phantoms to ground and man a lifeboat to row out and save them.

I peer around the coils next to him, even though he can see it clearly himself. Out at the far end of the bay, the only sign of the rowboat is a few bits of floating wood.

“I’ll be back.” Kaylin draws his sword and strides away.

He’s halfway to the ship before the remaining guards notice him. They draw their swords and call their phantoms. Two gulls zing in. Kaylin ignores the birds and swings twice, slicing one guard from shoulder to hip. The other he impales in the chest. Their phantoms vanish like smoke on the wind. My stomach tightens as I’m again reminded of how fast and deadly Kaylin is with the blade. He searches the dock for more guards but finds none.

I scan the hill for the others but there’s no sign. What’s taking so long?

“They’re coming,” my inner voice reassures me.

When my eyes return to the cove, the second rowboat lurches and capsizes, spilling out the guards, the rescuers joining the victims. My brow pinches tight. What in F’ndnag is going on?

“Ash! Here you are!”

I stifle a yelp as Samsen comes crouching in behind the cover of the ropes.

“Where’s Kaylin?” he asks.

“Over there, killing people.” I check again and wrinkle my nose. “And taking off their coats.”

Samsen doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Is it safe to bring Marcus down?”

“I think so. How is he?”

“Unconscious again.” Samsen’s face is grim. “Belair?”

The Tangeen hasn’t stirred, but the rise and fall of his chest under my sheepskin coat is comforting. “He’s alive.”

Samsen nods and is gone.

The cove is empty when I check again, save for a few broken oars floating toward the docks. Beyond it, a huge fleet anchors on the far side of the surrounding reef. How we will sail past them without being stopped is beyond me, but on the pier, Kaylin heads back our way. “I hope you have a plan.” I think the thought in his direction.

“I do, and we can start by boarding the sloop.” I startle as he hands me a dead guard’s wool coat and puts one on himself. “This will fool them, from a distance.”

I start to push my arms into the sleeves. There is a slice from the shoulder to the waist, wet with copper-smelling blood. “Kaylin, this is—”

“Necessary.” His voice is light, carefree.

Naturally, it would be. He’s been chopping and slashing the enemy to bits. “They’re bringing Marcus down the hill.”

“Good.” He lifts Belair over his shoulder again. “This way.”

I trot after him down the pier. The coat is still warm and has a man’s strong scent on it. I try to focus on something else—the sound of my boots on the wooden dock, the smell of salt water and bird droppings, fish and tar, how Kaylin, once again, appears to have heard my thoughts. Anything other than the dead man whose body I’m about to step over. I avert my eyes and hurry on. How wrong can an entire initiation journey go?

“Maybe don’t ask that question until it’s over.” My inner voice’s wry tone is a warning all its own.

Kaylin takes my hand and helps me up the gangplank. “To the helm.”

I walk along the spotless deck.

“Other way,” he calls out. “Hold the wheel. Be ready to turn her hard to port.”

Back of the ship. Be ready to turn hard…I squint. “Left, isn’t it?”

“Aye, lass.”

There is no question that he heard that one. I file the information away for later, when we’re not in immediate danger of being killed by an enormous enemy fleet.

The sloop is a small ship, and it doesn’t take me long to reach the wheel behind the cabin as Kaylin takes Belair below. I stand tall and grip the smooth wooden helm that comes up to my shoulders. I’ve both hands holding on, knuckles white, eyes fixed straight ahead, even though we are moored to the berth. The others climb up the gangplank. “Piper’s keeping her phantom up?” I ask.

Samsen dips his head to the hold where he takes Marcus. “They’ll need it.”

“True.” I glance back to the plank. We’ve acquired another passenger, or is she a prisoner? The girl’s in irons, unrecognizable with her head down and long hair tangled, robes torn, a dark embroidered coat over her shoulders. Orange-robe? Samsen pauses to help her onboard.

My mouth falls open. “Tyche!” Where did they find her? Before she can respond, Kaylin ushers them all below.

“Be ready, lass,” he says to me. “This could get dangerous.”