The whimsically-named Wild Eyes shuddered as it crested another wind-frothed wave. The bitter cold pulled extra creakiness from her thick timbers and added more snap to the flapping of the sails.
Or perhaps it was all Deiq’s imagination. The sailors around him, wrapped up in motley layers of cloth right down to the fingernails, seemed completely unconcerned about the violent noises ratcheting into Deiq’s sensitive ears. They worked their way along the wind-ropes to their stations and duties with the speed of long practice, laughing in the lulls and tossing fragments of songs back and forth.
Deiq, meanwhile, hung over the rail—downwind, lee, whatever the hells they called it these days—and heaved acid from an empty stomach. His trembling hands were locked onto the rail with a fierceness just shy of splintering the wood as he shivered more from comprehensive disorientation than from chill.
He couldn’t feel the ground. Couldn’t feel the world around him. Couldn’t tell which way was east. He had no sense of time: had he been standing at the rail for moments, hours, days?
It wasn’t the first time the fit had come on him. He remembered that much. It wouldn’t be the last, either. He hated traveling over water. And from Sandlaen to Agyaer, over the deep waters, was far, far worse than a simple coast hopper would have been.
Should have gone with Teilo after all—underwater would be easier—
Except that he hadn’t gone with Teilo because—because—
The tey-b’stibik. I didn’t think I’d be able to shift form reliably. I was afraid of drowning.
Drowning, at the moment, seemed preferable to this endless, inside-out agony. And Teilo maybe could have kept him alive long enough, in a crisis, to get him to the surface. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
Maybe she could have. But I’m not at all sure that she would have... Humans were far too unpredictable, and Teilo, with her centuries of training under the ha’reye of the Jungles, was infinitely more so.
He knew perfectly well that she’d argued for his recall more than once over the years, although she’d stopped short of explaining to the Jungles why she was increasingly anxious as to his stability. And he’d always managed to convince his kin that Teilo was overreacting... which had led to her being reprimanded... Oh, yes, she had multiple reasons to hate him. Best to not put his life in her hands.
Someone slapped him on the back, a large, friendly hand. “Eh, there, Estah,” a familiar voice said. “Here, then, have a drink.”
The man pressed a metal flask against Deiq’s shoulder. Deeply tempted to tell the man to go away and leave him to die in peace, Deiq somehow made himself loosen one hand of his death-grip on the rail and reached out to take the offered flask.
I remember this. I’ve done this before. It works.
The chill liquor burned like frozen fire on the way down, exploding in his stomach in a way that should have made everything ten times worse—but for some bizarre reason, instantly cooled his disoriented nausea to a vague background queasiness instead.
The man reclaimed the flask, slapped Deiq on the back once more, and went away about his duties, whistling cheerfully.
“Thank you,” Deiq muttered, wiping a hand over his mouth and then his eyes, blinking hard to focus. Belatedly, he remembered—and added—the man’s name, “Pinin.”
“You ready to get back to work yet, then, Estah, or did you feel like playing with the rail a bit more?” someone else called out sardonically. It took a moment more for Deiq’s mind to assign first mate to the voice. He searched for a name to match the title, without success. “Ain’t done with that mending yet, are you? Go on, then, get moving!”
Deiq drew in a steadying breath and straightened. The sea had calmed considerably. Quite possibly it had never been as bad as the fit had made it seem. He could never entirely trust his perceptions at those times.
At least his control hadn’t yet broken. He’d never lost himself so far as to hurt anyone. Hardnosed practicality always won that battle, not kindness. Stranded alone on a ship this large, he’d have no option but to chance the open water.
As he turned and waved at the first mate, he plastered a faintly stupid, genial smile on his face. The man shook his head, rolled his eyes, and moved on without further harassment. Deiq returned to his perch on a coil of rope and collected the scattered bundle of needlework he’d tossed aside in his frenzied dash for the rail. It took some work to untangle the mess and resume the tedious stitching.
I could kill every single one of these humans in the space of one of their breaths. Four of their heartbeats. They’d never see it coming.
His gaze tracked back to the rail, and settled on a husky, fair-haired young man standing, apparently idle, looking out to sea.
Then again, maybe they would.
The young man turned and met Deiq’s stare equably. Most humans, Deiq had noticed, shied away from meeting Pinin’s gaze. Understandable, in a way, since Pinin’s left eye tracked several degrees off from his right, and the flesh around it was noticeably swollen and scabby. Deiq had seen worse deformities over the years, so he’d never flinched.
Pinin raised his metal flask in a friendly gesture, took a swig, then tucked the flask away and went back to staring out at the water. He was—at least as far as the crew knew—the ship’s ‘listener,’ as humans currently called those with a marginal ability to hear or sense the presence of ha’reye and ha’ra’hain.
He’d seen past Deiq’s friendly-foolish persona of ‘Estah’ at their first meeting, of course. There had been a mutually tense moment, when their gazes locked, filled with a rapid measuring and weighing of decisions. Then Pinin simply nodded and accepted the introduction without raising an alarm.
Their first conversation, two days out to sea, had been more troubling. Deiq had taken advantage of a quiet time in both weather and work duties to stand beside Pinin at the rail.
“What are you hearing, listener?” he said without—much— irony.
“Nothing,” Pinin said. “Yet. What are you hearing... ha’inn?”
Deiq tilted his head to one side, listening: nothing within miles in any direction, although the faint sense of a lesser ha’ra’ha came from far to the northeast. Not close enough to trouble this ship, however, so he shrugged and said, amiably mimicking Pinin’s delivery, “Nothing. Yet.”
Pinin nodded, not taking his gaze from the water. “There’s something out there that I can’t quite place.” He swept his arm out in an uncertain, wide gesture—in a different direction than the lesser ha’ra’ha Deiq had sensed. Ropy, puckered scars laced along both of Pinin’s arms from wrist to shoulder—yet another visual aberration that tended to make humans intensely uncomfortable. “It’s too far away in both distance and time for me to hear it properly yet, but I can feel it in my bones and joints, like a bad change in the weather—only not the same at all.”
He glanced sideways at Deiq, one eyebrow raised, as though to see whether Deiq understood. Deiq drew a sharp breath, then said, “You’re not just a listener, then. You’re a seer.”
Pinin smiled and dipped his head in a shallow nod. “Don’t tell the crew,” he said. “They’re a bit skittish about such things. But it makes no sense to try hiding it from you.”
“How far ahead do you see? How clearly?” Deiq carefully allowed interest, not alarm, into his tone.
Pinin’s right shoulder moved in a faint shrug. “It’s not so important. I’m better at listening.” Something about his crooked smile as he said the last sentence hinted he’d heard past the pretense.
Deiq kept his tone mild and amiable to avoid conveying any sense of threat as he answered. “It’s still impressive that you’re taking the risk. I’ve never met a seer willing to cross the open waters.”
Inwardly, Deiq cursed the luck. A listener would have been one thing, but a seer—he wouldn’t be able to draw from the crew after all. Seers had an unfortunate tendency to go berserk when they sensed a ha’ra’ha feeding, and the Wild Eyes wasn’t nearly large enough a vessel for the distance Deiq would need to avoid alerting Pinin.
“I go where I’m told,” Pinin said, his accent sliding back to a rougher sailor-speak as another crewman went by. “I made sure to have someone ready to hold me down when the song came for me, and after that I wasn’t never troubled again. They’re lazy creatures, aren’t they? Only interested in easy takings.”
“For the most part,” Deiq replied soberly, “I wouldn’t disagree. But don’t assume that yesterday rules today. Everything and everyone changes.”
“True enough,” the seer agreed. “I’ll keep that in mind, with thanks for the caution.”
Deiq nodded and began to turn away.
“Ha’inn.” The softness of the seer’s tone stopped Deiq. He looked over his shoulder, frowning. Pinin’s pale eyes met his without hesitation or fear. “I’ll return the caution in turn. Whatever’s coming—I can feel this much: it involves you.”
Suspicion rose instantly. Pinin’s expression was a bit too bland. “Nothing more than that?”
The seer touched his left shoulder with two fingers, a sailor’s signal for sworn truth. “No. I don’t know why you’re here, ha’inn, and there’s no reason I should. But I’d like a warning if you’re planning to send us to the depths.”
“I have no intentions of that.”
“Ah, but everything changes,” Pinin said with a twisted smile, then inclined his head and walked away.
Deiq let him go, unsettled enough already. He stared out at the distant line of the Horn, dread gathering in his bones.
Ever since that conversation, he’d been listening and watching for the disruption Pinin had mentioned. He hadn’t slept or eaten much, nerves racking ever higher as the days passed. He almost suspected that Pinin had been playing some strange, malicious seer game—except that seers didn’t lie. They only told truth, it was part of their gift. They couldn’t lie about visions.
As far as Deiq knew.
He returned to the mending, watched Pinin out of the corner of his eye, and wondered if he might be mistaken about that restriction.
The first break in the pattern came shortly past midnight: a subtle arrhythmia in the way water and wind moved around the ship. Deiq remained still, eyes closed, and listened from his perch on a large water barrel. Another break: a bubbling that raced round the bow of the ship, then faded into the slapping of water against the hull.
It could have come from a large fish, or a school of smaller ones, or any number of ordinary causes. Deiq hadn’t set foot on a ship, much less a deep-ocean vessel, in more years than Alyea had been alive. He’d walked through the water, even stood beneath the deepest waves for days at a time. Adapting to a form suited for underwater breathing was relatively simple. Being above the surface, for some reason, was entirely different. He was always afflicted by a creeping paranoia when on a ship. He could be overreacting.
The shivering dread itching along his spine argued otherwise, and the seer’s words rang ghostly echoes along his inner ear: Whatever’s coming involves you.
An out-of-place ripple, a hearty splash up against the hull. One of the night watchmen padded over to investigate this time. Deiq stayed still, eyes open now, listening, watching, sensing—and found only a vague not-rightness that increased the uneasy itch to a prickling burn of anxiety.
He rose, unable to stay still any longer, and moved to stand at the rail near the bow. I hate ships so much. The irony didn’t escape him. He’d made much of his fortune and status among the tharr by way of building a small shipping empire.
The water wasn’t the only thing sapping his strength, though. He ran a finger across the tiny bump at the end of his right eyebrow, one of the few tangible reminders of the teyanain ceremony that had tied him to Alyea.
Married. Bound. I’m an idiot. I should have asked Teilo to remove the binding.
She might even have been able to do it without killing Alyea in the process. But would she have made the effort? Doubtful. Alyea didn’t deserve to die over his stupidity.
He could almost hear Teilo scoff: The girl is human. You’re the last of the First Born ha’ra’hain. Whose life holds more value? Not hers!
He didn’t agree, wouldn’t agree. In the long run—meaning centuries and millennia—humans were far more important to this world than even the most powerful ha’ra’hain. They were flexible, and inventive, and adapted with astounding speed to changes that would have a ha’reye reeling with shock for a hundred years.
Another splash, and a strange thumping from underwater that died away almost immediately.
If I die, what happens to Alyea?
Bound to a human. Surrounded by water. Weakened even further by tey-b’tibik— the stibik-like powder he now knew he’d secretly been fed for years—and that he had, for a short time, in utter madness, taken voluntarily—
Why did I do that? What idiotic impulse was I following? Oh—Alyea. Again, Alyea. Of course.
Because he’d once again allowed himself to become truly interested in a human, he was currently almost defenseless against anything more powerful than the tharr sailors snoring nearby.
Would I know if she was in trouble? Would I even know if the chains were snapping tight?
An eerie silence had descended. Even the waves slapping against the hull seemed heavily muted, and the air felt thicker by the moment. He shut his eyes and tried to reach out, sensing, listening with stronger senses than simple human vision—and met only a vague grey queasiness, too reminiscent of his fits of disorientation. He withdrew hastily and stood still, breathing hard and staring out into the darkness, hands clenched around the rail.
An ethereal, underwater wail wound into Deiq’s bones with shivering force and quicksilver speed. The ship bells sounded a moment later, urgent alarm tones summoning sailors to their feet and to stations.
The tharr almost certainly couldn’t hear the much softer sound that brought Deiq to full alert: a smug, huffing teyanin chuckle.
I never asked Evkit if any of his athain have turned against him. This could turn extremely bad very quickly.
Silently cursing the sodden sentiment that had put him into this idiotically vulnerable position, he backed away from the rail. Around him, sailors snatched up harpoons and crossbows, ropes and nets, clubs and boathooks and marlinspikes, anything and everything dangerous that could fend off an attack.
If athain were involved, or another ha’ra’ha, none of the weapons would be any use at all. Deiq didn’t point that out aloud. Estah wouldn’t know such things.
He put his attention in staying quiet, on staying out of the way, on listening—searching for the first fragment of information that might give him a heartbeat’s lead on the choice to fight or escape.
Pinin cast him a sardonic, all-too-perceptive glance as he went by, boathook in one hand and long dagger in the other. Deiq ignored him as irrelevant and kept his focus on matters beyond and below the hull of the ship.
A presence began to form: An intangible pressure, coming from the area of the starboard bow. Not—threatening—exactly, but worryingly familiar. Deiq headed for the bow, grabbing a signal lantern from a startled sailor as he went by. He willed three people out of his way, ignoring their startled yelps at being shoved aside by an invisible hand.
Pretending to be Estah the tharr was a useless game at this point, if athain were nearby.
At the rail, he raised the lantern, strengthening the beam past what ordinary oil and wick should have been able to produce. In a flurry of shouts and scrambling feet, the terrified sailors retreated as far as possible from the apparent witchcraft.
Deiq ignored them, moving the lantern in a slow sweep and directing the light in a widening ray across the dark waters. He paused when he saw the anomaly: A body, limp and silent, being rocked by the waves less than a hefty stone’s throw from the hull.
“There,” he said over his shoulder, motioning with his free hand to the sailors behind him. “Look. Bring that body aboard.”
The captain moved to stand beside Deiq at the rail, squinting out at the body. He looked sideways at Deiq, hostile suspicion clear on his broad face. “I’m not bringing a sea-corpse on board my ship, not by the word of a new deckhand, for sure! Just who in all the hells do you think you are?”
Deiq grinned at the man, drawing on hundreds of years of learning how to frighten humans to shape the expression. “I’ll be your worst godsdamned nightmare, if you cross me, Captain.”
The color in the captain’s face changed from dark to a splotchy, nearly inverse freckling.
Deiq kept his voice low. “Tell your men to bring that body aboard, Captain. Now.”
The captain stared into Deiq’s eyes as though paralyzed for another moment, then jerked away and began shouting orders that sounded like it had been entirely his own decision. Deiq smiled, watching the confusion among the tharr sort itself out into disciplined action.
He held the lantern steady while nets were thrown and the body was pulled from the sea. Free of the water, the body turned out to be that of an old woman; emaciated, with long pale hair wound like seaweed around her skeletal frame.
Teilo. Apparently underwater wouldn’t have been the safer path after all.
Deiq set the lantern aside and knelt beside the motionless form, waving the sailors back. He splayed his hand across her chest, focusing on the nerves in his fingertips. After several seconds, he felt a distinct ta-thump, then, several seconds later, another. He sighed in relief and delivered a tiny surge of energy—the equivalent of nudging a tharr’s shoulder.
Teilo drew in a shuddering breath. A human heartbeat later her hands locked around his throat, nails digging in hard. Her white-hazed eyes stared into his from a hand span away, her lips drawn back from her teeth.
Dizziness surged through him—nausea—a bizarre feeling of having absolutely no existence at all for a moment—then the world snapped back into focus.
Deiq brought his hands up inside her forearms and shoved outward, breaking her grip at the cost of several scratches on his neck. “Ha-vash!” he said sharply, both aloud and mentally: Stop.
She froze, as he’d hoped—just for a moment, but it gave him room to roll aside and come into a defensive crouch.
Ha-ne, he told her. No harm. Ha-vash.
She blinked, her head bobbing in an oddly unfocused manner, and drew in another gasping breath. “Deiq?”
“Estah,” he corrected her, all too aware of the increasingly hostile ring of onlookers.
Her head turned, her milky eyes moving as though trying to find him. With a cold shock, he realized that she couldn’t see him.
“You’re blind,” he whispered. “Truly blind.”
She shut her eyes and shuddered, then dipped her head in confirmation.
The question slipped out before he realized he’d opened his mouth: “What the hells happened to you?”
She said one, bitterly inflected word that turned the chill in his stomach to a searing fear:
“Teyanain.”
The word teyanain produced instant results in the crew. The ring of onlookers widened perceptibly, and the captain lunged forward a wide, hostile step.
“Oh, bloody hells,” the captain said, “I want the both of you gone right now. I’ve enough to handle without bringing teyanain trouble aboard. Fes, get the longboat ready—”
Deiq stood, slowly, turning to face the captain. “That would not be in your best interest,” he said. He locked gazes with the man, summoning conviction. “You’re in no danger from us being on board, Captain. I promise you that.”
The captain frowned, unconvinced.
Your facility with lying appears to have been affected by your association with Alyea, Teilo observed sourly. He twitched a hand at her behind his back, signaling Shut up. She huffed dry amusement, but stayed silent after that.
Deiq could feel unexpected holes in his willpower, unprecedented weakness reflected in the captain’s skepticism. He flexed one hand, measuring his remaining strength and hoping it wouldn’t come to a physical contest. He wasn’t sure how much of that he had left, either.
It was the tey-b’tibik. Had to be. He’d finally accumulated enough in his system to force a conversion to near-human. He cursed the timing, then wondered if Teilo’s arrival had anything to do with it. That moment of oddness when she’d touched him—
Had rebel teyanain athain done something to her that would infect any ha’ra’hain she encountered? He wouldn’t put anything past them. They’d already tried once to use him as a living weapon that could have killed dozens of innocent teyanain once unleashed. They had no boundaries, no sanity.
“My cabin,” the captain said abruptly, after sweeping an assessing glance around at the watching crew. “I’ve questions for you, Estah. If that’s your name at all.”
“Of course, Captain. We should get her dried off and cleaned up a bit first.” Deiq moved aside a step so that the captain had an unobstructed view of Teilo’s dripping, shivering form. “And she could probably do with a hot drink, I’d think.”
“You can do all that in my cabin,” the captain said tightly. “You lot—get back to work! And don’t you bother me until I’m done with these two. Move,” he added in lower tones, with an unforgiving glare at Deiq. “Before I come to my senses and have you put over the side after all.”
Deiq knelt and helped Teilo to her feet. She leaned on him, trembling as though from a bone-deep chill, seeming nothing more than a frail old woman who’d almost drowned.
It’s not entirely an act, Teilo said after a few steps. Her teeth chattered.
Deiq eased his pace, his alarm increasing. What the hells did they do to you? he demanded. And how did they dare?
The answer to that second question, she said with a flare of bleak humor, goes back quite some years. The first one is simpler, but still a long story. I’ll tell you once we get through this foolishness—and after I’ve fed.
He missed a step, stumbling, at the accent she placed on fed.
Can’t you tell? I’m true-ha’rai’nin now, she said, amused. I have similar needs to yours.
“Oh, gods,” Deiq muttered aloud.
Don’t worry, Teilo told him. I may not be as attached to human morality as you are, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely impractical. There are enough people on this ship to allow me to spread the draw across several lives. They won’t even notice—beyond a slight headache, perhaps. Haven’t you been doing that yourself?
Deiq let out a long breath of frustration and shook his head. There’s a seer on board.
Teilo was quiet for a few steps. That... could be something of a problem.
Yes.
Deiq pulled open the door to the captain’s cabin and ushered Teilo inside. It was a small room with a narrow bunk. Every bit of wall space was in use: Racks of weapons, document tubes that probably held rolled maps, blankets, books—laid flat against the wall rather than spine out—and, in the odd spaces left, paintings of three smiling children, all under ten, at a guess.
No portrait of their mother to be seen. No signs that a woman was involved in the captain’s life. That didn’t surprise Deiq. The captain was an austere man, very much dedicated to his ship and his life at sea. In the captain’s view, more than likely, children were something to be proud of, but not the ultimately replaceable women who produced them.
Predictably, the captain refused to leave or even turn his back while Teilo dried off and exchanged her sodden clothes for an overlarge sailor’s shirt. He stared at her with a ferocious suspicion throughout, as though expecting her to display multiple abnormalities at any moment. Deiq didn’t bother protesting. It would have been false outrage, and the captain wasn’t stupid enough to miss that.
His sharp hearing picked up an array of shouts from the deck, but he couldn’t make out the words without focusing his attention in that direction. The commotion died down a few moments later, and he dismissed it as unimportant. The captain’s attention never wavered from the old woman before him.
Teilo sank onto one of the captain’s plush, low-slung chairs with a sigh of relief and began braiding her hair back from her face. “Call in your seer, Captain,” she said without looking up at him.
“My what?” The captain stared. “I don’t have a seer on board! I wouldn’t trust one of those fesh’ii on board my ship. They’re bad luck!”
Deiq cleared his throat and said, “She used the wrong word, Captain, that’s all. She’s talking about Pinin, your listener.”
The captain scowled, then yanked the door open and roared, “Pinin!”
A burly sailor lumbered to the door, his face creased with anxiety. “Pinin’s gone, Captain,” he reported. “Went over the side, once you was in your cabin here with these folks. We talked on turning to get him, but—” The sailor’s gaze went past the captain to skate across Deiq and Teilo briefly. “He told us to leave him be, that he’d be better off swimming with the sharks. We’re of a mind to believe him. Oh—he said to give this to Estah.” He held out a battered metal flask.
The captain hesitated, then snatched the flask from him. “Keep the rest of the crew on board, if you have to tie them to the mast,” the captain snapped.
“Yes, Captain!”
The captain waved the man clear, then slammed the door shut and spun to face Deiq and Teilo.
“What the hells is going on?” he shouted. “Now I’ve lost my listener because of you? What sort of witchcraft have you brought to my ship? And what’s this?” He brandished the flask.
“It’s... medicine,” Deiq said. “I get seasick easily. Pinin’s been helping me on bad days.”
“Oh, that’s plausible,” the captain said, rolling his eyes, and pointedly set the flask on his desk. “I’m going to give you just enough time—”
“Sit down, Captain,” Teilo said.
The captain barreled on, ignoring her. “—to tell me what the hells is going on—and if you don’t talk right fast, you’ll be over the side to join Pinin. So be convincing!”
“You’ll give us as much time as I damn well want,” Deiq said, deciding that there was absolutely no point in hiding any longer. “I own this ship, Captain. I’m Deiq of Stass.”
“Try another one,” the captain said. “I’ve met s’e Deiq. You’re nothing like him.” His lips thinned. “You’re itching for that swim, aren’t you?”
Deiq shut his eyes, concentrating on what he’d looked like before. He’d never be able to recapture it exactly, but the captain’s malleable human memory would fill in the gaps—
Nothing happened.
“Thinking up another lie?” the captain inquired tartly.
Deiq blinked, puzzled, and relaxed his eyes, allowing them to slide out of human-normal—
They wouldn’t shift.
“Time’s up,” the captain said. “Any last words?”
Words, yes. Humans were easily stalled with words. “Captain,” Deiq said, holding up both hands, palms out, “I’ll be honest with you. I’m not quite sure, myself, what’s going on, but if the teyanain left this woman floating by your ship, they had no intention of leaving her to drown. You were supposed to pick her up, and that means that if you throw her—or me—off the ship, you’ll be irritating the teyanain, at the very least.”
There was no value in explaining about the split among the teyanain. That news would only alarm the captain past all chance of negotiation. Best to leave it as simply the teyanain for now.
“And having you on board will frighten and upset my whole crew,” the captain retorted. “Which will irritate the hells out of me and likely make the rest of the voyage as dangerous as facing anything that the teyanain might do. I’m not interested in a mutiny, Estah, so give me a better reason than that or go swimming.”
“Oh, for the love of whatever gods might exist,” Teilo snapped. “Sit down, Captain! And shut up.”
The words cracked through the cabin. The captain blanched, staggered, and sat down on the nearest chair. He stared at Teilo with utter horror on his broad face.
How in the hells did you do that? Deiq said, astounded.
Be quiet, this takes concentration. “He’s telling the truth,” Teilo said.
Deiq felt the space around Teilo distorting in widening ripples. She was pulling water from the humid air as a source of power. He hadn’t even known such a thing was possible, and certainly couldn’t have done it himself. Apparently she wasn’t entirely crippled, after all.
Teilo smirked in his direction, clearly sensing his distress, then turned her attention back to the captain. “This is Deiq of Stass. Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re in grave danger. If you want yourself and your crew to survive this voyage, you’ll treat us as honored guests until we land, then forget you ever met either of us at all.”
She paused, then added, “I’m only giving you that chance because he has acquired a ridiculous sense of your common morality.” She motioned vaguely in Deiq’s direction.
The captain frowned, his shock dissolving under the implicit reassurance of so many spoken words. Humans always seemed to equate talking with safety. More than likely, he’d only heard every third word, and his hindbrain filled in what he wanted to hear for the rest. He folded his arms across his chest, courage returning, and demanded, “What do I get for taking you so far and risking a mutiny, not to mention teyanain on our tail?”
Deiq restrained an impulse to roll his eyes. Humans. Always looking for the greatest advantage. “What would you want that’s better than your life?” he asked dryly.
“Life ain’t worth much without the money to live it. If you’re the one as owns this ship, how about signing her over to me—with a word to keep all my business contacts viable?”
Deiq hummed a moment, as though pondering—no good letting the captain know how trivial his request was, compared to some of the demands he might have made.
“I can do that,” he said at last. “It’s easiest if you tell everyone that I’m Estah, the son of the man you all knew, and the only heir. Let them know that I was working as ordinary crew to see how the captains I’m going to be inheriting operate—and you impressed me with your quick handling of her rescue.” He nodded at Teilo.
“And I’ll make sure nobody remembers anything outrageously unusual,” Teilo murmured.
Deiq held his expression neutral, hoping the captain wouldn’t think too deeply about the implications of that statement. “My factors will recognize the name Estah, if inquiries are made.”
The captain rubbed his eyes with one hand and sighed. “I don’t know just what I’ve stepped into, but I’ll be glad to see the backs of both of you, whatever the bonuses involved.”
“What was your original destination?” Teilo asked.
The captain stared at her for a moment as if debating whether to answer, then shrugged. “Agyaer.”
Teilo turned her head toward Deiq. When he said nothing, she nodded and said, regal as any human ruler, “Agyaer will suffice.”
“Why, thank you,” the captain said heavily, his volatile mood souring once more. “If you’ll be so kind as to stay here a bit longer, I’ll go address the crew about the—situation. And are you still working as crew, s’e, or do I need to rearrange the workload?”
“I’ll work,” Deiq said easily. “I signed on to work, I’ll carry on as I began.”
Teilo gave a faint huffing sound of amusement, derision; Deiq couldn’t tell which. “And I’ll act as your listener for the duration of the voyage,” she added, which earned her another dark stare from the captain.
“Well enough,” the captain said. “I’ll tell you when you can come out.” He sketched a half-mocking bow, glared at Teilo for a moment, then stalked from the cabin.
Silence hung for a few breaths.
“Please, old mother, by all that’s still holy in this world,” Deiq said as he scooped up the flask from the captain’s desk and tucked it into his belt pouch. “Leave them their lives.”
Teilo tilted her head, teeth bared in an odd combination of grimace and smile, and made no reply.