Meb tossed a fish head over the rail and dropped the rest in a bucket. She used a flat stone as a chopping block, arranged on the small patch of deck near the bow she always claimed for herself. She’d tried to make herself as small and insignificant as possible, and it seemed to be working. The rest of the crew had gone back to pretending she didn’t exist, which was fine by Meb. Her strong hands performed the work by rote as her mind drifted, the stars twinkling pinpoints overhead.
She was glad they’d left the Isles behind. Word of her disaster with Anuketmatma had doubtless spread to all the other fleets by now. At least Captain Kasaika hadn’t kicked her off the Asperta. She glanced up at the moons. Selene had set and Hecate smiled in a silver crescent low on the horizon. It was Artemis that filled her with dread. The vagabond moon was already nearly the same size as Hecate. When she reached her full splendor—twice the size of Selene, the second-biggest moon—Meb would turn thirteen. Usually, a birthday governed by the house of Artemis was considered auspicious. Thirteen was the age at which a young Marakai was formally inducted into the fleet and received their first tattoo. But Meb couldn’t work water. Who would want her? She’d probably be gutting fish for the rest of her life.
She bit her lip against a savage rush of anger and self-pity. Maybe she should run away and save everyone the trouble. Where would she go? Certainly not Solis. The Pythia seemed like a horrible woman. But Tjanjin…. Meb adored the capital of Chang’an. All the interesting smells, prickly spices and incense. The mortals there didn’t mind daēvas. Maybe she could get a job working for the emperor, like their illustrious passenger. Even if it was just carrying messages, that would be better than gutting fish or rinsing kelp.
She lost herself in a pleasant fantasy as the waves lapped rhythmically at the hull. She would have nice clothes to wear because the emperor would never let his personal emissary go about in rags. And she would have days off to go exploring. The other Marakai would have to treat her nice because the emperor would be cross with them if they shouted at her….
“Need a hand?”
Meb jerked in surprise. It was their red-haired passenger. He looked down at her with a solemn but polite expression that made Meb feel strange. Like he really saw her. But she must have misheard. Captain Kasaika would snort and say she’d let her line out too far, which Meb knew meant daydreaming when she should be working.
She pulled a fish from her bucket, hoping he’d go away. But he was still standing there and seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“Are you talking to me?” she asked in a small voice.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. But my cabin is stuffy. I’d rather make some use of myself during the journey and the crew hardly needs my help to sail the Asperta.”
Her hands fell to her lap, twisting in embarrassment. “But I’m gutting fish.” She glanced at his fine silver-hemmed cloak. “It’s dirty.”
“I have my own knife. And I’ve done it plenty of times before.”
Meb shrugged and returned to her work, though she watched him warily from the corner of her eye. Why anyone would choose to gut fish when they didn’t have to was a mystery. But he had an aura of mystery, no doubt about it. For one thing, he wasn’t clumsy like most mortals. He moved well on deck, confident and light on his feet like a dancer. Meb figured he’d probably been on lots of ships in his service for the emperor.
The passenger settled himself across from her, pushing his cloak back and out of the way. He wore a plain black woolen coat underneath with a high collar. Meb snuck another quick glance. He must come from somewhere else. Red hair and blue eyes was an unusual combination, and almost unheard of in Tjanjin, where the people were small and dark, with tilted eyes. He didn’t look old, but his face had a hard edge that made her think he’d seen a lot. In truth, Meb found him both intriguing and a bit frightening. He must be some kind of high-ranking courtier. If she offended him, even by accident, she’d be in even bigger trouble.
“My name is Nicodemus,” he said, lining up his knife with the gills of a lungfish and slicing its head off with practiced efficiency. “What’s yours?”
“Mebetimmunedjem,” she muttered.
“That’s a mouthful.”
She thought she heard a trace of mockery in his tone, but his face looked friendly.
“I guess it is. Most call me Meb.”
“I’m glad to meet you Meb. You can call me Nico if you want.”
She gave a sharp nod. She was so unused to talking, it made her nervous. But then he went quiet for a while and she began to relax. The work passed quickly with two people. When they finished the first bucket, he slid the next one over and started on it without being asked. A few of the crew glanced over with raised eyebrows, but no one interfered.
“That’s a fine knife you have,” he said admiringly.
The blade was a mess, all covered in blood and scales, but Meb felt a flush of pride. It was a fine knife. Made by the master smiths in Samarqand, with a hilt of jade and carnelians. Too nice for gutting fish, but she couldn’t help showing it off.
“I bought it for a black pearl,” she blurted. “It was inside a fish and I found it. That’s why I always check the guts.”
Discovering the pearl was the only piece of good luck Meb ever had and she felt inordinately proud about it.
He gave a low whistle. “A black pearl? I’ve never even seen one. The gods must favor you.”
“Not really,” she muttered. “I never found nothing so good again.”
He blinked, seeming to sense her change of mood. “Well, you never know what could happen,” he said lightly. “Life is full of possibilities.”
Not for me, Meb thought, but she kept her mouth shut. He had a way of drawing her out, getting her to talk, that she instinctively distrusted. Why had she told him about the pearl? Because she wanted to impress him, that’s why. Oh well, she thought. It’s not like he’s going to steal my knife. He’s probably rich as a vizier.
She watched his deft hands and noticed his own blade for the first time. It had a fierce-looking eel wrapped around the hilt.
“That’s Khaf-Hor,” she exclaimed, despite her vow to stay quiet. “Is it a Nyx knife?”
He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I won it gambling in a tavern. Do you like it?”
“Yeah. But mine’s better.”
He laughed, a pleasant, unselfconscious chuckle like they were old friends. Meb felt a smile curling at the corners of her mouth. It was nice to laugh with someone.
“You’re honest.” His eyes grew distant. “Too many people tell you what they think you want to hear.”
Meb was not familiar with this concept—more like the opposite—but she nodded anyway.
“I suppose you’ve done a lot of traveling,” he said. “With the Asperta.”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Have you ever seen the Kiln?”
She glanced at him. “Just the coast and from afar. Captain Kasaika says there are dangerous reefs offshore the whole way ‘round.”
“I’ve heard that too. I’ve always wondered what it’s like there. My mother used to say I had too much imagination. Always daydreaming.”
That she understood. “Captain Kasaika says the same thing about me.”
She almost, almost asked him about a job then, but couldn’t work up the nerve. If that pleasant laugh turned mocking, she’d just die of humiliation.
“I suppose it’s very hot there,” he ventured. “And bright.”
“I s’pose,” Meb replied absently, poking through the innards of a cutthroat. It would be just perfect if she found another pearl right now. Then he might not laugh if she did ask for a job. He would see that she was lucky. But of course there was nothing but more guts. She tossed it aside.
“Do you think anything lives in the Kiln?”
Meb looked up. Truly, this was the strangest conversation she’d ever had with anyone.
“Don’t imagine so. How could they?” She gave the matter serious consideration. “Monsters maybe.”
“What sort of monsters?” His dark blue eyes caught the starlight like dusty sapphires.
“Oh, I don’t know, all sorts,” Meb said, warming to her subject. “Not like Khaf-Hor or Sat-bu or Them, though. ‘Cause there’s no water, obviously. These would be landbound monsters.”
His lips twitched. “Indeed.”
Meb had little experience of land and the creatures that dwelt there, but lying came like second nature to her and what is imagination but a splendid lie?
“Big teeth, for sure, and claws too. They’d shit sand—”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, leaving a bloody smear across her lips.
“Your pardon, my lord,” she stammered, a panicky heat spreading through her chest. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he said with amusement. “And I’m not a lord. So they shit sand. What else?”
Meb clamped her lips into a line to keep from laughing. When she’d quite recovered, she gutted a dragonet. “I think they’d have great scales like mirrors to reflect the sunlight and blind their prey.”
“And what would the prey be?” he asked softly.
“Dunno. Something weaker but smart enough to survive. Something good at hiding.”
Nicodemus studied her for a moment. He wiped his knife clean on the cloak, heedless of the gore that stained it. “Such a perceptive child,” he said. “I think—”
The cook’s bellow wafted up from the open hatch beside her.
“Mouse!”
Meb sighed. “Thanks for helping,” she muttered. “Gotta go.”
“The pleasure was mine,” he replied courteously.
Nico lay on his bunk, fingers laced behind his head. If he could manage to gain the girl’s trust, things would go easier when they reached Tjanjin. If not, he could always take her by force. He didn’t care much either way, except that it would be simpler if she went along willingly.
A bitter smile touched his lips. She had come close to describing a wyvern, except for the part about shitting sand. That was all wrong. The children of the Kiln didn’t eat sand. They ate each other.
It was why Gaius insisted the women had as many kids as possible. So their race didn’t go extinct before they got their revenge on the ones who’d put them there.
And if a girl didn’t find a mate quick enough, Gaius made sure she got pregnant one way or another. Even girls as young as Meb sometimes, as long as they had their first blood. It made Nico sick to think about it. When he was old enough to understand what was going on, he’d felt a shameful surge of relief that Atticus was a boy. One less thing to save him from.
Domitia was the only childless woman he knew. He wasn’t sure how she’d managed it, if she was barren or what, and the one time he asked she got that look in her eye that made anyone with half a brain beat a quick retreat. But he wondered if that’s why she got the idea to hunt for the gates. To get away from her father, even though she worshipped the ground he walked on.
Above all else, Domitia was a survivor. Nico couldn’t fault her for that. He didn’t think she disliked children. He saw her playing with the others’ babies sometimes. But being pregnant slowed you down. Made you tired. And after it was born, you had to be responsible for a loud, smelly creature who attracted unwanted attention for leagues around.
And that’s how you got killed. Just ask his mother.
Nico took out the globe and blew on the runes. This time he found Domitia in her personal chamber, bent over a table piled with parchment. Records about the war and the various daēva dynasties, no doubt. She still believed she could find the other talismans by tracing their family trees across a thousand years. It seemed a futile endeavor to Nicodemus, but it kept her busy.
“Where are you?” Domitia demanded with her usual lack of civility.
“I’m with the girl.” He couldn’t keep a hint of smugness from his voice. For all that she’d hounded him, he was the one to finally succeed. “On the way to Tjanjin. We’ll come to Delphi by gate—”
“The one at the temple was broken by that stupid woman,” she snapped. “Don’t forget.”
“I hadn’t,” he said tightly.
Nico harbored a deep wariness of gates since their companions had died trying to pass through from the Kiln. He’d heard the noise it made when it collapsed, like the buzzing of a thousand wasps. If Domitia hadn’t been right behind him, she would have died too.
Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t have been for the best.
“There’s another gate in the Umbra, not too far from Delphi. I’ll take that one.” He paused. “And I think I saw the Breaker. At the Mer on the isle of the Selk.”
“Missing a hand?”
“That’s the one.”
“You should have killed her,” Domitia grated.
She clearly bore this woman a personal grudge—and Domitia never let go of grudges. She’d nurse them for years. And then, once you’d forgotten all about whatever it was you’d done to her, Domitia would fuck you over in some spectacular, merciless way.
“I didn’t want to risk losing the talisman,” he replied. “Burning her in the middle of the Mer in front of the Selk vizier and the captain of the ship I’d commissioned didn’t strike me as the wisest course of action.”
She began pacing up and down, her pristine white gown swishing against the stone floor. Nico still found it bizarre to see Domitia dressed in soft linen. To see her clean. They’d all been half-wild, but Domitia was the most feral of them all.
“She was with a Danai and the woman with the staff. I don’t doubt they’re looking for the girl, but only Sakhet knew her identity. And I killed every bird she sent out.”
“Are you sure? Every one?”
“Yes,” he replied, irritated. “I’m sure.” He frowned. “And what have you managed to accomplish, with all your scheming?”
Domitia shot him a flat look. “I’m glad you found the girl, but there are larger considerations.”
“Like what?” he laughed. “Getting the Greeks to invade the Persians?”
Her stony face confirmed his suspicions.
“What, exactly, is the point? When the rest of us are free, we can do whatever we like. What use is a mortal army anyway?”
“I’m following Gaius’s command,” she said stiffly.
Nico shook his head. Domitia’s blind faith in her father never wavered, even after all he’d done to her. “He would make the whole world into the Kiln, you know that, don’t you?”
“And what if he does?” Her voice dripped with contempt. “We’ll survive. The others won’t.”
“Perhaps. But it doesn’t sound like much fun,” Nico observed, knowing it would irritate her beyond all reason.
“Fun?” she echoed. “Is this all a jest to you?”
Nico watched her wind herself up. Domitia was tough as nails, but her temper had always been her weak point. That, and a total absence of anything resembling a sense of humor.
“Or are you soft from consorting with mortals for too long?” she persisted. “Drinking their wine, bedding their women.” She leaned into the globe, the glass distorting her face like a fishbowl. “Have you forgotten where you come from? A little burrow snake who used to beg me for food. I saved your life a hundred times over by the time we were ten.”
Of course, he’d saved her a hundred times too, but she never mentioned that.
Nico smiled. “Fuck off, Domitia,” he said mildly.
“Bring me the girl,” she hissed. “You—”
He released the flows of air from the globe and her voice mercifully faded away.
He should have brought Atticus. How many times had he wept with regret that he’d left his brother behind? But there was no guarantee of success. In truth, he had fully expected to die in the attempt. Gaius insisted the gates were all broken beyond repair, though he hadn’t stopped them from trying.
If Atticus were here, Nico might seriously consider leaving the rest of them stuck behind the Gale, if only so Gaius didn’t get out. The old bastard would have to die sometime.
But Atticus was still in the Kiln. So he would bring Meb to Delphi, but not for Domitia and certainly not for Gaius. Gaius was, as his new friend Gerda might say, batshit crazy. Nico had seen Gaius tear the legs from a shadowtongue while the creature screeched and squirmed and then eat the whole thing raw. They all thought he’d drop dead from the venom. A single drop of it would eat through stone and the cheek pouch held at least an ounce of poison. Gaius was puking sick for a couple of days.
Then he got better.
There were a thousand stories like that and Nico believed them all. Gaius had survived a millennium in the Kiln when most of them didn’t live past the age of twenty. He’d taken hideous wounds, suffered through wracking fevers, been buried in the mudslides that came every decade or two after a violent rainstorm. None of it did the trick. He always reappeared, looking like shit but miraculously whole.
Gaius also taught the orphans how to get water, how to make weapons, how to dig a burrow. Gaius claimed none of them would be alive without him and he was probably right.
But Nico still hated him.
He found Meb the next day, prying whelks from a long length of rope that dangled over the edge of the ship. Her hair stuck out in all directions and was so stiff from salt, it barely moved in the steady wind filling the sails. She wore a leather vest that just covered her flat chest and baggy no-color pants. The child had the most spectacularly ugly feet Nico had ever seen. Her toes were long and simian, with ragged nails that looked chewed.
“Hello,” he said, leaning against the rail.
Meb gave a brief nod. She was wary again, like a stray dog who wasn’t sure if it would get a pat or a kick.
“Fine weather,” he observed. “Will it last?”
“Dunno,” she said in a surly tone. “Ask the captain.”
“But you’re Marakai—”
“I said I dunno,” she muttered savagely, then clamped her lips together in that peculiar way as if she was vowing to never utter another syllable.
“Wait!” Nico said as she rose to leave. “I’m sorry.” He reached into his pocket. “I have something for you.”
She watched him, tense and ready to bolt. He opened his hand slowly and made a show of unwrapping the bit of cloth.
“See? It’s a little piece of the sun.”
She peered at the glob of sticky golden wax, its hexagonal cells only slightly mushed from his pocket. “A what?”
“A honeycomb. It’s sweet.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Try it,” he urged.
The Marakai diet was restricted to raw fish and black kelp—and the nasty little whelks she was prying from the rope. Nico had been told mortal children liked sweets. It couldn’t hurt to bribe her with some candy.
Meb stuck out a grubby hand and shoved it into her mouth. A long moment passed as she held it on her tongue. Her eyes widened….and she spat it out, retching.
“Gah!” she exclaimed. “That’s the most disgusting thing I ever tasted.” Her lips pursed and wriggled, as if she wanted to spit some more but didn’t dare. “I mean, thanks,” she added. “It was nice to offer. But by the Mer, it’s awful!”
Nicodemus stifled a smile. She acted diffident, but there was pride lurking in this girl and he knew she wouldn’t like it if he laughed at her.
“Mortal children love it,” he said with a shrug. “But I suppose the Marakai are different.”
“Yeah.” She gave him a level look. “How come you treat me like this?”
“Like what?”
She searched for words. “Like a real person.”
Suddenly, Nico couldn’t meet her eyes. “Just bored, I guess,” he said.
She nodded, in no way offended. Actually, she looked relieved. It was an explanation that made sense to her. He watched her hurry away. Then he nudged the soggy remains of the honeycomb with his toe. They fell without a splash into the dark sea.