23

Jorge had been born on a ship. He’d heard his mother tell the story many times.

He had apparently been reluctant to enter the world and was well past due. She had grown tired of heaving his bulk around, so when a friend suggested that the natural movements of the ocean were known to induce labor, his parents had immediately chartered a ship large enough to accommodate the entire Elhuyar family, a crew of sailors, plus a midwife, an apothecary, and a Viajero songstress gifted in pain-stifling and invigoration melodies. They had set sail with the intent of cruising along the coast to the tip of the El Fin Peninsula, where they might enjoy some of the many cenotes that dotted the area. But a terrible storm had come up suddenly, which was unusual for the famously calm waters of the Sea of Charmed Winds. The crew had been caught by surprise, and the ship was halfway to Victasha before they regained control of the vessel. “And of course,” Jorge’s mother would say every time she told this story, “that was when you decided to come out and say hello, my treasure.”

Nothing terrible happened. As usual, Jorge’s father had planned for every contingency, so the staff was well equipped to handle his birth on the open sea. They did, however, cancel their trip to the cenotes, much to the ire of Hugo, Jorge’s older brother, who was then seven years old. As far as Jorge knew, Hugo to this day had still never seen the renowned El Fin cenotes, although now it was because he said he had far more important matters to attend to and could not waste time on such frivolity. Hugo took his responsibilities as the eldest child of the Elhuyar family very seriously.

Because of those circumstances of his birth, Jorge always felt he had a special kinship with the sea. During his time in Izmoroz, he had missed many things. The weather, the food, his family, and the constant inundation of art, music, and culture. But for some reason, he had not thought of the sea. It was as though he had forgotten how well it soothed his nerves. However, the moment he and Sonya had reached the coast, he had felt his chest loosen, and his worries ease. It felt as though he had been holding all that tension during his stay in Izmoroz without realizing it.

Now Jorge stood at the bow of the Endless Summer and stared out at the dark waters that glittered under a full moon, savoring the moment. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the stars seemed brighter and more plentiful than they were up north. A cool sea breeze tugged at his braids and shirt, but rather than chill him, it felt like a balm on his weary soul.

He wished Sonya could have enjoyed the moment with him, but she was still struggling to find her sea legs, and was now below in their cabin, miserable and unable to keep anything in her stomach. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that she had succumbed to seasickness so easily. It was her first time out, after all.

As they had traveled south from Izmoroz these past few weeks, he had watched her lurch from anxious to despairing, occasionally to something that looked a little like hope, then back to an uneasy restlessness. In Izmoroz, he had thought his friend unassailable in her confidence and cheer. But it seemed much of her resilience had come from her identity as a Ranger of Marzanna. Now that she had lost faith in both herself and the supposed protection of her goddess, her struggle was readily apparent.

He felt bad that he had lied to her earlier, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to heap any more unease on her. The truth was, he didn’t know how people would react to her unusual appearance. It might be a difficult hurdle to overcome, even for his own family. But he’d smiled and told her everything would be fine. He hoped it would be.

After a time, Captain Cajal joined him at the bow.

“Evening, Señor,” he said respectfully.

“Good evening, Captain.”

“If this weather holds, we should make good time to El Fin, and from there it’ll be an easy stretch to Colmo.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“How are you liking the Endless Summer?”

“She’s a comfortable and reassuring vessel,” said Jorge.

The captain nodded, looking pleased. “That she is.”

“I’m sad Sonya can’t enjoy the voyage quite yet, but this is her first time at sea, so it may take her another day or two to acclimate.”

The captain’s expression became uneasy. “Yes… Uh, the men have been after me to ask you about her.”

“What about her?” asked Jorge, although he was fairly certain he knew.

“Well, uh, with all due respect, Señor, her looks make the crew mighty nervous. What is she?”

Jorge was actually glad this was coming out into the open. Sailors could be intensely superstitious, and to have that fear festering for many days at sea would likely affect the crew’s morale, and possibly lead to a hostile or even dangerous atmosphere.

“Sonya Turgenev has been many things,” he told the captain. “Hunter, warrior, rebel, perhaps even hero. Maybe she will be some or even all of those things again one day. But for now, she is merely a refugee fleeing from a war-torn land that did not understand or appreciate her.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed firmly on Cajal’s.

“She seeks sanctuary, and the Elhuyar family will give it to her. Is that understood, Captain?”

“Perfectly, Señor.”

The captain might understand, but judging by his expression, he did not think this alone would ease the worries of his crew. Cajal ran a tight ship, so there was little fear of mutiny. But it was still a long ways to Colmo, and a distrustful crew could make for a very unpleasant voyage.

The captain took his leave and Jorge continued to gaze out at the black waters that sparkled with starlight. He was filled with such a strange mixture of eagerness and nervousness. He desperately wanted to see his home and his family again. Not only did he miss them terribly, but he wanted to show them how much he had matured. He almost felt like a different person than the one who had left Colmo over fifteen months ago. And yet, as the youngest—as the baby of the family—he was afraid that they would not see it. That they would still treat him like they always did. As someone who needed to be coddled…

He was taken out of his reverie by an ominous rumble. Even in the dark sky it was easy to spot the mass of roiling purple clouds that flickered with lightning off the starboard quarter. A moment later, he heard the bell ring.

“Batten the hatches! Haul in the sail! Stow the rigging!” Cajal’s voice roared over the strengthening winds as the rain began to fall. “Señor! Get below!”

Jorge had sailed through many storms and had no intention of going below deck, where he would get all the unpleasant turbulence and none of the fresh air. But he made his way to the forecastle, where he would at least be somewhat sheltered from the wind and the rain.

“Jorge, what’s going on?”

Sonya had just come up from below. She looked wan and haggard from seasickness, but her golden eyes were wide with curiosity as she watched the sailors clamber about in the rigging, furling the sails and lashing them in place.

“There’s a storm coming in. They happen fairly often along this coast, and they can be quite intense. If the crew doesn’t take in the sail quickly enough, we could lose control of the vessel and be swept out to the open sea. With the strong westerly current, it would be nearly impossible for us to return. That’s why it’s called the Ocean of Loss.”

“Amazing…”

She seemed far more thrilled by the idea than he thought she should. But he supposed she might still not grasp the full vastness of the ocean.

Meanwhile, the winds were blowing harder, and water heaved in great frothy waves that crashed into the side of the ship, slopping spray onto the decks. Those sailors on deck still securing cargo had to cling to whatever they could hold every time the ship pitched to the lee or else they risked being carried overboard. Those in the rigging had an even worse time. The cold winds raked across the shrouds, threatening to dislodge the sailors as they unfastened the sails and loosely furled them. Despite the urgency, they needed to take care or they might damage the canvas, which would cause more problems later.

“Is there anything we can do?” Sonya shouted over the now howling gale.

Jorge shook his head. “We’d only get in the way,” he yelled back.

He saw her rain-slick frown and realized that dangerous action was probably a welcome diversion for her.

“You could make sure no one falls overboard.”

“Got it!”

He wasn’t sure she could actually do anything if someone went over the rail, but she accepted with such eagerness that he let her think she was being useful as her golden eyes scanned the ship expectantly.

The Endless Summer had a seasoned crew, and the sails were well stowed before the storm’s full strength reached them. The moon and stars disappeared altogether and the only light came from the spastic flicker of lightning in the seething clouds. The rain shifted to hail. Ice as large as peas stung their faces, and the wind shrieked like a swarm of ghosts. It was a truly spectacular storm.

“Wow, this is great!” Sonya gave him the first open-mouthed smile he’d seen since their departure from Herder’s Gate.

He was about to point that out to her when an angry voice cut through the gale.

“Damn it, Señor, I told you to get below!”

Captain Cajal looked furious as he made his way toward them across the rolling, icy deck. “I don’t care what family you belong to, on my ship you’ll do as I say, or I’ll have you—”

There was a sharp snap and the line securing a stack of barrels broke. The ship pitched hard to port and the barrels rolled downhill toward Cajal. A cry went up from several sailors, but none could get to him in time.

Except Sonya.

She launched herself at the captain without hesitation, catching him around the middle with both arms. Her momentum took him off his feet and out of the path of the barrels. Even over the cacophony of the crashing waves, hissing hail, booming thunder, and howling wind, Jorge heard the barrels shatter as they crashed into the rail. Half the contents pitched into the choppy waters, and it was clear to all who witnessed the event that if it hadn’t been for Sonya, the captain would likely have gone overboard as well.

Instead Cajal lay sprawled out on the slush-covered deck with a fanged and grinning young woman straddling him, her wet black hair dripping down on his face.

Jorge saw a multitude of emotions cross the captain’s leathery face, but it was clear that chiefest among them was gratitude. He decided then that whatever reservations the crew of the Endless Summer had about Sonya had just been cast overboard with the barrels.