Niya felt like a ghost as she accompanied Alōs back to his private chambers—unfeeling, a specter of motions as they stole quickly away from the princess’s rooms.
Kintra was already waiting for them by the warmly lit fireplace. She stood as they entered, a question in her gaze as Alōs went straight to a decanter of wine, finishing the glass in one go. He refilled it again.
“Did you not get it?” asked Kintra.
“We did,” answered Niya.
“Then why does it feel like a funeral in here?”
Niya looked to Alōs, waiting for him to explain, to remove the Prism Stone from his inside pocket and show his quartermaster what was missing, but he remained silent, staring into the jumping flames of the fireplace.
With a frown, Niya divulged what had happened. With each word, her skin trickled with more fury and frustration. For when she was done, the question that hung silent in the air, that none wanted to ask or mention, was if the part missing was truly only one. The chunk cut from the back was sizable, almost as large as a silver coin. If someone had been willing to cut that out, perhaps they’d then split the third piece a dozen more ways. And was it the work of Cebba or the people of the valley? The endless possibilities were paralyzing.
“What do you want to do, Captain?” Kintra turned to him, worry etching deeper into her features as Alōs once again remained mute.
Niya had never seen him like this before. Reserved. Almost . . . defeated.
It unnerved her.
He could at least be angry like she was, for anger held energy that could be molded into something useful. Complacency was next to uselessness.
Niya had no time for inaction. And neither did he. His home was on the line, for the Obasi Sea’s sake. She couldn’t sit idly by while an entire nation was unmoored!
Niya’s thoughts froze.
When did I start to care about his problems?
She swallowed back her unease. It’s because of the people who live in Esrom, she silently reasoned. If Esrom surfaced, a war against the hidden treasure would be imminent. Too much lore surrounded the city, too many whispers about how its people thought themselves better than the rest of Aadilor. Other nations would surely try to claim it. And then there was Ariōn. So young to his new responsibilities as king. Alone in that palace. Hadn’t he experienced enough hardship with his illness before losing his brother and then parents? He did not deserve such a tragedy as this to end his short reign.
Plus, Niya wasn’t a heartless snake. The Bassettes might have been thieves, her sisters part of the Mousai, but they never stole from the less fortunate, never punished the innocent. They struck and helped where they felt they were most needed.
Niya was needed here.
“We’re going to figure out what happened to the rest of the stone,” said Niya to Kintra. “We’ll find where it is, and we’ll get it back.”
Alōs snorted his disbelief from where he remained by the fire.
“Do you have something to add?” She turned to him.
“No, you lie quite beautifully for the both of us.”
“It is not a lie. It is a plan, which we need, Captain. Or have you forgotten that’s still who you are?”
Alōs met her gaze, a flickering spark of his old self in his eyes’ depths, before it fell away and he returned to staring at that blasted fire.
Say something! Niya wanted to scream. But she didn’t. It was apparent he still needed time. She only hoped it wasn’t more than a sand fall, for even that was too much to spare at the moment.
Niya looked to Kintra. “We should get whatever rest we can before tomorrow’s breakfast. Make sure he sleeps”—she nodded to Alōs—“and if that’s by getting him more drunk, so be it. I’ll figure this out.”
“How?” Kintra’s brows drew together.
“I don’t know yet,” admitted Niya, “but . . . I will.”
With that Niya headed back to her shared rooms to crawl into bed.
She lay awake for a long while, the rumbling, drunken snores of her lady shipmates a backdrop to her turning thoughts.
This was all becoming a bloody, muddy mess.
Her new convictions in caring for Esrom, for the pirates who slept around her; her new truce with Alōs; their recent kiss. Things were changing. She was changing.
But is it for the best? she wondered as she idly ran a finger over the mark around her wrist.
All she currently knew was that Alōs needed to snap out of it. He was useless as he had been in his rooms earlier. Licking his wounds like a defeated dog.
Where was the ice-cold energy he always carried? Where was the impertinent, stubborn beast who welcomed a challenge with a sneering grin? She needed Alōs fighting again. Being ruthless again.
Niya pushed out of bed. She could sleep when all this was over. Currently she needed to figure out a plan.
It wasn’t until servants came to wake them that she finally felt one forming.
The morning spun honey-yellow light over the large terrace where the next day’s breakfast was taking place. Niya stepped onto the balcony, taking in the sandstone buildings of the valley, which rose like proud fingers of giants in the distance. The pleasant aroma of fresh-baked sugar rolls and delicately sliced fruit wafted toward her from a nearby table, but she ignored the rumble in her stomach that begged her to fill a plate. She was on a mission this morning, praying to the lost gods that she would succeed. Food could come later.
The lively commotion from the night before was reduced to snail movements as she twisted through the guests, glancing to her crew, who nursed hangovers on low sofas placed in the shade of olive trees. Saffi was still dressed in her silk pants and tunic from the past evening, eyes closed with a wet towel over her forehead, while Boman sneaked bites off her plate. The old man seemed spry compared to the rest of the lot, no doubt immune to hangovers by now. His thick gray beard shifted upward as he grinned at her.
Niya nodded in return but did not stop to talk.
She approached a tucked-away section of the veranda that was beside a twisting wall of jasmine, the sweet fragrance enveloping the area in a gentle mist. This was where Niya found King Anup sitting beside Achak and an elderly woman who looked like a folded-up napkin.
The guards blocking them patted Niya down before allowing her entrance to the group.
“Child,” greeted Achak from where the sister lounged on a low sofa. “It is good to see you have survived the debauchery of last night.” She turned to the king and the elderly woman. “Your Majesties, let me introduce Niya Bassette, second daughter to Count Dolion Bassette of the second house of Jabari. My brother and I are old friends with her family. Niya, you know King Anup, of course, and this is the queen mother, Murilia.”
Niya bowed. “Your Grace, on behalf of the Crying Queen, I want to express how grateful we are for your generosity these past two days. The lost gods knew we needed rest after sailing through those storms.”
“I must admit”—the king’s brows rose—“I have never heard of a lady who sails with pirates. Please, join us for some food and tell us how that came to be.”
Niya bowed again before a plate of dates with a warm roll was handed to her by an awaiting servant. With thanks she took a seat beside the old queen, who merely kept eyes forward, withered hands folded like fragile pieces of paper in her lap.
“I’m sure it’s a story like any other aboard the Crying Queen, Your Grace,” answered Niya to the king. “I was in the right place at the wrong time.”
“Aren’t most of us?” He smiled. “Now, tell me more of our western storms; have they truly gotten as bad as they say? It has been some time since I’ve sailed through them myself to know.”