“Oh, no. If you get caught as an assassin, the consequences are far worse than extra chores. This is how you learn not to get caught. Be more careful next time.”
She grumbles, “Dimella doesn’t have any juicy secrets anyway. That journal is as dull as the ship’s log.”
“Keep looking.”
She does so, and the crew is so busy trying to keep her out of their things that they’re far too distracted to notice me observing them, even in broad daylight.
Kearan’s new patterns prove to be … unexpected.
For one, he’s on the move more than I would have thought. He takes his exercise routine very seriously, and he’s often running up and down the stairs belowdecks or hauling items out of the cargo hold and then repacking them. He’ll do push-ups and sit-ups next to his bunk or some weird movement where he jumps into the air over and over again.
He works himself up into a sweat, then cleans himself off. He likes to take naps every once in a while, and he still talks in his sleep. Rarely are the words understandable. But sometimes he’ll say a name. “Enwen.” “Alosa.” And once. Just once. I hear him say my name.
“Sorinda.”
Must be having a nightmare.
If he’s not exercising, he’ll be playing cards with the lads or chatting with Roslyn. He seems to spend more time with her than anyone else. For some reason, my mind can’t wrap itself around the fact that he’s good at talking to children. In fact, he’s good at talking to everyone.
He jokes with the lads, makes polite conversation with the lasses. I even witnessed him make Dimella laugh, though I was too far away to hear what he said. The only person he isn’t nice to is Enwen. But only sometimes.
They’re perfectly fine until Enwen makes some comment to specifically address their friendship. Then Kearan gets all defensive.
Yet Enwen continues to bring it up, and Kearan continues to contest the label.
“Kearan, could you please pass me the water jug?” Enwen asks during the midday meal.
Kearan does so, and Enwen says, “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
Kearan picks up his tray and switches tables.
I eye Enwen. “Why do you do that? Goad him so?”
“One of these days, I’ll get him to admit it, Captain.”
“What’s his deal?” Dimella asks from where she sits next to me.
“With me? “Enwen asks. “I’m not sure. But in general? There’s definitely something he’s hiding. A trauma, most likely. And the only way to deal with trauma is to address it. Over and over again until it doesn’t hurt you anymore.”
“How would you know about trauma?” My question exactly.
“Everyone assumes I’ve led such a happy life because I’m such a happy bloke. Do you think I’m a good thief because I had all this free time on my hands? No, I had a keeper on the streets, and if I didn’t bring him enough valuables to satisfy his greed, I didn’t get a proper place to sleep or food in my belly. Nor did I get to keep my skin free of his beatings. My friends who weren’t as good at thieving didn’t make it.”
“I hope you killed the bastard,” Dimella says.
“As soon as I was big enough to take him on.”
“Good.”
“Point is, I don’t let my humble beginnings get to me. Neither should Kearan.”
“Not all traumas are created equal,” I say.
“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean anyone should have to continue to be hurt by them.”
I finish my drink before also switching tables.
Chapter 7
IT TAKES US FIVE weeks to reach the Seventeen Isles, and when I catch sight of Darmont, my mood picks up considerably. After this, things are going to get dangerous. After this, I might get to do some killing.
We sail within a quarter league of land before dropping anchor. Then the little lass is lowered in a rowboat.
Roslyn looks up at me with worry. “What if my rowboat capsizes before I make it to shore?”
“Then you’ll have to swim it,” I say. “Good thing your papa taught you how.”
“What if some unfavorable folk grab me once I make it to shore?” She’s overdoing her tone immensely. She’ll have to work on her acting if she expects anyone to believe her.
“Alosa’s contact is already on the dock waiting for you. She has her spyglass on you now. I can see her from here.”
Roslyn growls. “Sorinda, I need this! I’m so close to getting you a juicy secret. Please, you can’t—”
An explosion sounds in the distance, and I turn my gaze toward the shore, where several buildings are now going up in flames.
“Spyglass!” I shout, and Dimella places one in my hands immediately.
The dock is pandemonium: people running to carry water toward the fire, others simply trying to get out of range of the danger. I see the land king’s soldiers fighting against a group of heavily armed men. I don’t recognize them, and last I heard, the land king wasn’t dealing with any sort of rebellion.
Catching movement on a nearby rooftop, I center the spyglass there. Women crouch on the tops of buildings, observing the damage and watching the fight take place below. I recognize one figure.
Niridia.
Those men fighting against the land king’s must be Draxen’s. Alosa said she’d sent Niridia and Mandsy after him. Their travels must have taken them here. But did they cause the explosion, or did Draxen?
“What is it?” Dimella asks.
“Fire and chaos,” I answer. “The docks aren’t safe for Roslyn.”
“Do we wait? Do we engage? See if we can help?”
This feels like the first big and important decision I have to make as captain. Alosa gave me orders. Find her missing vessel. Drop Roslyn off at Darmont on the way.
I can’t do them both. We haven’t time to communicate with Alosa and explain the situation. Her contact can’t safely get to Roslyn. In fact, I can’t even see the pirate any longer. She must have gone to help.
“Pull her back up,” I say.
The lads haul the rowboat back onto the ship.
“We keep going,” I say, returning the spyglass to Dimella. “The queen’s forces are already on the island seeing to the situation. No one is free to take her.” I turn my gaze to Roslyn, who clambers out of the rowboat as though the boards might burn her. “Your fate now lies with us,” I tell her. “You better hope you last the voyage or your father and Alosa will both have my head.”
I OFTEN HAVE TROUBLE sleeping. Nightmares plague my dreams most nights, and I’m easily woken by the quiet creaking of the ship or even a change in temperature or lighting. I always have a weapon on me or beside me.
Tonight it’s worry that keeps me awake.
What if I made the wrong decision? What if Mandsy and Niridia needed help? What if I’ve doomed Roslyn to death?
I try to reassure myself that I made the best decision with what information I had. I’ve already written to Alosa to explain the situation. All I can do is wait for her response, but it hardly matters.
The decision has been made. There’s no turning back now.
The bed is too soft as I roll over, trying to find a comfortable position. I hear the doorknob to my room rattle, and I go to the door before asking who it is.
“Roslyn.”