“Perhaps not.” He smiled. “In any case, Miss Dahl-Saida, I didn’t come up here to harass you. Captain sent me to ask if you needed anything.”
She glanced once more toward her mother, who was still by the rail, staring transfixed into the waves. But Talia couldn’t worry about her right now. “A proper tour of the ship would be nice. And ink and paper, if I may.”
He saluted her smartly and quirked another smile. “At once, m’lady.”
The sun slid into the sea, staining the water scarlet and the same fiery orange as Ayah’s hair. Talia sat tucked up on the poop deck, her legs growing numb underneath her.
Dear Ayah, she scratched onto the paper Hanid had given her. She paused to glance west toward the sinking sun. She’d begun mentally composing a letter to her friend on the endless carriage ride, but now that it came time to pen it, she didn’t know what to say. I miss you, perhaps, or, I should have told you I am the Emperor’s daughter. Or, I hope Eda didn’t turn you out of the palace just because you’re my friend.
None of that seemed right. She rubbed one finger along the feather of her pen, and dipped the nib back in the inkwell.
There’s a sailor called Hanid on this ship who’s even more religious than you. He talked to a woman once who claimed she communed with the wind goddess and he believed her. But at least he’s full of information, too. He told me all about our ship, the Lazy Jackal, which hails from Evalla and is paid for on the Emperor’s coin, but makes port all over the world. The Captain is part of Evalla’s private navy, and one of the most esteemed sailors alive right now. Do you know, he’s so renowned he’s allowed to port in Denlahn without fear for his life? He’s very polite to my mother and me, but there’s no use trying to convince him to turn the ship around—Eda’s gold is heavy in his pocket, and Hanid seems to think she’s promised him land as well. Maybe even Irsa, though I try not to think about that.
The Lazy Jackal sails first to Ryn, and then on to Od and Ita before returning to Enduena. We’re carrying figs and tea, cinnamon and other spices, mounds of cotton, and barrels upon barrels of rice (Hanid pointed them out to me when we were down in the cargo hold). There’s also a half dozen pigs and one small goat to provide fresh meat and milk for the voyage, but so far all I’ve had is fish and biscuits. I expect I’ll be heartily tired of them by the time we reach Ryn.
My mother and I are not allowed to leave Ryn, not ever. I hope you will come and visit instead. The inhabitants swear the Tree was there once, which I hope will tempt you—you can investigate their claims and write them all down in a dusty book. I can laugh at you and all will very nearly be like it was before.
I do wonder why you never told me how beautiful the sea is—you were on a ship for months coming from Od. There are so many shades of green and gray. My mother thinks she hears it singing.
Her throat tightened, and she stilled her pen. The last of the sunlight was just glancing off the water, and she turned to see her mother still perched by the rail. She hadn’t moved an inch all day.
Chapter Six
TALIA WAS FAST ASLEEP IN THE CABIN belowdecks when the storm came. She started awake to the violent tilting of the floor beneath her and waves slamming against the sides of the ship, so hard she thought it might break apart. She climbed out of bed to look through the porthole, but the ship jerked her backward and sideways, throwing her in a heap against her mother’s bunk. Somehow, her mother slept on.
She fought her way to her feet again, grabbing the edge of the porthole and digging her fingers into the wood around it. She peered through the glass.
The black sea leapt at the ship, clawing to get in. A flash of light exploded over the water, followed by a near-deafening crack of thunder. The vessel seemed to shake—the world seemed to shake.
She couldn’t help but think of her mother’s gods, and the stories she used to tell about them: Tuer of the mountain and Raiva of the trees. Mahl and Ahdairon, Lord and Lady of the air. Uerc of the beasts and Huen of the earth. Caida of the Stars and Hahld of the rivers. Aigir of the sea.
Watching the storm through the porthole, she could almost believe the stories were true. She was struck by her own helplessness, caught in the middle of the vast ocean at the mercy of the waves, or maybe even the gods.
Another flash of lightning, another crrraaaack of thunder. A wave hit the ship so hard it tipped sideways, throwing Talia against the door. Her bare foot caught on something sharp and she hissed in pain. The next moment she was tossed back toward the porthole. She touched it with one hand, and the icy coldness of the glass shot through her.
And then she saw something out there in the storm: a huge shape gleaming in the rain. Her thoughts tangled with images of sea monsters or gods come suddenly to life. She and her mother could die tonight. Drown in the black sea amidst the splintered remains of the ship.
Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the world for an instant, and there it was: a whale, nearly the size of the ship, swimming beside them in the storm. She stared, transfixed. Thunder crashed overhead, and once more the ship lurched, tipping her away from the porthole.
She scrambled back toward the glass, fighting the roll of the vessel, desperate for another glimpse of the whale. Just as she reached the porthole, lightning flashed again, but there was nothing out there anymore. The creature had vanished from sight like the sea had swallowed it whole. Like it had never existed at all.
Her mother awoke as the ship tipped again, and the porthole was suddenly on the ceiling. “Talia!”
“I’m here!”
“Talia!”
“Here.” She grabbed her mother’s hand in the dark, alarmed at the terror in her voice.
Her mother wept, sobs wracking her entire body and Talia clung to her, desperate to calm her down. The ship shuddered around them and the lightning roared. Any moment now Talia thought the vessel would break apart and they would all be devoured by the sea.
“She’s angry. She can feel us here and she’s so angry.”
Her mother’s words frightened Talia more than the storm. “What are you talking about?”
Another wave hit, knocking them both onto the floor. Talia heard something snap, and her mother screamed.
“Mama!”
Her mother screamed again. She couldn’t seem to stop.
Talia wrestled to her feet, scrabbling in her pocket for a packet of matches. She lit the lamp on the ceiling. Orange light spun crazily through the cabin, illuminating her mother writhing on the floor with tears streaking down her cheeks. Her right wrist was bent almost entirely backwards against her arm.
Talia ran out into the storm to get the Captain.
Her mother wouldn’t stop screaming.
Captain Oblaine came bolting down to their tiny cabin, hard on Talia’s heels, and lifted her mother back into the bunk, careful not to knock her broken wrist.