I turn the boat and start back the way we came.
“Jessamy, we should follow Ro-emnu and Missenshe, not expose ourselves like this for some reckless plan.”
“Father trained him. Kal knows what he’s doing.”
The soldiers have come up so fast it takes only three strokes for us to skim past their bow.
“Good Goat!” One laughs. “The luscious fruit drops into our laps.”
Reaching for our boat, they don’t notice Kal launch out of the water on their boat’s other side. He grabs the gunwale with both hands and uses his weight to tip them.
Alone he can’t overturn it, but I shout, in Saroese, “Crocodile!”
Their panic and flailing does the rest. The boat goes over with a huge splash. One man goes under and never comes back up, while his comrade churns the murky water with his arms, struggling to keep afloat in his stiff leather armor. I slam an oar down, clip the side of his head, then slam it down again, stunning him momentarily.
He goes under, dragged down as if by a mauling crocodile. Thrashing disturbs the water. Bubbles fleck the surface, staining it red. I balance in the boat, an oar in my hand, ready to strike. I’m breathing so hard I can’t catch my breath.
A head breaks the surface: Kal, alive, expression grim and yet satisfied. A body bobs up briefly, then rolls over to flash the dead man’s slack face before the heavy leather armor drags him under. Kal grabs the gunwale of our boat and tosses his sword in. The blade gleams, already washed clean by the river water. He dives under twice more, retrieving the soldiers’ swords, then mires their boat in the reeds so it can’t be seen from the shore.
“May the blessings of the Mother of All give mercy to the living and the dead,” Mother whispers.
She and I throw our weight to the opposite side as Kal hauls himself up and over the gunwale, flopping gracelessly atop the now-tangled net. He’s dressed in the clothes of a laborer, and the cloth of his keldi—the knee-length skirt Efean men wear—is plastered to his muscular thighs. I glance away, only to find Mother examining me with a frown.
As we drift out from under the overhanging branches of a giant sycamore, Kal straightens up. The stark sunlight gilds his face, making him look like a hero on the stage despite his dripping-wet clothes and bedraggled hair. His grave expression fixes on me, but there’s a wild light in his eyes that unsettles me and yet also sets my heart pounding.
Hoarsely he says, “Ask me again when we’re safe, Jes.”
My cheeks flush as if I’ve been burned. He said those same words when we escaped Garon Palace with his uncle, when we caught a moment alone in a secret passage to kiss in a way I have never kissed anyone before.
Was that only last night?
Mother taps my arm as if she’s angry. With me. “Jessamy! We must get out of here. The others will come looking for their comrades.”
Irritated by her unrelenting hostility to Kal, I start rowing after Mis and Ro, who are now out of sight around a bend in the channel. Smoke billows up in the distance, accompanied by shouts from the searching soldiers. A bird whistle pulls my head around.
“There,” says Mother.
Ro is waving at us from partway up a tree. I maneuver the boat in beneath branches. We rustle through bulrushes and bump up against the other boat, which is tied to a post in a hidden inlet. Three Efean sentries armed with sickles help us out onto the bank, paying particular attention to Mother, whom they address as Honored Lady. Kal greets each by name, and it’s clear they know who he is from his occasional visits to the estate and aren’t surprised that he recognizes them.
Ro tests the heft of the captured swords. “How did you get these?”
“The crocodiles took their tax,” I say, hoping to get Kal to smile, but his grim expression doesn’t lighten.
Ro makes a fist of his hand and bumps the side of Kal’s fist in a gesture Efean men make with each other. “Well done.”
The unexpected mark of respect startles a grin out of Kal after all.
“Thank you for saving our lives, Lord Kalliarkos,” I say with a meaningful glance at Mother.
“Your quick thinking served us well, my lord,” says Mother, finally sounding more like the gracious, accommodating woman I grew up with than like this angry, mistrustful person I don’t recognize.
“My thanks, Honored Lady,” says Kal cautiously.
But she’s not done. “We must also thank the honored poet, Ro-emnu, for arranging our passage out of Saryenia. It was astoundingly well managed, especially with so many people to transport in secrecy.”
“My thanks, Honored Lady,” Ro murmurs with downcast eyes, and spoils the pretense of humility with a sidelong look at me, making sure I’ve heard my mother praise him.
Kal says, “I hope you know how indebted Garon Palace is to you, Ro.”
“I do know.”
An awkward silence follows.
I catch Mis’s eye, and she comes to the rescue by handing over one of the bundles she’s carrying. “Here’s your Fives gear, Jes. Darios grabbed it when they evacuated Garon Stable. Now what? We can’t hide here.”
“That’s right,” I agree. “Nikonos isn’t going to give up searching. Is there a plan?”
One of the sentries says, “We were sent by General Inarsis to look for the honored lady and bring her to shelter.”
Instead of waiting for Kal’s order, which he normally would give as one of the Patron masters of the estate, all five Efeans look to Mother, who nods agreement. If Kal is offended at being bypassed he gives no sign of it. We leave one of the swords with the two sentries remaining on guard at the inlet. The third leads us along a concealed path through a tangle of overgrown vegetation. Of course, despite our frantic situation, Mother has brought the two fish in a basket, just as if we are returning home with our night’s supper to a happy family.
I blink back tears, remembering the days when we four sisters would sit in the courtyard at dusk as Mother embroidered: Amaya writing poetry and practicing speeches from plays, Bettany muttering about injustice and hypocrisy while her sisters ignored her, me counting the moments until I could escape to run the Fives, and Maraya studying for the Archives exam she hoped to take one day.
“Where are Maraya and Polodos?” I ask in Efean, with a glance at Wenru. He’s looking around as if he’s trying to figure out where we are and where we are going.
“They stayed in Saryenia at the Least-Hill Inn. That way they can listen to the gossip of foreign soldiers and pass on intelligence.”
“As spies? That’s dangerous.”
“We are all fugitives now, Jessamy. We are in danger no matter where we are. Anyway, you said Bettany and Amaya are on their way to the city by ship.”
“Yes.” I’m not yet ready to break her heart by telling her what really happened with Bettany.