“I swear on the lion god, everything I am about to say is true. My name is Markos. I am the Emparch of Akhaia.” His voice broke. “My eight-year-old sister is in Casteria, and I will do anything to get to her before the Black Dogs do. I will kill anyone who stands in my way.” Tears shone in his eyes. “Even you.”
I stared at him, my heart sinking. I saw Cormorant, dilapidated and rotting in a shipyard. I saw Pa struggling against chains as the Margravina’s men hauled him away. I saw his beard growing longer, as he waited first days and then weeks. Waited for his daughter, who would never come for him.
I saw all these things, and still the choice wasn’t hard. I slumped into the bench. Across the cabin, Fee lowered the knife. It wasn’t even a choice.
“Oh gods, Markos.” Propping my elbows on the table, I dropped my head into my hands. “You’re such an idiot.”
“What does that mean?” Markos asked. His damp hair clung to his head, emphasizing his hollow eyes.
I lifted my head. “It means we’re going to Casteria.”
He turned abruptly to face the wall. For several long seconds he didn’t say anything, as his shoulders moved up and down.
“Thank you,” he finally managed, drawing an unsteady breath. “You asked for the truth. There’s only a little more to the story of what happened that night in the palace. With my father and brother dead on the floor, I ran to my mother’s rooms. My sister was already there. We traveled through a secret passage to the wine cellar where the boxes were kept.”
From the way he choked out the story, I knew it was difficult for him, but I couldn’t help interrupting. “If Cleandros is a traitor, why didn’t he just kill you all then?”
“Our family had several escape plans. The only explanation is he didn’t know which one we would choose. Of course, he would have known the moment the crates were sealed and the magic activated.” Tugging the jewel in his ear, he continued. “I helped my mother and sister into their boxes, one stamped for Iantiporos and the other for Casteria. My mother’s maid was the one who stayed behind to have the servants load the boxes onto a cart bound for the docks. You know,” he said after a pause, “it’s only just now occurring to me to wonder what happened to her.”
“Likely she was killed,” I said sourly.
“You think I’m unfeeling.” His voice was thick. “But I thought only of my sister. My—my only hope was that she wasn’t important enough to the Theucinians, being the youngest child and a girl.”
“Markos.” Icy dread sliced through me. “Captain Melanos asked if they were going to Casteria next.”
“That’s why we need to leave now.” He stared out the window into the dark. “I have to get there first.”
Was it even possible? The Black Dogs, believing we’d somehow slipped past them, were going to hunt for Markos up the River Kars. If we made it to Siscema, we could offload our cargo at the lumberyard and pick up a good bit of speed. We might run down through Nemertes Water to the River Hanu, and then south to the Neck.
Maybe. If everything fell together perfectly.
When we blew out the lantern it was long past midnight, but I couldn’t sleep. I heard Markos in the forward cabin, flinging his weight around on the mattress.
I sat upright, swinging my legs over the edge of the bunk. Moving the pillow to the opposite end, I flopped down with my head against the timber that divided my cabin from Pa’s.
I rapped softly with my knuckle.
“I’m sorry about your mother. Did—did you love her very much?” I squirmed, the words sounding uncomfortable and false to my ears.
“Of course I didn’t love her.”
That sounded like the Markos I knew, both in the tone and general horribleness of the sentiment. Taken aback, I hesitated. “Well, if you want to talk …”
“I don’t,” he said in a strangled gulp.
“It’s just you sound upset.”
“I’m not upset, and I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice wavered. “Go away.”
Some minutes later, he spoke again. “Once my mother did her duty to my father and gave him two sons, she went to our summer house in the mountains. She only visited a few weeks out of the year.” The rhythm of his words was slow and measured, as if he recited the story of someone else’s life. “My father didn’t take an interest in me until my eighteenth birthday. It’s ironic, really—I look just like him. You’d think that would matter to my father,” he said, his voice still strangely devoid of emotion, “but it didn’t. To him I was just the spare. The only purpose of a second son, you see, is to take the first son’s place, if necessary. That isn’t to say he neglected me,” he hastened to add. “He hired the very best people …”
Hiring the best people didn’t sound like love. It sounded kind of sad.
“I am perfectly aware you think I’m cold,” he said. “But how do you mourn someone you didn’t really know? I miss the idea of my mother and father, but I miss my old life more.” He exhaled. “That’s selfish, isn’t it?”
“I think,” I said carefully, “your parents were who they were. You can’t feel guilty about that. It’s not your fault.”
“I don’t think I ever knew what it was to love someone, until Daria was born.”
I realized it was the first time he’d spoken his sister’s name. His voice had softened, making him seem sympathetic, almost likable.
“My brother, Loukas, was many years older than me.” He laughed bitterly. “Gods, I was desperate for him to pay attention to me. I was always—always running around after him. He mostly ignored me.” He took a rasping breath. “Perhaps we were a cold family. But I couldn’t be cold to Daria.” He sniffed. “Why are you being nice to me? You’ve made it clear what you think of me. You don’t have to pretend.”
“Because,” I said, “you were crying.”
The cabin was so pitch dark I couldn’t have seen my own hand in front of my face. It was easy to feel alone in that kind of dark.
“I was not.” I heard a muffled thud. If I had to guess, he’d punched the pillow. “If I was, that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? Crying because I don’t feel anything for them.”
“I said a prayer to the river god for her,” I whispered. “For your mother.”
After that, so much time went by that I began to think he was asleep. I was drifting off myself, eyes heavy and sandy. Cormorant gently rocked and creaked at anchor. Out on deck, I thought I heard Fee softly whistling a song.
“You say your god in the river talks to the wherrymen?”
“I’m not sure anymore,” I whispered, so low he couldn’t hear me. A hot tear escaped the corner of my eye, running down my temple and onto the pillow.
“I envy you,” he said quietly. “I wish Akhaia’s god talked to me.”
I don’t know whether he fell asleep then, but I did. My sleep was not restful. The pillow felt like a rock under my head, and I dropped in and out of fitful dreaming.
It began with one image that flashed over and over. My hand, skimming along the smooth rail of a ship. From the roll of the deck, I knew we were at sea. I smelled rope and tar and brine.