“Hey!” a man yelled. “Who goes there?”
“A lookout. On the dock,” Markos whispered, eyes widening. The expanse of water between Alektor and Cormorant grew, but not quick enough.
“Gods damn me.” My sweaty hand gripped the tiller.
“Alarm! Alarm!” The man scrambled to his feet, reaching for his musket. “There’s a wherry left its mooring!”
I shoved Markos hard. “Get down.”
He dropped to the cockpit floor. My heart thumped a hectic rhythm. We were still in range. I ducked my head and clung to the tiller, bracing myself.
Waiting for the shot.
Sound carries far at night across still water, even at a distance. I heard the unmistakable scrape of a knife blade against a sheath, followed by a gargling cry and a heavy splash.
My mother’s voice rang out. “Anjay, Thessos! Quickly now. Get rid of that body.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
The sun on my face stirred me awake. I blinked, trying to clear the fuzz from my head. I lay in my bunk, fully dressed and very much wrinkled. Across the cabin, Fee was curled in her hammock.
Waves gently slapped the hull. As I eased myself out of my bunk, everything came back to me. Our frantic escape from Siscema. The harrowing night sail, terrified the Bollards or the Black Dogs would catch up to us any moment. Anchoring in the tall reeds on the shore of the widening river, too exhausted to go any farther.
And the dreams.
I’d dreamed of the dead Mrs. Singer again, fish flitting around her. I was growing to despise that one. But to my relief this time there was no possibility of it being a true dream, because there had also been talking seagulls and dolphins. And a snake—no, bigger than a snake …
I rubbed my forehead. I couldn’t remember.
Somewhere a bell clattered rustily. I went barefoot up to the deck. The river was so wide it looked like a lake, but I knew we were really anchored in an inland sea, the water brackish. Just off the stern, wavelets splashed a leaning wooden post. Two rows of posts exactly like it marked out a channel, while seagulls wheeled and cawed above the marsh grasses.
Nemertes Water. We’d come upon it in the dark.
I’d always loved the feel of my toes curling on Cormorant’s planks. It made me feel closer to her. But I was a bit guilty about leaving everything a mess last night, so I went to work stowing and tidying the deck.
I didn’t notice Markos until he was almost upon me.
“You look like a pirate princess.” He leaned against the cabin, shirt collar unbuttoned and flapping in the wind.
I still wore the lacy nightgown tucked into trousers, with a scarf wrapped around my hair. “There’s no such thing.”
“Yes, there is,” he said. “There’s a story about one. Arisbe, Princess of Amassia. Amassia That Was Lost.”
“Oh, I know that one,” I said. “The island prince promises his daughter’s hand in marriage to an Emparch in a faraway castle, but the sea is angry, for that was a girl the sea god had claimed for herself. So there’s a great war, with pirates and swordsmen and magic crocodiles and, oh, I forget. And in the end, doesn’t the sea take revenge by destroying the city?” I shrugged. “It’s just a legend.”
“Some of the people in it are real figures from Akhaia’s history.”
“They are?”
“Don’t you know anything?” He threw my old mocking words back at me with a grin. “What makes you so sure it’s a legend?”
“Because all sailors tell tales like that, but not one of them’s ever seen the ruins of Amassia That Was Lost. It doesn’t exist.”
Hands in his pockets, he wandered up the deck. “And yet there really was an Emparch called Scamandrios the Second who had a wife from an island country. Actually, they were the first of my family’s direct lineage to rule Akhaia. When he died young, that same wife ruled as regent for many years. She’s one of the most famous Emparchesses in our history. Our version of the story doesn’t have any magic crocodiles in it though.”
“Likely Pa added them. They’re always popping up in his stories.” A wave of hurt washed over me. I swallowed, turning away from him to unlace the sail cover.
“It’s going to be all right.” Markos cleared his throat. “You said yourself that your mother is very influential. She has to be able to do something.”
If anything happened to Pa, it was Markos’s fault. I knew he realized that. It lay unspoken between us, a looming shadow.
I changed the subject. “I don’t like that Arisbe story.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s wrong with it?”
“The ending.” Starting at opposite ends, we undid the knots lashing the sail down.
“She marries an Emparch,” he said. “She rules Akhaia.”
“Everything she knows is destroyed! The sea god drowns her family. But, all right, it must not be a big deal because she marries an Emparch.”
“It’s a cautionary tale,” he said. “A warning about the dangers of defying your fate.”
“As if Arisbe was the one who arranged that marriage! The story is about a lot of people fighting over her, but she’s the one who pays in the end.”
He shook his head. “You have so many opinions about things.”
“Thank you,” I said, though I suspected it hadn’t been a compliment. Together we hoisted the sail, hauling until the blocks clicked together.
I gave one last pull on the halyard, trimming the slack. “Watch,” I commanded. Markos leaned over my shoulder as I wrapped the halyard around the cleat in a figure eight motion. I twisted my hand, catching the rope end under itself, and pulled the loop to tighten it. “That’s how you cleat off.”
“It looks so simple when you do it,” he said.
“That’s because it is.”
“You only think so because you were raised on a boat.” He dropped cross-legged onto the cockpit seat. “This all seems like a foreign language to me.”
The sail flapped as the wind filled it. I steered Cormorant between the nearest two posts. “Markos.” I hesitated. “Last night. When I … got dizzy …”
He smirked. “When you fainted, you mean.”
“I did not.” I took a deep breath. “The truth is, I could’ve been nicer to you. When we first met. I … I made fun of you a lot. I wouldn’t blame you for mocking me.”
He acknowledged me with a small nod. “We’re stronger together than apart. Don’t you think?”
It wasn’t what I had expected him to say, but he was right. Our adventure in Siscema had changed things between us. “Ayah,” I said. “I reckon I do.”
“Well. That’s why I didn’t make fun of you.”
I was afraid to bring up the next subject, for fear of upsetting him. “That man you killed last night …”
He gripped the edge of the seat. “What about it?”
I noticed he’d said “it,” not him. “Do you … Well, do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He rubbed his forehead. “Yes. I don’t know. I hate that I did it. It’s not a pleasant feeling, watching someone’s life gush out of them like—”
I swallowed convulsively.