I smiled. “I did.”
“From what I’ve heard, the Margravina isn’t necessarily, ahem, what one might call pleased with the way things were handled.”
“Then she oughtn’t to have given that kind of power to me.”
“Miss Oresteia, you should know that overconfidence doesn’t usually impress me in the very young. And you are just a seventeen-year-old girl.” Maki stroked his thin beard. “Nevertheless. Your legal claim to the ship is perfectly valid. I’m rather disinclined to grant the Black Dogs a hearing. But it may not matter.”
“How’s that?”
“Captain Diric Melanos, the man who made the petition, has quite vanished from the custody of the law.”
My hand froze with my glass halfway to my lips. “You mean escaped?”
“Doubtful, seeing as he left behind a puddle of his own blood.”
I was about to question him further, when Markos joined us.
“I have the honor of being Markos Andela,” he said, extending his hand. I stared, for I’d never heard him introduce himself by that name, only by title. I suspected it was Peregrine’s influence.
He looked—well, he looked wonderful. There was no getting around it, though I wouldn’t dare say so out loud. He already had a big enough opinion of himself. He wore a formal coat with tails, crisp lace falling from the collar and cuffs, and his blue silk cravat had a pattern of lions on it. Had he gotten taller? He’d always been tall. It must be the way he carried himself tonight. He looked like an Emparch from head to toe.
“That dress is very dashing,” Markos said after the Consul excused himself. “Although I don’t understand your hair.” He examined it dubiously, as if it was a nest of coiled snakes. Which, admittedly, was what it looked like.
“Kenté did it.”
“It’s pretty. But it’s not really you. I like your hair when it’s … big. And springy. And red.”
“It’s always red!” I snapped. None of those other things sounded like compliments.
“So prickly. I like that.” His lips brushed my ear. “Always know this,” he whispered. “I like a hundred things about you, and only one of them is how you look in a dress.”
He certainly proved it later that evening when he dragged me into the empty library.
His lips crashing against mine, he pressed me into a bookshelf. I slid my hand under his collar to feel his hot skin. With the other I gripped his coat, tugging him closer.
“I miss you,” he said hoarsely, kissing my neck. “You drive me mad. I miss you.”
“Well? Which is it?”
He laughed. Our lips met again, slowly this time, tongues tangling. Something inside my chest twisted. He made me want things. And he made me scared of wanting them. I gently smoothed a lock of hair behind his ear.
He grabbed my hand. “No, don’t—”
It was the one with the missing earlobe. The scarred new skin was shiny and red.
“Oh, honestly,” I said. “I saw it when it looked much worse than this.”
“It’s ugly.” He turned away. “I hate it.”
“Markos, have you been wearing your hair over your ear all this time we’ve been in Valonikos? So no one will see? You are the vainest, most—” I stopped, recognizing the stormy look on his face. His body had gone rigid.
I put my hand on his cheek, turning him back. “I already told you, I think you’re the bravest”—I was going to say “boy,” but I sensed somehow that wasn’t right for this moment—“the bravest man I know.” I kissed him. “I like a hundred things about you, and be assured one of them was not that half of your left ear.”
That finally got him to laugh. Our next kiss was so deep, it made me ache, and not just in the usual places.
“Caro, this dress has entirely too many buttons.”
I pried his fingers off my back. “I know. Which is why it’s staying on. Anyhow, I reckon I’m going. I can’t bear another four hours of this party.”
He knocked his forehead against the bookshelf and moaned. “Stay.”
“You stay.” I wriggled out of his grasp. “All these people came here to meet you.” I kissed him softly. “I don’t mind. Truly.”
“Indeed, Peregrine is probably combing the party for me at this very moment,” he admitted.
“See you later.” I squeezed his hand before I went.
I had one more thing to do before I sought my bed in the captain’s cabin on Vix.
My cousin sat in a pool of red silk, her back to Vix’s mast. Her hair was braided in rows and fixed in an intricate knot at the top of her head. I’d hardly gotten a chance to talk to Kenté in Valonikos. I suspected the Bollards were keeping her on a close leash, given her previous disappearing act.
There was a peace about the harbor at night. I dropped to the deck, resting my elbows on my knees. Absently I pressed one palm flat on the wood, as I used to do on Cormorant. The stored-up warmth from the day seeped into my hand.
“My parents are coming tomorrow, on a packet from Siscema.” Kenté leaned her head against the mast, closing her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. She opened one eye to squint at me. “Of course you do. The way I figure, you can slink back to Siscema with your parents. Or …” I nodded at the ship berthed across from us. “That’s the Olivios. She sails up the Kars on the morning tide. To Doukas and ports beyond. To Trikkaia.”
She said nothing.
I pulled a pouch from my pocket and set it on the deck with a clink. “Here.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“Ayah, perhaps not under usual circumstances. But perhaps you do,” I said softly. “For this.”
“I can’t.” She took the pouch, turning it over and over in her hands.
“It’s one thing not to know your fate,” I said. “But you been hiding from yours, and I reckon you know it. You told me we’re all calling out to the world and magic is the world calling back.” My eyes stung, I knew not whether for her or for me. “Well, the world is calling to you.”
“I’m afraid I’ll never go to the Academy. And I’m afraid I will go. I’m mightily sick of being afraid of everything.” She traced the inlaid cask and stars on her brooch. “But I don’t know how to say good-bye.”
“So don’t say good-bye. Just go! What if everything that happened to Markos and Pa and me …” My voice broke. “What if that was my fate? What if this—all of it—was only about one thing? Getting me to this place, at this time. Kenté, maybe you’re supposed to be right here. On this dock.” I pointed. “Across from that ship. Tonight. What if this is your fate? What if you miss it? You have to—”
I turned. The moon still shone down on the Valonikos docks, draping the corners in shadows. The Olivios still creaked quietly at anchor.
But Kenté was gone.
“Good luck,” I whispered.
The next morning I slipped out early, for I had errands to run. First I visited the business district, where the buildings were freshly whitewashed and had pots of pink flowers out front. Then, jingling the coins in my pocket, I wandered toward the docks.
“Caro!” Markos jogged to catch up.