The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)

 

 

“She dropped this,” I said, pulling a silk handkerchief from my pocket, edged in lace, threaded with gold. “I want to return it.”

 

The man rocked back on his heels, somewhat mollified. “I’ll bring it to Her Highness.”

 

“You don’t understand,” I said, cocking my hip just a little. “She dropped it in my lap.”

 

Cold radiated from the man as from a frozen statue. It was a gamble. I would have preferred something from the king—after all, the princess was just a girl—but the only thing he’d had on him was that massive necklace and something that jingled in his pocket, a set of keys, most likely. Nothing that could be construed as a token.

 

And I’d seen the way the servants looked at Dahut. I recognized the scorn, the suspicion, though it had a new spin—the ugliest type, that men reserved for women alone. It was there now, on the guard’s face. After a moment, the man turned on his heel. “This way.”

 

He led me through the royal wing and to the base of the southeast tower—a tower for a princess, how typical. But when he started up the stairs, I dismissed him. “I can find it from here.”

 

“As you wish,” he said with a barely concealed sneer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man make the nah, with his thumb poking out between his fingers.

 

My back stiffened. It was a disgusting gesture, but I’d seen men do the same in the tavern when talking about sorcery. Did it mean the same thing here as it did where I was from? As I climbed the stairs, I withered inside. Stolen handkerchiefs were easily returned; not so stolen reputations.

 

But shame was a luxury I couldn’t afford—the safety of my friends was at stake. Steeling myself, I continued up the stairs. At the top, a door, unguarded, unlocked . . . but there was more than one way to make a prisoner. Under the crack, dim light glowed and flickered. The fire in the hearth was dying. Surely she would be asleep by the time the flame went out.

 

I sat in the dark to wait. A chill seeped up from the stone; I did pushups on the landing to warm my blood. No sound came for an hour. Two. The light under the door was lower now, nearly gone. I stood, stretching my legs slowly. Then I opened the door just a crack, slow enough it did not squeak.

 

“Father?”

 

Inside, I cursed, but I painted embarrassment on my face as I poked my head into the room, waving the silk square like a white flag. “No. It’s Kashmir. Please forgive me. I was trying to put your handkerchief under the door. I must have pushed it open.” My eyes flicked around the room: a soft chair, leaded windows, and a table beside the bed holding a guttering candle and a pen—but no diary. “You dropped it earlier. In the excitement, I forgot I had it. I’m so sorry to intrude.”

 

“It’s all right.” She was sitting up on her bed, her hair falling across her shoulders in black waves. The candle reflected in her eyes, as though there was nothing behind them. My body wanted to shudder; I stopped it. “Thank you,” she added.

 

“A pleasure,” I said, giving a little bow from the doorway. When I straightened up, I gave her an apologetic shrug. “I guess I couldn’t sleep.”

 

She cocked her head. “Me either.”

 

“Oh?” I laughed a little, as though I hadn’t already figured that out. “Why not?”

 

Dahut pursed her lips, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer. “I had to write down everything that happened today,” she said at last. “So I can remind myself later.”

 

She tucked her hair behind her ear and then rested her hand on the stack of pillows behind her; her body language told me just where she’d hidden the diary when I’d opened the door. But how to get across the room without alarming her? And if I took it from under the pillow, how quickly would she realize?

 

“You do that every night?” I said, to draw her out. But the look of concern on my face was not hard to fake; the idea of forgetting terrified me.

 

“I can’t sleep until I do.”

 

“It must be frightening,” I said. She tensed: too much. “I try to read every night, myself,” I added, looking down at my feet as though embarrassed. “To practice. I’m still learning how. But all my books are on the ship, so here I am, wandering the halls.” I lifted the handkerchief again, like I’d just remembered the reason for my visit. “May I?”

 

“Oh. Of course.” She gestured. At last I stepped into the room, walking not toward her, huddled in her bed, but askew, to the table at her side. I folded the handkerchief and placed it down neatly, giving it a pat.

 

“There. Well. I’ll let you sleep.” I started to leave, trying to think of another excuse to stay, but when I was halfway across the room, she spoke.

 

“What keeps you up at night?”

 

I turned back—but slowly, so she didn’t know how grateful I was for the opening. “That’s quite a personal question.”