“I don't think so,” Sibba said, ignoring Estrid. She didn't want to think about that night if she didn't have to. “We don't need anyone else.” What she meant was, she didn't need anyone else relying on her.
He seemed to read her mind. “I can take care of myself,” he said, looking down his sharp nose at her as if offended she might think otherwise. But she was so used to looking out for everyone else that the thought of taking someone with her who could actually help had never truly occurred to her. Not that Estrid was completely useless, but fighting certainly wasn't her strong suit. Estrid might be able to sweet-talk them into Ydurgat, but once they got there, it would be up to Sibba alone to get them—and Jary—out. Unless…
“Why us?” Sibba asked. “You'd probably have more luck with a band of raiders. Or finding work guarding one of the trading ships. What's in it for you?”
Evenon shrugged. “The adventure,” he said. “I've been here too long already. I fear that my roots will try to inter themselves in Ottar if I don't leave soon.” It was as if he was trying to make a joke, but the words struck too close to home for Sibba to laugh. She looked to Estrid, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged, the universal sign for whatever you think. Aeris, who had been riding on Sibba's shoulder, ruffled the feathers of her neck, almost in imitation.
“Fine,” Sibba said. “But you'll have to pull your weight. I can't do everything on my own.”
“Certainly,” he said, sweeping into a low, exaggerated bow that once again slung his pack forward over his shoulders. “I am yours to command.”
“And no more bowing,” Estrid added. “She's a chief's daughter, not a princess. I mean, what kind of princess would throw up on your shoes?”
Sibba whipped her head toward her supposed friend but found she couldn't be mad at her when she saw the way the grin cracked open her face. She looked happier now than she had at any point since Sibba's return, and ten times more beautiful if that was even possible.
“That was pretty awful,” he agreed. “But no worse than that knife throw.”
“What knife throw?” Estrid looked from Evenon to Sibba. “I don't think I heard that part.”
“She almost killed a child,” Evenon said in a mock whisper.
“It could have happened to anyone,” Sibba protested.
Evenon shook his head. “Not me. I never miss.” The smile he shot at her threatened to stir one up of her own.
Sibba pushed past them and marched down the bridge, leaving them to deliberate the merits of her knife-throwing or vomiting or anything else they wished to discuss. She had somewhere to be, but there was a small part of her that she struggled to keep hidden that was glad when she heard them behind her, rushing to catch up.
? ? ?
The skiff was exactly where she left it, buried beneath the foliage, a thin layer of frost, and several inches of snow that they knocked off with numb fingers. Even the folded square sail was in one piece when they took it out of its wooden crate and shook it out over the field grass.
This sail was exclusively Darcey's handiwork. While usually the pieces she made on the loom were a small part of a greater whole, shipped back to Ottar in exchange for food and goods, this sail was small enough that she had been able to craft it between jobs in under a year. Sibba had dyed the fibers the brightest red she could mix from the plants she collected on Ey while her mother had worked it expertly into her loom.
Evenon proved his worth, helping them rig the boat and push it into the surf. The trio pulled it beyond the breaking waves with the oars. As the sun sank below the horizon, they shot around the northwestern tip of the Fields and turned south, letting the wind catch the sail.
While Estrid and Evenon sat on the rear starboard side to maneuver the rudder, Sibba stepped forward to the bow, her legs still unsteady beneath her with the motions of the rocking boat. Overhead, Aeris rode on top of the mast, her head turned toward the wind, her wings slightly lifted for balance. She looked like their version of a flag.
In the encroaching dark, Sibba could almost trick herself into believing that she was on the open ocean, sailing away from the Fields and into the unknown and the answers that waited for her there. Would she find the truth about her mother? Was there someone out there who could tell her the secrets that her mother had not? The crown was still tucked safely in her cloak, and she reached in now to stroke the cold metal, though she didn't dare remove it from its hiding place. She hadn't told anyone, not even Estrid, about the circlet.
“What's her name?” Evenon asked, coming to stand beside her as the skiff cut through the ocean using only the power of the wind. It had picked up since they had left the shore. Salt spray peppered her face and soaked her hair. The sky had been clear all day, but now there were clouds ahead of them, thick and heavy, almost touching the water. The sinking sun seemed unnaturally bright as its light bounced between the water and the clouds. Aeris and Aegis, sister goddesses of the sky and the sea, would perhaps be causing trouble tonight.
“Whose?” Sibba asked, looking around at him, distracted.
He spread his arms wide as if the answer were obvious. “The ship's.”
“Oh.” It was generous to call the tiny boat a ship, and naming it had never occurred to her. “I guess we never really gave it one.”
“You cannot be a true captain if you sail a nameless ship.”
Was she a true captain? She had certainly not considered herself to be one, not with this rickety skiff and rag-tag crew. It was as if she couldn't escape people trying to put her in charge of things.
“It should be a name that means something,” he said when she did not respond. “Something that reminds you.” All at once, the sun was gone, lost behind the ocean, and the stars winked to life.
“Reminds me of what?” she asked.
“Your reasons. What brings you out here. What brings you back.”
The name came to her without any serious contemplation, as if it had always been on the tip of her tongue. “The Malstrom,” she said. Malstrom bitch. It meant something, she knew it did, if he would kill her for it.
She thought Evenon's neck would snap he turned to her so quickly. “What does it mean?” he asked, but the way he looked at her made her think that he might know more than she did.
“It's something to do with my mother,” she said. “I stayed in the Fields for her. And I will take her with me when I leave.” She tapped her chest just over her heart but refrained somehow from gesturing to the crown in her pocket.
The ship rocked wildly—the blood-red sail snapping and billowing behind them—but neither of them sat. He grunted. “My ship would be the Crowheart,” he said.
The name rang a bell in Sibba's memory, just as Malstrom had. It was like something she had heard as a child but couldn't remember now. “Crowheart,” she repeated.
His eyes were on the distant western horizon. “It's the family name of the girl I love. I left home to prove myself to her and her father. She brings me out here, and she brings me back.”