He stayed where he was. “You couldn’t have known they would help when you jumped in after me.”
“No.”
“You did it anyway.” When she did not answer, he asked very, very softly, “Would you have jumped, for just anyone?”
She sensed a different question behind the one he asked, and could not meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to press you. I don’t know why . . . I’ll go.” He turned away.
“Captain.”
He looked back at her, the hand that gripped the door frame white-knuckled.
“I would not have jumped for just anyone.”
She gave up trying not to cry. Levi swung the door shut, and as she wept hot, bitter, scalding tears, his arms came around her.
And stayed there, holding the pieces together.
* * *
The days passed as they usually did on a ship: slowly. The mast was replaced with another, kept aboard for a time such as this. Blaise found herself busy in the infirmary, a cabin that was large enough to hold her and one man lying prostrate on a table. The years with her Uncle Mori had served her well. She treated sprains and cooled burns, set broken bones and snapped dislocated joints back into place. One night, Levi and Caleb broke up a fight in the crew’s quarters. A shipman had called another a drunken cow lover in a dispute over cards. The other had retaliated, saying his sister looked like an old she-goat. From there, violence had ensued. The stiches Blaise had sewn along cheekbones and foreheads had been much admired.
Reyna heard all this secondhand, for she spent most of her time in study, learning everything she could about Miramar and its people. Fascinating things. No Miranese ship or boat whatever, nor any native of Miramar, shall presume to go out of the kingdom; who so acts contrary to this shall die, the ship with crew and goods be burned. The solitude, relative on a ship, was something she desperately needed. It offered a balm, a bandage, if not a cure for grief. Eventually she emerged from the blackness that had threatened to suffocate her since leaving her parents behind.
Days after they sailed through the Strait of Cain, she found herself responsible for another task, one quite unexpected. It was midmorning. A fine, fair day. Seth, the cook, found her at her usual spot on a ledge below the sterncastle, a wooden tablet on her lap. She had set her book aside and was sketching Benjamin as she had seen him only minutes earlier, turning the sand clock that hung outside the forecastle. She was so intent on getting his cowlick just right that she did not hear Seth until he said her name.
“Master Seth,” she said, surprised. He had never sought her out, not since the men had teased him for lending her his clothing on Lunes. Today it was on the flamboyant end, as usual. A rose-colored shirt, lacy at the cuff and collar. The outer seams of his trousers embroidered with intertwining vines and roses.
Seth scratched the back of his neck, distinctly ill at ease. “Master Reyna.”
She waited, but it appeared he had nothing more to say. There were tattoos on his hands. Spiders, black as burnt twigs, inked onto each knuckle. That must have hurt. She prompted, “Is there something I can do for you?”
He scuffed a boot along the deck. “The captain says we’re supposed to treat you like a scribe.”
“Yes?”
“Scribes write death notes, don’t they? Could you write one for me?”
Death notes? She clarified, “You want me to write your will?”
He nodded. “I never had time to take care of it back home. But after that maelstrom, and seeing as where we’re going, I thought it would be a good idea.”
He was not wrong. By going to sea, sailors put themselves three or four fingers away from death, the thickness of a ship’s planking. And this was no ordinary voyage. In a perfect world, he would have secured a will before he left Selene and left a copy with their House of Trade. The Truthsayer could be sunk or burnt, with Seth’s last will and testament suffering the same fate. But this was better than nothing.
“Of course. Hold this, please.” Reyna thrust the wooden tablet at him. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried to her cabin, where she fetched more parchment, a quill, and a vial of ink. On deck she made herself a work chamber of sorts, sitting on her ledge and using the top of a barrel as a writing surface. Seth stood on the other side of the barrel and dictated his final wishes.
He had a mother and three younger sisters. Everything would go to them. His savings were hidden in a box inside his mother’s home, beside the chimney and beneath the floorboards. Also hidden was a promissory note, proof he was owed a bushel of salt and a crate of nutmeg from a Master Allon, whom Seth occasionally worked for while on land. His mother would not know to look for the box. Seth had never told her it was there.
By now they had attracted a small crowd. Not Levi. He was halfway up the rigging lines in conversation with Benjamin. But one of the shipmen, Hamish, whistled. “A bushel of salt. That’s a tidy sum. Where did you say you hid that box again? Ha-ha . . . It was a joke!” he added at Seth’s baleful look.
“Like the earwax I put in your soup yesterday” was Seth’s reply. “That was a joke too.” Hamish’s grin faded.
Smiling, Reyna finished the testament, then sprinkled sand on top of the ink to hurry along its drying. She said, “It’s best if I leave this with the captain. He can keep it with the log.”
When Seth offered her payment, she refused, saying her wages would come from the ship. She would not take his money, and when the other men heard that her services were free, a queue formed. This prompted Caleb to stomp over to see what was going on. Death notes? Exasperated, he ordered half the men away. They could return once they finished their tasks and not before.
The crew began to disperse, but Caleb, unexpectedly, turned back to her and said, “That was a brave thing you did back there, for the captain. Mad but brave.”
Several of the men called out, “Hear, hear.” Hamish said, “Brave, puh. Lady’s got bollocks the size of Mount Samson. Maybe bigger.”
More shouts from the men, louder this time, and Caleb winced. “I’d beg your pardon, but I think you’ve heard worse. And Hamish is right. Bollocks the size of Mount Samson.” Caleb pulled off his blue cap and bowed with a flourish. “Master Reyna, you have our thanks.”
“Master Reyna.” The rest of the sailors followed suit. Moved beyond measure, Reyna searched the rigging lines and found Levi’s eyes on her already.
The remainder of her day was spent writing wills and, once or twice, letters to loved ones in case the men did not make it home. Sometimes she sketched their portraits to include with the letters.
Levi came by much later. They had not spoken privately since that day they had crossed the strait. She had taken great care to avoid being alone with him for the simple reason that she did not know what to say.
“I’m told I owe you money,” Levi said.
The wills. So he did. She held out a hand. “Four double-shells, please.”
He stared at her. “That’s absurd.”
She did not blink, and she kept her hand out. Her uncle had told her never to take less than what she was worth. “If you pay peanuts, you get monkeys. I did good work here.”
Amused, he took a pouch from his belt. “I don’t carry double-shells. Will you take Lunesian silver?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He dropped the coins in her hand. “You’re feeling better.”
He had noticed. She had thought she had put on a convincing public face since leaving the strait. Only Blaise had witnessed the cracks, in the privacy of Reyna’s cabin. She had held Reyna while she wept. She had put herbs in her tea to help her sleep.
“I am.” Reyna set the coins on the barrel top. “It’s hard for me after. I’m sorry I’ve been loafing.”
“You don’t have to tell me about grief,” he said quietly. A reminder of his own loss. “What do you mean, loafing? You just spent the day writing wills for my men.”
Reyna gathered the parchment in a neat stack and rolled them
together. “Hold this, please,” and when he obliged, she used a bit of twine to tie them together. “I meant to help with the fishing.”
Levi surveyed the deck. Four men with poles had tossed their lines overboard. Two by the prow, two by the stern. An odd look came over Levi’s face.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve never heard a lady say those words before,” he confessed. “‘I meant to help with the fishing.’”
Reyna’s lips curved in response. She asked if he would keep the wills with the rest of his official papers, and when he agreed, she thought he would go. But he merely skirted the barrel to lean against the rail beside her. Arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle, rolled-up wills in hand. He was not going anywhere.
He said, “I’m glad your friend called in that favor.”
Blaise was by the forecastle with Samuel, inspecting the hand he held out to her.
“I am too.” Worried as Reyna was, she would have been lost without Blaise on this voyage.
Levi said, “Asher’s university is in Caffa. There’s a school for medicine nearby, and I seem to remember they admit women. From all over the Sea of Magdalen.”
The medical school at Caffa. It was a sore subject. “I’ve heard of it.”
She felt his sideways glance. “Has Blaise?”
A nod. No one knew more about the school than Blaise. “It’s why she taught herself Caffeesh.”
“Then why . . . ?”
“The students require noble patronage,” Reyna explained. “Some lord or lady who will write a letter on their behalf, vouching for their potential.”
“You’re a lady,” he pointed out. In case she had forgotten.
“Blaise will accept the letter from me, but she won’t take the coin that must accompany it. The fees are dear.”
Levi frowned. “Why won’t she take it?”
Pride, Reyna thought. Stubbornness. She did not say these things. “She says you don’t take money from friends. Not if you want them to remain your friend.”
“That’s understandable. You don’t think so?” he asked when he saw her expression darkening.
“It’s ridiculous,” Reyna said. “What is the use of having all this money if I’m not able to use it to help her? Anyway, she’s been saving for years now.”
Levi looked thoughtful. “Why did you owe her a favor?”
Reyna angled her chin so that he could see the tiny scar, shaped like a crescent moon. “This would have been far worse if she had not helped me.”
He studied the scar. “How did it get there?”
She should not tell him. He would not take it well, though many years had passed since that awful day. She found herself saying, “A man’s boot.”
“Holy hell, Reyna!” A shocked whisper. No one looked at them. To her, it had felt like a shout. “How old were you?”
“Nine.”
The year was not lost on him, and she winced as the parchment—her day’s work—crumpled in his fist. “Many things happened when you were nine.”
She took the parchment from him, tugging at his fingers until his grip loosened. She had worked hard on these. “It was a long time ago, Captain. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“And you don’t wish to speak of it,” he said under his breath.
“Maybe someday.” Or never. The memory of that time clawed at her like broken fingernails. She reshaped the rolled-up wills before offering them back to him. “What will you do after we’re done here?”
His expression said he knew that she was trying to change the topic. Still, he answered her question. “Take my brother home. After that, I’ll go where I’m needed. One of our territories, maybe.”
Which Reyna knew were always vulnerable to invaders. “You’re used to pirate attacks.”
“Oh, all kinds.”
Her curiosity was getting the better of her. “Did you always wish to be a captain?”
“Of the Truthsayer, yes. I was born on this ship.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “My father was a second son, which meant he was expected to go to sea. My mother always sailed with him. When his elder sister died, he had to give up the ship.”
“It went to you?”
“No,” he said. “I was young still. My uncle took over as captain, and I was his page. I was four.”
“Four!”
“Mm.” Some of the tension left his shoulders as she questioned him. It had been her intent. “I have been a page, a deck swabber, a diver, a carpenter, a helmsman, and for about six months when I was fourteen, I was the cook. What?” he said when he saw her astonishment. “You thought I was a spoiled princeling?”
“No! Well, perhaps a little,” she amended.
He smiled. “Spoiled princelings sink ships. My uncle made sure I could sail the Truthsayer alone, if I absolutely had to.”
“Prince Asher is third born. Does that mean he’ll become a priest?”
Levi burst into laughter. It happened so rarely all she could do was stare. “Never” was all he said. “What about you? What will you do?”
Reyna pushed the cork back into the vial of ink and tapped it down with a thumb. “I’ll be eighteen in six months.” She looked up. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” he answered. “What happens when you turn eighteen?”
“Lord Braga, our royal navigator, has said he’ll consider my masterwork then and not a day earlier.”
“A masterwork? So you’ll what? Draw a map? Build a globe? Can you build a globe?” he asked curiously.
“Yes, but so can everyone else. Lord Elias’s daughter, Sabine, can build a globe, and she’s three,” she added. Levi smiled. “It has to be something a three-year-old can’t do.”
“Why do you look worried?”
She busied herself gathering up her things—parchment, vial, quill. “I don’t think Lord Braga wants to give it to me. A mastership.”
“Because you’re a girl.”
“Yes. And girls should want babies and husbands and all the things they come with.”
Levi was quiet. “You don’t want those things?”
“Maybe I do. Later.” She shrugged. “Babies and husbands. I can’t even picture them. Sailing across the world I can picture. Discovering something new—to me, to del Mar—I can picture. I’ve dreamt about these things my whole life.” She realized that she was rambling on. Self-conscious, she added, “This is a strange conversation we’re having.”
“Oh, we’ve had stranger,” he commented.
It was true. From that first meeting on the dock until now, theirs had not been a conventional friendship. Reyna laughed then, as she had not laughed in a long time. And Blaise, wrapping a bandage around Samuel’s hand, looked over at that rare, fleeting sound, her smile full of relief and wonder.
Eighteen
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Reyna found Blaise in the infirmary examining a flask full of urine. Holding the glass up to the light, pulling the stopper and sniffing.
“That smells foul.” Reyna would not ask whose it was. She did not want to know.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Blaise dipped her small finger into the flask and placed its tip on her tongue, her expression thoughtful.
Reyna’s stomach revolted. She went straight to the window and poked her head out, breathing deep. The air felt different here, heavier. She could have sworn she smelled nutmeg. The atolls and islets passed them by, along with the occasional sandbar.
Behind her came the sound of drawers opening and closing. “Where did I see it? I’m sure I—ah.” Another drawer shut. “What are you looking at out there?”
Reyna shifted so that Blaise could see. The flask, thankfully, had been left on the table with the shears and lancets. “These are part of the Sandrigal Islands. Remember our bedtime stories?”
“I remember. The sirens used to live here. How did that rhyme go?”
“‘A bird in the air,’” Reyna recited. “‘A fish in the sea. A beautiful lady come screaming for
me.’”
“Singing.” Blaise turned to look at her, askance. Their noses nearly touched. “Not screaming. What sort of nursery rhyme is that?”
“Jaime always said ‘screaming.’ It made him laugh.” Her voice faltered on the last word. Would she ever hear Jaime laugh again? “Do you think they’re still alive?”
“Yes,” Blaise said. “All of them, and so do you. Otherwise you would not be here.” Her arm came around Reyna’s shoulders. “We’ll see Jaime before you know it, and he’ll be swearing his love for you, and for me, and likely even for your handsome, brooding captain. You know he’s not particular.”
The image coaxed a smile from her. They turned back to the window.
“Blaise,” Reyna said.
“Mm?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
A smile from her friend, without a trace of smugness. “I know.”
* * *
The next day, they sailed through an estuary, home to barbets, cockatoos, and other colorful species of birds. Some were unfamiliar. Reyna drew what she could see. They would find Lord Elias soon, and he would be able to tell her what birds they were. From the estuary, they turned in to a wide winding river, the Chrysanthemum River. Mangroves lined the banks in a tangle of exposed roots. The constant appearance of sandbars kept Caleb on his toes. Reyna and Levi consulted their maps. If they could avoid wrecking in the shallows, the river would lead them directly to the kingdom of Miramar.
* * *
“Is she a siren or a harpy? I can never remember the difference.”
“A siren.”
“But she has legs. And . . . you know. Lady parts. No fish tail.”
“They’re not always painted with tails. Sometimes they look like humans. Sometimes they have feathers . . . Quit ogling the rugs. We have work.”
A knock on the door put an end to Reyna’s dreams. It was early; the light of dawn filtered through the window. Half asleep still, she called out, “Jaime?”
The latch rose. Levi’s head appeared around the door. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said when she sat up quickly, fearing the worst. “I thought you’d want to see this.” He took in her bleary face and the white nightgown covering her toes. A smile from him, quickly hidden. “Will you come up?”
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