by Jodi Meadows
“It’s not a Khulani ship.” Gerel shifted closer to Chenda, as though to get a better look. “The shape and sails are all wrong.”
“It isn’t Bophan, either.” Chenda tilted her head. “I did hear that Anahera might be working on a new fleet to protect us from the empire. Perhaps this is one of those ships?”
“It’s tiny, though. How can anything so little protect us?” Gerel scoffed. “Besides, if anyone wanted to protect the Fallen Isles, they’d talk to Khulan’s warriors.”
“The size of the ship doesn’t mean they didn’t talk to warriors.”
Just west of the port, the ship in question scurried across the water. Its sails stood sharp and black against the rocks, and the hull stretched longer than most ships that size would. It looked sleek, fast, but they were right: it was an unusual ship.
“What makes you so sure it must be from the Fallen Isles?” I asked.
Their smiles faded as they considered the implications. “Do you think it’s from the empire?” Chenda faced me.
“I’ve never seen an Algotti ship.” The black vessel drew my eyes again. “I don’t know if this is one or not. But if we can’t identify it, and there are questions about the legitimacy of the Mira Treaty, then it stands to reason that this ship might not be friendly.”
Chenda nodded, but whatever she was about to say was cut short as Captain Pentoba strolled up to the foredeck.
Her hair shone deep crimson in the long sunlight, and she’d shadowed her eyes with the same shade. “Have a good nap?”
In the compartment, she meant. On the floor. We were likely being punished for delaying her departure so much, and now she was rubbing our faces in it. But I’d been so exhausted I wouldn’t have cared if she’d made us sleep in a flooded compartment with a flock of angry chickens.
“Yes, thank you.” I barely managed not to glance at Aaru, but I’d awakened to find our hands still clasped, and my cheek still feeling the warmth of his kiss.
He was leaving. He was leaving.
Captain Pentoba crossed her arms. “How long do you think you’ll spend in Val fa Merce? A day? Two? Do you even have any money to do what you need there?”
“We just escaped from the Pit a decan ago,” I said. “We’ve been running ever since.”
“Then you don’t have any money?”
“No.”
Captain Pentoba sighed, produced a small purse, and tossed it to Gerel. “There’s a loan. What about papers?”
Everyone shook their heads, and I said, “We can’t use our real names. We’ve all been in the Pit, and Altan will check with every port in the Fallen Isles to see if we’ve come through.”
“All right.” The captain glanced over her shoulder as her crew worked the sails. “I know a forger in Val fa Merce. I’ll give you a note stamped with my seal; they’ll get on your documents immediately.”
Aaru tapped on my arm. ::Is this illegal?::
“On all seven islands,” I said.
He frowned. ::Is this a smuggler ship?::
“If this boy wants new residency documents,” Captain Pentoba said, “he’s going to have to stop looking like he swallowed seagull droppings.”
“He wants to know if this is a smuggling ship,” I said.
The captain laughed. “Seven gods, no. We’re on the right side the law here. Until now, I suppose.” She nodded at all of us. “I am smuggling you six.”
Aaru’s shoulders curled inward.
“But being on the right side of the law doesn’t mean I don’t know the people who like the wrong side of it. I’ve got friends everywhere, Hopebearer. Sometimes I do favors—legal favors, mind you—and sometimes I ask for favors. I’ll be calling in one of those favors for your new papers, but I expect it’ll be worth it.”
The question fluttered in my mind again, and then fell off my tongue: “What do you get out of helping us so much?”
“Being on the right side of history.” It was the answer she’d given before. That and money. There was something else, though. Something she wasn’t ready to say out loud. “Look, I don’t want to talk about me. I’m helping you, all right? I’m doing it for my own reasons. And you”—she pointed at Gerel—“I can tell you’re worrying about what I’ll ask for later. But don’t. I expect to be repaid the money I loan you, and I wouldn’t say no to a good offer later on, if you have something. But I’m not going to make demands of the Hopebearer and her group.”
I bowed my head. “You’ll be compensated for your trouble.” I had no idea how we’d find the money, but I wouldn’t ask Captain Pentoba to risk her life—and the lives of her crew—for nothing.
“Good.”
“Captain!” Up on the foremast, a crewman waved and beckoned the captain to join her.
“Three seconds!” called the captain. And then, to us: “I’m thinking we stay here for two nights. I can recommend an inn if you want to sleep in real beds. Get bathed up. Have a few good meals. This is a safe city, and you’ll feel better after getting the Pit stink off of you. We’ll aim to sail on Ripday morning. Sound good?”
“Very good.” I glanced at Aaru, only for a heartbeat. “We’ll need one more thing, Captain.”
“What’s that?”
“Safe passage to Summerill for one. If you know of a ship heading there, someone trustworthy . . .”
She eyed Aaru with distaste. “I’ll see who’s in port once we arrive and work out some kind of deal.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll see.” With that, she headed toward the foremast to get back to work.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GETTING OUR NEW PAPERS WAS REMARKABLY EASY.
As soon as our feet touched solid ground, we walked to the Red Wine Inn—the hotel Captain Pentoba had recommended—and rented a single room with three beds and a privacy screen; Ilina (who’d put herself in charge of the money) said we couldn’t afford to separate. We took turns in the washroom, ridding ourselves of travel grime and remnants of the Pit, then slept in real beds for the first time in an age.
In the late morning, we changed into the cheap clothes we’d bought from street vendors, then helped Chenda cover her facial tattoos with an opaque cream. With LaLa and Crystal back into their baskets—we weren’t going to leave them behind—we headed to the address the captain had provided. Her note worked wonders with the forger, who called in his assistant to sketch our faces.
It took hours.
While we waited for the papers to be finished, the six of us sat in the front room. Gerel and Chenda had their heads bent together, discussing the strange ship we’d seen yesterday, while Ilina and Hristo talked about where we could go next. I looked at Aaru.
He was rubbing the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. It wasn’t anything special, just cheap, stiff cotton, dyed in hues of honey and amber, trimmed in chocolate brown. It brought out the warmth of his skin and the depth of his eyes.
Last night at the hotel, he’d shaved his face and cut his hair, shearing it close to his head, like Gerel and Hristo. For simplicity’s sake, perhaps, but the result was striking. It brought more attention to his full lips and heavy eyebrows, making his gaze both intense and thoughtful at the same time.
If only it weren’t so impolite to stare.
“How are you?”
::Fine.:: He rubbed his thumb across the hem of his shirt. ::Not fine.::
“Why?” I kept my voice soft.
::Crowded. Loud. Too many voices.::
“Can I help?”
He shrugged.
“What if you take a bed to yourself?” I asked. “Hristo can share with Ilina and me.”
::No.:: Aaru cast a wan smile. ::Don’t mind Hristo. I like him.::
“He’s good.” I smiled. “He’s been my friend since I was seven years old.”
::Long time.::
“What about you? Besides your family, are there any longtime friends you’re excited to see when you return to Grace Community?” I didn’t want him to go, but I couldn’t
avoid the subject. And I didn’t want him to think I was angry about it.
::Safa. She lives with us sometimes. Like a sister.::
“I remember.” By his parents, he had four sisters and one brother, but they often took care of Safa, his neighbor.
He glanced up at me, as though he was surprised I paid attention to every single word he’d ever said or tapped. ::Would like to see work friends, maybe. If any are still alive.::
“Sorry,” I whispered. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
::Can’t actually visit them anyway. Will have to hide.:: He pressed the hem of his shirt firmly against his leg, like ordering himself to stop fussing with it. ::Town won’t protect me. Only family.::
“How will you work? Even with the new papers, they’ll know who you are, won’t they?” He wanted to provide for his family, but if he couldn’t trust anyone in his town to help . . .
His eyebrows drew together. ::Leave Grace Community, maybe.::
I nodded.
::All I’ve known, though. Except the Pit.:: Worry touched his brow, and as though to hide his expression, he dropped his gaze to the fabric in his hands, then shook his head. ::I like this. Soft.::
I brushed my fingers against the rough fabric of my own shirt. “Idris produces far finer cotton,” I said. “The finest in the Fallen Isles, some say.”
He shrugged. ::Never had it.::
My face burned with shame. No, the Idrisi people probably didn’t keep much of their fabric. I supposed it was mostly sent to Summerill, or exported to other islands. Wealthier islands.
Like Damina.
Even the simple blue dress I’d been wearing since escaping the Pit was made from Idrisi cotton. That dress was ruined now, of course. It was wadded into a ball in the corner of the hotel washroom, along with the rest of our shredded clothes.
My cheeks burned with shame. This cheap imitation of luxury was the nicest thing Aaru had ever worn, and I’d not only criticized it, but I’d also assumed he’d had access to the same cloth I always had, simply because he’d been born where it was produced.
I was a horrible person.
::No reason to be embarrassed.:: Aaru smiled, and as easily as that, my ignorance was forgiven.
Across the room, Chenda laughed at something Gerel said, and a sweet softness filled the Dawn Lady’s gaze.
They seemed to be getting along rather well.
Ilina leaned forward and held a treat near the basket. The lid popped up and silver-scaled nostrils flared, and small teeth appeared to delicately take the bite of fruit. A tiny puff of smoke emitted in thanks as Crystal disappeared back inside. “No smoke,” Ilina murmured. “We don’t want anyone to notice you.”
A soft chortle came from the basket, but that was all.
Finally, the forger strolled into the waiting room, his hands filled with our new identities. “Here we are.” One at a time, he offered us the heavy papers, our faces sketched onto the top corner. Mine had the scar, and he’d caught me with my head turned slightly, as though trying to hide it. The scar was also noted in my written description.
Chenda, too, stared at her image; since she’d covered her tattoos, her face probably looked as foreign to her as mine did to me.
“One more thing.” The forger offered Aaru a small notebook and pencil. “I asked about you; they said you don’t talk. But if you can write . . .”
Aaru nodded, but his eyebrows drew inward with concern as he glanced at Ilina, who was in charge of our money. ::Can’t afford?::
When I interpreted, the man pushed the notebook into Aaru’s hands. “No charge.”
Questions filled Aaru’s expression.
“I can see you’ve got something to say,” said the forger. “Maybe writing it down will help you say it.”
Warmth filled my heart as Aaru took the notebook, letting his thumb caress the front cover. His fingers curled around the pencil. Then, carefully, he offered a small bow in thanks.
Our new papers tucked safely away, the six of us—plus the two dragons in their basket—made our way back onto the busy streets of Val fa Merce.
Harta’s capital city spread before us in all its mishmash glory, scented rich and green with all the ivy that crawled up buildings, and the soft grass that pushed between paving stones.
The twisty, narrow roads bustled with thousands of people, all rushing somewhere as though they were late. The noise of the city thrummed in my chest: a cacophony of voices, a clatter of footfalls, and a melody of street musicians. Horsecarres rattled, driving wedges through the crush of people. Folks chatted about the errands they were running, or someone who had a fever, or complained about their children being late for school because they couldn’t find their shoes. Strains of all those conversations floated around us, twisting into the controlled chaos of the most populated city on the Fallen Isles.
The sheer number of people made Aaru’s shoulders curl inward, and though we let him move into the middle of our group—which meant he was still surrounded, but surrounded by people he knew—the energy of the city was draining to him.
“We’re almost back to the hotel,” I said.
Aaru didn’t respond to my encouragement, just kept marching in Gerel’s wake. In the afternoon sun, his face was a hard line of determination.
“I think,” said Chenda, “our next order of business should be to find new clothes.”
“Why?” Gerel plucked at the peach-colored blouse Chenda had picked out for her yesterday. “What’s wrong with this?” Her tone suggested that everything was wrong with it, but the thought of more shopping was even worse.
“We stand out too much.” Chenda sighed dramatically. “Even in a city as big as this, we look like we got our clothes from people who sell them on the street.”
Gerel glanced over her shoulder and frowned. “We did.”
“Exactly.” Chenda met my eyes. “Help.”
“Chenda is right.” I scanned the streets to see what others were wearing. There was a lot to choose from. Some wore the wrap-style clothing that was popular on Damina, while others wore straight button-down shirts or tunics, like Aaru had been wearing in the Pit. There were the bright colors of Anaheran fashion, and also the subtler shades the Khulani people liked to wear. This city was filled with every style imaginable, in part because of visitors, but even more because the island had been controlled by every other island in the Fallen Isles at some point. The Hartan people had responded to their independence and search for their own style by claiming all the styles. “I think some of us should find clothes, but Ilina and I need to go to the sanctuary.”
Gerel’s frown deepened. “Even though Kelsine is with him now?”
“We still need to make sure the sanctuary is willing to take any dragons we rescue,” Ilina said. “More importantly, we need to make sure this sanctuary is safe.”
Threads of worry burrowed through me. “Plus,” I said, “we need to look at LaLa’s wing again, with tools actually meant for dragons.”
Ilina glanced at the basket where LaLa and Crystal rode, guilt twisting her expression. But she’d done everything she could for LaLa’s wing. If LaLa ever flew again, it would be because of Ilina.
“Very well.” Chenda lifted her chin, mouth pinching against the words she really wanted to say; she clearly still believed visiting the sanctuary was a waste of time. “I will lead the expedition for new clothes.”
“I’ll go with you.” Gerel sighed as she tugged on her shirt again. “Upper Gods know what you’ll choose for me if I don’t.”
“I’m going with Mira and Ilina.” Hristo kept an eye on the stream of people moving quickly around us. “Aaru, what about you?”
From his pocket, Aaru drew out his notebook and pencil. Clothes, he wrote.
His handwriting was careful and deliberate, as clear as though he worked from a copybook. He must have had a lot of practice under a strict teacher.
He switched from writing to the quiet code, which was faster for him. ::Don’t know what clothes t
hey’d get me if I don’t go. Might be yellow.::
Now that was a valid concern. He’d look just fine in yellow, but I couldn’t imagine him voluntarily wearing colors that shouted so loudly. “Don’t let them get you anything that makes you uncomfortable. Get something blue. Or black. Everyone looks good in black.”
He was nodding. ::Much better than yellow.::
“We should go now, before it’s too late.” Ilina nodded toward the crush of people on the street. “It’ll take us hours to get there with all these people on the road.”
“We can walk for a ways,” Hristo said, “then take a horsecarre once we’re out of town.” He scanned the streets, gaze lingering on the horsecarres trapped in traffic. “I think it will be faster that way.”
“I agree. Hold this for a second.” Ilina handed the dragon basket to me, then dug out the purse Captain Pentoba had given us. Quickly, she counted the Daminan lumes, took a few to put in her pocket, and gave the rest to Aaru. “You’re in charge of the money.”
“Why him?” Chenda scowled.
Ilina didn’t bother to answer. “Don’t let them spend more than twenty lumes per person. That should get several items of clothing for everyone.”
“Twenty lumes!” I shook my head. “What can you get with twenty lumes? A sleeve? The toe of a sock?”
“The lume is worth more on Harta.” Ilina tucked her coins into her pocket and looked at Gerel and Chenda. “As for why Aaru is in charge—he’s clearly more responsible than either of you.”
“You’d let Mira be in charge of the money if she were going with us.” Chenda was still frowning, but she didn’t mean it; her mouth curled up in one corner.
“Damyan and Darina, no.” Ilina shook her head. “I’d trust her even less than I trust you with it. Now go get us new clothes. Shirts. Shoes. One set of trousers each.”
We all used Aaru’s notepad to write down our measurements, and then Ilina, Hristo, and I pushed our way into the crowd heading south, letting the current carry us. It was slow and annoying, but Ilina walked close and nudged me with her elbow.