“No,” I say, sharp as an ax—as if he didn’t offer me his jacket but his hand in marriage.
“You’re upset with me.” He looks at me closely. “Why?”
If Melily told him about Sande, he must suspect that I regret our kiss.
“I’m not upset with you,” I say as the wind makes my hair dance over to him, betraying the rest of me. The truth is I’m upset with myself, but I’m not going to say anything that personal to Cressit, so I just murmur, “Goodnight,” and hurry back inside.
By the time we pass the United Peaks of Trellor, a low series of mountain tops crowded with shabby housing towers, I feel as if I’ve become an uppy machine. I try not to think or feel. I do as I’m told, and I try to keep Melily happy. All I want to do is speak with Sande.
So when Melily swings into my cabin singing, “Guess what? Captain Gedwick says we’ll reach the Hill Kingdoms tomorrow!” I almost cry with relief.
“So that means you can relaycall your sludge lover and stop sulking around.” Melily leans against my bed, her three necklaces jangling together. Ever since Cressit’s been on the ship, she’s been wearing her finest jewelry, prettiest dresses, and highest heels at all times.
“I’m not sulking.” I look up from the book I’m struggling to make sense of. It’s a children’s story belonging to Timsy and Dorla. Shara’s trying to teach me how to read since Melily grew bored and quit.
Melily smiles wide. “Yes, you have definitely been sulking, but it doesn’t matter. I want to tell you something.” She tugs the book out of my hands. “And I don’t want to talk here. Marthes or Shara might come in and be all, you know… the annoying way they are. Follow me.”
She takes me to an unfamiliar door one deck down. Unlocking it, she gives the light switch a twist, revealing rows of railed shelves. I see beautiful furniture, fine brinewood chests, sculptures, and paintings, and all of it is secured with ropes and straps. This must be where Lord Osperacy stores his acquired treasures.
Melily closes the door, shutting us inside the crowded space. “I’m going to tell Cressit to kiss me.”
I find I’m upset, but I try to ignore the feeling because Melily’s fascination with Cressit shouldn’t bother me. I take a deep, slow breath.
“You do remember who Cressit is?” she asks, taking my silence for confusion.
“Yes of course, and I suppose I thought you’d have made him kiss you already.” As I say it, I find I really do want to know why she’s waited. Is she nervous? Does she think using her wavurl to make someone kiss her is wrong? That doesn’t seem like something that would trouble her.
Melily’s frown narrows to a pucker. “Weeeell.” She drags the word out, surely giving herself time to think about her reply. “I was waiting for the right moment. I want it to be, you know, romantic.”
She prods a dusty set of springwine cups. As I watch her lift the delicate crystal with a single hooked finger, I think I understand her hesitation. She wants Cressit to want to kiss her.
I feel a sudden, strange tenderness toward her, almost as if she were my younger sister, and I speak carefully. “Maybe… if you wait a little longer, he might kiss you.”
“Why should I keep waiting, though?” Melily sneers, but her eyes are big and vulnerable and seem to be begging me to give her a good reason. “He got a message in Panlo that his ship will catch up with us in Gatreijan. I’m running out of time.”
So Cressit will leave soon. That makes me feel a bit sad. But the fact that it upsets me means it’s surely for the best. He can clearly stir up my feelings, and before now, that was something only Sande could do, and I preferred it that way. “Well if you wait for Cressit to kiss you, then you’ll know he really cares about you.” I bring my teeth together, expecting Melily’s temper to flare up.
But instead she sets the springwine cup gently back with the others. “So… then… like, how do you make someone kiss you, you know, without making them kiss you?”
“I don’t think you can.”
Melily slumps sideways, knocking a shelf and making its precious contents clatter together. “But I don’t know what else to do! I’ve shown him the whole ship. I’ve watched tons of his boring practices. I’ve told him all about Father’s travels and even your weird story. I know the words to every single one of his songs. He seems interested in talking to me, and he’s not resisting when I give him commands. But… he just… I don’t know!” She rubs her face, smearing her black eye paint. “Maybe he just cares so much about me, he doesn’t want to get too involved. That way he won’t hurt me when he leaves.”
“That might be it,” I say, hugging her, and I don’t think she gets hugged very often. I have to pull her over to me, and she’s all pointy shoulders and elbows. “Or,” I go on, extremely carefully, “maybe he’s just not the right match for you.”
“Of course he is,” she whimpers. “He’s so beautiful.”
He is, and I wish I didn’t notice.
For a while, Melily leans against me, uncharacteristically quiet, but then she says, “I guess it doesn’t matter. Father will never let me get married anyway.”
She’s silent for another few moments and then adds, “Douglen got to marry Shara because she’s his balance. Father says we shouldn’t marry someone we can control, but I know I’ll never find a male balance again. And even if I do, he’ll probably be ugly and strange, and he won’t be Cressit.”
“Did you care for Elgin?” I risk asking, thinking of the tattered picturegraph hidden beneath Melily’s bed.
She pulls away from me, and I pretend not to notice her tears. “Yes, but also no. Elgin didn’t like girls.” She stares at the shelves. “I’m going to be alone forever.”
I’m not sure what to say. “Maybe it seems like that right now, but—”
Melily flashes me a sharp look, the same one she gives me when she wants me to do something and I refuse. “Stop acting like you know how I feel. Someone’s loved you your whole life. You also have… well… boobs.”
And before I can fumble out a response, she leaves.
I stand on the upper deck, watching sunlight spill over the Hill Kingdoms. It creates little arches of orange and gold, and I feel happy for the first time in ages. Today I’ll talk to Sande.
The Hill Kingdoms are so different from the other settlements we’ve visited. These islands don’t look like mountain tops but rather like soft, grassy lumps dotting the tidewater. There are no high cities or mid cities because they aren’t big enough for that. I don’t even see a proper wharf or harbor. The Trident simply drops anchor near one of the islands, a place called Pre’Enity, and we take a small, motorized boat over.
I like Pre’Enity at once. And it’s not just the unseasonable warmth or the fact that I’m about to talk to Sande—the town is clean and bright and friendly-looking, like a drawing from one of Dorla and Timsy’s picture books. The houses are small and made of rocks and pressed reed boards, and the people here have also lovingly decorated them with bright clay tiles, painted walls, and colored glass windows. I don’t see any factories or automotors, and perched on a stony hill overlooking the island is a large building with towers on each corner that are decorated with cheery bunches of flags. That’s where Pre’Enity’s king lives, Douglen tells me.
“Each hill has a stupid little king or queen,” he continues, as we climb out of the small motorship and onto a brick pier. “It’s ridiculous.”
But it’s the King I need to talk to. He owns Pre’Enity’s only relayphone.
Melily and Shara linger at the tide-side market to shop, and Jeck vanishes into a cookery house with a picture of a siren on the outside—the sort with a fish’s tail. Douglen stays with me, though. Lord Osperacy asked him to help me operate the relayphone.
This island is small enough that we can walk from the pier to the King’s home, and so Douglen leads me along a path between houses and crowded vegetable gardens. I never feel comfortable when I’m alone with him, but I try to make conversation anyway. �
��Are there barracks here for deeplanders?” I ask—although I can’t imagine where they’d be.
Douglen shakes his head. “Everyone here’s the same. They all farm in the deeplands during the dry months, then when the tide comes, they all cram themselves into those ugly, little shacks.”
I look around. No one seems to be squeezing into their houses today. Everyone is outside doing chores or talking together.
“What a beautiful house,” I say as we near the large building on the hill.
“It’s not a house; it’s a castle,” Douglen says in a condescending tone as if an infant should know such a thing.
The King of Pre’Enity seems to already be on good terms with the Osperacy family because as soon as Douglen gives his name to the guard at the castle entrance, the man ushers us inside. The King greets us moments later in a bright room decorated with paintings of ships, narwhales, and sunsets.
“Douglen Osperacy, it’s a pleasure to see you again!” The King is both tall and round. He wears lushly patterned robes, layers of vests, and several gilded shell necklaces. His dark gray beard bristles with braids and the rest of his hair is swept up under a coral crown. “Has your father come ashore? He always has such interesting things for sale.”
“I’m sure he’ll come by,” Douglen says, bending at the waist. “He wouldn’t want to miss seeing you.”
Not sure what to do, I bend like Douglen and rise when he does.
The King turns to me. “And who is this delightful young lady?”
“She works for my father,” Douglen says. “She’s called Nerene.”
The King takes my hand in one of his massive ones. “Greetings Nerene, I’m King Bevreden, and you are most welcome in Pre’Enity.”
“Thank you,” I say in my politest voice. He reminds me of the elegant landrunner stags that race the tide—perhaps it’s his large, gentle eyes, or more likely, it’s the way his coral crown branches out like antlers.
“You’ll both dine with us, I hope.” King Bevreden looks to Douglen.
Douglen hesitates, surely thinking that I shouldn’t be included, but he eventually nods and says, “Of course. We’d be honored.”
As Douglen asks about the relayphone, I take a better look at the paintings on the walls. They aren’t as detailed as the paintings I saw in Beth’s museum; they only have a few colors and the shapes are smooth and uncomplicated. Their simplicity is nice, I decide. The paintings are easy to look at, pleasing even.
A serveman takes us to the relayphone. It hangs in a room with a large window and a rug made of striped jaguar fur. For some reason I expect the relayphone to resemble Melily’s music machine, but instead it’s a rectangular, brinewood box attached to the wall, covered with levers, dials, and metal knobs.
As soon as the serveman leaves, Douglen pulls out a thin folder that has a coil of wire running down one side. “Wait outside while I make contact. Be ready, though. Decide what you want to say. You won’t have much time.”
I leave the room, suddenly panicked. I thought I would just talk to Sande the way I always do. But now that I know it can’t be a long conversation, my mind feels empty.
Douglen soon calls me back into the room. He puts a metal cup to my ear and points to a copper tube. “It’s simple enough. Speak into here.”
I press the earpiece against my head. “Sande? Sande, are you there?”
At first all I can hear is meaningless noise, but then a distant voice echoes back at me. I can’t make out the words, but I can tell it’s Sande, and that means he’s alive. Lord Osperacy kept his word. Feeling relieved, I lean against the wooden box. “Can you hear me?” I call. “Sande, it’s Nerene!”
For a few moments Sande doesn’t respond, but then I hear his voice again, and this time he sounds even further away. In desperation, I look to Douglen. “It’s not working! I don’t think it’s working.”
He shrugs. “Could be a bad connection. That happens sometimes.”
I turn back to the relayphone. Maybe Sande can hear me better than I can hear him. “I miss you.”
Again it takes a long time for Sande to reply, and again his words are garbled and unintelligible. But then all of a sudden, the sound takes shape. Sande’s voice is loud and perfectly clear. It’s as if he’s on the other side of the wall. “—not much, and I work hard. But I’m still alive, Nerene, and I love you, and I’m sorry I blamed you for that snapper.”
“I love you, and it’s fine,” I cry, glad that he’s not still angry. “Where are—”
Click.
And silence.
I look down and see Douglen’s broad finger on a switch.
“That’s enough,” he says. “These calls are expensive.”
I keep staring at his hand, and then I stare at the relayphone mouthpiece, and then at the horn-shaped part of the device that just held Sande’s voice. I feel helpless, horrified. “No! No! Make him come back! I couldn’t hear him before. Please, I—”
“Stop complaining and stop yammering,” Douglen says, using wavurl to force me silent.
He watches mildly as I cough back anger. He doesn’t care—I’m sure of it. He has no idea what it’s like to not get his way.
I’m so upset I’m shaking. He may have commanded me to be quiet, but he didn’t tell me to stand still. Giving Douglen a furious look, I stomp my sharp heel onto his fancy uppy shoe as hard as I can.
He swears loudly and drives his fist into my stomach, knocking me against the wall. I fold over, strangely shocked he would be cruel in a way that doesn’t involve wavurl, and I gasp for breath. Still in his control, I can’t speak or cry, but tears blur my vision.
“Uh, is everything all right, Mister Osperacy?” a serveman asks through the closed door.
“Yes, everything is great,” Douglen says, giving me a tight smile that’s all sharp corners and teeth.
I slump in a sitting position, crossing both arms across my middle. I hurt so badly I feel like I might vomit. Douglen’s eyes catch mine like barbed fishhooks. I suspect it’s been a long time since anyone’s crossed him like I just did. I’m also sure he’s not through punishing me.
“Well, I don’t want to bother you, but the food is almost ready,” the serveman says, still on the other side of the door. “King Bevreden and his family have gathered to eat.”
“Good. I’m hungry.” Douglen holds an arm out to me. “Give me your arm.”
Touching him is the last thing I feel like doing, but I don’t have a choice—he’s commanded me. I let him help me up as my insides rage in pain.
We return to the room with the painted walls and join King Bevreden, several men, and a handful of beautifully dressed women around an oval table. As the King and Douglen discuss shipping and currents, I sit in agony, trying to remember what Sande’s voice sounded like.
He’s alive though—and that’s what matters most.
Dozens of serveworkers soon enter holding baskets of salt bread and platters of fish prepared in all sorts of ways; smoked, dried, poached, and coated with a variety of sauces and spices. Serveworkers also carry many trays of seaweed cakes and river-rice rolls.
The meal smells delicious. I wish I were hungry.
The serveworkers pile my plate high regardless, and I watch the King and his family scoop a red sauce over their food. Not wanting to be impolite, I reach for a little glass bowl too.
“I like a brave girl,” the King booms, smiling at me. “Soaked pepper spice is the hottest sauce in the Hill Kingdoms!”
I suddenly notice all the red sauces are slightly different—some are dark, some light, and the one I have has little seeds in it. “I didn’t realize,” I whisper. Is it too late to put the bowl down? Everyone’s looking at me.
“Oh go on,” Douglen says. “Try some.”
It’s a wavurl command. Unable to stop myself, I spoon crushed pepper onto my smoked fish.
“Don’t pay attention to her,” Douglen says, wavurling everyone around us, and as people look away and resume conversations
, he leans closer to me. “Put more on.”
I swallow, tension spreading up my neck and down my back. I glop another spoonful of the blood red sauce onto my fish.
“More,” Douglen says.
I obey.
He eases the bowl from my fingers, and with his eyes on mine, upends it over my plate. “Now start eating,” he says, and there is both cold triumph in his gaze and an unnerving gleam of pleasure. Marthes did warn me.
Trembling, I bring a small amount of fish to my lips with a pronged spoon. It’s all but hidden by sauce. With mounting dread, I put the flakes of fish into my mouth, chew, and hastily swallow. At first it simply tastes like the stormradish sauce we often use in Saltpool, but then a sudden fire blazes on my tongue and sears down my throat. Tears fill my eyes.
“Keep going,” Douglen says.
And I have to. The next spoonful is so painful, it’s almost as if the skin is being scraped out of my mouth. The next makes me feel like my insides are bleeding. Sweat seems to instantly drench my gown and hair, and I start crying. And because Douglen told them not to, no one at the table looks my way. I thought his powers were supposed to be fading.
Helpless, I keep eating.
“King Bevreden,” a serveman enters the room. “The entertainment is here.”
I swallow a sob and whirl to see Cressit entering the hall with four of his musicians. They all wear shimmery swingshow costumes and carry musical instruments. They also all bend politely to greet King Bevreden, much like Douglen and I did.
Cressit spots me as he straightens, and I very much hope he realizes I’m in distress. But even then, what can he do? Douglen’s here.
I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, but Cressit does seem to try to help me. “Douglen,” he says. “Your father would like you to return to the Trident. I’m sorry I’ve interrupted your meal.”
“Father can wait,” Douglen says, watching me eat another mouthful. The pain is so intense I shut my eyes and hunch my shoulders.
“No! Go to your father!” King Bevreden’s voice seems to fill the large room. “And then please, bring him back here to me. I can’t wait to see what astonishing trinkets and treasures he’s selling this tide.”
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