The rope fell away, and her shoulders cried out in painful relief as she brought her arms forward. She hissed a sigh through her gag, and the boy fell back, flinching away from her.
Stiffly, she signed, I won’t hurt you—
The boy screamed and scrambled away, pressing himself against the far side of the cage. His keys clattered to the ground as he held out his hands in an odd symbol that she didn’t recognize. “Witchcraft! Witchcraft!”
A shadow fell over her again. She looked up at the barrel of a gun pointing down on her.
“No tricks, girl!” the pirate snarled. “What’s wrong?”
The boy was shaking so badly that his elbow smacked the wall of the cell. “She—she did something with her hands—”
The pirate groaned. “Ah, that’s just the way they talk, boy. She don’t even have the gag off yet.”
Kesia nodded, suddenly desperate to win the boy’s trust. Slowly, she slipped off the cloth and spit out the gag, the muscles in her jaw throbbing. She carefully reached for the canteen and drank, water streaming off her chin.
The boy handed her the loaf, and she tore into it. He remained rigid and silent until she was finished, then flinched again as soon as she looked at him. “Captain says I don’t have to bind your hands, but you have to keep the gag on.”
Kesia grimaced, then gave him a reassuring smile and tied the cloth around her mouth.
The boy snatched the keys from the floor and vaulted out of the cage. “I’ll pick up your chamber pot later,” he called back.
She curled up and buried her head in her hands, but the tears didn’t come this time.
Seven
Miren
The chilly sea air snatched at Davri’s Voice. In the bow, Miren could feel the gurgling water shoving them forward, could sense the boat angling over a wave or tilting to skirt a current. Davri had steered them north and was now running parallel to the coast, always keeping the black ridge of land in sight. Crescent Bay was far behind them now.
Miren was almost convinced that she wasn’t awake. The day would seem like a bad dream, if it weren’t for the painful pounding in her head where the pirate had struck her. It felt impossible that Kesia was really gone, and Miren found herself glancing around for her, as though to ask if she had fed the chickens or heated water for tea.
It was too dark for Davri to sign, so Miren stayed tucked in the bow, angling herself as far from him as possible, even as her hip started to ache from the effort.
The sea bobbed and splashed, but Davri’s Song caught most of the current. Singing did not use words, but Miren felt she could almost understand the Song. She heard the rumbling bass melody that pushed the boat up and forward. An occasional rise in tone caught the edge of a wave or halted a splash. At one point, a wave took Davri by surprise, and he had to switch to another Song to keep them from capsizing.
How long had it been since she had heard someone Sing? Four years, at least, since the Singers were drafted. She thought of the village fishermen bringing in the morning catch, the time her father’s friend once trapped a seagull on the beach by Singing ice around its feet. She thought of the Air Singers clearing the bay of fog on chilly mornings, or her mother lighting a fire to boil tea. She thought of Jonath, hammering in his father’s forge, his clumsy Song trying to shape molten metal into a horseshoe.
Would she have left if Davri hadn’t come to her?
She couldn’t picture it. She would likely have gotten up the next morning. Maybe she would have eaten, maybe she wouldn’t. She would have stepped out of the cabin and heard the chickens squawk and thought of Kesia. She would have looked to the lighthouse, cold and lightless for the first night of her life, and thought of Kesia. She would have cleaned the cabin, the bowl Kesia always left on the table, the mess she made cutting carrots, the spark rocks tossed carelessly by the fireplace.
Miren turned her face into her coat and cried.
* * *
Mercifully, she fell asleep. She hadn’t meant to, but she opened her eyes to a lilac sky.
Davri’s Water Song still carried the boat forward, but his Voice was ragged and breathy. Miren sat upright, her back aching and her arm nearly numb. The cold sea air clung to her, but the wind that brushed past promised a warm morning.
Miren stared out at the passing water until her eyes hurt. Her back pressed to the boat’s side, she watched the Kaleon coast drift past on the right, jagged precipices giving way to smooth beaches and towns with wooden buildings and roads and horses and people.
She had never left Crescent Bay before, but she had always had the notion that they were farther removed from the rest of the world than this.
Davri sat hunched in the stern, his arm on the rudder, his mouth still moving in Song. His eyes caught hers only briefly before an oncoming wave demanded his attention. He shoved against it so it lapped harmlessly against the hull.
He had Sung through the night.
Miren almost cried out in surprise but caught herself. She had never heard of such a thing. Singing took much from the Singer; even those who served as fishermen worked no longer than a few hours, and no Singer was expected to use his Voice continuously for that time. Perhaps Davri had taken breaks, although she didn’t think so. His tone was low and hoarse with fatigue.
Her memory flew back to that fateful Skyflame, when Davri had first managed to Sing ice.
She did not want to be impressed.
“You can stop,” she said, her voice harsh against his Song. “I can sail from here.”
Davri shook his head, but the Song faltered anyway. The churning water stilled underneath them, and the boat began to drift.
Give me a moment, Davri signed.
“Fine. I’ll get us to shore.” She scooted to the next bench and reached to untie the sail.
But Davri was still shaking his head.
“I can get us there,” she insisted. “We can stay at an inn or something, right?”
She had to make it a question because she wasn’t sure how exactly inns worked, or, more important, how much they cost. The people of Crescent Bay had currency, but they rarely used it among themselves.
Davri held up a hand.
“Why don’t we stop?” She gestured at the shore, where there was a town in sight. “We’re not going to get all the way to the capital in one day.”
He shook his head. Need to find a lord of Fourth Circle.
Miren didn’t know what that meant. “Where will we find one?”
Davri spelled out a name.
“Isakio,” she said aloud.
He nodded.
“I don’t know where that is.”
Davri pushed himself upright and reached for one of his packs. She noticed that he had brought several, all of them stuffed to the brim and tied shut. She felt unprepared in comparison, but there had been nothing else in the cabin for her to bring.
He pulled out a long scroll of parchment and unrolled it.
It was a map of Kaleo and Avi’or. She only knew because her father had once shown her something similar, but it had been made of crinkled paper and smeared ink. This was artwork: countries and towns were labeled in complex calligraphy, with watery paints casting different areas in greens and browns and grays. It even included the cliffs that surrounded both countries. The Tehum Sea, the long body of water that split the two countries from north to south, featured a caricature of a Kaleon ship sailing across deep blue paint. Faint gold circles were drawn over Kaleo, starting at the capital to the north and spreading from there, each labeled in turn from first to fifth.
Davri pointed at a town toward the southern end of the map. We go here, he signed.
A small dot near the coast was labeled: Isakio. Instinctively, Miren ran her eye farther south, but there was nothing labeled beyond that. “Where is Crescent Bay on this?”
Davri pointed down the coast, closer to her. She could see now that there was indeed a curved bay that would have been her home. It was in the gold ring labeled Fifth.
“So we’re likely here now?” She pointed just north of that, along the coast.
He nodded.
“Why isn’t Crescent Bay labeled?” she asked.
Fifth Circle city, he signed. This map was made for Second Circle family.
Miren didn’t understand how that was an explanation, but Davri was blinking rapidly to keep his eyes open.
“All right, fine. Then we keep going.” Miren started rolling up the map, being careful with it. “I’ll sail. You sleep. We’ll trade off later.”
Davri nodded and slipped the map back in its pack. He pulled out a small loaf of bread from another pack, broke it in two, and handed a piece to Miren.
“I have to sail.” Miren wrapped the line around her hand.
Davri frowned. Have you eaten?
Miren didn’t answer, but her stomach felt tight and acidic.
Davri signed with both hands, Stop mourning. We’ll find her.
“Don’t you—” Miren caught herself. “Don’t act like we’re going through the same thing right now.”
He narrowed his eyes but didn’t reply.
Miren moved on, tugging at a thought that had been nagging at her. “Does it seem odd that the military would be willing to do business with pirates?”
What do you mean? Davri signed.
“The pirates want the Singer’s bounty, right? They’ll have to strike a deal with some military officials, won’t they? Or else where would they go?”
Davri frowned. I’m not sure.
“You’re not sure? I thought you had a plan!” Panic fluttered in her chest.
I do! Davri slapped. We’re going to find the lord of Isakio of the Fourth Circle. He will have the connections to find her.
Miren groaned, her initial doubts returning full force. This wasn’t a plan—it was a desperate gamble. Nothing short of a miracle was going to find Kesia. So why was she here now?
Because I made a promise, she thought. Because I need a miracle.
“Fine,” she said, untying the lines that held the sail in place. “Go to sleep.”
He started to sign, but she refused to look at him as she pulled the sail taut, and soon he settled on the packs and began snoring.
* * *
Perhaps two hours later, she heard a faint crack of thunder drift across the water.
The sky was clear, save for a few mountainous clouds floating by, but if she squinted against the morning sun, she could make out a few ships on the horizon.
Miren’s heart rate spiked—a naval battle? She thought the war was fought much farther north. She almost kicked Davri awake, but what were the odds the warships would make their way closer?
She reached for her pack and pulled out a carrot. It seemed that she was no longer mourning. Did that mean she thought it was possible to save Kesia? She didn’t know.
When Davri finally stirred, the afternoon sun glared angrily above them. Miren yanked on the line with a grunt.
He sat up, rubbed his face, and looked around. The coast hadn’t changed much, though the towns had started to appear with greater frequency. Where are we? he asked.
“I don’t know,” Miren said. Her neck had grown stiff from looking over her shoulder. “How far is this city?”
Davri fumbled for the map. Miren gripped the rudder, already annoyed that he hadn’t offered to Sing the rest of the way. It was a full two minutes before he lowered the map and signed, Very close.
“Wonderful.” Miren glanced back over her shoulder, pain biting her neck again.
Without comment, Davri began Singing, and the boat surged toward the shore. Miren dropped the sail.
The familiar cragged green hills continued along the west but stretched farther away as they came north, looking smaller. She and Davri were sailing toward a town set on uneven land. A road ran parallel to the coast, rising and falling.
The boat passed a couple of docks, where fishermen and women tied their own boats and lowered sails and hauled in their nets. A few people glanced at them curiously, and Miren ducked her head, suddenly nervous. How odd they must look, coming into the docks with their sail already down. All Singers should be in the military, shouldn’t they? Would someone report them?
But Davri didn’t seem worried. Would he have to prove his exemption from the military? She didn’t interrupt his Song to ask.
A lilt in the Song, and the boat turned toward one of the few open docks. Fisherfolk stared at them as they approached, but most soon returned to their own work. Davri angled the boat so Miren could jump on the dock and tie them up.
She watched him stumble, exhausted, under the weight of three packs. She thought of reaching to help him, but instead she just waited. He pulled himself clumsily onto the dock and stood, taking an extra step to steady himself.
I must change clothes, he signed. He reached into the boat and dragged out yet another pack, pulling out a crumpled dress shirt and long trousers.
He threw them over what he was wearing. He wasn’t undressing, but Miren turned to face the other direction anyway. The rest of the town seemed busy. Past the line of dock houses, people and horses and carts passed one another on a well-worn dirt road. The faint shouts of merchants drifted toward them, unintelligible at this distance.
“I don’t see how talking to nobility is going to help,” Miren said over her shoulder. “What noble is going to know anything about pirates? We should speak to the people in the town.”
Since she was facing away, he wasn’t able to answer. Feeling petty, she continued, “Unless it’s really considered common for people of rank to make dealings with pirates. If that’s the case, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—”
A hand clapped on her shoulder. She whirled, about to protest, but Davri signed, This is the way things are done.
He strode ahead of her, carrying his packs. She clenched her jaw for a moment before following.
The town itself—if this really was what qualified as a town—was, in Miren’s estimation, a more crowded, larger village.
The main road she had spotted from the docks was just one of many. Other paths split off from this one, narrowing or turning out of sight. All along the roadside were buildings—wooden structures that shrugged against each other like people in an overcrowded room. Men and women yelled from beside booths of fish and produce and other items, competing for the passing crowd’s attention.
Though they were farther north, the people she saw seemed just as shabby as her neighbors in Crescent Bay. They wore hand-stitched trousers and shirts and dresses, dusty boots of faded leather, wide-brim hats that drooped from use.
Miren had never seen so many people in one place before.
She followed Davri hesitantly, not sure how wandering eyes would perceive them. Did nobility often roam the streets with the rest of the common folk? Shouldn’t he have servants or guards flanking him, not some village girl in trousers?
She realized too late that she had been trusting him to know what to do, and now she regretted her stupidity as well as his. “We shouldn’t be doing it this way,” she murmured to him.
He glanced at her, then looked away. Perhaps he was nervous to sign around here.
Miren fell back into step behind him. Merchants boasted of their goods as they passed. People jostled them aside without apology. Raucous laughter tumbled out of a nearby pub. A horse relieved itself in the middle of the road.
They crossed the street and turned a corner. Miren bumped into Davri, who had paused as a woman carrying a basket of corn passed in front of them. He looked down at Miren, a question in his eyes.
“Where are we going?” she hissed.
Davri gave her a hard look and pointed.
The road they were on wound upward and to the left, farther from the coast. At the crest of a small hill, she saw a gated estate.
“We have to go there?”
Davri shrugged, as though to say, What did you think we were doing?
She shook her head, embarrassed and frustrated,
and followed Davri.
The crowd thinned as the road grew steeper. The estate was larger and better built than Darius’s. A fully gated spread of green surrounded a mansion of off-white walls and dark trim.
A couple of uniformed guards watched them approach, looking impassive. Shouldn’t Davri have a carriage of some kind? Should he have sent word of their coming?
The guards conferred, and one came forward. “Can we help you?” he said.
“Excuse me, sir,” she blurted, before Davri could sign. “This is Davri, son of Baron Darius of Crescent Bay. We would like an audience with the duke at his earliest convenience.”
The guard stared at her for a long moment. She glanced at Davri, wondering if she had somehow offended, but he was looking at the guard with a pleasant, expectant smile on his face.
“The duke is not receiving visitors this evening,” the man said.
“This is an emergency,” Miren said. “If you could just announce us—”
“The duke will not be able to see you tonight,” he said. “You may write him a letter of request explaining your difficulties, and he may respond within the next moon.”
Miren took a step. “Sir, this is the son of a baron. We’re not—he is of noble blood—”
Before she could stop him, Davri signed, As the son of Lord Darius of Crescent Bay, I wish to speak with Lord Cheliem. Please announce my arrival. He then raised his hand to show his father’s gold signet ring.
The guard’s eyebrows shot up, and Miren’s heart pounded. Would they believe him, or could they just arrest Davri now and take him in for avoiding the draft? Should they start running?
“I will announce you,” said the guard who had spoken first. He nodded to his comrade and marched up to the mansion.
Miren glared at Davri, but his serene expression didn’t shift. The other guard was still staring at them. This was a bad idea, she thought, but there was nothing to do but wait.
The minutes ticked by; Miren fought the urge to pace. The sun was already ducking behind the western cliffs, and the wind from the bay carried a chill. She was well into a silent rant about the rudeness of all nobility when the guard returned. He motioned to his counterpart, and the gate opened with a screech of metal.
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