Page 108 of The Isles of the Gods
I go still, and Leander’s alert immediately.
“What do you see?”
“Hold the wheel.” I reach into the pouch hanging beside it, grabbing for the captain’s eyeglass. Then I turn to face backward, wrapping an arm around his torso for stability, widening my stance, and lifting the glass to one eye.
He’s quiet, concentrating on steering our nose through each wave as it comes, waiting for me to tell him what I see.
“There’s a boat behind us,” I say finally. “They’re piling on every inch of sail they can find. That’s not what fishing boatsdo.”
“Could they be a messenger?” he asks. “Or a merchant in a hurry?”
I lower the eyeglass and turn my head, lifting my gaze to meet his.
His jaw squares as he reads the answer in my eyes. But I say it out loud anyway.
“No. There’s nothing in this direction except the Isles…and us.”
JUDE
TheMermaid
The Crescent Sea
Laskia is keeping me on deck with her.
I’d rather be at the other end of the boat, but whenever I drift away, she calls me back to join her, and I swallow another wave of seasickness to take my place at the railing once more. At least she let me sleep last night—I know she didn’t rest herself.
Our ship, theMermaid,is bigger than the one we’re pursuing, but she’s made for fishing and there aren’t that many bunks. Dasriel took one and the first mate the other. I got a few hours in a hammock, and I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep—the swinging motion churned my stomach, the ship creaking around us, stirring up every dark memory I have from the voyage to Mellacea—but in the end exhaustion won out.
This morning the ship’s cook, who seems to hold several other roles aboard as well, made porridge in a pot suspendedabove the stove. It was on a gimbal, swaying back and forth with the movement of the ship so it was always upright.
I bolted at the smell—even if I hadn’t already been sick enough to throw up the soles of my boots, it was far too close to the meal I saw Varon down, aboard theMacean’s Fist.
Dasriel went back for seconds.
I wanted to say something. I wanted to warn the crew—as they picked up their breakfast, as they piled on more sail and debated ways to catch up with our quarry—I wanted to tell them their new employer has killed, and she’ll kill again. That she’ll killthem.
Perhaps that urge is why she’s keeping me so close. But she has my mother, and I won’t say anything. There’s no point pretending I’ve got a backbone.
It’s late morning now, and Laskia stands like a figurehead in the bow, gripping the railing with both hands, bracing herself against the choppy movement of the boat. Or perhaps she’s like a hunting dog, pointing at its prey. She never takes her eyes off the tiny ship ahead of us, her lips moving as she whispers prayer after prayer.
The weather has been whipping itself up into a storm since dawn broke, and the sailors say it will be a bad one. I can see they already sense something’s not right with Laskia. These people know the sea inside out, but they’re more scared of her. I almost wish Sister Beris were with us. Or Ruby. Nobody else has a chance of reining Laskia in, not anymore, and the truth is, I’m not sure they would either.
“What if they get there first?” I ask, breaking the silence for the first time in hours. “What if we don’t catch up in time?”
“I planned for that before we left Port Naranda,” she says, without taking her gaze from the little boat on the horizon. “Don’t worry, Your Lordship. One way or another, we’ll catch up with your friend, or he’ll find a welcoming committee waiting for him. I’m going to bring back his body this time. That way we can be sure.”
My stomach churns all over again, as if I’m back in the hammock and it’s lurching with the movement of the ship. I wasn’t seasick on the way out to meet the progress fleet, before the killing started. I wasn’t sick on the way over from Alinor, two years ago. It’s only been since the killing that I can’t take it.
I look down to where Laskia’s hands grip the railing. For all the time I’ve spent in the boxing ring, I’ve never killed anyone. But if Dasriel weren’t aboard, I’d think about doing it now. About killingher,just to end this.
And perhaps I should anyway, and pay the price. But I lack the courage to accept the cost.
I keep thinking about Leander’s face at the club. About his absolute shock at seeing me—his mouth open, his eyes wide. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose his composure, and I’ve known him since we were twelve.
Leander’s many things, but he’s not a liar—not like that.
If he says he tried to find me, then…And why would he lie? How could he even think of a lie so quickly, when he was so clearly surprised to see me?
