Page 88 of The Isles of the Gods
“Excuse me,” begins the assistant, starting forward. “I—”
“Ambassador, I brought you that drink,” I say, ignoring the girl completely and pasting on a beaming smile I’m pretty sure looks more like I’m baring my teeth. I bare my teeth at the ambassador’s one remaining companion for good measure. “Do let me steal her for a moment.”
“I’m afraid—” begins the assistant again, but the ambassador holds up a hand to stay her.
My throat’s tight, my heart’s pounding, as she lets me shove a glass of champagne into her hand and take her by the elbow to half lead, half push her away.
She really is a diplomat—she barely even looks annoyed, and she doesn’t throw her drink at me, which would be my move in her position. Instead, she puts on a polite expression.
“I’m afraid I don’t—”
I cut her off. “My code words arearcher, eternity, diamond,andsalt.”
She freezes in place. But this woman isgood,because it’s only for a heartbeat, and then she lifts her glass to take a sip of warm champagne. “Those have been superseded,” she says quietly.
“They’ve what now?”
One brow lifts. “Those words,” she says, “are out of date.”
I feel like the ground is giving way beneath me.No.I did not survive an attack, a shipwreck, and an impossible trip to an enemy port with no map, wrangle a spoiled prince, and deal with high fashion for it all to end in sight of help.
Meeting her eyes, I lean in close and lower my voice. “The person who gave them to me was supposed to be at sea for a while, Ambassador.Hemust have missed the update.”
I see my words hit her, and she takes another swig of champagne. “Supposed to?” she repeats.
“That’s right, ma’am. Now listen close.”
She’s quiet, and the noise around us fades away as she fixes her attention on me. “I’m listening.”
“Good. Because I have had the worst few days of mylife,and I know something that could start a war. So why don’t you come over by the fence, where nobody can hear, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
LEANDER
The Salthouse Inn
Port Naranda, Mellacea
I’m like an animal in a trap, about to gnaw my own leg off to escape our room and go after her.
I’ve been pacing the same path across the worn carpet, trailing one hand over faded wallpaper, in motion every second since Selly left. There’s barely space to move past the end of the bed, but I’ve made it an art form by now.
Keegan’s pulled the bedcovers neatly back into place and sits on top of them, reading my family journal. I saw no harm in letting him. After all, when I write my own entries, he’ll be a part of them. He’s been through the newspaper a dozen times, and he’ll never have the chance to hold a historical document like this one again.
I pause by the window. We’re keeping the curtains drawn, but I can see a sliver of the busy square below through the gap. It’s strange watching sailors, traders, and city folk go about theirday as the morning wears on, with no idea that in a room upstairs, history is being made. The world is changing.
I should be writing in the journal—my ancestors used it to record their journeys to and from the Isles, and there’s never been one like mine, so it feels like I should get something down. But where would I start?
With the boy who lies on the bed, reading the very journal that’s troubling me? With a description of this room? A list of those who’ve died so far? My musings on Jude, somewhere out there in the city with my name on his lips, for reasons I don’t understand?
With Selly?
I wouldn’t know what to write about her, apart from that I’m way past ready for her to walk through the door.
Maybe that wrapping my arm around her as we checked in here felt different from the times I’ve done it before, with others.
Maybe that I didn’t want to let go of her hand at the market, almostcouldn’t.Maybe that she looked spectacular on the dance floor, and even better on the deck of her ship.
Maybe that ever since she saidI don’t know who you are, but I don’t have time for youat the docks in Kirkpool, and hid among the flowers with me on top of a stack of crates, I’ve been waiting to see what she’d do next?
