Page 14 of The Isles of the Gods
But we’re already drifting away, and whatever Rensa’s doing to myLizabetta,I can’t just abandon the ship to her fate.
Da would forgive me for stowing away on theFreya.But he’d never forgive me for leaving the shipnow.And by mentioning the risks in getting theLizabettaout of port so quickly and at night, Rensa has managed to snare me with the one hook that could stop me from escaping.
Jaw clenched, eyes hot with an ache that wants to be tears, I break, pushing past my captain to get to the navigation lights.
Her hand lands on my shoulder. “We’re running dark,”she says quietly, almost inaudible over the spirit flags flapping above us.
A shard of ice slithers down my spine as I turn to face her. This is smugglers’ talk. “They’ll take away your master’s license,” I whisper. “What are you dragging us into? What are we doing?”
“Our duty,” she replies, still soft. “And it’ll pay well, besides. Your father would do the same, girl.”
The crew are creeping back down the masts now, the sails unfurled, but reefed to keep them small—we don’t need much power yet. We want to go slow and silent until we’re in the open sea. Except my father’s ships don’t slink out like thieves in the night. They sail proud and fly the Walker standard—my family’s crest—below the blue-and-white flag of Alinor.
“You have the best eyes,” Rensa says. “Get up to the bow and have Conor run messages back to me. Get us out to sea, and we’ll talk.”
I’m left with no choice. TheLizabettais moving beneath me, creeping along in the light breeze. The lights of the prince’s fleet and the taverns ashore are slipping past, and one way or another, we’re leaving Kirkpool.
The wood of the deck is slick with dew under my bare feet as I turn to run past Kyri and the boy from the city, past the companionway, past the masts. If we’re going—and we are—I’ll make damn sure we go safe.
The low, lazy wail of the gramophone aboard the prince’s fleet echoes across the water as theLizabettaleaves the rules behind, gliding toward the harbor’s mouth, silent and dark.
LASKIA
The Gem Cutter
Port Naranda, Mellacea
I leave behind the late-night bustle of the street for the alleyway, the air cooler as my footsteps click across the damp cobblestones.
Behind me, the city’s lit with a mix of gas and electricity. The hum and honk of autos blends with the steady clop of horses’ hooves and the rumble of cart and carriage wheels.
In here it’s darker and quieter—has been since I was a kid. One thing has changed, though: these days there’s a line of patrons stretching toward New Street, the well-dressed huddled inside their coats as they wait for their turn to step inside the club. They want to dance the night away, leave behind the whispers and rumors and worries that walk the streets of Port Naranda lately.
What light there is in the alleyway comes from the sign outside the Gem Cutter. Most places have an electric bulb or two, casting light and shadow across their painted names. Butnot ours. Here, like everywhere else, it’s like Ruby was trying to say,See what I can do?
A cascade of oversized jewels tumbles from Ruby’s sign, made from dazzlingly cut crystal. They’re clear, except for one tinted blood red, and each of them has its own electric bulb set behind it so it sparkles like it’s alive.
The Gem Cutter.The name of the place delights the rich people who come here. The patrons have heard hints of who Ruby is, what she does. They whisper that the words aren’t referring to an artisan with a magnifying glass and a set of tiny tools, but to the patroness of the club, Ruby herself. A gem with a very sharp knife. It makes them feel dangerous, to walk through these doors.
I nod to the two man-mountain bouncers as I slip past the folks waiting in line, and step inside my sister’s domain.
The lights are dimmed, tables arrayed around a dance floor and a low stage, the bar running down the right-hand side of the room. Everything about this place is luxe—the Fontesquan chef, the gold threads woven through the fine linen of the white tablecloths, the polished wood inlaid into the walls. There’s a woman crooning up on the stage, a few couples clinched on the polished dance floor, and the soft clink of glasses and silverware underneath it all.
The staff knows who I am, and they step out of my way as I head toward the far end of the bar. I can’t pretend I don’t like it, though really they’re stepping out of Ruby’s way—I’m just the little sister. But tonight is the night that starts to change, and I’m so,sohungry for the chance she’s about to give me.
I fetch up against the bar, leaning on it and studying the room as I wait for the bartender to notice me. I know I lookas good as anyone here—I’ve chosen my outfit carefully tonight. My dark gray suit is well cut, the waistcoat cinched in around my waist, my crisp white shirtsleeves rolled up. I stand out from the women in their sparkling dresses, and that’s the way I like it.
I left the suit jacket off and fastened my ruby pin to my waistcoat—I want to look like I mean business. I saw the barber today, and my curls are tight atop my head, the fuzz at the back of my neck soft. I look sharp. I feel sharp.
The bouncers get their suits the same place I do, but though mine fits to perfection, theirs always pull at the seams. Ruby’s tailors could make them fit like a glove, but the whole point is to make the men look like they’re just a little too big, too strong, to be confined by clothes like a regular person.
Like every other aspect of the business, no detail’s too small to escape Ruby’s notice, and she likes her toughs to look like what they are. A hint of the badness beneath all this beauty and class. That’s our world—glitter and grit.
The bartender, a pretty girl with her black hair braided back tightly, skin the same warm brown as the rosewood along the front of the bar, smiles as she makes her way to me.
She’s not the face I’m used to, though—Lorento’s been behind the bar since the day Ruby opened, always ready with a barman’s ear, polishing a glass while I talked out my problems. It’s not like him to take a night off.
“I haven’t seen you before,” I greet her, leaning on the bar with one elbow and trying out a smile on her.
