Page 5 of The Isles of the Gods
“Who in seven hells is that?” I call up to the woman at the window, already half sure I know the answer.
“Prince Leander.” She props her chin on her hand and stares dreamily at the autos, as if she can see straight through their tinted windows and admire the prince himself. “You’d think someone would move the horse out of his way.”
“The horse?” I tilt a glance up toward her, raising an eyebrow. “The horse is the only one I can see doing an honest day’s work. What exactly is His Highness contributing to society?”
She ignores me after that.
They say the prince throws parties all night and sleeps until lunch. That his wardrobe is the size of an apartment all by itself. That his private secretary sends out notes written on a gold-plated typewriter, declining the offers of marriage that arrive every day.
Everyone else hears the stories, and they say,I want that.All I can think is,What’s the point?
I cut through a side street, pushing past rows of tailors and their rolls of fabrics from distant ports, until I can find a parallel way down Royal Hill toward the docks. Rensa will be expecting me back by now, and there’ll be seven hells to pay if she figures out I disobeyed her orders.
The harbormaster’s office is a tall, wide building in themiddle of the docks. On the upper floor is the office itself, with lookouts perched at telescopes, watching the mouth of the harbor. When they spot a ship arriving, they run downstairs to the giant chalkboards and record her arrival. But it’s the lower level I want today.
It smells like sailors inside—cotton and canvas, salt and a faint hint of musty mildew—and usually I’d relax as I leave the city behind and return to my world. But I’ve been in here the last three days, ever since we made port, and every time, I’ve left wound still more tight.
“Looking for theFortune,Selly?” It’s Tarrant from theGoddess Blessed,another of my father’s ships. His smile flashes against his dark brown skin as he holds up a finger. “No, wait! Seeking yourFortune! I knew there was a joke in there somewhere. She’s cutting it fine, don’t you think?”
“She’ll be here,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder as I push past to get closer to the boards. Then I remember and swing around. “Tarrant!”
He glances back, already heading for the door.
“You didn’t see me here.” I try to keep the plea out of my voice.
He winces. “Captain on your tail again?”
“When is she not?”
“Too crowded to see anyone, especially one scrawny little deckhand, all freckles anyway,” he promises, and winks as he ducks away.
I return to pushing my way through the crowd toward the chalkboards.
My father has been away on theFortunefor a year now, and Tarrant’s right—heiscutting it fine. He’s been up northscouting new trading routes for the fleet, and these are the very last days of his return window. Soon the North Passage will be closed by winter storms and the deadly chunks of ice that come with them.
He left me with Rensa for the year when he went north. At first I thought it was disappointment that drove him to leave me behind, but the night before he left, he said otherwise.
“By the time I’m back, you’ll be ready for a first mate’s knot, my girl. It’ll be a fresh start.”
And that’s what we need. After years of waiting for me to make something of my magic, we both need to accept I’ll prove my worth as an ordinary sailor instead. We need to finally put the long years of my humiliating failures behind us and turn our minds to what Icando.
Except Rensa has taught me nothing—she’s done nothing to prepare me for a mate’s duties. Instead, I’ve spent my days in every dead-end job the ship has to offer, scrubbing and sewing and standing watch.
Sometime in the next few days, Da will ask me what I learned, and what can I possibly say? On theFortuneI’d have been with him at the wheel. On theLizabetta—which was my home growing up and is the ship I mean to command myself one day—I’ve been treated like a new recruit.
Right now, though, I don’t care. All I want is to see him. I’ve checked the boards religiously since we’ve arrived, every time certain I’m going to see theFortune’s name up in chalk, and every day I’ve been disappointed.
I’m positive Rensa’s going to keep me trapped aboard tomorrow, and the day after that we’ll cast off, and I’ll have missed Da altogether.
There are three boards fixed up on the wall, each covered in neat handwriting. Bare electric bulbs hang above them, one flickering on and off, like every moment might be its last—honestly, the windows are of more use when it comes to light to read by.
One board lists the ships that have departed today, another the arrivals, and the third ships that have been sighted—reports from other vessels newly docked, able to pass on word of who’s on their way and how far out they might be.
The departures board is crammed full of ships ready to set sail for Trallia, for Fontesque, Beinhof, or the principalities—or even to make the now-risky run to Mellacea, despite the brewing war—with notes beside them to indicate whether they’re taking passengers or looking for crew. There’s a single ship heading to Holbard: theFreya,chancing the trip back north before the ice claims the passage.
I scan the arrivals board, my gut knotting tight as I reach the bottom with no sign of theFortune.I push on to the sightings, running my gaze impatiently down the neatly chalked-up names.Please, Da. Please.
He’s cutting itsofine, but he can handle it. No captain can run the North Passage better than Stanton Walker.
