Chapter 6
WHEN I ORDER DIMELLA to add me to the next rotation of rowers, she doesn’t question the order. She never questions my orders, which is why I like her.
I sit at the backmost bench so I can see all the rowers ahead of me. I don’t like the exposure of sitting in the middle of the ship, but there’s nothing for it. I want this. I need this. Enwen offers me his gloves, and I take them, despite them being far too big. I shrug out of my captain’s coat and lay it under my bench.
What I hadn’t taken under consideration was the clear line of sight this position gives me to Kearan up at the helm. So I stare at the back of Bayla, as she sits in front of me.
“Heave,” Dimella bellows, and I push the oar through the water, moving the ship forward. “Heave. Heave. Heave.”
Taydyn is giving his voice and fingers a rest, so there is nothing to distract the crew from the tedium of rowing. Nothing but talking.
“When do you think Vengeance will see her first fight?” Philoria asks.
“Hopefully soon,” Bayla answers. “Those cannons are looking a little too clean.”
Philoria takes a big draw of air through her nose. “I miss the smell of gunpowder.”
“I can see the soot in your hair,” I say. “You’ve been getting into the powder with Visylla, haven’t you?”
“Guilty.” She sings the word.
“It’s not the same as when we get to light it, though, Captain,” Bayla says. “We need a proper sea battle.”
“All in good time,” I say. “You two are going to get your fight. It’s inevitable where we’re going.” I would tell them not to be so eager, but that would be hypocritical. I’m itching for a fight myself.
“I certainly don’t mind having less work,” Iskirra says from where she’s working at her own oar.
“Liar,” Bayla says. “You miss having wounds to patch up. Admit it.”
“Heave.”
I’m out of practice at the oars. It doesn’t take long at all before my muscles start to ache, but I will do my part like everyone else. Ignoring pain is almost second nature to me.
“Heave.”
After spotting movement out of the corner of my eye, I watch Roslyn scurry down the line from the crow’s nest, faster than should be possible for anyone. That girl’s part monkey.
She crosses to us on bare feet and sits, letting her ankles dangle in the area where the rowers labor.
“Captain,” Roslyn says. “I’ve been thinking.”
“You’re getting dropped off at Darmont, and that’s the end of it,” I say.
“But what if you can’t find me on the ship? Or what if I climbed back aboard after you dropped me into a rowboat? Alosa can’t very well blame you if—”
“I’ll not make myself look incompetent or complicit in your schemes, Roslyn.”
“I don’t know what complicit means, but no one would ever think you incompetent.”
“Exactly. The answer is no.”
“But, Sorinda—”
“No.”
“I could help row! I could serve food in the kitchens. I’ll take night watches. Whatever you want. Please, I’ll do any task on the ship if you please, please don’t drop me off.”
“If you bring this up again, you’re bound for the brig. You understand?”
She huffs. “What about assassin lessons? Have you given more thought to—”
“The answer is still no.”
She stands. “You’re not my favorite anymore.”
“Favorite what?” Though I hardly care for the opinions of an enraged child.
“Pirate,” she says simply, and for some reason, the word stings just a bit. She stomps away again, this time joining Kearan at the helm, of all places. She sits on the railing before him and says something that makes him laugh. When his eyes dart to me, I can guess she’s complaining about my rulings.
Let them talk about me. See if I care. I have no wish to keep Kearan’s gaze, so I return mine to Bayla’s back.
After a half hour, my arms, stomach, and legs all burn. Muscles I forgot I had throb from the workout.
I keep rowing.
Alosa’s missing girls could be hurt somewhere, so we’ll not slow down or delay in reaching them. If they’re alive, we’ll find them. If there’s any chance that anyone can be saved, I will always fight.
I couldn’t save my sisters, but I will save Alosa’s crew.
THE WIND FINALLY PICKS back up three days later, though it blows in the least favorable direction, so we have to tack the ship, making the voyage even longer.
I make the days count in the only way I know how. I shrug out of my captain’s coat and readjust my knife sheaths. What shall I observe tonight? I could hide myself in the sleeping quarters and see who rises earlier than they should. That’s always a fun one. Or I could position myself high on one of the masts and watch the main deck below me. I can’t hear interactions from up there, but it’s always interesting to see if anyone rendezvous with someone they don’t usually talk to.
I fold my coat and place it in its cubby. Then I turn.
That tricorne is still on the floor, the smallest layer of dust coating it.
The door to my rooms closes without a sound, because I keep the hinges well oiled for just such activities. Kearan is no longer at the helm. His shift ended a few hours ago. Let’s find out what he does when his time is his own. He insisted I don’t know his new habits. I should set about changing that.
He’s not in the bunk area, where Iskirra is halfway through inking a compass onto one of the girl’s upper thighs. He’s not in the galley with the men playing cards. Nor is he anywhere on the top deck. That leaves the lowest level, which isn’t off-limits, but there’s very little reason for anyone to want to be down there, unless they’re trying to hide something.
The hatch barely makes a sound as I open it, and I lower my head into the opening, looking at the area upside down. There’s a small light toward the fore of the ship, so I drop down, my toes connecting with the hull before I land into a crouch. Behind me is all the storage for the journey. Ahead are the cells for those who misbehave. And after that—
I hear crying.
But it’s definitely not coming from a man.
I creep closer, keeping my body low to the floor and hugging the edges of the rounded walls, using the beams of the hull to hide behind as I inch closer and closer.
When my ears catch up with my instincts for silence and nearness, I realize the crying can only belong to one person.
Only Roslyn can manage to sound like that, and her little whimpers break my heart.
“I came down here to be alone,” she says.
For a heartbeat, I make the mistake of thinking she’s talking to me.
“I know,” a deep voice answers. Kearan’s. “I also like to be alone when I cry.”
She makes a sound like a snort. “You don’t cry.”
“Don’t I?” he asks.
“No. Grown-ups don’t cry.”
“Oh, yes, we do.”
“What do you have to cry about? Sorinda actually wants you here.”
At that, Kearan laughs. “No, she doesn’t. I’m here because Alosa wants me here.”
“Then at least somebody wants you here. Nobody wants me.” A little sob makes her shoulders shake.
“That’s not true, and you know it. You know why you’re not allowed to be here.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re bad at it. Go away.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Kearan says, “I miss my mother. It’s okay if you miss your father, even if you want to be here.”
Roslyn cries harder, but this time, she wraps her arms around Kearan, and he pulls her to his side, completely enveloping her in his arms.
“How did you know?” she asks.
“I was once a little boy away from home.”
She sniffles. “I miss him, but I also want to be here. How come I have to feel both things at the same time?”
“That’s just life. You can feel joy and pain at the same time, just like you can want to be here and be somewhere else at the same time. But it’s okay. You get to have your little adventure on the sea, and then we’ll get you headed back to your papa once we reach the Seventeen Isles.”
She rubs at her eyes. “That’s just it. I don’t want to leave. I wish Papa could be here with me on this adventure. I’ve never been sailing without him before. But he’s different now. He doesn’t know how to enjoy being with me on the open ocean anymore. And nobody understands that. Everyone thinks I almost lost my life when I was shot, but the truth is, I did lose it. No more pirating. No more adventures. No more sailing. I say I’m bored and angry, and that’s true. But even more true is the fact that I’m sad. I miss my life and my old papa.”
Most of Roslyn’s tears fade into Kearan’s clothing from where he still holds her.
“It’s okay to be sad,” he says. “And you don’t need to hide being sad ever. If it’s okay, I’d like to stay here while you be sad. You can squeeze me as tightly as you want and get my shirt as wet as you want. I won’t go anywhere.”
She nods against his chest as more tears fall, and I find myself backing away.
This is what I find Kearan doing when he’s not on duty? Comforting a child?
Damn him.
Damn him to the stars and back.
FIRST THING THE NEXT morning, I rouse Roslyn from her bunk before the day crew even rises to prepare for their shifts.
Her sleepy eyes widen when she sees me hovering over her bunk. “What is it? We can’t have reached the Seventeen Isles yet!”
“Shh. No. Grab your dagger and meet me on deck.”
The weather is a bit chillier than it was yesterday. We’re slowly making the transition from the tropics to more temperate climates the farther north we go. The cooler air feels nice in my lungs, and I take a deep breath.
Roslyn’s changed her clothes and slid on her knife holster by the time she reaches me. She looks thoroughly confused when she notes that it’s just the two of us at the fore of the ship.
“Don’t be seen or heard,” I say.
Her face turns downcast as she says, “For the rest of the trip, you mean?”
“It’s the first rule of being an assassin.”
It takes her a moment, but her eyes widen, and her smile comes out in full force. “Don’t be seen or heard,” she repeats.
“Take out your knife and walk around the deck. Learn which floorboards creak. Follow the pirates on board without them knowing you’re there. Learn to place yourself in shadows and little nooks.”
“Why do I need to have my dagger out while I do it?”
“Because assassins must often be sneaking about while balancing their weapons, but for stars’ sake, do not stab anyone.”
“I won’t,” she promises.
“When you’re ready, we’ll move on to the second rule.”
“How will I know when I’m ready?”
“Bring me a secret. Something you observe or overhear. Not something trivial. Something good. Then I’ll know you’re ready.”
She gets to work that very instant. She tests her little feet out on every square inch of the ship. From my usual position on the aftercastle, I watch her following her crewmates around. More often than not, they catch her and ask what on earth she’s doing.
But she is undeterred. If she’s not up in that crow’s nest keeping lookout, she’s snaking her way through the ship, desperate to catch a juicy secret to bring me. I hadn’t realized just how busy it would keep her. I thought for sure she’d grow bored by the task, but she’s more determined than I’ve ever seen her.
“Something weird is happening with the little one,” Dimella informs me one day. “I caught her riffling through the ship’s log. It’s not exactly a thrilling read.”
“She’s hunting for secrets,” I say.
“In the ship’s log?”
“Do you not have a personal journal that you write in at night?” I ask my first mate.
“I do,” she says, her voice showing her surprise at my noticing.
“And was your journal where you’d left it after you spotted her at the ship’s log?”
“No, I thought I’d maybe forgotten where I—That little sneak!”
I fight a smile as Dimella goes to punish the little one as she sees fit. Later that day, I find Roslyn swabbing the deck instead of enjoying her time off.
“Captain,” she says. “Couldn’t you tell Dimella the nature of our lessons to get me out of this?”
“Oh, no. If you get caught as an assassin, the consequences are far worse than extra chores. This is how you learn not to get caught. Be more careful next time.”
She grumbles, “Dimella doesn’t have any juicy secrets anyway. That journal is as dull as the ship’s log.”
“Keep looking.”
She does so, and the crew is so busy trying to keep her out of their things that they’re far too distracted to notice me observing them, even in broad daylight.
Kearan’s new patterns prove to be … unexpected.
For one, he’s on the move more than I would have thought. He takes his exercise routine very seriously, and he’s often running up and down the stairs belowdecks or hauling items out of the cargo hold and then repacking them. He’ll do push-ups and sit-ups next to his bunk or some weird movement where he jumps into the air over and over again.
He works himself up into a sweat, then cleans himself off. He likes to take naps every once in a while, and he still talks in his sleep. Rarely are the words understandable. But sometimes he’ll say a name. “Enwen.” “Alosa.” And once. Just once. I hear him say my name.
“Sorinda.”
Must be having a nightmare.
If he’s not exercising, he’ll be playing cards with the lads or chatting with Roslyn. He seems to spend more time with her than anyone else. For some reason, my mind can’t wrap itself around the fact that he’s good at talking to children. In fact, he’s good at talking to everyone.
He jokes with the lads, makes polite conversation with the lasses. I even witnessed him make Dimella laugh, though I was too far away to hear what he said. The only person he isn’t nice to is Enwen. But only sometimes.
They’re perfectly fine until Enwen makes some comment to specifically address their friendship. Then Kearan gets all defensive.
Yet Enwen continues to bring it up, and Kearan continues to contest the label.
“Kearan, could you please pass me the water jug?” Enwen asks during the midday meal.
Kearan does so, and Enwen says, “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
Kearan picks up his tray and switches tables.
I eye Enwen. “Why do you do that? Goad him so?”
“One of these days, I’ll get him to admit it, Captain.”
“What’s his deal?” Dimella asks from where she sits next to me.
“With me? “Enwen asks. “I’m not sure. But in general? There’s definitely something he’s hiding. A trauma, most likely. And the only way to deal with trauma is to address it. Over and over again until it doesn’t hurt you anymore.”
“How would you know about trauma?” My question exactly.
“Everyone assumes I’ve led such a happy life because I’m such a happy bloke. Do you think I’m a good thief because I had all this free time on my hands? No, I had a keeper on the streets, and if I didn’t bring him enough valuables to satisfy his greed, I didn’t get a proper place to sleep or food in my belly. Nor did I get to keep my skin free of his beatings. My friends who weren’t as good at thieving didn’t make it.”
“I hope you killed the bastard,” Dimella says.
“As soon as I was big enough to take him on.”
“Good.”
“Point is, I don’t let my humble beginnings get to me. Neither should Kearan.”
“Not all traumas are created equal,” I say.
“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean anyone should have to continue to be hurt by them.”
I finish my drink before also switching tables.