Chapter 1 #2
I swallow, trying to force my rising dread back down to its customary place in my chest. It’s always there, but I can’t let it rule me tonight. “We’re taking measures to protect our ships,” I say. “New equipment, new weapons. August will speak to it more at dinner.”
“Will that be enough?” she asks, voice soft.
She looks worried, and that makes my heart twist. The fleet, the whaling, everything to do with the company—it’s meant to be my responsibility.
If the rumblings of discontent among the sailors and shareholders have reached my siblings, I’m already failing in my duties.
I put my gloved hand lightly over hers on the banister, breaking a rule just for a moment, before letting it drop. “We have to be brave.” And then I brush past her and lead the way downstairs.
After I was born, and then Lydia three years later, Papa changed the company bylaws, decreeing that women were to be allowed to sail as crew members on whaleships and even become officers.
He wanted to create a more equitable company for Lydia and me to inherit.
And a handful of the shareholders have always been women.
I grew up attending these meetings at Papa’s side.
He bade me to pay attention, to remember that I would be in his place someday.
But neither of us ever dreamed someday would come so soon.
The entrance hall spreads out beneath us, a sea of people in dark, muted colors traversing the parquet floor, servants in pressed white darting through like gulls.
The Fairfax Whaling Company has around fifty shareholders; they will all be in attendance tonight, along with their families.
Honored guests too, such as the captains who pull in the most barrels of whale blubber and whaleblood and whale meat, and the merchants we do the most business with, who buy those products and fill our company coffers.
Mostly men, they wear blue and black and gray wool, ornamented with brass buttons or brooches made of whale ivory.
The captains and officers—the whalemen—are dressed similarly, but can be distinguished by their faces burnished by sun and wind; the smudges of tattoos peeking from cuffs and collars; the rolling quality to their stride, like they’re unused to walking over solid ground.
Lydia’s already split off from me and is moving through the crowd, her yellow dress bobbing through the dull colors like a daffodil against frozen earth.
An old gray-headed captain looks at me appraisingly as I pass, not bothering with a polite smile.
His eyes remind me that it’s been years since I set foot on a ship that wasn’t anchored in the harbor.
Tonight, the first time I’m to lead the meeting, the familiar scene feels different, overloud, the air too warm, the gazes more piercing than before.
In the six years since Papa died, Grandfather led the meetings in my stead, but now that I’m eighteen and Grandfather’s growing frail, it falls to me.
I know the shareholders are skeptical. I hear the gossip in town when people think I’m out of earshot, read the distressed letters in the paper calling for a change of leadership.
Maybe things would be different if I were older or cleverer.
I can’t help but think that I’m not enough.
But I have August. When a hint of copper on the other side of the room catches my eye, my heartbeat quickens, goes uneven. August holds court with half a dozen shareholders, momentarily revealed by the shifting tides of the people around him, hanging on his words.
Like he senses my gaze, he looks up and his eyes find mine across the room.
Bright blue even from this distance, like chips of ice or the spring sky.
Red-gold hair and a slow, easy smile, the one that feels secret just for me.
His smile has never failed, not even that night six years ago—like a beacon, holding me to life.
Now he shines in the lamplight, looking like a painting in a deep blue coat that matches my dress. A united front.
He means to—
When the right moment comes, I’ll—
No.
It can’t be true. I shove the thought from my mind just as someone hails me. “Lady Fairfax!”
Recognizing the voice, I pull my shoulders back and smile.
It’s Mr. Bildad—the mayor of Kirkrell, and also one of our biggest shareholders.
A man in his sixties with a white-flecked beard and rheumy eyes, dressed in a blue wool suit jacket, he hastens to catch up with me.
“Lady Fairfax, Mr. Hargreave sent a report with the locations of last season’s Livyati sightings, and we’re concerned.
” He walks alongside me, bending close to my ear.
His coat smells musty. “No whales at all were spotted within a hundred miles of Kirkrell, and the number seen in the Aegiran Ocean compared to last autumn is sharply lower—”
“I’ve reviewed the report as well, Mayor Bildad,” I say with what I hope is a reassuring smile, even as I note the ticking of his pulse above his collar.
I can’t let the mayor leave here tonight fretting about my leadership.
True, the Fairfax Whaling Company probably wields more power than the city government here in Kirkrell.
But Bildad also writes reports to the governor on the mainland, which can influence everything from tax rates to where new ports are built.
But it’s hard to think about tax rates when I notice he’s shaved carelessly, leaving a small spot of scabbed-over blood beneath his jaw. How thin his skin must be there. Don’t think about that.
“I don’t know if you appreciate the sharpness of the decline,” he presses. “We send in our reports, but when your father led the company, he sailed out himself and saw how things were on the sea.”
And look where that got him. “Mr. Hargreave and I have a plan to respond,” I say as blandly as possible, “which you’ll hear more about at dinner.”
Possibly it’s the mention of August’s name that makes the old man’s brow smooth out. “Good. That’s wonderful news. I look forward to hearing more.”
“Soon,” I say, still smiling. Mayor Bildad grunts and peels off to talk shop with another shareholder—and the person I see then makes my stomach drop and my smile slide away.
Pale, gray-eyed, with dark curls falling wild around his face, Silas Price carries himself like a soldier stripped of an army, straight-backed and watchful.
Seeing him puts me in mind of freezing water and howling wind and storm clouds blotting out the stars.
Makes my stomach turn over and my hands tremble.
I didn’t know he would be here tonight; his name wasn’t on the guest list. I would have stricken it if it was. His gray eyes are moving, searching. For whom?
Someone else is saying my name. My nails are pressing into my palms, too hard, my skin stinging beneath the gloves and my body rigid. I take a breath and force myself to focus on the woman in front of me—middle-aged, severe, gray hair pulled back in a tight bun.
Angelica Jennings. She’s in charge of purchasing whale magic for use at the Hospital of St. Eulalia’s. As usual, her mouth is turned down and her brow furrowed.
“Madam Jennings, welcome.” The hospital is one of our company’s biggest accounts, purchasing hundreds of barrels a year—primarily of whaleblood, with its healing properties, but also of whale oil, which applied to the skin will keep a person warm even in the dead of winter, and whale meat, which satiates after just a bite eaten. “How are things at the hospital?”
“They would be better if your prices weren’t so damned high.”
Straight to the point then. I keep my smile on. “Madam Jennings, I’m sure you understand that market conditions—”
“Such as?” she cuts in. “To hear your captains tell it, they’re bringing in more whales than ever year over year, even if they have to range ever farther to get them.”
Across the room, August and Silas are speaking. August claps Silas on the shoulder, making Silas stiffen, before they turn away from each other. What are they talking about? Why is Silas even here?
“We’re preparing a new initiative that requires the use of significant resources,” I say, marshaling all my concentration to hold my gaze on Jennings, not stare at my fiancé. “Once completed, it should put us in a position to bring more whale magic than ever to Kirkrell for the people’s benefit.”
No matter that each season brings more unnatural storms. No matter that our ships have to sail farther every year if they want to fill their holds.
Talking to her is a harsh reminder of how much everyone in this city relies on whale magic.
Mothers mix powdered bone of Livyati into their children’s milk to make them strong.
Physicians and hospitals keep stocks of powdered whaleblood.
Churches hand out packets of dried whale meat to beggars to keep them satiated and tins of whale-oil balm to keep frostbite at bay.
How I run the company isn’t merely a matter of profit, or even of upholding my family’s legacy.
It’s life or death for hundreds, maybe thousands.
“How long will this new initiative take?” Madam Jennings inquires, putting a hand on my arm in what’s probably meant to be a friendly gesture, but makes my muscles go rigid and sweat break out on my brow.
She won’t feel anything through the dress. No one will. “Mr. Hargreave will share more details at dinner,” I stammer, suddenly desperate to leave.
“Indeed I will.” His voice curls around me from behind, warm and low, instantly relaxing me even as a shadow of doubt trails in its wake.