Chapter 12
Teuila and Zimri wait at the top of the stairs in the blubber room, wearing nearly identical expressions of faint concern despite their very different appearances. It would be funny if I weren’t so shaken.
“What’s going on?” I ask as Silas brushes past on his way to his cabin.
“Nothing to worry about,” Zimri says at the same time Teuila says, “I’m sure everything will be fine, but you’re requested in the captain’s stateroom.”
I frown. What does Mance want? I’ve never had a private audience with him before, never wanted to. August has always been there to mediate, but he’s nowhere in sight. Probably still on deck bonding with his whaleboat crew.
And who, or what, was bleeding down in the hold?
The heartbreak bloodthirst shifts restlessly deep inside me, wanting to return and investigate.
Of course, it’s no strange thing for a whaleship to smell like blood.
Most ships are soaked with it, the unavoidable result of doing the cutting-in of dead whales on deck.
But the Heralder is a new ship; this is her maiden voyage.
The stateroom—the captain’s quarters—is less grand than its name would suggest, though still a generous size for a room belowdecks on a ship.
A curtained-off bunk on the far side, a dresser, a writing desk, maps tacked up over the walls, all of it smelling of sweat and cigarettes.
And in the middle, an aged oak dining table where sit Mance, Lydia—and Kit. My little brother.
My spine stiffens with shock as they both shoot to their feet, Lydia holding Kit’s hand and dragging him upright. Kit is ragged and rumpled, wearing sailor’s clothes much too big for him, and he’s trembling with what must be nervousness, but his eyes are bright.
“Mama and Papa always told us we had to stick together,” Lydia says, her voice quiet but resolved, shoulders squared. “They said—”
“Silence yourself,” Mance barks at her before whirling on me. “My quartermaster found the boy stuffed in a cabinet in the galley. The girl was sneaking food to him.”
What were they thinking? I can’t catch my breath, panic rising in me.
The two bread rolls spilling out of Lydia’s satchel flash through my mind.
Her shifty gaze when she said she was helping out in the kitchen.
It was bad enough for her to be on this voyage I know will be dangerous.
But Kit—as much as I knew I’d miss him, never in a thousand years would I have wanted him along. Not to Kielstraat. Not to Drekja.
“They said that the world would try to split us apart, but we couldn’t let it.” Lydia’s words spill out fast, her eyes hard. “That’s why, Annie.”
I can’t keep them safe here. The fear spirals up in me, pain pricking my arms and the tips of my fingers, sensing a threat to the remains of my heart. I try to breathe, curling my gloved hands into fists. “How did you get on board?” I ask stupidly, the only question I can think of.
Kit brightens—something he knows the answer to—but before he says anything, Mance practically spits at them, “Out, both of you. We need to have a little discussion. Your sister will come to you after.”
Lydia starts to object, but I level her with a furious gaze, and something in her seems to wilt. She grabs Kit’s hand and shepherds him from the room. I want nothing more as they pass but to reach out and hug them, but I know I can’t, even if I didn’t feel rooted to the ground.
“Well?” Mance barks as soon as the door falls shut behind them. “What do you have to say?”
“I apologize on behalf of my siblings,” I say with as much authority as I can, which isn’t much; my voice trembles with surprise. I have to resist the urge to stuff my hands in my pockets. “Clearly, I didn’t know about this. I don’t know how my brother got on board.”
“Save your apologies,” Mance says. “What I want to know, Lady Fairfax, is what do we do with them? It’s bad enough to have women on my ship. I didn’t sign up to have children too.”
Anger will only make everything worse, will only accelerate the scales pricking at the underside of my skin, so I breathe deep and force myself not to react to how my name drips with his scorn. “We’re barely two days out of Kirkrell. Can’t we just turn around and take them home?”
Mance scoffs, like I’m a pitiable fool for even suggesting it.
“That would lose us at least five days and likely more. We’d be sailing against the wind.
I wouldn’t expect you to understand, girl, but these voyages are carefully timed to make the most of the winds and the tides.
Turning back now will throw the whole plan off course and shorten our time in Kielstraat, not to mention making it more likely we’d run afoul of the spring storms.”
“I know our time is dearly bought,” I say, low and cold, reminding him that while he may be captain, he is not to treat me like a servant or a child. “What do you propose, then, Mr. Mance? A sailor of your caliber, I’d expect to have a solution to any problem.”
He scowls, the expression carving the lines in his reddened, weatherworn face deeper. “Unloading them when we restock at Nunaqvik.”
“And how would they get home from Nunaqvik?” I inquire icily.
“Plenty of ships going south. Trains, even.” He leans back on the table, produces a cigarette, and lights it.
“A fifteen-year-old and an eleven-year-old can’t take an international journey alone.”
“They won’t have to. You’ll be disembarking with them.”
“That’s not an option,” I say, forcing myself not to clench my fists any tighter, afraid that I’ll break the skin and then have to explain torn, bloody gloves.
“Well, I can’t spare any of my men to babysit them on the way back to Kirkrell.” Foul smoke wafts toward my face. “Maybe one of the ladies from the scavenger crew.”
I bite back what I really want to say—that though I’ve only known Josephine and Teuila a short while, I’d lay our family fortune down that they’re as capable sailors as any of the Heralder men. “Then we’ll just have to keep them with us. I’ll see to it that they stay out of trouble.”
I can tell Mance wants to shout more by how his scowl stays etched on his face, but evidently he’s remembered his position vis-à-vis mine.
“See to it that you do,” he says sourly, then turns on his heel and seats himself at the writing desk, a clear dismissal.
“Send Hargreave in here if you see him; we have matters to discuss.”
I respond with a curt nod and leave the room as quickly as I can.
Out in the hallway, Kit and Lydia turn to me, two anxious faces that look so much like my own.
A mixture of love and anger twists at my heart.
They are my reason for living, but it’s difficult enough to get Mance and the others to take me seriously without them humiliating me by their deception.
“My cabin,” I say, jerking my chin at the stairs.
Just as we’re about the climb the narrow staircase to above deck, August emerges from it. News must have traveled quickly, because he doesn’t look surprised to see Kit, instead greeting my brother with a clap on the shoulder. “Mr. Fairfax.” Then he looks up and trains his warm smile on me.
“August!” Kit practically glows. He adores August, always has, mostly since August will listen to his long treatises about the books he’s read.
Usually it charms me, but I’m still furious about my fiancé passing me over for the whaleboat crews. I meet his smile with a stony gaze. “Captain wants to speak with you.”
His smile flickers. He nods and goes to pass me, but pauses to bend and speak into my ear, warm air stirring the hair at my temple. “My cabin after?”
Warmth blooms automatically in me, but I keep my face blank. He won’t be able to assuage me that easily. “Maybe,” I say and brush past him.
A moment later, I catch up with Kit and Lydia in my cabin. The instant the door is closed, a small body collides with mine. My breath goes out of me in an oof as Kit’s arms come up around me, holding tight as he presses his face into my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” he mumbles into my shirt. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
It’s not a decision to bring my arms up to wrap around him, careful not to hold too tight.
I lay my cheek on the top of his head, and for just a moment my anger and fear recede; I could be home again, everything could be all right.
Then I open my eyes to see Lydia looking stonily at me, something clearly on her mind.
As if I’m the one at fault here. I disentangle from Kit.
“Just what in Maker’s name were you two thinking? ”
The little room is crowded with three of us in it.
Kit bounces nervously on his toes, taking a deep breath, but Lydia silences him with a gesture before he can start talking.
She’s imperious, with a lifted chin and her arms crossed over her chest. Sometimes in moments like these I think she should have been firstborn.
“I was thinking,” she says, somehow both hotly and deliberately, “that you’re heartbroken—”
My breath catches and my eyes flit to Kit, expecting to see confusion. But his expression stays the same. With a shock, I realize Lydia must have told him everything. About the heartbreak curse, about me.
“—that you’re sailing into dangerous waters,” Lydia is saying, “the place where Mama and Papa died, with a harebrained plan to find the finfolk and convince them somehow to cure you. I was thinking there’s a thousand, a million things that could go wrong, even if you’ve deluded yourself into thinking otherwise. ”
“I’m not delusional,” I retort. “Do you think I don’t know how far-fetched it all sounds?
I know anything could go wrong. That’s why I wanted you both to stay home.
” My hands worry at my sleeves. “But without going to Drekja, I have no chance at all to save myself from the heartbreak. A chance is better than no chance.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t try. But we deserve the chance to be with you.” In case it doesn’t work out, is the unspoken second half of the sentence. “Besides, what if we can help? Kit knows more about the finfolk than practically anyone.” Lydia nods at Kit, who brightens at the praise.
“It’s not in any of the books, that they’ll lift curses,” he offers up. “So how do you know they’ll do it for you?”
I bite my lip as Lydia raises her brows expectantly.
Before, I didn’t tell her about my side of the bargain with Silas, and in the hectic swirl of adding her to the voyage at the last minute, I was able to brush her questions about the particulars aside.
But now it seems I won’t get off the hook so easily.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure the door is closed and then take a step closer to my brother and sister, finding a small measure of comfort when they don’t back away. “Remember how Father told us that sometimes you must do things that are difficult or even frightening for the greater good?”
Kit bites his lip and nods.
“Silas Price is half finfolk,” I tell them quietly, causing Kit to perk up with interest and Lydia to go pale. “He said he could make sure I’m healed if I go to Drekja.”
Silence for a stretching moment, then Lydia says, “And you believe him?” Her eyebrows are so far up now they disappear into her bangs. She huffs a sigh and plops down to sit on the bed, arms still crossed.
I shrug, suddenly feeling very tired, and slide down to sit cross-legged on the floor. Kit does too, and I have a flash of memory of being a child—Mama curled in the armchair in the sitting room and reading us a story, the three of us sitting on the floor around her feet.
“It’s a fair question,” I admit to Lydia. Maker knows it’s a fair question. “But what choice do I have? Heartbreak is a finfolk curse, so it makes sense that the finfolk could cure it.”
“And what have you promised him in return?” Her gaze pins me in place. “The finfolk always want something in return.”
I look down at the floor, tracing the knots and whorls in the rough-hewn floorboards. “He asked me to dissolve the company and stop killing whales.”
Kit’s eyes widen and Lydia’s face hardens into a glare. “And what did you say?”
“What do you think?” I hiss quietly, the words edging close to a snap. “Of course I agreed. It doesn’t mean I actually plan to do it. I intend to get to Drekja, be healed by the fae queen, and figure out what to do from there. But this family, and the company, is my first priority.”
“What makes you think Price will keep his word?” she presses, her eyes boring into mine. “Don’t you remember Mama’s stories? The finfolk are full of tricks.”
I can hear the uncertainty in her voice beneath the brittle surface.
I know that Papa taught her, just like he taught me, to hide fear at all costs, that it was better to appear harsh or even domineering than to reveal doubt.
So I understand why she’s acting like this, but that doesn’t make it any easier on the receiving end.
It feels like my chest has cracked open, like icy air is trickling between my ribs.
“I do remember,” I say. “But I’ve researched this for years, I’ve asked everywhere, and there’s no other cure, not one made by human hands. It’s either trust Silas or give up and turn monster. Would you prefer I do that?”
“When Papa told us sometimes we would have to do hard things, I don’t think he meant allying with our oldest enemy,” Lydia says loftily.
My heart twists when she doesn’t answer my last question; my arms prickle with the promise of scales. It’s going to be a miserable time plucking them out tomorrow. Of course she has a right to be upset with me, angry even, after all the secrets I’ve kept.
But she’s looking at me like I’ve failed her utterly.
I decide here and now: if there’s no way to get them safely home, protecting them during this voyage will be my first priority. Higher even than healing my heartbreak. I will not fail my siblings again.
Still, their disappointment stings like salt water in a wound, the feeling that I’ve done everything wrong.
Every choice I’ve made since our parents died has been for them.
To try to shield them from danger. And this is when Lydia decides to take matters into her own hands?
Now all of us are in danger on this ship heading to the cold north, the domain of the finfolk, with the line between ally and enemy so thin as to be invisible.