Chapter Fourteen #4
“That was an exception.” There was fire, death, mayhem.
Now … She couldn’t afford charity trips, not anymore.
Looking at the tent and Yarrow’s family, she doubted they could afford to pay her, and how could she ask them to?
They’d already lost so much. Her stomach churned.
Maybe they’ll want to stay here. Maybe I don’t need to do anything more than what I’ve already done.
She’d delivered the letter. She’d done what she’d promised to do and then some—she’d confirmed that they were alive and safe, relatively speaking.
Searching for them had already taken up more time than she’d meant to spend in Alyssium.
She hadn’t picked up any new jobs, and if she filled her hold with refugees, she wouldn’t be able to, not until after she’d dropped them off.
She’d lose at least a week of her time until Iovar’s deadline.
She had to look after her own family. Her parents needed her.
If things were different, if she were flush with money, if her parents’ future was secure, if there wasn’t Iovar’s threat that he’d evict them in less than two months …
or worse. If the Merchant Bank decided their home wasn’t sufficient collateral, there were a hundred different, equally horrible ways for debtors to repay what they owed, and most of them weren’t suited for a sweet pie-making older couple who just wanted to sail around nearby islands and come home to take care of their winged cats.
These people will have to find someone else.
I’m not their savior.
She was just a daughter who had to help her parents. That’s all she could be right now.
If they asked, she was going to have to say no.
She’d delivered the letter. They were going to have to find their own way to Belde.
She’d counted on just bringing a reply and possibly one gardener back to Belde, leaving plenty of room for other cargo.
I can do that much, but no more. This—translocating an entire family—was not in her plan.
Since it was clear she wasn’t going to find a job in Alyssium—at least not without staying longer and risking her boat and Perri and all of them, which she was absolutely not willing to do—then she was going to have to resume her normal routes and try to scrape together extra runs in the outer islands.
At best, she could transport one person plus their luggage.
Any more than that … it wasn’t going to be possible.
She had to think about her parents and be sensible.
She wasn’t and had never wanted to be anyone’s hero.
Just a good daughter and a good sailor, that’s all.
Entirely too many people had poured out of the tent to cluster around Yarrow’s father and read the letter. It was passed from person to person, each of them murmuring louder and louder. She heard the hope in their voices, desperate and raw, and it tugged at her.
“If they ask,” Marin whispered to Dax, “I’m going to have to say no.” She hoped he understood why. She hoped he didn’t think less of her.
They didn’t ask, though.
Ree did.
The shrub leaned his branches against her ankle. If he’d had eyes, she knew he’d be looking up at her with them wide, tears pooled. “Marin, they’re my family.”
Marin sucked in air.
In her ear, Dax said softly, “It’s your ship, your livelihood. If you need to say no, then say no. Everyone will understand. Even Ree, eventually.”
I need to say no.
The tent was stuffed with all their belongings—she could see the trunks and dressers and tables and chairs—which they’d undoubtedly want to bring with them, filling her hold with their bodies and their stuff.
She’d been right: if she took them, she’d have zero room for any other cargo.
Zero jobs for as long as it took to sail to Belde, when she needed every single bit of money she could scrape together to have even a chance of paying back Iovar by the deadline.
Dax’s hand was hovering next to hers, as if he was ready to take her hand, if she wanted him to.
She twitched her fingers and brushed his.
He closed his hand around hers. His hand was warm and soft, and she knew he meant what he said.
Whether he agreed with her or not, he’d support her. Maybe he even understood why.
Yarrow’s family was watching her, silent, with eyes wide. One of the women had deep bruise-like circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. At Marin’s feet, Ree was trembling, his leaves shaking lightly.
Her resolve lasted less than thirty seconds.
She couldn’t say no to Ree.
Knowing she’d regret this, she asked, “How many in your family?”
“Ten,” Birch said.
“Twelve,” Rowan countered.
He looked at her.
She nodded at a pale green-skinned woman whose arms were wrapped around a toddler. Both had startlingly white hair. The woman was too thin, and the toddler’s eyes were too bright, as if he’d run out of tears and only had a sheen of liquid left in his eyes.
“Twelve,” Birch said with a sigh.
Ugh, twelve. Plus her, Dax, and Ree. It would be crowded, even with the sorcerer’s expansion.
They wouldn’t all be able to be on deck at the same time, which meant her passengers would be stuffed in Silver’s hold for most of the trip.
It wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone. But Ree was beside her, quivering.
I can’t do it. I can’t say no. They needed an escape; she could give them one.
“My ship, my rules,” Marin said in a low voice.
“You gather your twelve and everything you want to bring. You tell no one you’re going. No goodbyes.”
A pale blue woman with apple-round cheeks asked, “No goodbyes? Why?”
“I am certain you aren’t the only ones who want to leave,” Marin said.
Softly, Birch said, “She’s afraid it’ll start a stampede. Or a riot.”
Exactly that. “Overloaded boats sink. You want to come, you come quietly.”
Rowan gripped the blue woman’s hand. “We can’t leave invisibly. People will see. They’ll ask. They’ll wonder.”
Birch said, “Tell people we’re moving back near our shop. We’ve decided to rebuild.”
“Fine,” Marin said. It was a smart idea, but she wasn’t in the mood to be impressed.
She wanted to snarl at all of them, even though it wasn’t their fault, even though she was the one who was saying yes.
“Whatever you need to do, whatever you need to say. But we leave now. I want to be out of this city before the moon rises.” Ree was hugging her ankle.
She felt the prickle of his branches jabbing into her skin, as if he was only beginning to realize what he’d asked of her and only beginning to realize that this was potentially dangerous.
One thief had already tried to take her boat.
She was fully aware that this whole plaza, this city, was overflowing with desperate people.
I can’t help them all.
But I can help these twelve.
She tried not to think about how much it was going to set her back with helping her parents. She consoled herself with the thought that they’d approve of aiding these people. She knew them well enough to know they’d have said yes too.
She and Dax helped them pack and carry their belongings, which included, as she’d suspected, everything they’d been able to rescue from the fire, from a chair to a mirror to a trunk, as well as bags, crates, and suitcases.
She didn’t tell them not to bring them; this was everything they owned, every link to their past and to their dreams for the future.
As they carried all their worldly possessions that hadn’t burned to a crisp through the array of tents, she kept silent as they told their neighbors that they were returning to their shop.
Some wished them well; others warned them not to try.
They kept moving.
They reached the dock, and Marin saw them falter when they spotted Perri. “Don’t panic, don’t gawk, and don’t draw attention. He’s a friend,” she told them. “Put everything belowdecks.”
Eyeing the slim sailboat, Rowan objected, “How can more than two or three of us squeeze in, much less all of us? And all of our belongings? Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’ll be tight, but you’ll fit,” Marin said. “You’ll need to spend the bulk of the journey belowdecks, take turns coming up for fresh air.” She crossed her arms and glared at Yarrow’s sister. It is what it is. Take my help or don’t.
Pulling his mother by the hand, the toddler scurried past Marin and Rowan onto the boat and down into the hold.
Following them, Rowan and Yarrow’s other relatives proceeded one by one, their arms full of bags, crates, and whatever else they’d decided to haul with them.
She heard them exclaim as they realized it was larger on the inside, and she kept shooing people down.
Dax and Ree both helped, hurrying everyone along.
Overhead, the stars were beginning to poke through the blue-gray. It was already later than she wanted it to be, but she had no problems with sailing through the night. So long as the archways were still open.
One of Yarrow’s relatives—a woman with faded tattoos of flowers on her cheeks who held an overstuffed box in her arms and a basket strapped to her back—hesitated on the dock. “We’d built a life here,” the woman said sadly.
“I know,” Marin said. And then because she didn’t know what else to say, she added, “I’m sorry.”
The woman shook her head and then squared her shoulders. “Sometimes the world is shit, you know? But we go on.” She repeated softly as if to herself, “We go on.”