The Boundless

by Anna Bright

  Until I sorted out what that meant—precisely who and what I wanted to be—I kept to the crow’s nest, and kept only Cobie’s company.

  We watched the banks along the canals, and then the banks of the Reyn when we passed into it from the Canal Route. The river threaded the bottom of a valley whose walls Cobie once said had been wooded. I tried to imagine it as it must have been—deep green forest shrouding the hills, full of secrets and safe places to hide.

  But the banks we sailed past now were lined with outposts for gray-uniformed soldiers and with timberlands ravaged to stumps. Villages carefully contained inside walls were scattered across absolute emptiness; we passed no lonely huts, no stragglers making camp on their own.

  We encountered none of the horrors for which the tsarytsya was infamous as we sliced along the edge of her territory. But in the bleak little hamlets and the disenchanted forests we passed, it was impossible to miss what had been lost to this land.

  It was impossible to see it all and not think of what lay in wait for us deeper within the Imperiya.

  “Will and I weren’t involved. I want you to know that,” Cobie suddenly said to me, about a week after we’d fled Asgard. “We knew, but we didn’t help. All I did was watch for the Beholder’s return from Odense.”

  I nodded.

  “We needed the work. That’s why when Lang told the crew we were making a cargo run as well, I didn’t leave.” A gust of wind lifted her dark hair from her shoulders, and she pushed a tangle behind her ear. “He said the only rule was we all had to keep our mouths shut around Perrault and J.J. And you, of course.”

  “Of course,” I echoed hollowly, swallowing hard. “And everyone else knew?”

  Cobie nodded. “Yasumaro and Jeanne were like me and Will, though. They knew, but they mostly stayed out of it.” She paused. “‘Cela ne me concerne pas,’ Jeanne kept saying.”

  It’s none of my business.

  I nodded, reviewing the rest of them in my mind. Lang. Yu. Homer. Andersen. Vishnu. Basile. Skop. They had all done this behind my back.

  I gnawed my lip. “Why didn’t he just tell me?” I asked.

  “We didn’t know you,” Cobie said. “And once we did—I think Lang thought you were safest not knowing. You were already walking into so much uncertainty. He wanted to protect you.”

  That’s our place, Lang had told me. That’s where we belong. Between you and everyone else.

  I envied his surety.

  We sailed on, the riverbanks slipping past us. The sky above was unlike Norge’s bright blue or England’s soft pearl-colored light; it was a sulfurous yellow-gray, the sun shining high and harsh on the earth left bare between the hacked-down stumps. “Why is so much of this forest cut down?” I asked.

  “I think the tsarytsya’s soldiers did it,” Cobie said, squinting against the unforgiving light. “She and her wolves laid claim to the timber after they conquered Deutschland.”

  Again, I imagined the forests as they must have been—quiet, a home for animals and for those who preferred their own company. “And they left no place to hide.”

  Cobie cocked an eyebrow at me. “There’s always someplace to hide, Selah.” She nodded significantly at the two of us, sitting high above deck in the crow’s nest.

  “I’m not hiding,” I bit out.

  “Prove it.”

  “Fine,” I snapped.

  Cobie was right. It was time to face the others.

  I clambered down the rope, bypassing Yasumaro and his searching gaze at the helm as I made my way to Homer’s cabin, where I’d seen him convened with Andersen, Yu, and Lang earlier. Lang’s quarters would have done, as well, but our navigator inspired confidence—a cast-iron belief the others seemed to lean on, as well.

  I could hardly admit it to myself, but I missed Homer. I missed all of them. I wanted to move past my anger and hurt and tell them what I knew: that games were already afoot at Katz Castle, and they might involve the resistance.

  They had told me the truth; I would do the same. The ground beneath our feet would be level. We could make a fresh start.

  Still, I paused outside the navigator’s door for a long breath before I walked inside.

  Homer, Lang, Yu, and Andersen were standing over the map at Homer’s table, looking grave.

  Lang straightened when I walked in, dark eyes searching me as if they were picking my pockets, his expression strangely unguarded. It struck me afresh how much younger he was than Yu and Homer. How unprepared he might feel, compared to others who had seen more and done more.

  My fingers wound the sinuous route from England to Norge, from Norge across the sea to the Canal Route to the Reyn. If our map were magic, perhaps it would show us there, one ship along its blue length, a dozen or so interlopers ready to invade the gray mass at its core.

  “Selah.” Homer’s voice was like gravel. “What do you need?” If the older man felt uncertain, his face gave no hint of it.

  I swallowed. “Anything?” I asked. “Any fresh leads?”

  Yu shook his head. “We have no new information.” His voice was even, but there was disappointment at the back of it.

  I felt a sudden wash of sympathy; it was no surprise, how tired and drawn they looked. They were trying to help the Waldleute, but they had so little to go on.

  I hoped I could be the one to change that.

  I drew close to the table. “I had an idea.” Andersen brightened.

  “We’d welcome your suggestions, Seneschal-elect,” Lang said, nodding amicably. He hardly took his eyes off the map as he spoke, barely even looked at me.

  Big of you, I wanted to grumble. But acting like a child wouldn’t inspire them to listen.

  “What if we used my radio to contact the Waldleute?” I asked. “If we could reach out to them before we arrived in Shvartsval’d, it might save us time. We could even leave before my appointed two weeks are up—make up an excuse to go home early.”

  No one spoke for a long moment. They exchanged glances, all seeming to choose their words carefully. Yu’s face was even harder than usual, and Andersen looked wilted, his shoulders slumped uncomfortably, his hair seeming to droop.

  Had I spoken too eagerly? Had I come across as a child anyway?

  “What is it?” I finally asked.

  “We don’t have a channel for speaking to the Waldleute,” Yu said, pragmatic as ever.

  “Well,” I began, then paused, uncertain how to explain what I’d overheard.

  But Homer spoke first. “What Yu is trying to say is that we’ve already tried.” He watched me with clear eyes, grizzled arms crossed over his chest. “Just a day or two ago.”

  “You’ve already—” I glanced around the cabin, frowning. “You have a radio here?” My gaze jumped around, confused. Andersen ducked his head, looking more than a little like J.J.

  Lang walked to Homer’s bookcase and retrieved a small black object and held it out to me. “Our intelligence said we’d be passing a radio tower a few days ago, so we borrowed yours then,” he said, tone careful. “We tried to hail the Waldleute. Couldn’t raise them.”

  My radio was in Lang’s hand.

  “You—” I shook my head. “You went into my room?”

  Lang didn’t answer.

  “Did you search my things?” My voice rose.

  “Your book was on your bed.” He bit his lip. “I didn’t think you would object.”

  “Obviously I don’t object, as I’m here, offering it.” My anger mounted. “But what right do you have to take my things?”

  “Requisitioning of resources is common in wartime,” Homer said mildly.

  “Except I don’t answer to you!” I shot back.

  Andersen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you we should’ve told her,” he mumbled, speaking for the first time.

  “Yes, you should have.” I snatched the radio from Lang’s hand and pushed toward the door.

  “It’s probably best you don’t use it for now,” Homer said to my back.

>   I turned, staring at him. My radio was my only means of hearing from my godmother—of obtaining information about Daddy. “Why?”

  “It’s possible the Imperiya could use any signal your radio emits or receives to determine our location.”

  “But you used it,” I said.

  Yu shrugged. “A calculated risk.”

  “Your calculations,” I spat. “Not mine.”

  “We—” Lang began again, then broke off. His eyes were guilty, but he said nothing more.

  It was too much. My blood had been boiling, simmering, seething for days. It ran thick now, and hot with anger.

  I’d come to them in good faith, with valuable information. And again, they’d treated me like a child. Like a figurehead. Like nothing more than cover for them while they did the real work behind the scenes.

  I would tell them nothing. They would regret not having trusted me. And for once, I didn’t care what it cost.

  Homer’s door gave off a report like a shot when I threw it open against the opposing wall, then another when I slammed it behind me.

  “Selah!” Lang called after me. He chased me down the stairs to the hold. “Selah, wait!”

  He caught me by my empty hand, and I wrenched my fingers from his. “Never again, Lang. You are never, ever to invade my privacy again.” My heart raced. What if he had seen something I hadn’t wanted him to see? What if I had done something more personal with the back of my godmother’s book than mark passing time?

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Lang shook his head, so earnest. “I’m sorry, Selah. I’ll never do it again.”

  If they had come to me, I would have helped them. I would have told them how to contact the Waldleute while we were still within range of a tower.

  I would keep my information to myself now. I would do with it what I thought best.

  My jaw worked. “You’re right. You won’t. I’m going to start locking my door.”

  “I never will.” There was a catch in Lang’s voice.

  I paused. “What?”

  “I will never lock my door to you,” he said quietly. He took one, two steps closer to me—not so close that I felt pinned between him and the wall, but close enough that I could feel him as well as hear the uncertain rhythm of his breath. Smell the salt on his skin, like sweat, like the ocean. “I had no right to invade your privacy, but you can lay claim to mine. If you ever decide you’d like to.”

  I forced my chin up. His eyes fixed, dark, on mine.

  “Does that mean you’re going to start including me?” I asked, voice shaking. “Tell me things? Let me in on your plans?”

  “It’s—” Lang broke off, stepping back, shaking his head. It broke the spell between us. “Selah, I don’t want you any more involved in this than you have to be. It’s just not safe.”

  I bit my lip, holding his gaze.

  Nothing had changed. I was still a child to him. Still a prize to be guarded.

  I turned and walked away.

  5

  I passed Lang’s closed cabin door a dozen times in the next two days. I stomped resolutely past it, refusing to see if it would open beneath my touch, as Lang had said it would.

  I was angry. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t want his guilt offering, whatever it meant, so I stayed away. But as we drew nearer the court at Shvartsval’d, Perrault was unavoidable.

  “Have you reviewed the contents of your third suitor’s profile?” he demanded one day during dinner.

  “Yes.” I set down the pot of soup I’d been carrying.

  Perrault smiled with relief; then, seeming to notice my flat expression, tried a different tack. “They haven’t given us much to go on regarding the fürst’s personality or interests,” he said, almost conspiratorially, dogging me back to the kitchen. “I’ll have to develop ideas for the two of you once we’ve arrived at Katz Castle and I’ve had an opportunity to assess the court. We’ll see if inspiration strikes.”

  It was the height of foolishness to talk this way. Torden was behind me. And surely, so was the part of my trip where we pretended among ourselves that I cared whom I courted.

  “Whatever you think is best, Perrault,” I said wearily, and turned back to the sink.

  “Selah.” His tone was abruptly sober. “Stop. Sit. We are nearly at Katz Castle’s door, and I need to speak with you.”

  His voice and the worried lines on his face gave me pause. I swallowed and wiped my hands on my apron. “All right.”

  The crew quieted a little as I took a seat at the table across from Perrault. It had been days—weeks—since I’d sat with them. My gaze snagged on Skop’s, but only for a moment before I looked away.

  Perrault’s rosebud mouth and dark eyes were serious. He knitted his hands together. “We’re sailing into the Imperiya, Selah. You need to be prepared.”

  I nearly fired back a retort—Oh, I thought I’d just try being myself! I wanted to spit at him.

  I’ve been spending too much time with Cobie, I thought.

  But it wasn’t Cobie’s influence that had sharpened my tongue. My anger was my own, a gift from the ones who’d lied to my face and worked behind my back. But Cobie wasn’t guilty of that deception, and neither, I realized for the first time, was Perrault.

  Many as his sins were, he’d always been forthright about what he wanted from me.

  I sighed. “Tell me,” I said, soft and serious as I’d ever been for the nuns who taught me growing up. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  The crew seemed to retreat to the edges of the galley, outside the halo of lamplight that surrounded Perrault and me, as he spoke.

  “You must understand,” Perrault said as he began, “that Imperiya law impedes the open flow of information. The happenings in one corner of the tsarytsya’s land are as mysterious to the rest of it as they are to us outside; there are no writers or newspapers documenting what happens inside her borders. This,” he said, fingers tightening around one another, “is the best information I have.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.” Perrault leaned slightly forward. “The first rule you already know: no books. Though the tsarytsya circulates her own propaganda, there are—as I’ve said—no independent publishers operating openly inside the Imperiya. Not even in Shvartsval’d, at its borders, where I suspect the rules may be more relaxed. Promise me you will leave your storybook behind,” Perrault said.

  “I promise,” I said without hesitating.

  It stung, the idea of abandoning the book. But if I’d learned anything from fairy-tale heroines, it was to trust wisdom when I heard it.

  “The second rule follows from the first: no unapproved art,” Perrault said. “The tsarytsya commissions art for the glory of the Imperiya, but art that subverts her worldview is prohibited—and what constitutes subversion is not always clear,” he said carefully, pale forehead creasing in thought. “I would suggest you avoid creating or discussing art altogether. No painting, no sketching, no singing, no playing instruments. The tsarytsya’s followers even dress all in gray in support of her leadership. Again, standards may be more relaxed at the border, but I cannot say how much.”

  “I’m not an artist,” I said, faltering a little. “I can’t sing or draw or play anything.”

  “I never thought I’d find lack of accomplishment such a relief,” Perrault said with a touch of his former pomposity. He rubbed his temples. “The third rule prohibits any and all religious practice.” He paused. “I doubt it would be effective for me to ask you to cease to practice entirely, and indeed I suppose there’s no need for you to. But I ask you to restrict it to the privacy of your thoughts, for your own safety and that of those traveling with you.”

  Again, I didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

  Perrault must have heard the sincerity in my voice, because his pallor lessened a little, and his fingers unclenched just a bit. “The final rule,” he said, “is linguistic unity. The tsarytsya seeks a unified culture, and to her mind, the exclusive use of Yotne is
essential to that goal. You know that when she conquers countries, she breaks them up on unnatural fault lines, intentionally disregarding historic and cultural boundary lines. She renames these, her terytoriy, toward the end of reshaping their identity. The court will speak Yotne, in accordance with this thinking, and you will do your best, speaking English, with me as your translator.”

  I nodded. “So I’m not to refer to Deutschland as Deutschland,” I said lightly, staring at my hands.

  “No.” Perrault spoke so forcefully I drew back. “It is Shvartsval’d for the purposes of our trip, which are limited, in my opinion, to keeping you safe.” When I looked up, his eyes were dark with worry, concern etched again into his brow. “Please, Seneschal-elect. Have a care.”

  Where, I wondered, was the supercilious friend of my stepmother I’d met in Potomac the night before we left? Where was the protocol officer appalled by my table manners, who’d cornered me and criticized me in Winchester when he thought I’d upend his plans for a quick engagement?

  I wondered if he’d come to care for me by accident.

  I wondered if he’d come to regret it.

  “Be unremarkable,” he finally said, “and perhaps this visit will go unremarked. Abide by the rules for two weeks, gracefully receive any proposal Fritz may issue, and my counterpart in Shvartsval’d—whatever low-ranked hanger-on issued this invitation on the duke’s behalf—may forget you as soon as you pass from his sight.”

  I bit my lip. “And you think if I play my cards carefully, the tsarytsya may never even know we were there?”

  “Gambling metaphors are unsuitable for ladies,” Perrault said automatically, then shook himself. “But yes. Her Imperiya is wide and the hertsoh is a minor nobleman. I don’t believe she’ll notice you if you do not draw her eye.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I promised.

  I suddenly wished for a cup of tea or something to do with my hands—anything to distract me from the truth I was keeping from Perrault. That I would flout all his warnings and break my promise if our mission required I do so. It almost made me feel guilty.

  The crew began to shift to life slowly after that—the fold of paper in Andersen’s hands, the wash of water over a pot as Will tended to what I’d left back in the kitchen, a yawn escaping J.J. as he slumped on his bench.