“But we do need to move fast,” she said. “If we leave by late morning, we can be in Northern Arrod in a day.”
“A day might be too ambitious,” Loom said.
“Not the way Zay pilots,” Wil said.
Loom laughed.
It had been more than a week now since she’d seen her mother and brothers, since she’d been in the castle that had become too silent. It felt like a lifetime ago, with all that had happened.
He tucked the hair behind her ears. Clouds of breath escaped him and dissolved in the frigid winter air. He was starting to shiver, though he hadn’t complained about the cold.
Wil led them back to the ship. Neither of them could sleep, so they spent the last hour before sunrise on the deck, wrapped in the same blanket and perched back to back, scanning the horizon for any other assassins. None came. Wil almost wished that an assassin would come. This time, she’d demand answers. She would want to know how they had tracked her here, and what Baren had said. Was he telling the entire kingdom about her curse? Then again, who would listen? Something had clearly overtaken him. Something dark and shifty and all-consuming, and anyone who’d had an earful of his ramblings would dismiss him as mad.
Loom didn’t try to discuss it, and she was grateful for that. She was grateful for the comfortable silence that existed between them now. He canted his head until it touched hers, and in that small gesture she knew that things were okay between them. They didn’t always need to understand each other. Riddles and secrets and all, they took each other for what they were. It was enough.
Before the sun rose, Loom set about to rouse everyone.
Wil and Masalee found themselves alone on the deck; it was the first time this had happened without Masalee managing Wil as a hostage.
“I’ll stay with the ship,” Masalee said, decisively but without her usual edge. “You find a buyer.”
Wil supposed this was Masalee’s way of giving her orders, but in truth this had been her own plan as well. Vendors, she knew. Con artists, she could handle. Besides, she had a Northern accent and it would raise no suspicion that she might want a Northern ship and be headed toward Arrod.
Wil nodded to a man standing several yards away. He looked to be in his twenties, and he had ash-blond hair tied in a ponytail. Despite the cold air, he wore a leather vest over his tunic, and no coat. “I’m going to ask him,” Wil said. He was clearly Northern, and he was so clearly at ease with the port, Wil suspected he had spent a great deal of time in the Port Capital.
“What ship are you going to trade for?” Masalee asked.
She had a quiet voice, though not entirely soft. It pulsed with a quiet strength that she kept at bay until the moment she dealt her blow. This was the first time Wil was able to really observe her not as a guard or an enemy. It surprised Wil just how much she liked her. How much she suspected they had in common and how well they would work together in a fight, assuming they were actually on the same side of one.
“I’m going to try and haggle for that large one,” Wil said, nodding toward a massive ship with a black exterior and the Northern flag emblazioned on its side. “I’ll pretend I’m cocky enough to fool him. I suspect he’ll end up giving me that one.” Her gaze flitted to a Northern ship that was smaller than Espel’s but had been outfitted with solar panels, hinting it had been modified with an electrical system not common in Northern ships.
“It sounds easy enough,” Masalee said.
“Don’t sour our luck with optimism,” Wil said, and Masalee surprised her with something resembling a smile. “Try to look helpless and dumb,” Wil told her. “It really helps.” To demonstrate, she batted her eyelashes.
Masalee’s stare hardened, and Wil couldn’t tell whether she was rejecting her suggestion or trying to put it into action. In any case, Masalee was too stalwart and strong to give even the barest illusion of weakness.
All Masalee said was, “I’ll steady your heart so you don’t kill him.”
Wil made her way toward the man. He was a captain, by the looks of him. Though she was far from home, it comforted Wil to realize how at ease she felt in this port town. It wasn’t very different from home. She felt herself stepping back into her old role of the nameless wanderer child, who had never met the royal family, much less shared a drop of blood with them. She was meek and helpless and timid. Lost.
“Excuse me,” she said. The man spun to face her, and his quizzical expression at once brightened with a jovial smile.
“Morning, young lady,” he said, in that familiar Northern Arrod accent. “Looking for a ride somewhere? I’m closed for fares, but I can direct you to—”
“No,” Wil said, her voice coming out with a stutter. She hunched her shoulders and looked back to Masalee, who was fidgeting anxiously. She had buried her swords in the folds of her robe, and her expression had softened. She was using her young features to her advantage.
“I’m a university student,” Wil said. “My grandmother—she’s taken ill, and I’m trying to return home with my maid.” The story began forming in her mind, all the pieces weaving together in a sudden surge of inspiration. She had always been an excellent liar, but more than that, she enjoyed the lie. She was enchanted by the idea of being someone else and living an entirely different story.
She was prepared to tell this man the rest of it. She was going to say that her fare had been stolen—her fault for being so careless—but she had managed to acquire a ship. The man wouldn’t ask questions about this, not if he wanted to barter. She was going to blush and avert her eyes and beg him to trade her for that lovely Northern ship in the distance, so that she could make it home. He was going to take pity on her and trade the smaller one instead.
It was one of her more inspired sob stories, Wil thought.
But she didn’t get to tell it. Before she could go on, the man put a pitying hand on her shoulder.
“Young lady,” he said, “I would be happy to do business with you, but you won’t be able to sail to Northern Arrod anytime soon.”
She raised her eyes, and her genuine confusion blended perfectly with her act from a moment earlier. “Why not?” she said.
“I suppose you haven’t heard,” the man said. “The South just waged an attack on the Port Capital. Even if you could get through the war zone, there would be nowhere left for you to dock.”
Twenty-Three
FOR ONCE, WIL WAS GRATEFUL for Zay’s overzealous piloting. Wil had bartered for the smaller ship with the modified electrical system, as anticipated. But it was a joyless accomplishment. Her mind was in a frenzy. She felt dizzy and sick. The light glinted off the water and the sun was shrieking in its sky. Her heart was pounding. From somewhere far away, she felt Masalee trying to calm it. But Masalee’s strength was still fickle, and she couldn’t control Wil’s heart for very long.
Only Loom could touch Wil now, but he didn’t. He stood beside her on the deck, watching her. She clutched the railing hard, her knuckles white.
“Hey,” he finally said. His voice was not soft. It was not soothing or placating or calm. “Whatever waits for us on the other side of this ocean, we’ll handle it.”
“‘We’?” Wil looked at him, incredulous. “My entire family could be dead right now, and you’re saying ‘we’?”
Wil made herself say those words. Her entire family could be dead, and she had to face it. Her mother and Gerdie, and even Baren gone. She tried to picture it. She tried to see Gerdie, bloodied and dead in a smoldering castle. But the image wouldn’t form.
Her breathing had grown rapid. Her vision blurred. Loom put his hand over hers, prying her fingers off the bar.
“Wil.”
“This is my fault.” She shook her head. “None of this would have ever happened to your kingdom or to mine if Owen were alive.”
“Wil.” His voice was firm. He took her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “You aren’t going to fall apart. That isn’t going to help them.”
Wil knew, in some small, f
araway part of herself, that he was right. Panic was of no use to her family, or herself. But for once in her life she couldn’t help it. Her breath came in short, erratic gasps. Her vision tunneled. Her ears filled up with wind. The ocean, once beautiful and inviting, was now cold and menacing.
Loom put something into her hands. A smattering of leaves. They burst into crystals. Jagged blooms of red and crystal. A rush of calm moved through her. Her thoughts cleared. Color returned to the sky and sea, and to Loom’s deep brown eyes. He wasn’t looking at her with worry. He wasn’t going to console her. He was instead reminding her of her own strength. It still persisted inside her, despite everything; it was what made her run for the Port Capital when she was banished, and what kept her breathing as she flew away from home on a dirigible after Owen’s death. It was that bizarre force that kept her lungs breathing and her eyes blinking and her world orbiting its sun.
Owen’s death had knocked the wind from her chest. Her father’s loss had left her hollow and still too stunned to even cry for him. But a world without Gerdie would be pointless. Empty. Cruel. Without Gerdie, everyone in the world would be a stranger. There would be no due north on her compass. She would never be home again.
She didn’t have words for this. She dropped the crystals into the sea and watched them disappear.
“How will we arrive?” she asked. “If the ports are destroyed, I mean.”
“Masalee will hide the ship,” Loom said. “She’s done it for Espel a hundred times before. That’s probably how Espel was able to make it to the Eastern Isles undetected.”
“How can she hide an entire ship?” Wil asked, though she couldn’t bring herself to care about the answer.
“She creates an illusion of the ocean and skyline,” Loom said. “If you were to look very closely, you might see that the seams with the waves and the clouds are off, but at a glance, it’s just sea and sky.”
Wil leaned her arms against the railing and slid forward, as though the weight of her body could push the ship faster. They were already going at top speed. She could hear the engine straining under her feet.
Her anxiety drained away, taking everything else with it. She couldn’t wonder at the power of marvelers, or think about warring kings. She couldn’t even muster any anger. Nothing mattered until she was home and her family was in her sight again.
Sometime after nightfall, Wil’s exhaustion caught up with her. She fell asleep sitting upright against the ship’s railing. A gentle touch woke her. She bolted awake with a start to see Masalee crouched before her.
“You shouldn’t sleep here,” Masalee said. “You’ll fall through the slats and drown.”
Wil turned to look at the sea below. She was dazed, her mind foggy with sleep. What Masalee said seemed improbable. Wil couldn’t imagine falling or drowning. She couldn’t imagine dying at all. It seemed that, despite the world’s many attempts to kill her, her destiny was to live a long life and wreak havoc on everyone she loved.
Her heart was slow in her chest. She felt the tendrils of marvelry in her blood, and she didn’t fight it. She eased back against the railing with a deflating breath.
“Please let them be alive,” she whispered. She didn’t know who the words were spoken for. Maybe her words were a prayer.
“You love them,” Masalee said, settling into a kneel beside her. Her presence was calming when she allowed it to be.
Wil stared skyward without answering. She wished that she didn’t love her family, or Loom. Maybe then they would be safe.
But it was no matter. Masalee didn’t need Wil’s words. She could sense them. Just as her marvelry moved through veins and arteries, she had a way of entering minds, too.
“We think our family is the center of the world,” Masalee said. “But that’s a mistake. We’re all the center of our own world. There’s always something else on the horizon if we keep walking.”
“You don’t believe that,” Wil challenged.
“My family is dead,” Masalee said. “My father was killed by Gray Fever. I was too young to work, and my mother couldn’t afford to keep me. She was going to sell me to slavers. She changed her mind, so they killed her. Took me anyway.”
Wil drew her knees to her chest. Masalee spoke her story with brevity and calm, as though it were a recitation from an old book.
“I’m alive because I wanted life,” she went on. “Even with nowhere left to go, I was willing to kill the Southern princess if it meant I got to survive.”
“You didn’t kill your family,” Wil said. “That’s the difference.”
“You’re pitying yourself,” Masalee said. “If they’re alive, you fight to keep them alive. If they’re dead, you fight to keep yourself alive.”
“Would you say that if Espel were dead?” Wil said. She was just bitter and angry enough now to say such a thing.
Masalee closed her eyes just a beat too long; it was the only small betrayal of pain she would afford. “Yes.”
Wil believed her. Espel and Masalee had a love that was built on strength. On survival. But even if one could survive losing the other, it would be a hollow existence. Wil had seen the light leave Espel’s eyes when the dagger tore through Masalee’s chest. The air in their lungs could never take the place of the love those two shared.
“You and I don’t have much in common,” Masalee said. “But King Zinil has used us both as bait.”
“What do you mean?” Wil asked.
“He tried to kill me so he could manipulate Espel. Make her weak. Make her return. And he attacked your family to lure you right where he wants you, with Loom at your side. No matter what happens, you can’t stop fighting. You can’t let him break you.” She grabbed Wil’s chin, forcing her to look at her. “No matter what,” she repeated.
Wil’s heart tried to pound, but it couldn’t. Wil held her tongue. Masalee wasn’t her enemy. Masalee wasn’t the one who had done this to her family, to her kingdom. It wasn’t Masalee’s fault that what she said was true. Wil hated that most of all. Even if her family was dead, she could not allow herself to crumple in her grief. She could not let King Zinil weaken her, make her malleable, and steal her curse.
“I know,” she said, but the words, like all else, meant nothing. Until she found her family, the entire world meant nothing.
Wil forced herself to retreat belowdecks to sleep. She had been awake for the better part of forty-eight hours, and what Masalee said was true: her mind needed to be sharp for whatever awaited her.
The ship had distinctly Northern designs—glossy oak beams that bordered the interior, and plaster walls that resembled cottages that framed the cobblestones in Arrod’s villages.
She had been searching for an empty cabin, but instead she found Loom. He was sitting on the edge of a cabin’s small bed whose flannel sheets were still neatly tucked in place.
His hair was damp and dripping. The room smelled of shower steam and root soap—something found in Northern Arrod, made from roots and lemongrass.
On Loom’s bare chest, Wil could see the inked fable of his tattoos. Stories that blended one into the next. Somehow, these were more familiar to her now than the patterns on this ship, which were patterned after her home.
“Hey.” His voice was soft. “Are you going to try and sleep?”
She slumped, with her shoulder against the door frame. “I’m so tired,” she confessed. Her voice felt small. “How can I rest, not knowing if they’re all right?”
He stood, made his way across the room, and rested his hand on her shoulder. Wil thought that he might speak some words of wisdom. Something profound that would get her through the night and leave her stronger for it.
But Loom must have known that any platitudes he offered now would be unworthy of the air used to speak them. Instead, he kissed her forehead. The kiss was gentle and sincere, and from that small thing, Wil knew that the love he felt for her was not entirely a curse. He saw something in her. Something good. Something she could not find in herself.
“Good night,” he said. But when he moved for the hallway, she caught his wrist.
“Can you stay with me?” she said.
In answer, he put his arms around her. She pressed her head to his heart and heard his breathing and the rush of his blood. She felt him tremble and tighten his hold; she felt the way that her body steadied his.
She ran her hand up the length of his back, feeling the warm skin still humid from the shower. She felt the spot where his skin curved in along his spine.
He reached past her to turn out the light and close the door. He felt what she did: that the world was big and vast, and somehow they had found each other. There was no promise for how long.
There in the dark, love felt possible and honest and easily conquered. Soon morning would come and shed light on all the jagged edges, all the places to fall and to drown, but for now they were both here, and they were safe, and it was all right.
When he kissed her, it was nothing like all the times before when they had been curious and unsure. This time, there was the certainty that came from two hearts that now knew each other well. They first met in a fit of blood and fire and passion; they had fought and failed and triumphed alongside each other, and from the start they had always matched each other, muscle for muscle, move for move.
He sat on the edge of the bed, drawing her down with him. Her knees locked around his hips, and she sucked in her breath when his hands traced the length of her sides.
Wil rested her forehead against his, their shallow breaths colliding.
“I love you,” she said. It was a confession.
His cheek curved with a smile in the moonlight. When he fell back against the sheets, she followed, pinning his shoulders as he rose up to kiss her. It was almost like fighting, she thought, but gentler. When his hands slid under her tunic and moved along the curl of her hips, her heart fluttered. Her traitorous, cursed, broken heart that he was fighting so hard to keep safe.
He kissed her mouth, her cheek, the spot where her shoulder was exposed through the collar of her shirt.
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