She dipped her head at the rising sun. Her hair—short for a woman, but I couldn’t compare silks there—fell in waves to her shoulders, black as midnight, the sections at her temples pulled away from her face in braids that glinted with golden metal that matched the bits on her clothes.
“I was…speaking prayers, yes, to Glorianna, though I follow Danu. Do you know these names?”
Though the name of the goddess of love, hearth and home had a strange, singsong twist in the foreigner’s mouth, I did know of Glorianna. Though what she had to do with the rising sun, I had no idea. This Danu, however, I’d never heard of.
“Tell me of this Glorianna and why you pray to Her at sunrise. And who is Danu?”
Kaja tilted her head, one braid sliding forward so it dangled over her breast. That hair must be much longer than the rest. How odd. Perhaps she’d experienced some accident—or punishment—that most of her hair had been cut short, and she now grew it out again.
“My Dasnarian is not so good,” she said. “So next time, more slowly, please. I think you ask, why Glorianna at sunrise?” When I nodded, she continued. “Sunrise belongs to Glorianna. Also sunset.” She held up each hand, from east to west. “Beginning and end. Birth and death. Mother.”
I chewed my lip, holding back then intense curiosity at such heresy. A goddess owning the sun? Not possible.
“Danu is the warrior,” Kaja said, when I didn’t reply. She pointed up. “High noon, bright stars, are Hers.” She pulled out a sharp dagger and spun it, the blade flashing in the sunlight, and smiled with a similarly lethal edge. “Also the blade and…” She frowned, thinking. “Not hlyti,” she said, using the Dasnarian word for fate, “more my eye for your eye?”
“Justice,” I offered, drawn in despite myself. “Law.”
“Yes.” Her smile widened. She offered me the hilt of the dagger. “Strength.”
I didn’t take it, though my fingers itched to. Harlan had shown me how to grip a knife in my fist and go for the eye. And I still had the little eating knife I’d taken from the inn when I fled Dasnaria. Not much to it, but maybe enough for an eye. In my full view, even with my head bowed and shrouded, I could study the blade at leisure. Big, and shaped like a long leaf, with sharp edges on both sides, one serrated, the other razor smooth. A deep groove ran down the middle, from the hilt to the tip.
“A beautiful blade,” I praised, hoping that would satisfy her.
“Try it,” Kaja prompted, edging closer. I backed up, my heel hitting the goats’ pen. The caramel-colored one mewed at me, nudging my hip for pets.
“No, thank you,” I replied, bending at the waist a little to appease her. “It is a lovely weapon and does your beauty credit, but I’m afraid I’m unable to accept your generous offer.”
Kaja grinned. She spun the blade again and I studied the motion, fascinated. She slipped it into a sheath on her belt, then held up her hands again in that gesture of peace. “I understood a small part, but I hear ‘no’ very well.”
I nodded, then edged toward escape. Thankfully, Kaja stepped out of the way, sweeping a hand to indicate free passage. “Talk more at lunch?” she asked.
I shook my head and kept going. To my horror, I glimpsed her walking beside me, her rolling gait easily accommodating the Valeria’s little tricks.
“You can teach Dasnarian,” she said, as if I’d agreed. “And I teach using blade.”
I stopped, tempted and uncertain, studying her boots. Unlike my clumsy ones, hers fitted to the form of her foot, with metal tips at the pointed toe.
“A woman on a ship alone needs a blade,” Kaja said in a lower tone, one that could not be overheard except by perhaps the most zealous listener hiding in the walls. But that was in the seraglio, I reminded myself. On the Valeria’s bosom, there were only sailors and sea to overhear, and the sailors didn’t understand the words we spoke. “The world is an unsettled place. Not all bad, but some are. You need a blade and a friend.”
She was likely right, but that she’d seen my true nature frightened me. I shook my head yet again, and fled. This time, she didn’t follow.
~ 2 ~
In my little cabin that day, I tried Kaja’s trick with my eating knife. The grip Harlan had taught me didn’t work for spinning it. That grip was as clumsy as the boots—thick and graceless, though fairly strong. Probably, like the boots he’d stolen for me, that way of holding a knife had been a stopgap. A temporary solution to a problem too large to quickly solve.
I had no way to get boots more like Kaja’s, but perhaps I could teach myself to hold a blade like she did. If another woman could do it, then it should be possible for me. Unless Dasnarian women were a breed apart from other women of the world. Kaja was the first non-Dasnarian woman I’d ever spoken with, and she stood apart from any woman I’d known, so it could be we did differ on some profound level.
Restlessness plagued me, and dancing failed to soothe. As if I’d broken a magic spell by speaking with another person, I no longer felt so content to stay in my dim cabin. I’d lived in windowless rooms all my life until recently. Having given up my birthright, my rank, my fortune—even my very name and identity—I should at least savor what I’d traded them for.
At the moment, that would be time in the sun, and in the fresh wind. But not yet brave enough to venture out when others might see me, I instead practiced with the eating knife, holding it different ways. A woman on a ship alone needs a blade. Trying to picture in my mind’s eye how Kaja had positioned her fingers. And dropping the thing, time and again, then crawling around in the shadows to find it.
Careful though I tried to be, the soft parts of my fingers found the sharp edge of the knife more than once. The cuts stung a bit—nothing compared to the pain I’d endured before this—but the last one bled for quite a while, making me think I should perhaps desist, lest I cause myself damage I couldn’t heal.
I ate my midday meal when it came. Then took a nap. When I awoke, I danced a while. As an experiment, I did the ducerse, but instead of balancing pearls on my palms—which is the great challenge of that dance—I set the eating knife on one. That made the exercise more interesting, and I didn’t drop it that way. But even I knew that to wield a blade, I’d need to do more than balance it on my palm while I did a pretty dance.
For the first time since boarding the Valeria, I grew bored. Not the sort of languid boredom of the seraglio either. There I would have gone swimming in the lagoon, or found my sisters to chat with. This had a different flavor, one I’d never known before.
It was loneliness, I realized. Speaking with Kaja made me want to talk to someone. I supposed it said something, that I’d slept all I could and now thought of more than hiding. That temptation, however, could lead to my being discovered. None of my pursuers were on the ship—I didn’t think so, anyway—but there might be plenty willing to sell the information later, of where Dasnaria’s lost princess had fled to.
The sixth bell sounded. If evening mirrored morning, the sun would be setting soon. And Kaja might be honoring Glorianna. It said something also, that my curiosity and boredom quelled the voices of fear and caution.
I put on my boots and cloak, slipped the eating knife into an internal pocket, and went out.
Unlike the early morning hallway, doors stood open, no doubt giving insight to the occupants had I dared linger to look. As it was, I caught peripheral glimpses. A servant boy I recognized scrubbed the floor in one. In another, an array of gowns spread across the bed, as if someone had abandoned sorting them mid-effort. Both cabins had a sort of lantern in them that shed light, and another had round windows that looked to the outside. Interesting. I should look to see if I had those things. Light would be useful.
The Valeria seemed a different ship at this end of the day. People moved about, playing games of some sort, talking in groups, sailors doing more than adjusting sails, occupied with all kinds of repairs and ac
tivities. Even my goats weren’t alone, but clustered around a man in the pen with them.
All of this I took in from the edges of the cowl, careful to shield my face. Though the sun lowered to the horizon, the light seemed much brighter—and hotter—than when she sat at the same level on the other side. I began to sweat under the wool cloak. At least not the cold sweat of fear.
Kaja stood at the rail, where she had that morning. She leaned against it, her back to the sea, her face pointing my direction, chatting with the man in with the goats. For her sunset prayers, she should have gone to the opposite side of the deck. Instead… she might have been waiting for me.
Undecided now, I considered fleeing below decks, back to my stuffy cabin. Kaja waved, a swinging of her hand in the sky, then turned the gesture around to make it seem as if she drew me toward her. Deciding it would be conspicuous if I refused, I wandered her direction.
“Hello,” she said, moving a short distance from the goat man. “Come for sunset prayer?”
“No, I don’t worship Glorianna,” I told her, remembering to speak slowly. “I have a question for you, if you are willing.”
“Ask.” She used only the one word, but nodded along with it, smiling easily, no evasion to it.
“Would you show me how you hold your blade? I have tried with mine, but I can’t seem to get it right.”
“My knife?” She drew it, offering it to me by the hilt, as she had before.
I kept my hands tucked inside. “Hold it like you would to fight,” I explained.
“Aha! I understand.” She reversed her grip, then spun the knife. Held it again.
“Stop there, please,” I requested, and she held still. Moving up next to her—not too close—I positioned myself to mimic her. Under my cloak, I drew the eating knife from the pocket and practiced holding it the same way. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Kaja slid me a look, ducking a little, as if to try to see under my cowl. I drew away so she couldn’t. “That won’t work,” she said. She used the wrong word, the one meaning to march a long distance, but I understood.
“Why not? I learned other things by watching. Now I will go practice.”
“What things?” Kaja wanted to know. “Fighting, or martial forms?”
I considered. I could lie, but what harm would the detail do? And I owed her something for helping me. “Dancing.”
“You dance?” Kaja sounded interested, idly spinning the blade between her fingers. “I hadn’t known Dasnarians danced. I thought men and women are…apart. Not dancing as one.”
“We dance on special occasions,” I told her. “But apart, yes. Rarely with each other. There are dances for men and dances for women.”
“Which do you do?” She asked. She sounded as relaxed as her posture, as the ease with which she twirled her blade, but I know women. Her knife might be pretty and weave fascinating patterns that seemed harmless, but that lethal edge remained, ready to draw blood.
“It’s not a special occasion, so I don’t dance at all.”
“But you practice.” She said the last word a bit awkwardly. “That’s what ‘practice’ means, yes? To do the long marching to make yourself skillful.”
“This word is wrong,” I told her, and tried to explain.
She nodded. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said, repeating me almost verbatim from before. A remarkable ability. I wondered if I could learn a language so quickly. “We could trade. You teach me Dasnarian. I teach you to use a knife.”
“You suggested this trade before.” And yet she amused me. “Why do you wish to learn Dasnarian?”
She shrugged, the movement of her body apparent. “I travel much. Ship journeys are dull. Why not use the time well?”
“I will think on it,” I told her. The sun had started to set. “Isn’t it time for you to pray?”
“Glorianna understands. Need a knife to borrow—for to practice?”
“I have one, thank you.”
“Show me,” Kaja demanded. She must have learned her rudimentary Dasnarian from men because she tended to use all the command forms of the language. This made sense, as Dasnarian women rarely traveled from the safety of their homes. Still, it both sounded odd coming from a woman’s mouth and triggered the obedience ingrained in me. I found myself offering my eating knife before I finished the thought. A terrible habit I’d need to break if I were to survive in the greater world.
I snatched my hand back into the shrouding obscurity of my cloak as soon as Kaja took my knife. She held it in one hand, her big blade in the other. The contrast made my little blade look pitifully small and ineffective. Much as I felt standing next to the powerfully muscled and competent Kaja.
“This?” she asked. The note of incredulity in her voice made me flush with embarrassment.
“I’ll take it back now, please,” I said.
She handed the knife back quickly enough, but held it so I had to reach for it. I kept the folds close around my hand, so only the fingertips showed. “You must see… Brian,” she said slowly. “This knife is for eating. Not fighting.”
“It would be sufficient to stick a man in the eye,” I told her, “so that I can run away.”
“Hmm.” She sheathed her knife. “Someone teached you this?”
“Taught,” I corrected, since she seemed to want that. “Yes.”
“A man taught you,” she clarified. “A foolish man, I think.”
I bristled, clenching my fist around the little knife. It might be pitiful, but having it made me a different person than I’d been. Harlan had saved my life, risking his own, and he’d taught me what no other man would have dreamed of showing a woman. This Kaja had no idea who she called a fool.
“You are the fool,” I spat. In my anger, I met her eye, completely forgetting myself. She looked right at my face, her quick dark eyes seeing far too much. Aha—I was the fool here. “I must go.”
“Wait.” As she had before, Kaja gripped my arm through my cloak, catching the limb with unerring aim. This time, however, she didn’t release me when I pulled. “Show me.”
“Release me!” I demanded, my voice climbing too high.
“Show me,” she replied calmly. “Stab me in the eye, then run away.”
“I will!” My heart hammered against my ribs, shuddering through me like the lashes of a whip. A cold sweat broke out, drenching me. I couldn’t draw breath. I tugged and pulled but could no more escape Kaja’s grip without help than I could my former husband’s wedding bracelets. “Unhand my person. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t think you can, little mouse,” she sneered, her fingers digging into my arm. “Your mouse teeth are too tiny.”
With the knife fisted in my hand, I struck out. Up and at Kaja’s eye.
She caught my wrist. Twisted. My fingers went numb and the little knife fell to the deck. Kaja released me, picked up my knife, and handed it to me with a genial smile. “No good. Want to try again?”
I was frozen. Stricken with horror at how easily this stranger, this woman, had identified my essential weakness and revealed it. Horrified at how very helpless and alone I was.
I could never survive in this greater world. I should never have left my cabin.
A sob rose up, wrenching at me, and I fled. I ran as fast as my useless dancer’s feet could take me, leaving my worthless little knife behind. I scrambled down the ladder, the cowl falling back as I ran down the corridor, though I hardly cared. I might as well be dead already. Boots rat-tatted behind me, gaining.
I made it to my cabin, whirling to slam the door, but Kaja was there, thrusting her shoulder against it, bracing an arm on the door frame and wedging it open. “Wait!” A command and a plea. She’d been yelling that one word after me as I ran, I realized.
I backed away, into the dimness. No weapons to defend my little nest. No way to stop her
should she decide to beat me.
But Kaja didn’t follow me in. She raked a hand into the loose part of her hair at the crown, rubbing her fingers against her scalp, saying words in one of her other languages. Then made a sound of frustration. “I don’t have the words,” she growled at me. “I want to teach. Not frighten.”
I pressed my back against the wall, trapped. A long silence stretched out. A standoff where neither of us moved. I realized then my head was uncovered, so I reached to draw up the hood again.
Kaja shook her head. “Safe,” she told me. “See? I don’t want to hurt you.” She said the words the way I’d said them to her, which was all wrong, because I’d reflexively said them as if speaking to a servant, threatening punishment for bad behavior. It made me smile a little, the absurdity.
Kaja smiled back, tentative. She seemed to come to a decision. Coming in, she closed the door and barred it. A scratching sound, then a flare of light illuminating her profile, then a wider pool as she lit a lantern. I gazed at it, bemused. It had been there all along. I was such a child that I’d sat in the dark, not knowing better.
She held out the little eating knife. When I didn’t take it, she set it on the table where I ate my meals. Sitting in the dark like a helpless idiot.
“You can keep it,” I said. “I don’t want it anymore. You’re right, I’m a little mouse and that is a tiny, dull tooth.” Despair crushed me under its heel as it hadn’t since I’d left my former husband behind. I refused to think of him as my husband, or even name him in my mind. I’d escaped my cruel marriage and all the luxurious prisons of my past, but I’d been living in a daze since. Napping. And dancing. I was the fool and hlyti had played me as that. I hadn’t thought beyond getting away.
Exile of the Seas Page 2
