Hallow is about a hundred yards ahead, his keel riding low in the water. He’ll probably stay in sight until we reach the confluence, where the Ohius and Great River meet. Then he’ll spend a day or so dumping cargo to go upriver north. I won’t see him again until the Gates.
At the prow I can see far, the Lakelands stretching in clear-cut fields of wheat and corn. Half-height. Summer is coming on, and by fall these fields will be stripped bare for winter. Every year I pass the workers, watching the Reds sweat and toil for their distant overlords. Sometimes they run to the bank when they see us, begging for passage. We never take them. Patrols are too close and farmworkers have too little coin. A few make the journey on their own, though, building boats on the bank through the summer. We help those along if we can, out of Silver sight.
Quick, light footsteps on the deck shake me out of my thoughts as one of the passenger children scuttles up next to me, her eyes wide in a golden face framed by curly brown hair. She looks afraid. I grin at her, if only to keep the kid settled. The last thing I need is a screaming child. She immediately grins, pointing at my mouth, then to her own tooth.
“You like that?” I murmur, running a tongue over my gold incisor. It replaced a tooth knocked out in a fight in Memphia. A fight I won.
“Your tooth is shiny,” she exclaims giddily. She can’t be more than eight.
I glance back up the deck, at her mothers pressed together on the bench. They look on, apprehensive. I wonder if the child is adopted, or born of one of the women. Probably the latter. She has the same look as the paler one, the same spark in her eyes.
Gently, I nudge her back toward her family. Cute as the kid is, I don’t want to interact with her any more than I must. It’s easier that way. “You should go sit down. I’ve got work to do up here.”
She doesn’t move, still staring. “You’re the captain,” she says, persistent.
I blink at her. Even though keelboat crews don’t have any kind of insignia or markings to denote officers, it’s clear where I stand on my deck. “Yes.”
“Captain what?”
Nodding, I nudge her again, this time moving with the child so she has to follow. “Ashe,” I offer, if only to get her going.
“I’m Melly.” Then her voice drops to a whisper, one hand suddenly clutching mine. “There’s a Silver on the boat.”
“I’m very aware of that,” I mutter, prying my fingers from hers.
At the benches, I catch the Piedmont princess watching despite her lazing appearance. She glances at us beneath her lashes, pretending not to look. A good tactic. A smart one.
“Why did you let her on?” The little girl continues without any concern for the rest of the ship—or those who might overhear.
From her position at the side, Riette shoots me a smirk as she poles the river. I grimace in reply. Somehow the rat kids always gravitate to me, and somehow I keep letting them.
“Same reason I let you on,” I tell her, sounding short and gruff. Just let me work, kid.
“They’re dangerous,” she whispers back. “I don’t like them.”
I don’t bother to drop my voice. Let the Silver princess hear me. “Neither do I.”
One of the Red mothers, the pale one, gratefully reaches for her daughter when I push her over. She has short-cropped hair the color of wheat. “Apologies for Melly, sir,” she says, pulling the child close. Not out of fear, but out of respect. “You sit still now.”
I nod curtly. It isn’t in me to scold passengers, especially those fleeing a civil war. “Just keep out of the hold and out of the way.”
The other Red mother, holding tight to their young boy, smiles warmly. “Of course, sir.”
Sir seems to bounce off my skin. Though this is my keel and my crew, my river hard-earned, I never get used to it. Two grown women calling me such a thing still feels odd. Even if it’s true. Even if I deserve it.
As I leave the couple, I pass by the princess. She’s still stretched out, taking more room than she should. The Silver angles her chin to survey me. All thoughts of inadequacy or unworthiness vanish. If there’s anyone who doesn’t deserve my respect, it’s a Silver.
I harden under her attention, losing any warmth.
“When do we eat, Ashe?” she asks, one hand idly tapping the bench. Overhead, the strengthening summer sun forces her to shade her eyes with the other hand.
Ashe.
The Red child bristles before I can, leaning around one of her mothers.
“He’s a captain, miss,” she says, her voice wavering. I can’t fathom the bravery it must take for her to speak to a Silver at all, let alone correct one. She’d make a fine keel captain herself one day.
Her mother hushes her quickly, pulling her back into place.
I shift if only a little, putting more of myself between the child and the Silver, in case the latter takes offense.
But she doesn’t move, her focus entirely fixed on me.
“We eat at sundown,” I tell her evenly.
Her lip curls. “No lunch?”
On the bench, one of the Red mothers shifts a foot slowly, pushing her pack farther out of sight. I almost smirk. Of course they had the common sense to bring provisions for the journey.
“When I said we, I meant my crew,” I tell the Silver, each word sharp as a knife. “You didn’t bring any food for yourself?”
The tapping hand ceases movement but doesn’t clench. The gun at my hip hangs heavy. I don’t expect a desperate Silver fleeing her homeland to attack us over a meal, but it doesn’t hurt to stay vigilant. Silvers aren’t used to being denied anything, and they don’t react well to hardship.
She grimaces, showing white, even teeth. Too perfect to be natural. She must have had them knocked out and regrown by a skin healer. “Certainly my rate covers board.”
“That wasn’t part of our original deal. But you can pay for food if you’d like,” I say. Her coin already given is for speed and silence and no questions. Not meals. And despite the money she’s already paid out, I’m the one in position to bargain. Not her. “That’s certainly an option.”
Her eyes don’t leave mine, but one of her hands brushes over the coin purse hooked to her belt. Weighing the gold left, listening to the subtle clink of metal. It’s not an insubstantial amount. But still she hesitates to pay, even to feed herself.
The princess is saving her money. For more. For worse. For a longer journey than the river. I’d wager all the cargo in my hold she doesn’t plan to stop at the Gates. Like before when she first landed on my deck, I’m intrigued.
Her expression changes, wiping clean. She sniffs and I get the sense of being dismissed like a courtier or a servant. One of her fingers twitches, as if remembering the urge to wave off a worthless Red.
“Do you dock anywhere along this stretch of the Ohius?” she asks, turning her head to survey the Freeland side of the river, where the Lakelands and a Silver crown hold no sway. The woodlands tangle into darkness, even in the morning sun. Her question and interest puzzle me only for a second.
Princess Lyrisa plans to hunt for her supper.
I survey her again, now that she’s lost the coat. Her clothes are as fine as her boots, a dark blue uniform. No jewelry, no adornment. She has no weapons that I can see either, so her ability must allow her to bring down game. I know noble Silvers are trained to war as much as soldiers are, trained to fight one another for sport and pride. And the thought of one so powerful on my keel unsettles me deeply.