THREE
Lyrisa
I’ve slept in better places, but I’ve also slept in worse.
The meager cushion of the keel bench has become my kingdom, the only domain that is mine. It’s more than I could say before, in my uncle’s household, where everything was given with the threat of being taken away.
A few hours into the night, I wish I hadn’t tossed away the guard’s coat, and instead had washed it or bleached it or taken scraps from it or something. The air cools over the river, and I’m left to shiver myself to sleep. True, a man died in that coat. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t still have a use.
Maybe some Red will find it and fix it up.
Or maybe Orrian will. And he’ll know where to follow.
The thought chills me more than the night air.
No, I tell myself. Orrian thinks you are dead a hundred miles away. With the rest of his guards, with sweet Magida, another corpse charred in a pit. Killed by an ambush, Scarlet Guard or Montfort or both. Silvers slaughtered, more casualties of however many wars we’re fighting now. He’ll never find you if you keep running. You’re safe on this river.
I almost believe it.
When I wake up before dawn, there’s a blanket tucked around my shoulders and feet, cocooning me in unfamiliar warmth. I can almost pretend I’m home, truly home, before Father died and we left the Tidewater for good. But that was six years ago, a far-gone memory, an impossibility.
I blink and I remember.
I’m on a Red Riverman’s keelboat, outnumbered and hated by everyone around me, with nowhere to go but forward. A dead girl on the run.
Though I feel it in every breath, fear will not serve me here. And these Reds must not know I’m terrified of what lies behind, of what might still be coming.
So I sit up, raising my chin, pretending to sneer at the threadbare, soft blanket drawn over my lap. As if it is the most offensive thing in the world, and not a kindness I do not deserve.
Before surveying the deck, I look behind us, at the stretching ribbon of the Ohius. It looks much the same as it did yesterday. Muddy water, green banks, the Lakelands stretching to the north, the Disputed Lands to the south. Both are empty, without a person or town in sight. Neither side of the river likes to be this close together, and they keep their distance beyond the few dock points along the miles.
“Looking for something?”
That self-important captain leans against the rail two yards away, arms crossed and legs angled, his entire body facing toward me. The gun at his hip is visible, even in the dim light before dawn. He has the audacity to grin, his idiotic gold tooth winking like a taunting star.
“Just trying to assess how far we’ve gone,” I reply swiftly, my voice cold. “Your boat is slow.”
He doesn’t flinch. Yesterday his hair shone almost dark red in the sun. Now in the early morning light it is black, pulled into a neat tail. I take in the rest of him, brown skin freckled and darkened from years on the water. Scarred hands, rope welts. I bet his fingers are rough.
“My boat does the job fine,” he says. “Between the poles and the motor, we make the time we need to make.”
The dwindling coins in my purse weigh heavy on my mind. I could’ve paid him far less than I offered. Stupid. Idiot. “I’m paying you to make better.”
“And why is that?” He tips his head, pushing off the rail in a fluid motion. The man has a prowl to him. A predator, though he is little more than prey. “What’s a Silver like you doing on my rivers?”
My jaw locks and I raise my chin. I settle into the imperious mask I’ve relied upon in many a Silver court, in front of my uncle, my mother, and any other noble Silver who might try my patience. It doesn’t work on the captain.
He stands before me, his stance broad. He’s taller than most, and muscular from work. Behind him, the rest of the meager crew have begun to busy themselves at their posts. It makes me wonder if the captain does anything of use at all. Indeed, I haven’t seen him pick up a pole or touch the boat’s wheel since we boarded. All he seems to do is keep too close an eye on his passengers and his cargo.
“Let me guess,” he says. “You’re not paying me to ask questions.”
I’m seized by the urge to snap this annoyance in half. “No, I am not.”
He knows I’m Silver. Knows I’m his best-paying passenger. Knows I’m a threat in more ways than one. And he still takes another step, looming over me, his form blocking out the rest of the boat.
“If you’re putting this keel and this crew in danger, I need to know about it.”
I regard him coolly. The man doesn’t move back, but his eyes falter, just a little, as his mind catches up with his mouth. He doesn’t know my ability. Doesn’t know what I’m capable of. Doesn’t know how I could kill him, or his passengers, or his crew.
I shove the blanket into his arms. “The only thing in danger here is you.”
He turns without a second thought, bundling the blanket under one arm. As he passes his pet bear, he jabs a thumb at me. “Ean, feed her last.”
The hulking monster of a Red man does as ordered. When food is passed out to the crew, he comes to me last, presenting me with the same thing we ate for dinner, accompanied by a mug of steaming black coffee. At least it smells good, and I take my time savoring the aroma. It makes me shudder, down to my toes.
Halfway through my meal, I notice the little Red girl watching me closely, peering around her waking mothers. Her brother, older by a year or so, still sleeps beneath their bench, curled up in blankets. I meet the girl’s eye and she quickly turns away, terrified by my attention.
Good. At least someone is.
As the sun rises, I pace the boat slowly.
Yesterday, I woke up in the woods long before dawn, making my way down to the ramshackle docks to plead for passage with so many others. I was scared; I was hungry. I didn’t know if I’d find a boat or be turned away. I should feel relief. The river moving steadily beneath us should bring me some peace.
It does not.
I try to shake the unease as I move, working my way up and down the empty walks of the keel to get my bearings. I didn’t leave the bench yesterday, and my legs need stretching. Not that there’s much room for it on a keelboat. The craft is long but thin, perhaps twenty feet across at its widest point, and less than a hundred long from end to end. The cargo hold takes up everything below deck, along with the captain’s quarters. Even though he doesn’t seem to do anything else, I’ve seen Ashe dart in there from time to time, then emerge with charts or the like. The river must always be changing, wearing new paths through the waterbed. Downed logs, new outposts, Silver checkpoints. Ashe and the crew know them all, and keep watch.
But they aren’t looking behind. Only I know to do that.
My clothes aren’t my own, and they fit poorly on my frame. Chest tight, sleeves short. I’m taller than the Lakelander guard I took them from, but she was the closest to my size. Every time I move, I’m afraid I might split a seam. Once I was vain about the curves of my body. Not anymore. I have more important things to think about. I make a note to try and buy something better suited when we dock next, wherever that may be.
I know the geography of the river well enough. The Disputed Lands are on our maps, albeit in far less detail than my own kingdom. I know the cities Memphia and Mizostium, both farther downriver. I admit, I’m eager to see them, if only from the river. I’ve known cities built by Silver crowns, beautiful but walled, ruled by one kind of blood. Of course I’ve seen Red slums, certainly, though not by choice. I wonder which the Disputed cities will be more like.