“No,” Rowen said. “It has not been sighted since those damned Kaolins first stumbled upon it. Six vessels have vanished looking for it so far—at least, six that we know of. The Aerin is putting together an elite team with specially designed ships to begin her own search.”
“May Farayage bless their journey,” Violetta said, touching her forehead.
Rowen snorted. “They would not need the sea goddess’s blessing if Ambrosine Byrne weren’t such an uncompromising bitch.”
Agnes shifted, and Rowen glanced at her, but then one of her comrades was calling out, “Nothing belowdecks!” and Rowen’s attention was diverted.
“Very well,” she said. “Violetta Murchadha, I grant you leave to dock in Arbaz, by the power vested in me by our blessed queen, the Aerin.” She handed the captain a slip of paper. “Present this to the dockmaster when you arrive. May the goddesses go with you.”
“And with you,” Violetta said, bowing again.
Sera held her breath as the soldiers returned to their ship. There was another creaking of wood and then a splash. For a long while, no one on the Maiden’s Wail moved. Sera’s back ached and her legs cramped, but she stayed as still as stone, waiting. . . .
“Do you think they’ve gone?” Leo whispered just as the top of the bench was flung open.
“They’re gone,” Agnes said breathlessly, reaching down to help Sera out. She blinked in the sunlight and saw the ship off in the distance, a black outline against the horizon.
“This is not good,” Vada said as Leo climbed out after Sera, stretching his arms over his head. “Misarros stopping Pelagan ships?”
“Misarros?” Leo asked.
“The elite fighting force of Pelago,” Vada explained. “They guard the Triumvirate and some of the wealthier families who can afford their protection.”
Violetta strode up to them. “Never in my whole life have I needed permission to dock at Arbaz,” she said, waving the paper as if it personally offended her. “I fear what awaits us when we arrive. Things are changing.” She looked out across the water to where the Misarro ship was sailing away. “And not for the better.”
2
Leo
LEO HADN’T BEEN ABLE TO FULLY SHAKE OFF THE JITTERS left behind by the Misarros, but then the port of Arbaz had come into sight and he found himself momentarily struck dumb. He’d spent all his life hating Pelago so much, he’d never really thought about what it might actually look like. He was shocked to find it . . . beautiful.
Structures like terra-cotta fingers pointed up toward the sky, glittering in the light of the setting sun as if their surfaces were encrusted with diamonds. There were clock towers and spires and domed buildings made of yellow or orange stone, wisps of smoke curling upward from rose-colored chimneys, and somewhere far off Leo heard a bell tolling. The city was ringed in hills, houses painted in cheery colors clustering around the central market, which Leo imagined was just inside the enormous white stucco structure with a red tile roof that loomed over the docks. The water was crystalline blue, a color that almost hurt to look at. It was all so idyllic, especially compared with the smog and steel and murky waters of Old Port. For a moment he wondered why their chauffeur, Eneas, had ever left this place.
He shuddered to think about what would have happened if he himself had never left, if the escape plan had failed—he’d be on a train somewhere in Kaolin right now, getting his palm sliced open daily by the actor James Roth. He’d be selling Sera’s blood along with Boris’s and Errol’s replenishing powers—well, not Boris’s, not since the poor tree burned. But the very thought made bile rise in his throat.
“What are you thinking of my heretical country, moulil?” Vada asked, slapping him on the back. Moulil was the Pelagan word for mule. She was always calling him things that weren’t his name. Mule, jackass, Face of Byrne, patriarchal idiot . . . it had bothered him at first but he didn’t mind anymore. It was just how Vada was.
“I think it’s beautiful,” he said, and his compliment seemed to both startle and please her.
“It’s gorgeous,” Agnes agreed. “But I don’t like the look of those ships.”
Off to their left was a sleek black schooner flying a flag with five red stars on it.
“Another Triumvirate patrol,” Vada said, her face darkening. “From the Lekke. You see the stars? Five red stars are the symbol of the Lekke. The Renalt crest is a golden sun and the Aerin, as you were seeing by her Misarros, uses a silver moon. I am not liking that all three queens voted to close the ports.”
“Is that unusual?” Leo asked.
“Most votes are two to one. And the Lekke is the most levelheaded of our queens and slow to take such a drastic action. If she has joined the other two in this decision, then I fear . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
“Fear what?” Leo asked, wondering if he really wanted to hear the answer.
“War,” she said.
It would be foolish of Kaolin to declare war on Pelago—their naval fleet was not nearly as skilled as Pelago’s armada. But then, if it was known that Kaolins were being arrested left and right and thrown in jail, how could the president of Kaolin do nothing? At some point, his hand would be forced. Leo just hoped they’d be well on their way to Braxos before that happened.
The schooner cruised up slowly to the port, only allowed to dock and lower the gangplank once Violetta had produced Rowen’s letter.
“Right,” Vada said. “Face of a Byrne and I will be going to the market. You all need new clothes, disguises.” She glanced at Sera. “Especially you. I will have to be asking my mother if the Maiden’s Wail can carry you to Ithilia—she may not be wanting to risk it after what happened today. Maybe I wait until she has had a few whiskeys.”
“I’d like to go to the market too,” Agnes protested.
“No,” Vada said firmly. “If something were to happen, Sera would be on her own. Besides, I would very much like to walk the markets of Arbaz with a Byrne.” She cackled. “Diana Oleary will not be charging me twelve aurums for that honeyed piss she calls mead today!”
They waited until the other sailors had unloaded the ship’s cargo before disembarking. The last piece was a crate with a heavy padlock on it.
“What’s in there?” Leo asked.
“None of your damned business,” Vada replied. “And remember, no more Kaolish. From now on, you speak only Pelagan.”
Leo huffed and made a face, but Vada’s back was to him, already striding down the gangplank, leaving him no choice but to follow.
The docks were swarming with people, mostly sailors and other rough types with weathered faces and tough, tanned skin. But there were Misarros too, striding through the crowds with imposing looks, various metals glinting at their necks and on their arms. Leo thought they would easily give the Old Port City police force a run for their money.
“I am not liking this one bit,” Vada muttered as a Misarro with a moon on her tunic grabbed an urchin boy by the collar and dragged him off. Leo kept close as they headed toward the entrance to the market, a huge archway in the center of the red-roofed structure with the words MARGORA DE ARBAZ carved above it. A woman in dark pants and a green vest eyed him as she twisted a sapphire ring the size of a walnut on her finger. There was a young man behind her about Leo’s age, with long brown curls and a slim figure. He wore a silk shirt open to his navel, and pants so tight Leo thought they must have been painted on. The woman whispered to the boy and he sashayed up to Leo.