Chapter Twenty-One

Morning dew pilled along the canvas, round dots scattering like confetti.

I raked a hand through my hair, bound it in a fresh braid, and changed into a clean sweater, a mauvey pink with a thin, mock neck and wool flecked through with cream. One of my favorites, warm enough to keep out the nip from spring.

I’d spent most of the night scheming how to open the metal chest. I could always steal it and smash it against a rock, pry the lid the same way a river otter pries open an oyster. Not a bad idea, assuming the weapon was actually in the box. If it wasn’t, I’d have no way to return it, and it might cause suspicion if the box disappeared or turned up broken.

So I had two options—find a way to open the box without breaking it, or confirm the weapon was in the box, then steal and break it. Stealing and breaking it without confirmation of the contents had to be a last resort.

I grabbed my stockings and my pouch of coffee grounds and pulled the tent flap open.

Fog had built along the coast, thick and white, bringing out the crispness in everything—thatches of grass, basalt cliffs. The sea lapped the shore, a dull sapphire, like the inside of a mollusk. No wind. No rain. Just…quiet.

Erik was already up and stoking a fire. His blond hair was mussed, gray eyes fixed on the flames. He wore the same clothes as yesterday—white shirt, blue jacket, fitted pants. At his hip, the same map I’d seen him looking at earlier—a map of the Sanokes with beach stones scattered up the coastline. A pot bubbled water.

“Morning,” I said, settling myself next to the map.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice thick.

“Sleep well?” I squinted at the map. He’d marked the same locations—Cobble Cove, North Beach, the farthest point of Saeby, but he’d placed two stones along the beach we were staying at, white stones instead of black, each—

The map vanished.

I scowled. “I can help you with that, you know.”

He fed another knot of grass to the fire. It feathered and snapped, the grayish smoke mixing with the mist. He probably hadn’t slept, had probably been here all night making sure the bandits saw nothing but empty beach.

My hand crept to the linen pouch. “Do you…want coffee?”

“Coffee?”

“Tastes like dirt, but it helps you wake up. Most of the staff drink it. I only started after…” After Hans died? After your people killed him? After the nightmares started, and I found myself at the tide pools again and again? I pressed a hand to my temple. “It doesn’t matter. Here, I’ll make you a cup.”

A dark and roasted aroma filled the air, a grind of rust and umbers flecked the deepest black. The receding tide had left behind a strip of glossy sand, and a few of the men had wandered to the sea or settled by the flames.

I ladled another spoonful of boiling water over the linen. Opening the mysterious box seemed like the better of the two options, but where would Signey keep a key? In the pocket of another bag? I hadn’t searched the smaller pockets, but searching smaller pockets meant I needed to sneak into her tent again. I could do that, couldn’t I?

“About last night…” Erik said, tugging me from my thoughts.

Coffee grounds swirled, black flecks floating to the surface. Steam fogged my forehead. “You don’t have to worry about your secrets. I’m a locked box.”

“I was actually going to say thanks.”

“Feeling better?”

“Some.” He turned his cheek into his shoulder, hiding a smile. “Because of you.”

My heart tumbled. Something thick rose up my throat and I remembered last night—the gray of his eyes, the catch of his cheek, the knowing .

“What did you mean when you said you could have Sent?” I asked, changing the subject. “In Lundar?”

On the other side of the fire, a few men tossed chickweed fronds into the flames, the green buds crackling and smoking. Another wave rushed the shore.

“In Lundar…” The smile faltered, and he bit the inside of his lip. “We went to spy on House Kynda. House Kynda…they’re a lot. Anyway, there were four of us. I could have Sent to hide them, but it was Bo’s first time using skygge to walk into Faela Fort, and he was so scared… So Kadlin went too, and I acted as her anchor. We thought we were hidden in the caves. But House Kynda? They found us. Killed Vilmar, who was anchoring Bo. I remember dragging Kadlin’s body closer to him, trying to anchor both. And—” His jaw clenched. “I should have Sent.”

“You didn’t know.”

“That’s the thing.” He grimaced. “I did.”

“How?”

“I knew I wasn’t a strong anchor. I knew I was better at reykr.” He prodded the fire with the stick. “You said you know what it’s like…to feel like you could have done more?”

“Every day.”

“Does it get better?”

I ladled another scoop of water over the grounds. I could lie, could tell him it did. But—

“I don’t know.” The truth. “Sometimes I feel like I’ll always come up short. Do you ever wonder if some people are made to be…small?”

He thought for a moment. “I think people have different strengths, but I don’t think anyone is made to be small.”

Fire snapped, the white-hot smoke chugging between us. I see you, I see you , it seemed to say.

More men filtered out from their tents, poured cups of tea and warmed slices of bread in the flames until the bottoms became black and charred.

I ladled another scoop of boiling water over the grounds.

“You know,” Erik said, “that doesn’t smell like dirt.” He scooted forward, his thigh brushing mine.

Slowly, carefully, he tugged the cup from my hands. His thumb grazed my index finger and mist clung to him. His shirt hung open at the throat, and I caught his scent—smoke and wool and something else, something wild.

“It doesn’t taste the way it smells,” I said. The words came out a little breathless.

Above the cup’s rim, his eyes flicked to mine, cool, assessing. “Isabel. A lot of things don’t taste the way they smell.”

“Right.” Still breathless.

He studied me for one beat. Two. Something dangerous flickered over his expression and his gaze intensified. He set the cup down and, with another slow and careful movement, reached up and traced my cheekbone.

I expected him to brush away whatever dirt was there and drop his hand, but it lingered. His knuckles brushed my temple, his thumb skimming the sensitive spot right below my ear, setting my skin on fire, my body on fire, and all I smelled was him, and it filled my nose, my mouth, and his thigh pressed against mine, the heat of it scalding. His hand moved to tangle gently in my hair, and now he was playing with my hair and—

What was wrong with me?

His intense expression fell away. The corner of his mouth quirked. “Testing more theories.”

“What theories?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“Secret ones.” He dropped his hand and picked up the cup. “Now tell me, why are you trying to befriend my men?”

“I’m not trying to befriend them.”

“They say you are. They say you ask all sorts of questions.”

“It’s called being nice.”

“You know, you’re not a good liar.”

“Why would I lie about that!”

“You tell me. But I’ve noticed you lie about a lot of things.” He used two fingers to trace a lazy circle along the cup’s rim. “Having a tent. Riding a horse.” A glance at the coffee mug. His eyes flicked up, caught mine.

I had the thought the same moment he did.

He tapped the metal hard. “Cups.” He took a gulp.

A beat passed, then another.

His hand flew to his throat, and he gave a little cough.

“I forgot to mention, you have to drain the grounds. Whoops.” I grabbed the cup and flounced next to Tyr.

“Oh yeah, come hide by me,” he said, stirring a pot of porridge. “Just so you know, I’m not protecting you if he seeks revenge.”

“I guess you’ll have to hang onto those worms forever.”

Tyr brandished the spoon. “If you take revenge on her, you’ll have to get through me! Raaa!”

Erik flipped him off.

“I mean,” Tyr amended, “no sleep and Sending all night? Damn, you look good.”

Erik flipped him off again.

I glanced at the mug in my hand. The grounds swirled a rust-flecked umber. “Should I offer coffee again?”

“Nah, he’ll be fine. He has amazing stamina. On the way over to the Sanokes, he Sent ships for like, six days straight. Because he could.”

That was interesting. Kaspar and Erik had been arguing about the ships.

I settled onto the rock next to Tyr and brought the cup to my nose, letting the sweet steam lick my forehead. Tyr liked to talk. Maybe I could learn more from him. “What do you mean by that? Sent the ships?”

“Sending is—”

“Yeah, I know what Sending is.”

Tyr tapped the spoon on the side of the pot. “Oh. Well. He just hid them. With Sending. Conjured a bunch of fog and mist. At one point we were a black raincloud. I think Lothgar was putting him through a drill. They do that. Lothgar comes up with these crazy challenges—hide a dozen ships for six days—and Erik makes it happen.”

“Did he sleep?”

Tyr squinted at Erik. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

The flap to Signey’s tent was thrown open and she stalked out with the lethal grace of a predator finding its prey. Her hair was unbound, some strands braided, others loose, her roots held a greasy sheen. She plopped next to a wiry man, who immediately vacated his spot and scrambled to the other side of the fire. Her eyes flicked to me.

Great.

Erik fed another knot to the fire. “Signey.”

“Erik.”

Signey snatched a pack off the ground and dug out a clay pot and a few dried fish.

“I trust you slept well?” Erik said.

“I trust you didn’t.”

“I was Sending.” There was an edge to his words. “All night.”

“Sending.” She snapped a head off a fish and picked the meat with her fingers. “Of course.”

The corner of Erik’s jaw ticked, and he stood. “Wake the rest of the men,” he said to no one specific. “We leave within the hour.”

Signey didn’t move. She sat on the rock, her hair greasy, shirt rumpled, a dusting of salt coating her fingers.

I needed to find a key to get into the box, which meant I needed to get back into Signey’s tent. If I was going to do that, I needed a distraction, something to keep her occupied for at least ten, fifteen minutes. If she was watching me—and I was pretty sure she was—the distraction would have to give me enough time to get in and out, and then escape far enough away that she wouldn’t be suspicious.

She cracked the head off another fish, flecks of silver-white meat flaking into her lap.

A distraction.

And I had just the way to do it.