Chapter 3

The whispers stop as soon as I enter the hull of the ship.

The consequences of the events at the Market hang in the air like a damp blanket, smothering. The journey home has been nothing but hushed voices and melancholy, in complete juxtaposition to the boisterous and animated atmosphere of the crew on the way there. Everyone is on edge, angry about our time at the Market being cut short, nervous about relations with Kenta moving forward.

And they blame me.

There have always been murmurings about my deviance, rumors about how terrible an influence I am, always getting Kai and Messer in trouble of some kind. Widespread confusion as to why Kai's parents allowed such a friendship, speculations that are now in the eyes of my peers as well even though they damn well know who the real troublemaker is.

Messer looks up from the game of chess he's playing against Lawson, one of the few boys in our training class I can tolerate. He smiles, but it's weak. He hates that I'm always the scapegoat. I've been avoiding him to spare him the grief that comes with being saddled with me as a friend.

I edge around the congregation of card players, pretending the stares of my classmates aren't drilling holes into my back as I weave through the hanging hammocks, mine the very last in the deepest recess of the ship. Well, mine and Messers and Kai's, because they refused to let me be sequestered alone.

I strike a match and light the lantern hanging between our posts, locking the door to the oiled wick quickly, shaking the miniature flame out. The very first part of our safety training before the voyage was fire safety. One wrong lick of flame and the entire ship will catch, sending us all to our doom.

I open the folded canvas of my bed and yelp, jumping away from the furry creature scurrying in the opposite direction.

Laughter erupts from behind me. The rat was obviously planted, the kernels of corn used as bait. I don't bother looking for the offender, knowing it's Paul and his pack of henchmen. They've been the most vocal regarding my social status since I joined the guard with them at twelve, and the betrayal of my crimson cheeks would give away my humiliation.

Instead, I flip the bed over and turn it inside out before climbing in. I suppose it's better than my boots being tied to the mast in the middle of the night or having my dinner dumped on my lap so I smell like fish stew for days on end. Both stunts went unpunished by Gramble.

I wait until the anger dims to a simmer before daring a look over at Messer, but he's not looking at me. He's staring daggers at Paul. As if he feels my eyes on him, I shake my head when Messer looks my way. It's not worth it, whatever it is he's thinking. We're already awaiting our fates when we arrive back in Alaha; no need to add to our list of transgressions .

Thievery.

Inciting a rebellion.

Treason.

All the accusations Gramble threw at me, Messer, and Aurora. Kai was spared his wrath, as is to be expected. He's our beacon of hope to avoid exile upon our return. Captain Wren will have to take into account Kai's recounting of events before doling out our punishments.

I make sure everyone's focus has returned to conversing amongst themselves, the prank long forgotten before I turn down the flame on the lantern so there's just enough light to see by.

I slide the dagger from my waistband. Running my fingers over the wooden hilt, I follow the strip of metal down its seam, then to the initial inscribed at the base.

J

Perhaps a family name, considering how old the weapon is. There's a good chance the object carries more sentimental value than actual functionality considering the hairline crack along the handle's spine indicating it was repaired at one point in time. Even so, the blade is surprisingly sharp, and it worked just fine to cut through tendons.

I retrieve my sketchbook from my pack and open to the page I last bookmarked with a charcoal pencil, replacing it with the dagger in the open hinge. I've drawn the weapon over and over. Sharp edge made from a black material, unlike the metal of typical swords and daggers.

Unhappy with any of my unfinished drawings, I flip to a fresh page and start anew. I'm on my fifth rendition when I spot Kai entering the hull from above deck .

He skirts the requests to join in on a game. Messer intervenes before Kai's able to reach his bunk, and I hurry to hide my contraband in my sketchbook, sliding it under my pillow. Their heads are tipped close as they speak, and I don't need to be privy to the conversation to know Messer is informing Kai of the rat in my hammock, Messer's head tilting toward Paul with Kai's gaze following.

I hate it when he does this, notifying Kai of all the terrible things that happen between my classmates and me. It's like he expects him to do something about it when, in reality, it only makes it worse when Kai confronts the situation. The taunts become meaner. Uglier. More backhanded.

Kai claps Messer on the shoulder and takes the shortest route to our posts. I haven't had to work as hard to avoid Kai. He's been doing a perfect job avoiding me all by himself. That's why I'm especially annoyed with Messer when Kai's laden stare locks on mine.

He unbuckles his belt and hangs it on the hook beside his hammock. "Why didn't you tell me about the harassment?"

How do I explain to a man who's never faced true opposition from his superiors, let alone his peers, that anything he does to try to remedy the situation will only do the opposite?

"If you refuse to come to me for help, you've got to at least learn to stick up for yourself," he says, climbing into his bed.

I glare at him. "So that I'll be the one to be punished for it? Gramble invariably believes Paul or literally anyone else over me." I return my gaze to the dark underbelly of the hull. "No thanks. I'd rather not be put on head duty."

Cleaning the toilets is not for the weak on this vessel.

I hear Kai's heavy sigh over the creaking of the wooden ship. He knows I'm right, even if he can't admit it. He hates being powerless when it comes to my position in the guard. Or hell, in Alaha and in life. His rank as my friend only goes so far.

"It'll pass," I tell him, wanting to ease his worry. "Many of them will never see land again as long as they live, and I'm the reason their time at the Market was cut short."

We're in a floating prison of sorts, confined to live and breathe the same air without any reprieve from one another. The entire voyage from home was littered with squabbles and melodrama. At least the passage back has been quiet, even if it's because there's a united front of anger against me.

"Their blame is unfair," he says.

It's nice to hear that he doesn't fault me for the disastrous turn of events at the Market or the peace treaty that's hanging by a thread, but the truth is I do hold some of the blame. If I hadn't run from Kai, I wouldn't have been by myself, and the Kenta soldier with dark eyes wouldn't have had the opportunity to cite me as a thief. I still don't understand his motives. I don't know if he planned on infringing on the treaty with the intention to frame our people as the instigators well before entering the Market, but I made myself an easy target either way.

Kai and I haven't spoken of any of the day's events outside the initial questioning from Gramble's wrath after departing. He said he didn't see the soldier trailing me or when he pinned me to the table, only the moments thereafter, except he skipped over the detail of my hand being forced to the stone wall.

I was relieved to not have to explain the strange pain I felt at the moment my palm made contact with it, so I followed his lead and omitted that part. Messer did the same. But the glaring and more complicated subject of his marriage proposal remains like an anchor around my neck. Any time I think I've garnered enough courage to address it, nothing comes out.

"Kai."

He opens his eyes, head turning in my direction.

For the first time, I reiterate the truth to him and him alone. "I didn't steal anything from that vendor. I wouldn't lie about this. Not to you."

Regardless of everything that remains unsaid, his eyes soften in the swinging glow of the lamplight. "I know that, Brynn." He stretches an arm across the space between our hammocks, and I do the same, grasping his hand in mine. "I told you: I'll always protect you."

We fall asleep that way, holding hands.

When I awake to the sound of a boy screaming, my hand hangs limp off the side of my hammock. Kai's is in the same position, and he flips to look toward the cause of commotion.

There's only one lamp left alight in the hull so it's hard to see, but the string of curses give away the source. Paul jerks in his hammock, shaking the bed underneath as well as he kicks and swings his arms and legs.

"Get them off! Get them off!"

Someone has the common sense to light a lamp and swing it in Paul's direction. Black insects run across his extremities as he tries and fails to knock them off. Cockroaches, I register as he panics and teeters too far to the side, causing him to fall to the floor with a loud thunk.

A smattering of laughter rings out as people come to realize Paul is deathly afraid of the inch-long bugs. He yells, stripping off his shirt altogether, his pants following quickly after, and it only serves to make everyone laugh harder, which in turns makes him angrier.

"Who did this?" He stands, breathing uneven as he stares everyone down. Larger than most in our class, he's not to be messed with, and it effectively shuts everyone up. "Who did this?" he repeats, emboldened by his ability to intimidate.

No one speaks, and his gaze swings over the now quiet hull. He stops when he reaches me, eyes pausing on mine before they flit to Kai at my side then look away.

Kai and I share a knowing look, checking Messer's empty bed and feeling certain who the culprit is. Suppressing a smile, Kai drapes an arm over his eyes in a bid to fall back asleep. I, on the other hand, wait until the hull quiets back down to only snores and the sounds of the ever-creaking ship before crawling out of my hammock.

The deck is haunting in the dead of night. A small crew mans the sails and the helm with nothing but inky blackness in every direction. Aurora leans against the railing as she chats with two of the others on night shift with her. She sees me and tips her head in the direction of the bow. I nod my thanks in return.

We've never been close despite being the only two girls in our class. It's difficult to form a friendship when we've always been pitted against each other because of it. Our formative years of training were spent at odds, trying to become better, faster, stronger than the other. It wasn't until about a year ago that Messer forced us to be civil. Ever the peacemaker of our group.

It's difficult to not fall into the same trap again, however, with everyone blaming me in spite of Aurora's actions of blowing up the Market. She's considered a hero by some for allowing us a chance of escape.

I can't say for certain we would have made it back to the boats in time to escape the onslaught of Kenta chasing us, but I can't say for certain we wouldn't have either. Aurora lighting the booth of kerosene and oils might have saved us temporarily, but it might damn us over time. Some of my peers seem to understand the gravity of the situation and have shunned us both. At least that I can understand.

I march up the stairs to the top of the bow, around the railing, and cuss Aurora under my breath. The girl and Messer break apart when they see me. The girl tries to hide her face as she adjusts her blouse, but it's a futile effort. There's only a handful of female crew, and her blue dress gives her away: Masie, the scriber, and Gramble's daughter.

She scurries off, and I avert my eyes as Messer adjusts the opening of his pants. I brace my forearms on the front of the ship's bow. After a moment, Messer takes the spot next to me, and I dare a look at him.

"Are you trying to get exiled?"

He smirks, all suave masculinity and mussed hair. "Some things are worth the risk, B."

I can't help but smile at his ridiculous statement. "You're so dumb."

He meets my stare, not in the least bit repentant. "I know."

I shake my head, unsurprised by his blasé attitude. "Well, you can blame Aurora for the interruption. She's the one who gave you away."

"Go figure," he says. "She's still mad at me."

"You?" I say, confused. "For what?"

He looks out at the expanse of nothing ahead of us. "You could say we have a differing opinion."

I raise a brow at his vague answer. "On?"

He loses a little of the brightness behind his smile. "She believes it's time to make a stand against Kenta. To challenge the current agreement."

I'm somehow surprised and not at the same time. "You don't?"

He cocks his head to the side as he looks at me. "I think she's already made the decision for us."

I let out a deep breath. "What do you think the punishment will be?"

He shakes his head. "There's no telling with Wren. Could be a year in the brig for all we know."

It's the most anyone's been sentenced to. Anyone requiring longer punishment is simply exiled, sent out on a tiny rowboat and ordered to never return. There have only been three in my lifetime that I can remember, and all were for far more minor crimes than breaking a century-old peace treaty.

"I'm just ready to get it over with," I tell him.

He makes a face that's hard to decipher. "This ship is hell enough."

That's more than true.

"How'd you know Paul is scared of roaches?" I say, changing the subject. "And how'd you catch so many?"

His smile returns in full force. "I have my ways. "

I hold his stare for a long moment before letting my head rest on his shoulder. He tenses for a moment before wrapping an arm around me in a side embrace. It's the most we've ever touched outside of training, and it's a tad awkward.

I pull away first. "Don't do it again."

He knows what I mean, but he smirks. "No promises."