1 THE SMUGGLER’S DAUGHTER

1

THE SMUGGLER’S DAUGHTER

Corayne

There was clear sight for miles. A good day for the end of a voyage.

And a good day to begin one.

Corayne loved the coast of Siscaria this time of year, in the mornings of early summer. No spring storms, no crackling thunderheads, no winter fog. No splendor of color, no beauty. No illusions. Nothing but the empty blue horizon of the Long Sea.

Her leather satchel bounced at her hip, her ledger safe inside. The book of charts and lists was worth its weight in gold, especially today. She eagerly walked the ancient Cor road along the cliffs, following the flat, paved stones into Lemarta. She knew the way like she knew her mother’s own face. Sand-colored and wind-carved, not worn by the sun but gilded by it. The Long Sea crashed fifty feet below, kicking up spray in rhythm with the tide. Olive and cypress trees grew over the hills, and the wind blew kindly, smelling of salt and oranges.

A good day,she thought again, turning her face to the sun.

Her guardian, Kastio, walked at her side, his body weathered by decades on the waves. Gray-haired with furious black eyebrows, the old Siscarian sailor was darkly tanned from fingertips to toes. He walked at an odd pace, suffering from old knees and permanent sea legs.

“Any more dreams?” he asked, glancing at his charge sidelong. His vivid blue eyes searched her face with the focus of an eagle.

Corayne shook her head, blinking tired eyes. “Just excited,” she offered, forcing a thin smile to placate him. “You know I barely sleep before the ship returns.”

The old sailor was easily thrown off.

He doesn’t need to know about my dreams, nor does anyone. He would certainly tell Mother, who would make it all the more unbearable with her concern.

But they still come every night. And, somehow, they’re getting worse.

White hands, shadowed faces. Something moving in the dark.

The memory of the dream chilled her even in broad daylight, and she sped up, as if she could outrun her own mind.

Ships made their way along the Empress Coast toward the Lemartan port. They had to sail up the gullet of the city’s natural harbor, in full sight of the road and the watchtowers of Siscaria. Most of the towers were relics of Old Cor, near ruins of storm-washed stone, named for emperors and empresses long gone. They stood out like teeth in a half-empty jaw. The towers still standing were manned by old soldiers or land-bound sailors, men in their twilight.

“What’s the count this morning, Reo?” Corayne asked as she passed the Tower of Balliscor. In the window stood its single keeper, a decaying old man.

He waggled a set of wrinkled fingers, his skin worn as old leather. “Only two in beyond the point. Blue-green sails.”

Aquamarine sails,she corrected in her head, marked with the golden mermaid of Tyriot. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?” she said, not breaking stride.

He chuckled weakly. “My hearing might be going, but my eye’s sharp as ever.”

“Sharp as ever!” Corayne echoed, fighting a smirk.

Indeed two Tyri galleys were past Antero Point, but a third ship crawled through the shallows, in the shadow of the cliffs. Difficult to spot, for those who did not know where to look. Or those paid to look elsewhere.

Corayne left no coin behind for the half-blind watchman of Balliscor, but she dropped the usual bribes at the towers of Macorras and Alcora. An alliance bought is still an alliance made, she thought, hearing her mother’s voice in her head.

She gave the same to the gatekeeper at the Lemarta walls, though the port city was small, the gate already open, Corayne and Kastio well known. Or at least my mother is well known, well liked, and well feared in equal measure.

The gatekeeper took the coin, waving them onto familiar streets overgrown with lilac and orange blossoms. They perfumed the air, hiding the smells of a crowded port, somewhere between small city and bustling town. Lemarta was a bright place, the stone buildings painted in the radiant colors of sunrise and sunset. On a summer morning, the market streets crowded with tradespeople and townsfolk alike.

Corayne offered smiles like her coin: an item to trade. Like always, she felt a barrier between herself and the throng of people, as if she were watching them through glass.

Farmers drove their mules in from the cliffs, carting vegetables, fruits, and grain. Merchants shouted their wares in every language of the Long Sea. Dedicant priests walked in lines, their robes dyed in varying shades to note their orders. The blue-cloaked priests of Meira were always most numerous, praying to the goddess of the waters. Sailors waiting for a tide or a wind already idled in seden courtyards, drinking wine in the sunshine.

A port city was many things, but above all a crossroads. While Lemarta was insignificant in the scheme of the world, she was nothing to sneer at. She was a good place to drop anchor.

But not for me,Corayne thought as she quickened her pace. Not one second longer.

A maze of steps took them down to the docks, spitting Corayne and Kastio out onto the stone walkway edging the water. The climbing sun flashed brilliantly off the turquoise shallows. Lemarta stared down at the harbor, hunched against the cliffs like an audience in an amphitheater.

The ships from Tyriot were newly docked, anchored on either side of a longer pier jutting out into deeper water. A mess of crew crowded the galleys and the pier, spilling over the planks. Corayne caught snatches of Tyri and Kasan passed from deck to dock, but most spoke Paramount, the shared language of trade on both sides of the Long Sea. The crews unloaded crates and live animals for a pair of Siscarian harbor officers, who made a great show of taking notes for their tax records and dock duties. Half a dozen soldiers accompanied them, clad in rich purple tunics.

Nothing of spectacular quality or particular interest,Corayne noted, eyeing the haul.

Kastio followed her gaze, squinting out beneath his eyebrows. “Where from?” he asked.

Her smirk bloomed as quickly as an answer. “Salt from the Aegir mines,” Corayne said, all confidence. “And I bet you a cup of wine the olive oil is from the Orisi groves.”

The old sailor chuckled. “No bet—I’ve learned my lesson more than once,” he replied. “You’ve a head for this business, none can deny that.”

She faltered in her steps, her voice sharpening. “Let’s hope so.”

Another harbor officer waited at the end of the next pier, though the berth was empty. The soldiers with him looked half-asleep, wholly uninterested. Corayne fixed her lips into her best smile, one hand in her satchel with her fingers closed around the final and heaviest pouch. The weight was a comfort, as good as a knight’s shield.

Though she’d done this a dozen times, still her fingers trembled. A good day to begin a voyage, she told herself again. A good day to begin.

Over the officer’s shoulder, a ship came into harbor, sailing out of the cliff shadow. There was no mistaking the galley, its deep purple flag a beacon. Corayne’s heartbeat drummed.

“Officer Galeri,” she called, Kastio close behind her. Though neither wore fine clothes, clad in light summer tunics, leather leggings, and boots, they walked the pier like royalty. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

Galeri inclined his head. The officer was almost three times her age—nearing fifty years old—and spectacularly ugly. Still, Galeri was popular with the women of Lemarta, mostly because his pockets were well lined with bribes.

“Domiana Corayne, you know the pleasure is mine,” he replied, taking her outstretched hand with a flourish. The pouch passed from her fingers to his, disappearing into his coat. “And good morning to you, Domo Kastio,” he added, nodding at the old man. Kastio glowered in reply “More of the usual this morning? How fares the Tempestborn?”

“She fares well.” Corayne grinned truly, looking over the galley as she glided in.

The Tempestborn was bigger than the Tyri galleys, longer by half and twice as fine, with a ram better suited to battle than trade just below the waterline. She was a beautiful ship, her hull darkly painted for voyages in colder seas. With the turn of the season, warm-water camouflage would come: sea-green and sand stripes. But for now she was as shadow, flying the wine-dark purple of a Siscarian ship returning home. The crew was in good shape, Corayne knew, watching their oars move in perfect motion as they maneuvered the long, flat ship to the dock.

A silhouette stood at the stern, and warmth spread in Corayne’s chest.

She turned back to Galeri sharply, pulling a paper from her ledger, already stamped with the seal of a noble family. “The cargo listing, more of the usual.” For cargo not yet unloaded. “You’ll find accurate counts. Salt and honey, taken on in Aegironos.”

Galeri eyed the paper without interest. “Bound for?” he asked, opening his own ledger of notes. Behind him, one of the soldiers took to pissing off the dock.

Corayne wisely ignored him. “Lecorra,” she said. The Siscarian capital. Once the center of the known realm, now a shadow of its imperial glory. “To His Excellency, Duke Reccio—”

“That will suffice,” Galeri muttered. Noble shipments could not be taxed, and their seals were easy to replicate or steal, for those with the inclination, skill, and daring.

At the end of the pier, ropes were thrown, men leaping with them. Their voices were a tangle of languages: Paramount and Kasan and Treckish and even the lilting Rhashiran tongue. The patchwork of noise wove with the hiss of rope on wood, the splash of an anchor, the slap of a sail. Corayne could barely stand it, ready to jump out of her skin with excitement.

Galeri dropped into a shallow bow, grinning. Two of his teeth were brighter than the rest. Ivory, bought or bribed. “Very well, this is settled. We’ll stand watch, of course, to observe your shipment for His Excellency.”

It was the only invitation Corayne needed. She trotted by the officer and his soldiers, doing her best not to break into a run. In her younger years, she would have, sprinting to the Tempestborn with arms outstretched. But I am seventeen years old, nearly a woman, and the ship’s agent besides, she told herself. I must act like crew and not a child clutching at skirts.

Not that I’ve ever seen my mother wear a skirt.

“Welcome back!” Corayne called, first in Paramount, then in the half-dozen other languages she knew, and the two more she could attempt. Rhashiran was still beyond her grasp, while the Jydi tongue was famously impossible for outsiders.

“You’ve been practicing,” said Ehjer, the first crew member to meet her. He was near seven feet tall, his white skin covered in tattoos and scars hard-won in the snows of the Jyd. She knew the stories of the worst of them—a bear, a skirmish, a lover, a particularly angry moose. Or perhaps the last two were the same? she wondered before he embraced her.

“Don’t patronize me, Ehjer; I sound haarblød,” she gasped, struggling to breathe in his grip. He laughed heartily.

The pier crowded with reunion, the planks a mess of crew and crates. Corayne passed through, careful to note any new recruits picked up on the voyage. There were always a few, easy to spot. Most had blistered hands and sunburns, unaccustomed to life on deck. The Tempestborn liked to train their own from the waves up.

Mother’s rule, like so many others.

Corayne found her where she always did, half perched on the railing.

Meliz an-Amarat was neither tall nor short, but her presence was vast and commanded attention. A good quality for any ship’s captain to have. She scanned the dock with a hawk’s eye and a dragon’s pride, her task yet unfinished though the ship was safely in port. She was not a captain to laze in her cabin or flit off to the nearest seden to drink while the crew did the hard work. Every crate and burlap sack passed beneath her gaze, to be checked off on a mental tally.

“How fare the winds?” Corayne called, watching her mother rule over her galley kingdom.

From the deck, Meliz beamed, her hair free about her shoulders, black as a storm cloud. The faint smile lines around her mouth were well earned.

“Fine, for they bring me home,” she said, her voice like honey.

They were words spoken since Corayne was a child, barely old enough to know where her mother was going, when all she could do was wave with one hand and clutch at Kastio with the other. Not so anymore.

Corayne felt her smile flag, turning heavy. Her happiness curled at the edges, wearing away with nerves. Wait for your moment, she told herself. Promised herself. Not here, not yet.

The harbor officer ignored their cargo, mostly unmarked. He would not pry these open on the docks, but leave them be, undisturbed until they were far beyond the care of Captain an-Amarat and the Tempestborn. Corayne knew their contents, of course, for it was her job to find places to sell or trade them. It was all in her ledger, buried among false lists and true sea charts.

“Keep those at the end of the pier,” she said sharply, gesturing to a set of crates. “An Ibalet ship will dock alongside us before the morning is out, and they need to take their cargo quickly.”

“Do they?”

Meliz descended from her sailcloth-and-saltdeck throne, a smile tugging at her lips. She was never far from a smirk or a laugh. Today she looked wrought in bronze, her skin darkened by the sun while the flush of a successful voyage colored her cheeks. Her mahogany eyes sparkled, made more striking by a line of black along her lids.

“Answer well, Daughter.”

Corayne squared her shoulders. She’d grown this last year and could look her mother in the eye now. “The furs will go on to Qaliram.”

Meliz blinked, her full, dark brow curving into splendid swoops. There were three tiny scars over her left eye, the lucky cuts of an opponent with poor aim.

She took her daughter by the arm, urging her to walk. “I did not know the Ibalets had need for fox and sable in the Great Sands.”

Corayne didn’t blame her for the skepticism. Ibal was mostly desert. Fur from the north would certainly not fetch a favorable price. But she had her reasons.

“Their royal court has taken a liking to their mountains,” she said lightly, pleased with herself. “And with all that desert blood, well, they’re not likely to stay warm without our help. I’ve made my inquiries; it’s all arranged.”

“I suppose it won’t be terrible to have contacts within the royal family of Ibal.” Meliz’s voice dropped. “Especially after that misunderstanding in the Strait last winter.”

A misunderstanding that left three sailors dead and theTempestborn near sinking. Corayne swallowed back the bitter taste of fear and failure. “My thoughts exactly.”

Meliz pulled her closer. After nearly two months left behind, Corayne basked in the attention. She brushed her head against her mother’s shoulder, wishing she could embrace her properly. But the crew were all around them, busy in their work, dedicated to the ship and her needs, with Galeri observing from the edges, more nosy than official.

“You know you have some of that desert blood,” Meliz said. “On my side, of course.”

Despite the warmth of her mother’s arm, Corayne felt a cold ripple of unease in her belly. “Among others,” she muttered. There were many conversations she wanted to have with her mother. My bloodline is far from one of them.

Meliz looked over her daughter again. It was a poor subject to return home to, and she navigated away from it. “Very well, what else have you lined up for me?”

Corayne heaved a breath, both relieved and eager to impress. She held her ledger open to show pages cramped with delicate, deliberate writing. “The Madrentines will be at war with Galland soon enough, and they’ll pay best for weaponry.” She allowed herself a small smile. “Especially Treckish steel without entanglements.”

The metal was valuable, both for its durability and the close control Trec kept over its export. Meliz shared in her delight.

“All this you learn in Lemarta?” she mused, raising an eyebrow.

“Where else would I learn it?” Corayne said sharply, her skin growing hot. “We’re a port city as much as any. Sailors talk.”

Sailors talk; travelers talk; merchants and guards and the tower watchmen talk.They talk loudly and often—lying, mostly. Boasting of lands they’ve never seen or great deeds they’ll never accomplish. But the truth is always there, beneath, waiting to be sifted free, specks of gold among sand.

Captain an-Amarat chuckled in her ear, her breath cool. Her mother smelled of the sea; she always smelled of the sea.

“Do any talk to you?” she needled, intention clear. She glanced at the old sailor who spent his days guarding her daughter. “Kastio, how fares my daughter with the boys?”

A jolt of embarrassment licked down Corayne’s spine. She slapped her ledger shut with both hands and drew away, flushing red. “Mother,” she hissed, scandalized.

Meliz only laughed, unbothered and accustomed to her daughter’s discomfort.

“Oh, come now. I was your age when I met your father,” she said, putting a hand on her generous hip, fingers splayed over her sword belt. “Well, a year older. I was your age when I met the girl before your father. . . .”

Corayne stuffed her ledger away, returning the precious pages to her satchel. “All right, that’s more than enough. I have a lot of information to keep straight, and this is certainly not worth committing to my memory.”

Laughing again, Meliz took her daughter’s face in her hands. She stepped with a swaying motion, her heart still aboard the deck of a ship.

Though she loved Meliz, Corayne felt small and young in her grasp. And she hated it.

“You’re radiant when you blush,” Meliz said, all the truth she could muster in her words.

Such is the way of mothers, to think the sun and the moon of their children.Like the Long Sea on a clear morning, Corayne held no illusions. Meliz an-Amarat was the radiant one, beautiful and magnificent. Lovely as any queen, but Meliz was common-born of the Ward, a smuggler’s daughter, a child of the Sea and the Strait and every country they touched. She was made for the waves, the only other thing in this world as fierce and bold as she was.

Not like me.Corayne knew herself, and while she was her mother’s daughter, she was not her mother’s equal. Their coloring was the same. Golden skin that went bronze in the summer, black hair that shone deep red beneath sunlight. But Corayne had thin lips, a short nose, a graver face than her mother, who smiled like a sunbeam. Her eyes were unremarkable, black all the way through, flat and empty as a starless night. Inscrutable, distant. As Corayne felt apart from the world, her eyes showed it.

It did not bother her, to think such things. It is good to know your own measure. Especially in a world where women were as much what they looked like as what they could do. Corayne would never persuade a fleet patrol with a bat of her eyelashes. But the right coin to the right hands, the right pull of the right string—that Corayne could do, and do well.

“You’re perfect when you lie,” the girl said, kindly pulling away.

“I have lots of practice,” Meliz replied. “Of course, I never lie to you.”

“You and I both know that is realms away from the truth,” Corayne said without accusation. It took all her resolve to keep her face still and measured, unaffected by her mother’s life—and the trust they could never truly share. “But I know you have your reasons.”

Meliz was good enough not to argue. There was truth in admitting her lies. “I do,” she murmured. “And they are always, always, to keep you safe, my dearest girl.”

Though the words stuck in her throat, Corayne forced them out anyway, her cheeks flushing with heat. “I need to ask you—” she began.

Only for Galeri’s thumping boots to cut her off.

Mother and daughter turned at his approach, false smiles donned with ease.

“Officer Galeri, you honor us with your attention,” the captain said, inclining her head politely. Theirs was a pleasant arrangement, and small-minded men were quick to take slights from women, even imagined.

Galeri basked in the glow of Captain an-Amarat. He drew close, closer than he had to Corayne. Meliz did not flinch, well accustomed to the leers of men. Even fresh from a voyage, dressed in salt-eaten clothes, she could turn many eyes.

Corayne swallowed her disgust.

“You came from Aegironos, your daughter told me,” Galeri said. He jabbed a thumb back at the crates piling on the dock. Runes marked the wood. “Strange, the Aegir usually don’t mark their crates in Jydi wolf scratch.”

Sighing inwardly, Corayne began to count the coins left in her satchel and wondered if enough could be swept together to appease Galeri’s curiosity.

Her mother’s smile only widened. “I thought that odd as well.”

Corayne had seen her mother flirt many times. This is not that.

Galeri’s face fell, the workings of his mind easy to read. His soldiers were few, unready, and mostly useless. Captain an-Amarat had her entire crew behind her, and her own sword at her hip. She could kill him and be off with the current before the officers on the next dock even noticed he was dead. Or he could simply move on with the coin already earned, with more to be earned again after the next voyage. His eyes trembled, just for a second, to pass over Corayne herself. The only thing in the world he could hold over Meliz an-Amarat, should things go ill.

Corayne curled a fist, though she had no clue what to do with it.

“Good to have you back in port, Hell Mel,” Galeri forced out, matching her grin. A bead of sweat rolled down his scalp as he stepped aside, bowing to the pair of them.

Meliz watched him go, her teeth bared and lips curled into a frightful smile. Who she was on the waves never stood on land, not for long. Corayne rarely saw that woman, the fierce captain of a fiercer crew, who crossed the waters without regard for law or danger. That woman was not her mother, not Meliz an-Amarat. That was Hell Mel.

That name held little meaning here, in the home port of the Tempestborn, where the galley glided in on soft winds with little trouble but curious officers. But on the waters, across the Ward, the ship was aptly named, and so was her captain.

Corayne heard those stories too.

Sailors talk.

And Mother lies.