Chapter 14

Seated in Graves’s large desk chair, facing away from our company, I stare at the wooden shelf half-crammed with books, tracing the whorls of grain in the wood that reminds me of Rouste’s rolling dunes.

I can almost smell the sun-scorched sand. Can almost taste the sweet, watery fruit of a prickly pine bursting between my teeth. A perfect, calming distraction that stops me from spinning my chair.

Taking the lead despite the risks.

“Look, lady, I have no idea where his fleet is stored.” Captain Rowell’s ragged voice rumbles. “If I did, I’d steal a ship, collect me family, and get the fuck outta this Blight-infested shithole. And I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

“How many others do you think … feel that way?” Cindra asks from beside me, propped against the wall—arms crossed over her chest, her red merchant’s cloak hanging skewed over her curvy frame, the long, dreaded lengths of her hair bound into a tidy braid.

“Fair few. I know a handful of whaling crews ‘bout ready to throw in the barrel. Some of ‘em have teenage sons who know the way of the seas.”

I do the math.

We smuggled sixty-seven members of Rhordyn’s militia down the Norse. Most whaling ships have a crew of around thirty to forty able-bodied men.

If Rowell pulls through … we might have enough.

“And you have access to your ship stored at the city dock?” Cindra asks.

Rowell chuffs a humorless laugh. “Aye. I have access to that ol’ heap o’ whale shit. They keep us coming back for more. Filling the bellies o’ the oil beast.”

“This could work,” Cindra muses, flicking me a look.

I nod.

“Yuh … friend,” Rowell grumbles, pausing.

I can feel his attention boring into the back of my cloaked head, frustrated I have to keep my back to him. But I can’t be seen conspiring to milk Cainon’s population and resources. Certainly not before we have all the pieces on the board.

“Can they guarantee the protection of me family? Of me entire crews’ family?”

“Yes. They can also guarantee the protection of anybody else you might be able to recruit. Preferably crewmen who are familiar with sailing rough seas and can keep their mouths firmly shut.”

“They’ll be requirin’ somethin’ to solidify their faith in yuh,” Rowell says. “Me men have been mighty burnt of late, and most of ‘em are strugglin’ to feed their young.”

I reach into the pocket of my red cloak and pull out a pouch heavy with topaz beads, most no bigger than the tip of my pinkie finger, though still large enough to feed a family for a couple of years in most corners of the continent.

Tugging my hood low, I hand the bag to Cindra, who lumps it on the desk.

There’s the sound of loosening strings before, “Fuckin’ ‘ell …”

“Each recruit will receive one bead upon pledge,” Cindra states. “A second upon reaching the destination. Straight from your … benefactors personal vault. You, Captain Rowell, will receive an entire pouch should you gather us enough able-bodied sailors to man at least forty ships.”

Again, I feel Rowell’s attention bore into the back of my head while I continue to trace those woody dunes.

He clears his throat. “And once we reach Ocruth, what assurance do we have that our families will be safe from the Vruks?”

A sandstorm stews in my chest, and I almost spin. Tell him we are the assurance. That without those ships, we’re all fucked—be it now or in a few years’ time. I can tell by the hard look in Cindra’s pale gray eyes that she’s biting back similar words.

“Castle Noir is widely known to be the safest place on the continent,” she says, her voice crisp and cold. “You will each have residence within the castle walls until the threat has ceased.”

“And that’s theirs to offer?” Rowell asks, and there’s a lilt to his tone that makes me wonder if he’s worked out who I am.

“Yes,” Cindra states.

There’s a long, drawn-out inhale before, “Very well, then.”

I nibble my relief, crunch my teeth on it, then spit it back out. When I lived in The Vein, dressed in sand and bruises and my own scrappy rage, there was always a bigger, badder shadow just around the corner. Always another battle to be won.

Nothing’s changed.

You’re not on top unless you’re a God, and even they can fall.

I hand Cindra a small scroll, which she passes to Rowell.

“Here’s everything you need to know about what we require of you. Prepare your family. And if you speak of this to anyone who could jeopardize the mission, I’ll boil your balls.”

My brows bump up, stare sliding sideways, taking in Cindra’s perfectly serene profile. I have to hand it to the woman, I don’t think I could’ve delivered that line with such a straight face.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, lady. That won’t be necessary.” There’s the sound of Rowell’s chair scraping across the ground, then his departing steps. The door squeaks open, snips shut.

I spin my chair, stare raking across the top of Graves’s wooden desk. He let us use his office, which was kind—and only cost me three topaz beads. Gotta respect a man who’s willing to look a High Mistress in the eye and barter.

“I like Rowell,” Cindra says. “I think he’ll come through.”

“Can’t imagine why he wouldn’t.” I smile wryly. “Think he got the message loud and clear.”

She flashes me a grin. “Aim for the soft spot. Never fails.” Her smile fades, and she moves around the desk, settling in Rowell’s seat. She leans forward, hands clasped before her. “What are we doing about Orlaith?”

I think of the sprite that came zipping up to Cindra right before our meeting, chittering a rambled message that could have only come from one person’s mouth. I didn’t even bother to check her room to confirm.

I suck a breath, lips pursed. Blow it out slow.

“She wants the ships as much as I do, and there’s nothing we can do until we locate them. Once we have some coordinates we can devise a plan.” I shrug. “So long as she keeps in contact—and keeps her lips shut about Rhordyn—everything should be okay. We pour our focus into getting what we came for, then snag her on the way out. The rest we can figure out later.”

“So we’re just … leaving her to it?”

I raise a brow, looking at Cindra. “You’re thinking of her as the kid you’ve seen scuttling around the castle. A liability.”

“Hard not to after what she’s done.”

“There’s a strength in her that needs time to hatch, and she’s not going to do that with me breathing down her neck,” I say, toying with my braid.

Now that I really think about it, she was more of a danger to herself sitting in that room upstairs with nothing to do but think. Surrounded by Rhordyn’s things and clothes and smell.

No wonder she climbed out the window. I would have done the same.

“Then how are we going to find these ships?” Cindra asks, frowning. “Stow on a barge?”

I shake my head. “Too risky. I’ve planted a sprite on Cainon’s ship. With the escort of a sail, I figure the little thing should be able to track a path and make it back to relay it safely.”

“That’s—”

“Useless if he doesn’t set sail before the coupling ceremony,” I mutter, “I know.”

There’s no plan without a backup plan. You’re dune cat chow if you put all your boa eggs in one basket.

Cindra’s eyes harden as she nods. “Then we better devise a plan B.”

I flick a lopsided smile at her.

I like this woman.