“Trust me, like Elias trusted me,” the girl said. “Cut me loose. Please.”

  Never depend on anyone else to keep you safe, nephew. You keep them safe instead.

  Sometimes, that meant fighting, defending. But right now, instinct told him to trust this tracker. Quil cut her bonds, two swift slices of his dagger.

  Sufiyan glanced over. “What are you doing?”

  “She has a plan,” Quil said. “Which is more than I can say for us.” He turned back to her. “Perhaps you should tell us your name.”

  “Sirsha Westering,” she said, and he might have imagined it, but as their eyes met, he felt a shift in his skin, a flash of something in her face that wasn’t disdain. “Tracker and ship’s malcontent. The pleasure is all yours. You,” she called to Sufiyan. “Take off your shirt. Arelia, cut the engine. If we look like we’re trying to escape, it will only anger them. Check the servants’ cabin for something nondescript to change into.”

  Arelia flew down to the cabins and Sufiyan stripped, eyeing Sirsha with something between curiosity and mistrust.

  “Get oars in the water.” She pointed Sufiyan to the rowers’ bench. “Quil”—she regarded the prince—“tear off the sleeves of your tunic,” she said. “And turn around.”

  “I don’t trust you enough to turn my back,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows as she dug a bundle of cloth from her pack. “Fine,” she said, and began to pull off her clothing.

  Quil spun around, cheeks heating, trying to rid himself of the brief but potent image of her bare skin. A light, metallic ringing sounded, like wind chimes. It was strangely familiar, though he couldn’t place it. The ship slowed, and moments later, Arelia emerged from the engine room wearing the wrinkled blue uniform of a palace maid. When she looked past Quil’s shoulder, her jaw dropped, and despite himself, Quil turned.

  Sirsha was no longer the scrappy tracker who’d tried to steal their ship. She was clad now in the unmistakable, heavily embroidered formal robes and gold chain headdress of a Jaduna.

  Quil understood then that Sirsha was either far stupider than she seemed, or far more reckless. “Did you rob a bleeding Jaduna? How in the skies did you survive?”

  “No one robs a Jaduna and lives to tell the tale.”

  Quil thought the frisson in Sirsha’s voice was fear, before realizing that it was pride. He understood then why she appeared familiar. She bore the hallmarks of her people. That surety of gaze, the haughty walk, the confidence that comes with knowing you’re the most powerful person in the room.

  “You are a Jaduna,” he said. Of course. Elias wouldn’t trust anyone less skilled to hunt for Ilar and Ruh’s killer. “Why haven’t you broken free yet? You could’ve taken our heads off.”

  “We have two minutes before they can see us clearly. Three before they land. Don’t spend it asking doltish questions.” Sirsha raised her voice so Sufiyan and Arelia could hear.

  “I’m a Jaduna sorceress, traveling from Adisa, where I’ve completed a contract. You”—she pointed to Arelia—“are my maid and have taken a vow of silence. Sufiyan, I picked you up in Navium after my engine failed. And you, Quil, are my bodyguard and manservant.”

  Sufiyan stifled a guffaw at the crown prince’s demotion to “manservant.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” Sirsha said as Quil bristled. “You’re the best fighter here, and if it comes to it, I’ll need you on the deck stabbing people.”

  Quil struggled to hide both his pleasure at Sirsha noticing his skill in combat and his discomfort at being reduced to a mere killer.

  “I’m trusting you,” he said. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  “The rich boy has teeth.” Sirsha purred at him, her smile flashing in the darkness. “I like it.”

  The Kegari hovered directly above them now, the metal of their great dark Sails flashing. Quil tucked clenched fists into the pockets of his tunic to hide his rage. I spend most days angry, his aunt told him once. But that doesn’t mean I have to show it.

  Sirsha drew herself up, face hardening into the imperious lines of a Jaduna sorceress. Quil, standing behind her, took a step back. The magic-users were legendary. Even the Empress approached them with great care, insisting that Quil learn the intricacies of Jaduna law and etiquette so he could treat with them appropriately.

  Ropes dropped from the Sail, and two Kegari soldiers rappelled down, spry as acrobats. One was lanky and dark-haired; his female companion was light-haired and freckled. They wore sleeveless flight leathers and shining white wrist cuffs.

  Quil tried not to stare at those cuffs, but after fighting the Kegari in the city, he knew what they were. Weapons that stretched and moved with a life of their own. Weapons that had torn through Empire soldiers.

  “Light of the Spires,” Sirsha greeted the Kegari in Ankanese. Arelia exchanged a glance with Quil. Of course a Jaduna would speak Ankanese—it was the primary language of the entire Southern Continent. Aunt Helene insisted Quil speak it fluently, and Arelia had a knack for languages. Light of the Spires was not a phrase either of them had heard.

  “Long may it guide us.” The dark-haired Kegari lifted his brows at Sirsha. “The Jaduna have ever been courteous to the Kegari. We didn’t know your people to sail these waters.”

  “I am on a sacred mission,” Sirsha said. “Of an urgent nature.” She didn’t add more, and the Kegari didn’t ask, possibly as leery of the Jaduna as the Martials.

  “Do the Jaduna not have their own transport? Why use an Empire vessel?”

  “I will not explain myself to you.” Sirsha spoke slowly, as if to a child. “Our people don’t interfere with each other. Let’s not upset centuries of tradition.”

  The Kegari tilted his head, assessing. “You’re caught in the middle of a war, Jaduna. It would be within my rights to have you held until I confirm you’re not spying for the Martials.”

  “Do you own the ocean as well as the land, Kegari?” Sirsha snapped, and the boat rocked, seemingly in response. The other Kegari shifted from foot to foot, uneasy.

  “You have no rights here.” Sirsha stepped into the man’s face, chin high, so much a Jaduna sorceress that Quil wondered how he’d missed it. “And your war”—she spat the word—“has already delayed me. Go your way. And perhaps I’ll not mention to Raani Inashi-fa Ima S’rsha iy R’zwana that you dared to suggest a Jaduna would serve as a spy for any nation.”

  Bleeding hells. Perhaps Sirsha was reckless. The Raanis were the highest-ranking Jaduna. The six women led their people as a unit. Quil couldn’t imagine one would take kindly to having her name bandied about as a shield.

  The Kegari stepped back. “Where is your ship headed, honored Jaduna?” He was considerably more polite. “I will provide you an escort, so you are not harassed further.”

  “No Jaduna needs an escort—”

  “Nonetheless,” the Kegari said with a bit more steel in his voice, “I am honor bound to provide it. At least for a few days. Revna will accompany you.” He nodded to his companion.

  The bastard had trapped Sirsha. If she rejected him, he’d suspect something was wrong and their deception might be discovered. If she accepted him, they’d be stuck with a Kegari looking over their shoulder, possibly for weeks.

  Sirsha was apparently making the same calculation as Quil.

  Say Ankana, Quil willed her. Say we’re going south.

  “Jibaut,” she finally said, naming the city where the entire bleeding Kegari reserve force was stationed. Damn her to the hells.

  “I travel to Jibaut,” she went on. “And I would be delighted to have an escort.”

  15

  Sirsha

  The Kegari sky-rat flew far above the little Martial shabka, disappearing at night but always reappearing around midday. On the first day out of Navium, Sirsha saw a few pirate ships approaching the Empire’s southern coast. By the third day, she’d seen dozens. She braced for an attack, but the Kegari Sail above served as a warning. The pirates stayed away.

  They weren’t the only ones. Quil, Sufiyan, and Arelia had steadfastly ignored her. Still angry that she’d taken them west instead of south, as they’d wished.

  From Sirsha’s position at the helm of the Effie, as she’d taken to calling the ship, she could see the whole deck. Including Quil, mending a ripped sail, and Sufiyan and Arelia, arguing about whether fish should be caught with a line or the trap Arelia had rigged up.

  As she watched them, a strange feeling crept through her, like smoke filling her chest.

  Guilt.

  She harumphed. Why in the skies should she feel guilty? If she’d listened to Quil and his friends, they’d have sailed into Kegari territory. Sirsha would have lost the killer’s trail.

  Even thinking about it made her oath coin burn, a reminder that she had to see this hunt through.

  Sirsha resolutely looked west. Just ten days left in the journey. She’d simply ignore them right back.

  Except at that exact moment, Quil approached.

  Rather stupidly, she looked over her shoulder. Was he intending to talk to her, or did he have some other business on the quarterdeck?

  “Tracker.” He stopped before her, arms crossed. A bracelet on his wrist caught the sun, flashing in her view. “I need to discuss something with you.”

  Sirsha refused to look at him. He was too tall, for one. Sirsha was only a few inches shy of six feet herself, but she still had to look up at him. His very body, beautiful and hard and graceful, seemed to issue Sirsha a direct, insouciant challenge. You might not like me, but try to look away. I dare you.

  “Finally willing to chat, are we?” She sniffed. “Sorry, not in the mood.”

  “You said Elias gave you a mission to track down a murderer.”

  Ugh. His voice. Deep and warm and sure, belying those unreadable eyes. She hated him a little.

  “I wanted you to unbind me. I told you what I had to.” Eight years alone had taught Sirsha it was best not to discuss her jobs too much. She didn’t need anyone blabbing about her mission to the wrong ears.

  “Why are you fidgeting like that?” Arelia came up behind Quil, regarding Sirsha suspiciously. “You don’t have lice, do you? Sufiyan, tell me you know a cure for lice.”

  “Nolgh root and ground sap beetle wings. Stinks like horse dung,” Sufiyan said as he joined from Quil’s other side. “Who’s got lice?”

  “She does—”

  “I do not have lice,” Sirsha snapped. “I am fidgeting because—”

  “Because you’re lying,” Quil said. “Elias did give you a mission to hunt down a killer.”

  “What’s it to any of you?”

  Sufiyan looked surprised. Then desolate. “It was my brother who died.” His voice was horribly flat. “My little brother. The killer murdered him first.”

  There was a long silence, and Sirsha told herself to count to three before speaking, instead of shoving her foot in her mouth. “I’m very sorry,” she said. “Elias didn’t mention that.” She sighed. They already knew. She might as well admit it. “He hired me to hunt down the murderer. Didn’t tell me it was because his son was killed. Nor that the killer was magical in nature.”

  Sirsha took in the shock on their faces. “You didn’t know that either.”

  “You hunt magic, then,” Quil said. “How? Can you…sense it in people?”

  “Not exactly,” Sirsha said. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not supposed to hunt magic-users. That’s the arena of the Jaduna. For me, it’s forbidden, and if they find out that I took this mission—”

  Arelia—thankfully no longer looking at Sirsha as though she might have lice—spoke up. “I thought you were a Jaduna.”

  “Not anymore.” Sirsha attempted to say it like this wasn’t a loss she’d spent eight years mourning.

  “Why are you heading to Jibaut?” Quil said. “Do you think the killer is there?”

  “Could be,” Sirsha said. The sea had been silent since Navium. The only way to tell if the killer was in Jibaut would be to pick up the trail there. “But mostly I have a friend there. I’m hoping he can help.”

  “The bookseller,” Quil said.

  “Don’t let him hear that.” Sirsha grimaced, imagining Kade’s face. “He’s a dealer of rare and one-of-a-kind manuscripts, enchantments, charmed goods, and information. Books are the least of what he does. If a killer’s been active anywhere in Devan or Odista, Kade will know.”

  And Sirsha might get a better sense of what the hells she was hunting. A wraith perhaps, or an efrit, one that had been cursed or ensorcelled. She doubted it was a jinn—they tended to their own troublemakers for the most part—but it wasn’t out of the question.

  Whatever it was, she needed to know. Binding a magical entity required an understanding of their weaknesses. Trying to bind a monster you couldn’t identify was like trying to aim a bow while tied upside down to a tree after you’d been slapped a few times.

  Quil cleared his throat and considered Sirsha, thoughtful. “Thank you for telling us.” Sufiyan and Arelia nodded, and Sirsha suspected that whatever Quil was going to say next he’d already discussed with them.

  “We’re traveling together for at least another week and a half. I thought it might be good if we made peace.”

  Sirsha smiled tentatively. “A truce, then.”

  He offered his hand. Sirsha meant to shake it firmly to seal their agreement. But as her fingers found his, a spark leapt between them and her breath caught. Her lips parted in surprise and Quil’s gaze flickered to her mouth before he met her eyes, some dark emotion flashing across his own.

  “Truce,” he said, before releasing her and walking away.

  * * *

  After that, the mood on the shabka was easier. Sufiyan made Sirsha a tea for cramps and shared remedies for headaches and sore muscles. Arelia explained Mehbahnese engines in impassioned and incomprehensible detail.

  The two of them, at least, had softened toward her. Quil was a tougher nut to crack.

  Even though he’d been the one to suggest a truce, he hadn’t spoken much to Sirsha. When she attempted conversation, he responded with variations of: Just a moment. Please, excuse me. Sorry, I should trim the jib sail. The message was irritatingly polite and very pointed: Piss off.

  Right now, he was at the other end of the ship—as far away as he could get without jumping into the bleeding sea. While Sirsha took the helm, he’d spent most of the morning fixing a storm-damaged windlass. The day wasn’t too hot, but he’d doffed his shirt.

  Which Sirsha didn’t necessarily mind. It’s just that it was distracting. All that rippling skin. The Martial was a beautifully built man, and Sirsha was a dedicated admirer of beauty.

  Still, she’d kept her eyes to herself. Mostly. As she glanced up, she noticed that he’d dropped his tools, and was examining something in his hands. Could be a weapon he was planning to sharpen and stab her with. Could be a poem he’d written about how she was a treacherous viper.

  Not that she cared what he thought.

  Sirsha gazed at the speck barely visible above them. Their Kegari escort had kept herself scarce, never descending, never speaking to them at all. Just as well. Sirsha thought she’d have to tie Quil up if that sky-hag came down. Every time he looked up at her, the wrath fairly radiated off him.

  But he kept it bottled up. It was fascinating, the way he suppressed his emotion, forced it down and killed it dead.

  “Tracker.”

  The girl jumped.

  “Sorry to startle you,” Quil said, and she was minorly disappointed to see he was fully clothed. This close, she saw that his light brown skin had freckled in the sun, and his dark hair had glints of gold in it. “Will we make it into Jibaut by tomorrow?”

  “I have a name, you know.” She tried to stare him dead in the eye, but, as always, he looked away, unwilling to show how much she vexed him.

  “Sirsha,” he said quietly, almost patiently, and there was something about how he said it, low and intimate without meaning to be, that made her wish he’d say it again. “Will we make it into Jibaut by tomorrow?”

  “Should be in by evening.” She glanced down at the scroll in his hand. So that’s what he’d been looking at. He tucked it away quickly.

  “What is that?”

  He shook his head and glanced up at their escort, jaw hard. “Nothing good.”

  Quil disappeared into the crew’s quarters shortly after, no doubt to find Sufiyan and Arelia.

  Sirsha smiled. The earth still lived in the wood of the shabka, and her magic always allowed her to hear the earth most clearly. In cities and over long distances, eavesdropping using her skill was difficult, or at least time-consuming. But here on a ship, with no other conversations? Child’s play.

  “—are we going to do once we reach Jibaut? Go south? Go back?” Sufiyan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Quil said. “I— Let’s see what this says, and we can decide.”

  “Give it to me,” Arelia said. “In case it’s been tampered with or poisoned.”

  “I’ll open it,” Sufiyan said. “If anyone deserves to get poisoned, it’s me.”

  “Sufiyan.” Arelia’s pragmatic voice was surprisingly considerate. “That’s not true.”

  “That wasn’t an invitation to converse about my feelings.” The crack of a seal breaking. “Lo. I am not dead.”

  Silence. A gasp. And then Quil staggered out onto the deck and retched neatly over the side. She thought at first that he had been poisoned. But then she read the contents of the note he’d dropped.

  Navium has fallen. Silas at risk. Serra and Antium under attack. Floods in the spring. The Butcher lives, the Orphan roars. Death to the east, the north, and the south. They search for you. Find him. Stay away. Stay alive. —AH