Knowing his sister had a bad opinion of him at the best of times, Keris had taken the other man’s advice. Only when they were fully clear of the rough seas did he emerge, blinking at the brilliant sunlight. Rising the steps to the quarterdeck where Aren stood at the helm, he rested his elbows on the railing and stared out over the expanse of sea before them, no land in sight. “Where are we?”
“Nearing Nerastis,” Aren answered. “For all it was a miserable journey, we made good time.”
Keris made a noise of agreement, because there was little point mentioning that he begrudged every day it took for them to reach Devil’s Island. “How is Lara?”
“Better.” Aren gave a rueful shake of his head. “I’m not sure she’ll ever develop sea legs, although at least she’s learned to swim.”
“Serin sent a spy who puked her guts out every time she was on a ship and who couldn’t swim?”
Keris burst into laughter. “No wonder you didn’t suspect her.”
“I’m not sure why that’s of any great shock,” Lara’s voice said, cutting the air. “I was raised in the middle of the Red Desert—it’s not as though there was anywhere to learn.”
“One would have thought it warranted a few weeks of teaching before you left.” Keris leaned his weight on his left elbow. Lara was pale, cheeks hollow and eyes marked with shadows, but otherwise seemed to have survived the journey unscathed.
“Yes, well, it was more critical that I not have any reason to doubt what I’d been taught about Ithicana than for me to learn to float.” She gave Aren a soft smile, then joined Keris at the railing.
“How did you learn to swim? I assume it wasn’t in the fountains of the Vencia palace?”
Her voice and face were indifferent, but he noted how she toyed with a groove in the railing, tracing a fingernail along it while she waited for an answer. Curious, and he couldn’t blame her for that. His life had once been her life, but then she’d been stolen away. It made sense that she’d wonder about what she’d left behind. “When I was old enough to start being considered a problem, I was fostered to one of father’s sycophants and went to live on his estate. The man was possessed of both a pond and a son. The latter made it his life’s mission to try to drown me in the former. Thankfully he wasn’t the fittest boy, so once I learned how to swim to the center of the pond, I was safe enough.”
She cocked her head. “I was told you were bookish. That you refused to learn to fight. That you were a spoiled brat of a prince.”
“Accurate.” He smirked as her frustration rose over not being given the answers she was looking for. “But I also learned very early in life that the world treated me better when I was not myself. I climbed out the windows of my rooms at the estate, and I’d spend the nights being someone else. So while Keris Veliant is devoid of any practical skills, the people he becomes have much more useful abilities.”
“Is fighting one of them?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, hating that his value always came back to how well he was able to put holes in other men. But his continued defiance benefitted no one, least of all Zarrah. “To an extent, yes.”
“What extent?” Her blue eyes were cool. “I’m not stepping onto that island with a pacifist at my back, Keris. Never mind the Valcottan soldiers we might cross paths with; that island is full of the worst criminals in the empire. Murderers, every last one of them. I need to know that you’ll do what needs to be done. That you’ll not hesitate to kill.”
Silence stretched as he considered her question, remembered the lives lost as a result of his actions and the marks they’d left upon his soul.
“Killing should be hard.” He stared at the ocean before them, the water only a few hues darker than the sky. “But it gets easier, doesn’t it? Each life you take counting less and less until one day you find that they don’t count for anything at all. At which point you realize that it wasn’t just you doing the taking. That each death has stolen a piece of your humanity, and what remains is barely human at all.”
sunlight. Rising the steps to the quarterdeck where Aren stood at the helm, he rested his elbows on the
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Lara’s voice was frigid, which he supposed made sense, given that her hands were soaked in blood. But it was not his sister’s past that concerned him—it was his own future. For all his father Keris made a noise of agreement, because there was little point mentioning that he begrudged everyhad pushed him to become a killer, Keris realized now that much of his morality—his identity—had
“Better.” Aren gave a rueful shake of his head. “I’m not sure she’ll ever develop sea legs, although been driven by defiance against that pressure, and with his father gone, there was no one left to defy.
It made him wonder who he’d become. What he’d become. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”
“Fine.”
Aren cleared his throat. “On that note, it’s time we cut in toward the coast like a passenger ship would.” Raising his voice, he shouted, “Run up the Cardiffian flag!”
One of the Ithicanian crewmembers moved to obey the order, a banner of orange and black
fluttering into the sky. “Do you keep the banners of all nations in case you need them for random acts weight on his left elbow. Lara was pale, cheeks hollow and eyes marked with shadows, but otherwiseof piracy?” Keris asked.
Aren lifted one shoulder. “Came with the ship.” Then he bellowed, “Time for a costume change!”
A pair of chests were dragged onto the deck, the Ithicanians rummaging through them and handing out coats made of what Keris guessed was sealskin. Though they’d once been finely made, sitting in trunks in the Ithicanian humidity had rendered them moldy.
Jor rose the steps, his arms full of clothing. “Picked out some choice items for you, Your Graces.”
He dug a headdress made from an animal’s skull out of the pile and handed it to Lara. “Every vessel that. His life had once been her life, but then she’d been stolen away. It made sense that she’d wonder from Cardiff has a witch to spell away the evil spirits, though she was notably absent when we discovered this vessel. If the Valcottans stop us for inspections, wave your hands about and chant fostered to one of father’s sycophants and went to live on his estate. The man was possessed of both a nonsense.”
He tossed a fur vest at Aren, who pulled off his tunic and donned the garment, seemingly not the slightest bit concerned that his chest was bare to the world. To Keris, Jor handed a moth-eaten coat and a ridiculous fur hat with charms made of rodent skulls dangling from it.
“I am not putting this on my head,” Keris said, holding the hat out with distaste. “It stinks.”
“It’s either that or you stay below,” Jor answered. “You’re the most recognizable to the Valcottans, and they are watching for you.”
“It’s hot. No one in their right mind would wear a fur hat—it will draw more attention than me wearing a fucking crown.”
“The Cardiffians are superstitious,” Aren said, clearly struggling to hold back a smirk. “They care more about their charms against evil than comfort.”