I shoved my hands into my pockets and glanced down at the slush-covered stone beneath our boots. My vision of Mary must have been real. But I had been so disused to proper visions, so reliant upon the Mereish coin, that I had not known it.
“You believe Lirr caught up with Randalf at sea, then?” I asked. The question felt like a fist in my gut—a fist of guilt, frustration and something more. “And took Mary Firth?”
Demery shook his head. “I cannot say anything for sure. But either Randalf will show up in port soon, hurt or hale, or Lirr will.”
I locked gazes with the older man and dared to press, “Captain Demery, why are you hunting Lirr?”
He did not speak right away. I watched him for any change in expression, any hint at the truth. I saw a tightness around his grey eyes and a flicker of his lips, but could not decipher it.
“As I said before, we’ve personal business to discuss. But I would have both you and your captain know, Mr. Rosser, that our interests are not exclusive of one another. Our paths may cross again. Give me no trouble, and I’ll give you none in return—scratch my back, and I may scratch yours.”
With that, Demery stepped back out into the street and crossed, boarding Harpy without a backwards glance.
As the Winter Sea’s early evening drew in and the cloud-choked western horizon turned violet, I wandered. My head felt sharp and clean, but my nerves ground as I pieced the mystery together.
Demery was after Lirr for personal reasons. As I had pondered before, that was not too hard to believe—they had both been sailing long enough to have shared history. Whatever the specific reason was, Demery was right to say our paths would likely cross again, and depending on how Slader took Demery’s offer, that meeting would either be to our advantage or peril.
Mary Firth’s connection to it all was growing more undeniable, though the nature of that connection was another unknown. If Lirr already had a Stormsinger, he had no need of her. Unless she was more than she seemed. An elusive lover? A missing daughter?
My dreamer’s sense ignited, rushing over my ears like a gust of smoke. I did not have the answer, but I intended to find out.
AEADINE—The term Aeadine encompasses both the peoples of Aeadine （also called Aead, by foreign tongues） and the island which they inhabit. One of the largest landmasses within the Winter Sea, the island is graced with various natural resources including the infamous Aeadine Ghistwold. Aeadine is well-situated for trade with Tithe, and its coast supports a profitable fishing industry. The Aeadine Anchorage, southwest of the main island, provides a natural blockade to the Mereish and their many invasions, as well as a port of departure for trade in the southern seas. The Aeadine officially worship the singular Saint, and are ruled by the Aeadine Monarchy—may they forever wear his scarlet crown. See also AEADINE ANCHORAGE, AEADINE MONARCHS, GHISTWOLD.
—FROM THE WORDBOOK ALPHABETICA: A NEW
WORDBOOK OF THE AEADINES
TWELVE
Dangerous Men
MARY
I stood in a room with a blazing hearth, a small bed and a steaming wooden bath. Though I was sure spies from Demery’s crew wouldn’t be far away, I was alone for the first time since I’d been arrested as Abetha Bonning.
The inn was a nice one, with a clean common room, middle-class guests, and unstained sheets. The presence of ghistings soaked its wood, lending me a sense of security, and the maid—who spoke Aeadine with a light Usti accent—filled a steaming bath, right in my chambers.
My board could not have been cheap. Demery seemed determined to woo me onto his crew—though ‘wooing’ implied I had a real choice.
All the same, habit took over at the sight of the tub. I stripped. The smell of my clothes, all brine and sweat, nearly toppled me as I tugged and untied and unpinned. I screwed up my nose and tossed them all into a wicker basket, then stuck the basket into the hallway and rang the service bell.
The departure of my clothes left me naked and vulnerable, but they needed to be washed as badly as I did.
I scuttled back to the tub, where the sight of my reflection on the firelit surface brought me up short. Lanky, tangled hair fell beside a face filled with hollow eyes, dark shanks obscuring collarbones and ribs that were a good deal more visible than when I’d left home.
I looked unwell. Dirty, hungry and weak. Not my mother’s daughter. Not a Stormsinger. Just a desperate woman who should have both hanged and drowned.
No, no more thoughts, no more memories. I had a night to myself on dry land and a chance to escape—once I had my clothes back, at least.
I stepped into the tub, sinking down until the water hovered just under my nose. After a few breaths, I submerged my head. Ensconced in a womblike hush, the drumming of my heart slowed to a steady, measurable beat. Somewhere distant, through the floor, I picked out the hum of patrons. But in the water, my solitude was complete.
My mind wandered, leaving behind cloying thoughts of my mother and Lirr’s fixed gaze. Instead of my fears and misfortunes, I thought of the sea. I thought of the Juliette’s ghisting in the water before me, with her mane of drifting hair and tentacle skirt.
She had been freed when her ship burned, but Demery implied she’d done something to help me before she disappeared. Where was she now? Free and swimming through the deep? On her way back to a Wold—perhaps even my Wold—as I so longed to be?
I was vaguely aware that I should come up for air but felt no urgency at the thought. My heart beat on and my lungs were at ease. My hair billowed around my face, brushing my cheeks.
When I came back to myself, I was still lying on the bottom of the tub. But the hum of activity from the common room below had died—which was odd, considering it was still lunchtime. It was also odd that my feet, hanging in the air beyond the end of the tub, were completely dry. And the water around me was… freezing cold.
My eyes snapped open. No firelight flickered across the surface of the water and the daylight in the room was dim.
The surface of the water. I was still underwater?
I came out of the tub in a bubbling, shrieking lunge. I landed in a clatter on the floor, flailing and dripping like a newborn calf. On my knees, I raked air into my lungs and stared at the coals of what should still be a roaring hearth fire.
I gaped at the window, only to see the sky darkening. I lifted my palms to find my fingers wrinkled like dried berries.
I’d been in the tub for no more than a few moments, surely. It wasn’t possible for so much time to have passed. Then I’d be drowned, dead in a bath in Tithe.
Shock. I pushed wet hair back from my face and pressed my palms into my cheeks, trying to settle my nerves. I’d lost hours. I wasn’t myself, and I perhaps shouldn’t have expected to be for a while.
I needed answers. Still dripping and cold and trying not to think about my lapse, I strode over to the service bell and tugged it hard.
*
The smell of food and the clink of glasses drew me down a creaking staircase to the warm, low-ceilinged common room. Clad in clean clothes that smelled of lavender and lemons, I braced myself and wove through a press of patrons to the bar.
“Excuse me,” I called to the inn wife as she set plates of steaming food onto the worn surface and a maid swept them into the crowd. I hesitated, unsure whether the woman would understand my Aeadine. “I’m—”