“And what about you?” I asked. “How did you come to serve the Ship of Spells?”
“Press-ganged into service at a High Temple tavern,” he said. “Typical tale of woe.”
“Liar,” I teased. “How long have you been on theTouchstone?Ten years?”
I was fishing. He grinned again but said nothing.
“Is Fahr your real name?”
“Not a bloody chance.” He laughed.
“Why did Smoke say they wouldn’t shoot you?”
“Fusiliers couldn’t hit the side of a barge.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Everyone has a story, Blue,” he said, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his breeches. “You want to know people? Ask them. They aren’t runes to be studied and chased.”
I flashed him my palm with theAro’elrune, and he laughed again.
“I stand corrected.”
“Thanavar, then,” I said. My thoughts tumbled like stones. I wanted to ask Fahr if he trusted him, if he knew his story of the RuneTree and vengeance, and how he felt about being stolen by a man he now called captain.
But in truth, I wanted to letmyselfbelieve his story. A part of me wanted to trust this enigmaticRhi’Ahrman, but I’d learned early on that trust would gut you faster than a blade.
“What about him?” asked Fahr.
I turned to face the bow and laid a hand upon the rail.
“Why is Bracebridge chasing him if he has the King’s Letter of Marque?”
Aro’el wicked.
I sprang back, raised my hands as if stung.
“I’m not wicked,” I said to the sails snapping in the wind.
Aro’el wicked to beloved.
“I’m not,” I wailed. “I’m just asking questions.”
“You hear her?” asked Fahr.
I rolled my eyes, until I realized he was being serious.
“Why? Don’t you?”
He shook his head, and his earring glittered in the noonday suns.
I had one like that. It was currently tucked in my pocket, safe and undecided.
I looked down at the rail, the polished wood and the gleaming brass, the thick line coiled around the fittings.
“Truce?” I said to her.
She said nothing, and I wondered if ships sulked.
