Fueling my rising anger into my hands, I drag the rough stone over the wooden deck again, scrubbing off the black traces of tar. My fingers sting from the tang of saltwater, but I ignore it in favor of staring at Callan. He turns his head from where he’s speaking to Solomon, his eyebrows raising in silent challenge as I drop my eyes again and scrub.
Eejit.
I’ve met plenty like him. Men happy to sit back and wallow in the small amount of power they hold, while others build their wealth for them with sweat and pain.
Boralas built himself an empire with my pain.
But something about Callan Edgeborn’s sly half-smiledisturbsme. Almost like a tingle beneath my skin, and I grit my teeth against the urge to scratch it away, yanking down my sleeve instead. The slick filth beneath my fingers doesn’t help.
I need a bath. I need to wash.
I need to beclean.
“Steady.” Beside me, Esme sounds half-amused, half-serious. “We’re not going to make it back if you scrub a hole through the ship.”
Sitting back, I let the stone fall. “He’s justsittingthere. While you do all the work.”
She leans forward, dragging her own stone down again. “Not everything is what it looks like. He pulls his weight. More than.”
My sniff clearly conveys my thoughts. “Really.”
“Yes.” Her voice shifts, dropping into something tighter. “Really.”
Taking heed of the warning, I shift, blocking him from the corner of my eye and falling into silence. We find a rhythm for a few minutes, until footsteps sound behind me. “Water?”
Gods,yes.Sweat pools in the small of my back, my hair sticking to my neck.
I take the canteen from the other male—Riordan—swishing it. It’s full, but he holds out a hand to stop me when I raise it to my lips. “We get two of these a day. Extra for emergencies only.”
Nodding, I take a small sip, barely wetting my lips. I’ll use the rest to clean up as best I can.
Thirst closes my throat, and I cough to clear it. Esme is eyeing me, and I glance between the two of them. Riordan pulls his eyes away from her long enough to notice my stare and grins. “So. Since Smee got to ask her questions this morning, does that mean I can ask mine?”
I consider it. For a moment. “No.”
His brows push together. “I’ll answer yours in return.”
Esme’s small smile vanishes. “Careful, Rio.”
But the offer is tempting. Setting the canteen down beside me, I pick up the rough stone again, weighing it in my hand. “Fine. I get to go first.”
A grin spreads across his face. “Deal. But we get the same number of questions.”
Nodding, I let my eyes drift to the numbers on their faces. “Tell me about those. I don’t remember Caelumnai wearing them. They’re a representation of yourmaegis.”
Rio tilts his head, as if to show off the scarlet six. “How much do you know about our maegis?”
Another memory. Of Erena, tall and lithe and gentle, leaning over me as I studied a script. Sunlight filtering through the stained-glass window, sending pretty patterns dancing across the pages that interested me much more than the dry tome beneath. Of the way she smiled instead of scolding me for my inattention, instead gathering pieces of colored glass and putting them together to show me how the patterns worked, the script forgotten.
“Not that much.” I swallow, blinking the patterns away from my vision. “There are three classes? Tiers?”
Rio nods, grabbing a stone from Esme’s bucket and settling in on my other side. “Tiers work. I’m a vis, and so is Sol. It’s the most common.”
“Elemental manipulation.”
“Yes.” He stretches out his arms, and I glance at the thin copper band. Perhaps he’ll offer the information without me wasting a question. I don’t remember any Caelumnai voluntarily wearing copper, either.
But Rio catches my glance, lips spreading into a smirk. “I don’t give anything for free.”
