Crat'ax stays close to me as the day wears on, one hand brushing my back when people pass too near. He looks proud, satisfied, in his element.
When there’s a brief lull, I take hold of his wrist and draw him a step aside, away from the noise. “When will you take me back to Theodora?” I ask quietly. I keep my voice even. I don’t want this to sound like an accusation.
He doesn’t answer at once. His gaze goes past me, toward the traders, the splix, the red smoke rising into the bright sky.
“Not right now,” he says finally. “You see how it is today. With the run and the trade. It wouldn’t be safe to travel outside the bay now. Many ocean Bigs follow the run, nibbling from it. We must wait until those have passed, too. And there is much that still needs to be done in the village.”
“After that, then?” I press.
He exhales, slow and controlled. “Soon,” he says. “When things settle. When the time is right.”
None of those are answers I can hold on to. I nod anyway, because I don’t want to argue here, with so many eyes around us. He squeezes my hand, as if that should be enough.
And for him, I’m sure it is.
As the sun passes the midway mark and starts going down, the platforms are still full of strangers and voices and the smell of unfamiliar food.
The dragon’s cage remains where it is, half-hidden, half-forgotten. I watch the traders laugh and bargain, and I think of what Vyrathion said, of promises that slide forward from one good reason to the next. Crat'ax moves beside me, solid and warm, and I realize that no one has ever told me what happens if I decide to leavebeforethe time is right.
20
- Crat'ax-
The village feels strange with all the Dry tribesmen here.
It should feel victorious. The platforms creak under the weight of splix, the drying racks are already full, and the smell of gutting and smoke lies thick in the air. There are large heaps of new things that the other tribes have brought and that will make our lives better and easier in the year ahead. Some want another Day of Trade soon, so that they can get more splix in exchange for their wares.
Men laugh louder than usual. The visiting tribes linger instead of leaving quickly, despite our canoes and our men being ready to take them back to the Dry they live in.
There are too many men here now. Too many colors of stripes. Too many eyes.
I notice it first when Callie walks past the racks with Gren’ix. Conversations stumble. Heads turn. A few smiles flicker, not unfriendly, but measuring. Staring, of course.
When she laughs at something Gren’ix says, one of the traders leans toward another and mutters something I can’t hear.
I step closer without thinking and place myself beside her. Her shoulder brushes my arm. She glances up at me and smiles, warm and easy, unaware of the way the air tightens around us.
“All right?” she asks quietly.
“Yes,” I say at once. “Just… many visitors.”
She nods. “Many traders. Many new things for the tribe. Splix for the others. Everyone is happy. Almost.” She sends a glance toward the opening of the bay.
I think I get what she means:she’snot happy.
When she moves on, I remain where I am, watching the men who watched her. They look away one by one, but not quickly enough.
“Fine work,” says Ires’ax from the Bututa tribe, coming to stand beside me. His eyes follow Callie as well. “A run like this will be spoken of for many seasons.”
“It was a good day,” I agree. “The Deep was generous to us. And to you.”
He nods. “So it appears. But mostly to you.”
“To thetribe,” I correct.
His mouth quirks. “Yes. To the tribe. And toyou.”
We stand there a moment longer. Then he clears his throat.
