‘She’ll get us there, don’t worry,’ I say. ‘Gentlefolk, welcome aboardSaltswept.’
‘Celebrate later, Fin! They’re on our tail!’ Isagani shouts down.
‘Take this,’ I tell Ris. ‘You’re my first mate.’
‘Oh, how generous,’ she bites, as I leg it down to the captain’s quarters.
The familiar smell of cedar and resin. The shelf that homes my collection of tchotchkes from my travels. There are unfamiliar things, too, like velvet cushions and bags of nuts and seeds.
I grab my spyglass, still buried in my clothes chest, and return to the deck.
‘Yes, you beauty!’ I cry triumphantly, eyeing the shore in the distance.
Isagani wasn’t wrong. There are a couple of other vessels following in our wake, bells ringing aboard as a warning.
Sinigang whips his tail, and I feel the breeze increase. I stare at the otter-cat. ‘What? Narra told you I’d be useful.’ He smirks and spins his tail in circles, causing a wall of air to fill the sails.
‘Sinigang, you absolute legend! Do more of that.’
He begins to purr, vibrating violently. First his purrs shake the deck of the ship, then the waters around us jump and dance with the rhythm. It ripples out further, causing huge swells to form. Rogue waves emerge and roll off towards the shore, crashing against the Seaguardians’ vessels.
‘Holy Aistra, you’ll sink them!’ Ris shouts between breaths as she works.
‘Isn’t that the point?’ I yell back, bracing against the roiling.
The ships struggle against the waves, changing course and spreading out.
‘They’re going to pin us!’ I call to Isagani. ‘How far ’til we’re out of the bay?’
Isagani braces against the crow’s nest as the mast is blasted with spray. ‘Not far. Can we outrun them?’
Sinigang looks exhausted, still bloodied about the mouth, and his pupils blown out. ‘Got a little more in you?’ I ask.
‘Trim those sails and we’ll see.’
The otter-cat ceases his purring and whips his tail in slow fluid motions. The waves break, and we catch the wind, and I steer into it as we haul away. The Seaguardians lag, still pursuing us, but we’ve put some distance between us. There’s no chance of them pincering us now. We clear the bay and push into open water just as Sinigang lets out a yowl and collapses from the taffrail.
Part Two
Adventure Awaits
chapter thirty
hanan
The queen spendsthe next weeks among company, always filling the place with people since the Magliyab festival. Her spirits are high as she laughs, skin aglow. She drapes a hand across her belly as she drinks, and her eyes meet mine as I hide in the shadows. I catch my reflection in the glass: a tall, gaunt woman, with greasy hair that falls around her shoulders like a shroud. My skin is dull, and my eyes vacant. I don’t remember the last time I walked the grounds, felt the air on my skin. Each time she takes from me, I need to recover. I will lie in bed staring at the brand on my thigh until it no longer glows, no longer burns from her draining me. At first, I was bedridden; then I crawled. Now, I stumble.
I stagger away from the queen and her courtiers. The halls are full of noise and the press of warm bodies, and my feet take me to the cold, dark corners, the lonely hallways. By habit I find myself at the library, slipping the key into the lock, the metal warm from my skin as I held it in my pocket.
Once inside, I need to feel something tangible under my hands, to know I’m secure in here. I run my fingers across a tapestry of Paranish, tracing each of the isles in turn. When I brush against Aistra, I feel something behind the fabric. The indentation of a door, but there’s no handle on this side. This must be how the queen sneaks up on me. I long to know where it leads butcontent myself in knowing the library has finally begun to reveal its secrets to me. For now, I place a stack of books just in front of the tapestry, hoping it will act as an alarm the next time she decides to visit. Something falls out of one of the volumes, a thin piece of paper stained with inky fingers. I carefully unfold the page and recognise Mother Lin’s handwriting:
Sinaya. I am sending a sheaf of mansegrass as you requested. Blessed be His Majesty and we pray for him daily at the temple.
The faint fragrance of the mansegrass is all that remains, and the messy fingerprints speak to the desperation of its recipient. One of my predecessors, who failed to save the king. I drop the letter, the anxiety seeping from the paper to my skin. My desperation has a new energy, hounding at my heels. I will not be like this priestess. I will not let her leave me so hollow. I must armour myself against draining. I will not extinguish as quickly as the others.
I begin hunting through the stack of tomes, thirsty for knowledge and the power it can bring. My arms ache as I heave the books around and my breathing becomes laboured. I try to ignore the cries of my body, still healing from the binding and now weakened by the drainings. To have such liberal access to the history and secrets of generations of priestesses is a luxury I could not have fathomed as a child at the temple, and I won’t squander it.
I am poring over a volume when something hits the window, startling me. The pane is half open, and I see a bird collapse on the sill, its neck broken. It’s a small, colourful thing, round and delicate-looking. I am reminded of the bird at the Temple of Aistra, the one that set this ripple across the water of my fate. I wonder at this bird now, proddingthe energy field around it to see how much is left of it. Then I cast a protective circle, placing books end to end around me. I would prefer to use something that hasn’t been transformed from its original nature and I’m used to using stones to ward off any energy that might interfere with my intention. However, books will have to do. I hold the bird gently in the palm of my hand. I can sense the life ebbing out of it like blood from a gaping wound. In my mind’s eye I place my hands on that wound, and the pain ricochets up my arms and into my neck, a violent snapping of bones. I muffle my screams, biting on my sleeve. Once I’ve cleared my tears, I look back at it. The broken neck has snapped back into place, and its head rotates in one fluid motion. Its little heart starts beating, wings fluttering in confusion, and then it’s out of my hand and dashing about the room. Its desperate trilling pierces my ears, and I try to catch and calm it.
