Captain Faucher directed Illya and I to a table, where his steward poured coffee from an ornate silver service.As he did, we unbuttoned our outer coats—or rather, I did while Illya carelessly tossed his over the back of his chair and squinted around the room.
“I see you enjoy your books.You’re an academic?”Illya observed.He spoke in his native tongue, and it transformed him.When he spoke Aeadine his words were clipped, perfunctory and shallow.But in Usti his voice deepened and slowed, his articulation contemplative and at ease.
“Very much so,” Faucher replied.He spoke in Usti as well, a common second tongue for Mereish.“Knowledge is power.Please, sit.”
Illya sat, and I considered our host as the steward left.
“I was surprised to find someone else in my favorite abandoned harbor,” Faucher began, pouring thick, sweetened cinnamon cream into his coffee and giving it a single stir.“Tithe may be a neutral port, but I refuse to pay for water.Some things should be free, do you not agree?”
I picked up my own coffee, leaving it black, while at my side Illya liberally dosed his with honey and plain, white cream.“Agreed.”
Faucher watched me.“It is also a good place to keep one’s head down for a few days.”
“I suppose so,” I acknowledged, tucking the hint of a conspiratorial smile around my eyes.Inwardly, my suspicion coiled.Faucher had already pegged us as smugglers, which was a success, but there was a chance he had marked our false gunports and painting efforts on his approach.Either way, it was clear we had secrets.I doubted protestations of innocence would go far, but I might be able to steer Faucher’s suspicions onto safer waters.
Faucher mirrored my smile.“Tell me, what news have you?”
The three of us spoke for some time, sharing information.Faucher was naturally discreet on all matters to do with the war, our focus centering on the Usti and trade.This, thankfully, was something Illya was very familiar with.
“What is your cargo?”Faucher finally asked.
“Hesti parchment, for the most part,” I said, naming the only cargo we had been able to procure on such short notice.“Bound for the printers in Port Gedden, though we will only be taking it as far as Yashm.”
“The South Isles.”Faucher nodded.“I envy you, sailing into summer while we ride out the Black Tides.”
Even spoken in Usti, the name struck me.I felt my mask stiffen and drained my coffee to cover it.The Black Tides, when seaside settlements pulled their boats into the hills and thanked their ancestors for building their homes out of reach of the ravenous waves.A time of natural upheaval and unnatural superstitions.
A time when cults tortured young mages and made them into monsters.
If Faucher noticed my reaction, he did not comment.“Everything— save the people, I suppose—is milder down in the isles.The tides, this year in particular.The winter.Though you are still bound to sail through harsh weather.I trust you have an experienced weather mage?”
Illya snorted.“She manages, when the mood strikes her.I have never had such a stubborn witch.”
“What is she?”
“Aeadine.”
“Ah.”
I felt a fleeting urge to defend Mary, but praising one’s Stormsinger was the equivalent to shaking a pouch full of gold in the Knocks.
“A firm hand will go a long way,” Faucher advised.“Hunger makes them weak, that I do not advise.But a little pain is a fine incentive.”
I tried to drain my coffee a second time and found it empty.I set down my cup a little too firmly.The clatter brought both men’s gazes to me.
“I wonder if I might ask a more delicate question.”Faucher turned his eyes to Illya then returned them to me.“Is there any talk in Tithe of theGodvind?”
I forced myself to speak civilly.“I have not heard of it.”
Illya also shook his head.
“She’s a Mereish vessel, vanished a month ago in these very waters.”Faucher nodded towards the window and the sea beyond.“The Free Channels.”
“Pirates?”Illya suggested.
Faucher gave a half-hearted nod.“Perhaps, though she herself would have been no great prize.She was a passenger ship.”
I caught something in his tone.“Those passengers are now missing.”
