We swam and swam, buffeted by salty waves, and, with each moment that passed, Benedict fell farther behind.
“Let me take it,” I said, treading water.I nodded to the bundle as another wave jostled Benedict.
“No,” was all he said.
An eternity later, I sighted what appeared to be a path lancing up the steep embankment.I made for it, glancing out to sea as I went.There were no shadows on the waves or lanterns to mark a ship: nothing but silver-crested water under the half-moon, cliffs draped with snow and ice and the single path—which looked more like a happenstance of ridges and flat rocks than any intentional way.
I clambered onto the ice-caked shore first, and finally Benedict let me take the bundle as he clawed up after me.He moved like a lizard in spring and still shivered, but every child of the Winter Sea knew that was better than the alternative.
He looked too much like Sam in that moment, and it was too easy to think of his brother, with his lingering eyes and the way his arms enfolded me in rare moments of intimacy.Hartwas nowhere to be seen, and our plans already in disarray.Had Sam been captured?Had Illya and Charles?
I shook myself and opened our bundle.I passed Benedict his stinking shirt then the coat and scarf stolen from the dead guard.He did not look grateful for my help, but I attributed the grinding of his teeth to the cold rather than my patient distribution of clothing.
While his goosefleshed skin disappeared under dry wool and buttons, I threw a short Mereish cape around my shoulders and pulled up the hood.
“Your clothes are still soaked,” Benedict pointed out—a statement of fact, not concern.
“They will just freeze.The cold won’t kill me.”
He strapped on his weapons belt—still holding the sword I’d stolen from the armory—and adjusted it, checking his pouch of ammunition.
“Maybe I should have let Lirr infect me,” he commented, and I noticed his fingers were still shaking, white with cold.We needed to get him somewhere warm.Quickly.
“That’s nothing to jest about,” I returned tartly.Unrepentant, Benedict passed me a musket and threw the oilskin over his shoulders like a second cloak.“No, it’s not.”
I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from speaking again, tasting salt.Though the source of his corruption had been different, it was all too easy to draw lines between Lirr and Ben.The image of Benedict possessed by a ghisting, nearly immortal and funneling unpredictable power from the Other, chilled me more than any waves.
When we capped the rise, we looked back down the coast.The hulk of the fortress was distant now, its lights little more than pricks in the night.There were no sounds save the wind across the hard crust of the snow and the crash of the waves on the shore below.The musket was cold beneath my hands, and I wished for mittens.
“What now?”Benedict asked through chattering teeth.
“We find somewhere to shelter and light a fire, rest, then head east.Hopefully Olsa andHartwill be waiting for us.”
Benedict surveyed the land to the east, all bare cliff and smooth snow.“Then we had better start,” he said, took one step, and collapsed into the snow.
NINETEEN
Ismoathe Port, Aeadine
Five Years Ago
SAMUEL
There were only six letters in the stack, but they weighed heavy in my hands.Each one bore my name in a smooth, precise script, and, even after months sitting in my private rooms in Ismoathe, they smelled distantly of roses.
I turned the top letter over and stared at the seal.Unbroken.Pristine white wax.No family mark, just a thumbprint.
Without bothering to shrug off my snow-caked coat, I strode to the fireplace—lit by servants as soon asReliancehad dropped anchor in Ismoathe harbor—and made to throw the letters in.
My fingers tightened with a protesting crinkle of thick linen paper and refused to open.Memories assailed me instead, twined in the thin scent of rosewater perfume.Alice Irving, young and sweet, watching me across the garden of her husband’s—my captain’s—estate.Ms.Irving standing listless beside her husband as he berated a midshipman over a minor breach of etiquette at table.Ms.Irving clutching my hand as I helped her ascend a staircase.
“Sam, where is your razor… What are you burning?”Benedict appeared at my side—my twin and mirror in every way, from our faces to statures and lieutenants’ frock coats: knee-length, dark blue, and cuffed with black.
I shoved the letters into my pocket.“I just needed more light.”
Benedict glanced around the chamber.It was well-appointed but plain, with a curtained bed, an array of rugs, a desk and a bookshelf.Each book sat perfectly aligned, each rug squared to the walls and furniture.My sea trunk still sat by the door, unopened next to my shoes and hat.
“Itisdingy in here.”Benedict started towards the curtained window, leaving a trail of snowmelt on the rugs.
