We skirted a wooded island with roofs peeking through the trees, passed a big trader ship with a bloated hull, and then two people in a small fishing boat. They didn’t pay us any mind, and I didn’t look too closely at what they were doing either.
The river widened. Docks crowded the banks, with wooden ships of all sizes moored for the night. A sea of dark masts and stowed sails rose on both sides. A few more minutes, and the Dokkon carried us out to sea.
The ocean spread before our boat, endless and calm. The clouds melted away, and an enormous sky reigned above, studded with glittering stars. Three moons spilled their light on the water: Prata, a giant silver crescent with gold tiger stripes; Drao, a much smaller ruby-red waning gibbous; and Broe, the smallest of the three, a grass-green, last-quarter moon. The view took my breath away. I smelled the briny salt water, I felt the wind and the steady movement of the boat under my feet, so it had to be real and actually happening. But it was so . . . magical.
We turned left and kept going, farther from the mouth of the river, within the view of the coastline.
Ahead something shimmered in the water like a spill of faint fluorescent paint. Reynald steered for it. The swirls of faint blue and pink drew closer and closer, rippling through the water. The boat slid through them, and I saw the outlines of glowing algae suspended like a floating island over the ink-black depths. Tiny fish with luminescent fins darted through the frilly leaves.
The boat slowed to a leisurely drift.
Reynald let go of the rudder, fiddled with the lines, and sat on the other bench across from me.
“It’s lovely,” I told him.
He nodded. He seemed lighter, almost carefree. “I’ve always liked the ocean.”
“When did you learn how to sail?” He had been born in the northern highlands, a rough region bordering Selva’s mountain range. Once upon a time his people had been sea raiders who invaded Rellas and settled deeper inland, but they’d given up their sea legs a couple of centuries ago.
“During the Corios campaign.” His voice was quiet and light. “They had us raiding the coastal forts in small boats, trying to keep the defenders guessing when and where we’d show up.”
Corios, meaning the “middle sea,” was a landlocked sea about twice the size of Lake Superior. It cleaved the continent in two, separating Rellas in the west from the Crimson Empire in the east, and it was a bad-tempered sea. Its storms sank a lot of ships, to the delight of the marine monsters swimming in its depths.
“The second week in, our captain took an arrow to the chest and went overboard. The wind blew us farther from the coast. We drifted for hours before we figured out how to work the sails. I decided that sailing was something I should know how to do.”
“You’re a very good sailor,” I told him.
He smiled. “Thank you.”
It felt like we had stopped moving completely. We just hung there, between the ocean and the sky, watching the trails of three moons shine on the water.
“What are we waiting for?”
“The wind,” Reynald said. “We’ll need it to pick up before we start.”
I didn’t mind if the wind didn’t pick up for a while. It was so beautiful here, almost romantic. Floating on a starry night across a magical ocean, just me and Reynald . . . And eleven corpses we needed to dispose of. So Kair Toren.
Reynald stirred. “About Hreban . . .”
“Yes?”
“I know a bit about him. He was born rich, like his father, and his grandfather. Generations of wealth.”
“The gift of Mirror Heart is wrapped in gold,” I murmured. It was a line in the first book.
“And misery.”
True.
Each of the Eight Families had their own special brand of magic. The Everards had the Fatefire, the Arvels had the Enduring Flame, and the Hrebans had the power of Mirror Heart, meaning they knew exactly what someone was feeling. They could tell when people lied. They knew when their opponent was unsure, desperate, or terrified. It made them excellent judges of character and brought them unimaginable wealth.
From a very young age, Ulmar sensed people’s hidden motives. They approached him and his family with smiles on their faces, pretending to be solicitous and loyal, while he soaked in their greed, jealousy, hatred, and derision. It convinced him that he was inherently superior, and that people were fundamentally selfish and needed discipline and punishment to be useful.
“Ulmar is a reflection of what he feels,” I said. “He sees people as sheep, a stupid, panicky commodity to be bought and sold. He isn’t the sheep dog that protects the flock. He is the shepherd with a big heavy stick.”
Taking a tour through Hreban’s head killed your will to live. He had forever ruined empath and telepath characters for me.
“The other seven Great Families hold him in contempt,” Reynald said.
