I do the math.
We smuggled sixty-seven members of Rhordyn’s militia down the Norse. Most whaling ships have a crew of around thirty to forty able-bodied men.
If Rowell pulls through … we might have enough.
“And you have access to your ship stored at the city dock?” Cindra asks.
Rowell chuffs a humorless laugh. “Aye. I have access to that ol’ heap o’ whale shit. They keep us coming back for more. Filling the bellies o’ the oil beast.”
“This could work,” Cindra muses, flicking me a look.
I nod.
“Yuh …friend,” Rowell grumbles, pausing.
I can feel his attention boring into the back of my cloaked head, frustrated I have to keep my back to him. But I can’t be seen conspiring to milk Cainon’s population and resources. Certainly not before we have all the pieces on the board.
“Can they guarantee the protection of me family? Of me entirecrews’family?”
“Yes. They can also guarantee the protection of anybody else you might be able to recruit. Preferably crewmen who are familiar with sailing rough seas and can keep their mouths firmly shut.”
“They’ll be requirin’ somethin’ to solidify their faith in yuh,” Rowell says. “Me men have been mighty burnt of late, and most of ‘em are strugglin’ to feed their young.”
I reach into the pocket of my red cloak and pull out a pouch heavy with topaz beads, most no bigger than the tip of my pinkie finger, though still large enough to feed a family for a couple of years in most corners of the continent.
Tugging my hood low, I hand the bag to Cindra, who lumps it on the desk.
There’s the sound of loosening strings before, “Fuckin’ ‘ell …”
“Each recruit will receive one bead upon pledge,” Cindra states. “Asecondupon reaching the destination. Straight from your …benefactorspersonal vault. You, Captain Rowell, will receive an entire pouch should you gather us enough able-bodied sailors to man at least forty ships.”
Again, I feel Rowell’s attention bore into the back of my head while I continue to trace those woody dunes.
He clears his throat. “And once we reach Ocruth, what assurance do we have that our families will be safe from the Vruks?”
A sandstorm stews in my chest, and I almost spin. Tell him wearethe assurance. That without those ships, we’re all fucked—be it now or in a few years’ time. I can tell by the hard look in Cindra’s pale gray eyes that she’s biting back similar words.
“Castle Noir is widely known to be the safest place on the continent,” she says, her voice crisp and cold. “You will each have residence within the castle walls until the threat has ceased.”
“And that’stheirsto offer?” Rowell asks, and there’s a lilt to his tone that makes me wonder if he’s worked out who I am.
“Yes,” Cindra states.
There’s a long, drawn-out inhale before, “Very well, then.”
I nibble my relief, crunch my teeth on it, then spit it back out. When I lived in The Vein, dressed in sand and bruises and my own scrappy rage, there was always a bigger, badder shadow just around the corner. Always another battle to be won.
Nothing’s changed.
You’re not on top unless you’re a God, and eventheycan fall.
I hand Cindra a small scroll, which she passes to Rowell.
“Here’s everything you need to know about what we require of you. Prepare your family. And if you speak of this to anyone who could jeopardize the mission, I’ll boil your balls.”
My brows bump up, stare sliding sideways, taking in Cindra’s perfectly serene profile. I have to hand it to the woman, I don’t think I could’ve delivered that line with such a straight face.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, lady. That won’t be necessary.” There’s the sound of Rowell’s chair scraping across the ground, then his departing steps. The door squeaks open, snips shut.
