“Guess he found you instead,” Marin said. She was pleased and relieved that Dax hadn’t intentionally left his cat behind in the chaos. “He’s your cat?”
“No, there’s a rule that cats aren’t allowed in the conservatory.” Dax grinned at the orange cat and held out his hand. “But no one bothered to tell the cats that.”
Ree hopped closer, and the cat retreated, fur raised and tail fluffed. The shrub halted. “Hi. I’m Ree. What’s your name? Do you want to be a sailor too?”
“I’ve been calling him Escatralius, after the composer,” Dax offered.
Marin raised both her eyebrows at him.
“It might be a bit of a mouthful,” he admitted. “Escatralius was an innovator who brilliantly fused the classical sounds of the third-century organ with the modern staccato rhythms of Eano.”
The cat had gotten ahold of one of Ree’s leaves and was chasing it around the deck, until the wind blew it into his face. Startled, the cat took flight and flew up to quiver on top of the mast. Marin shielded her eyes from the sun to look up at him as he settled his purple wings and began licking his leg. “I’m not seeing ‘brilliant innovator.’ How about we just name him Stowaway? Stowy for short?”
“It’s less dignified,” Dax said.
On top of the mast, the cat wobbled, then stretched his wings out. A gust of wind then blew him off his perch. He swooped down and landed on the deck as if he’d meant to do it.
“Okay, Stowy,” Dax agreed.
“Perri, could you—” Marin began.
The sea serpent dove beneath the waves and then a second later swatted a fish onto the deck. It landed with a wetthwap, startling the cat again. Stowy flew belowdecks.
“Thanks,” Marin said.
“I’ll fillet it for him,” Dax offered.
“You know how to fillet?” She wasn’t sure why that surprised her. It was a common enough skill. It was just that she couldn’t pictureDax cooking anything. She had a vague image of banquets every night in the conservatory.
“I’m not useless,” Dax said.
Marin winced. She hadn’t intended to insult him. She was usually much better with people—charming them as she made her deliveries and pickups—but those were short interactions that she could control with anecdotes and end whenever she wanted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
Dax flashed her a smile, a fake smile. She could tell the difference with him. His real smiles lit up his eyes; his fake ones hid pain, but that pain leaked around the edges of his expression. “I wasn’t actually supposed to learn. My teachers didn’t want me near knives, in case I sliced my hands.” He spread his hands, palms up, and studied them. “But I wanted to learn how to cook. One holiday, while the other students were home with their families, I spent every afternoon in the conservatory kitchens, helping out. The chef… well, no one had told her that I wasn’t allowed, and she wasn’t about to turn down free help when she was short on staff… So, she taught me how to slice, dice, and fillet.”
Marin stared at him for a moment. She didn’t think he was looking for pity. “We have had very different lives,” she said at last.
She meant to say it lightly, but she wasn’t sure Dax heard it that way. He was looking at her with a hint of sadness in his eyes. Taking the fish, he went belowdecks.
Perri trilled at her.
“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings,” Marin said.
Another trill.
“It’s not like it’s bad that we’re different,” she said. “It’s just a fact.” Also, a fact wasn’t necessarily the whole truth. She thought of the way his music reminded her of the stories she liked to tell, and she pictured his expression when he played and sang—it reminded her of the way she felt when the sea crooned its song around her, the music of the wind and waves.
The sea serpent ducked under the water, then popped back up.
Marin sighed. “I’ll talk to him. After the turtles.”
Midday, Marin dropped anchor into a sandbar just off Turtle Island. As she’d hoped, there were several sea turtles swimming lazily in the shallows. It wasn’t a surprise—various species of sea turtles considered Galap their prime breeding ground. The locals of the island had a myth that said the islands themselves were hatched here, from the eggs of ancient turtles. But these particular turtles were the ones Marin was most hoping to find: silverbacked turtles, known for their silver-as-the-moon shells, their bright blue beaks, and their affability.
One legend said one of their ancestors had saved a sorcerer in danger of drowning, and she’d cast an enchantment that had been passed down from generation to generation. Whenever a human was in the water near them, silverbacked turtles would be drawn to assist.
Marin didn’t approve of a spell that compelled anyone to do anything, so she preferred the other version of the story that said a little girl had once saved a clutch of turtle eggs from a flock of seagulls and as thanks the matriarch of the silverbacked sea turtles proclaimed they’d help humans in need from then on.
Either way, they were excellent turtles.
