Page 36 of The Space Between Stars

The idea came, riding her Luck on wings, and she turned to face the sails of a ship docked directly in front of the center market.

“Father, we need a new ship?” she called over her shoulder.

“Yes. Yes.” He bobbed his head, biting at his lip in a way that told her he wasn’t quite listening. “We need a new ship.” He looked like he might cry. But no—could a man like him be brought to tears?

“What about that one?” she asked, gesturing to the vessel, similar in size to the Rogue’s Respite, but with the indubitable sheen of newness.

A half-choked laugh escaped his throat. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?” The question held the tone of a man speaking to a child, one he never used on her. But then, without proper context, her question had been childish.

“You read me a story about how Dreiden defeated the Tera’thians at Three Rivers by baiting their fleets into a land attack, only for the Blue Wing to commandeer their ships.”

Her father’s brows lowered, then leapt up as though they had sat on something prickly. He pressed his lips into a line. “Do you remember how Zeb played the part of hostage when Gelhard ‘captured’ him?”

She grinned. “Can you buy me a kaftan like that?” She pointed at the adorned child on the shore. “And something fancy for Mitek too?”

***

Fankalo waited, hands tied behind her with a knot Zeb had taught her to slip, mouth gagged with clean linen, limbs bound to a beam at the center of the mess deck, body swathed in the finery of a dote-worthy child.

Alone.

It was the most alone she’d ever been. At least, since the scourge.

She wasn’t truly alone, of course. The crew hid on ropes, lowered just over the far side of the sinking Rogue’s Respite. Still, she had never before spent so long in a dark space without other warm bodies nearby. Breathing, snoring, humming, working.

There was nothing around her but the gloom of their half-sunken vessel. And ‘nothing’ brought to mind monsters: aether sprites and djinn. With each creak, Fankalo was sure that ‘nothing’ was moments from digging its teeth into her flesh.

She focused on the sounds of the sea crashing against the cove and the hull, waiting. And waiting some more.

When her belly began to gurgle, she fantasized about that pastry the girl in Gembolta had had. She would have preferred a treat to this silly kaftan. The garment was comfortable, but the price of Azadonian silk had made her head spin when her father had bartered for it. Three hundred silver notes—more than she and her brother had seen for as long as she could remember. And the ruffled turban adorning her head was worth half as much more.

A simple kaftan could be earned from a single day’s hard work, or five-fingered for free from someone who wouldn’t miss it. A visceral disgust rose in the pit of her stomach. Before this past month, she’d had frequent visits with hunger, while others touted clothing like this at the market. There was something maddening about it.

The sudden clattering of a gangplank, and footsteps sounded above her. The belly gurgle became a throat gurgle; her body turned to ice.

An unfamiliar voice screamed, “Get the shipwatch!”

The “shipwatch” would be Zeb, who had stayed to make their trap less obvious—no vessel would ever drop anchor without at least one shipwatch aboard. A splash assured her that he had made his planned getaway over the rail. A skiff waited for him, tied along the cove, to be rowed back for their rescue… so long as things went smoothly and Mitek actually stuck to his part. She never thought she’d feel so relieved to hear that idiot deckhand’s stupid voice; it meant she might be able to get out of these ropes and find out what snacks the Blue Wing ship stocked in their galley.

“They were imprisoning her below deck. Hurry. She must be so frightened!”

She had to hand it to Mitek; he wasn’t a horrendous actor. Convincing a genuine Blue Wing captain to rescue his sister from a band of ransoming raiders was worth recognition, even if he had fought her through every second of practicing the cover story Captain Keane had given them. She was sure the potential reward for rescuing a Skywalk child helped.

The footsteps made their way down the ladder from the hatch. Fankalo counted five, ten, thirteen men descending to the mess deck. Her nervousness tripled. They carried weapons: cosalts—the barb-tipped lances most often carried by militiamen—and tanka launchers mostly, but there was even a dowagist. A full squadron? She should have guessed as much. A Blue Wing ship needed at least as many crew to man it, even for a rescue mission just around the peninsula.

Mitek hopped down the last several rungs, looking more an idiot than ever in his embroidered blouse and enamel boots—the perfect spoiled child.

“Quick! Before the shipwatch brings them back!” he pleaded.

A sailor in the Blue Wing’s cerulean uniform knelt before her. He removed the gag and began at the knot on her bindings. “It’s going to be alright. We’re going to bring you home.”

When the false bindings fell free, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whimpered.

The man had kind eyes and a broad chin, the kind with a little dent in it. He looked so concerned she nearly felt bad. Did her Luck lead her towards all-around good, or just the best option for her? She hadn’t considered it before.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” she replied, trying to seem shaken, realizing she genuinely was shaken, and mentally going over the next layers of the plan. The rest had been her father’s idea. He’d made it sound brilliantly simple back on the dock. But now her limbs didn’t seem to work in a way that had nothing to do with the ropes pooling around her like shed skin.