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“I don’t like liars and I try not to be one myself…I’m wondering if I leave you out here, will you die of the cold or your injuries? It’s tempting.” A long pause lingers between us and finally, he groans. “Anybody that’s favored by the gods is a threat, but I follow Ren’s orders. Mad as they are. So should you.”

Favored by the gods? Is that meant to be a joke? No one in this forsaken world is favored by the gods anymore, because we all suffer like animals under the king’s rule, and they gave him a wish. Maybe he is favored by the gods, but me? Getting the map isn’t “favored by them,” it’s a chance to beg for their help. “I’m not listening to Ren⁠—”

“Don’t call him that. I get to give him a nickname because I’m part of this ship, this family, and I have earned it. You are nothing and he is Draven to you.” Venom leaks from his tone. “Come. Don’t make me drag you down there; you might not survive it in the poor state that you’re in right now. How are you even awake? A tiny thing like you must die from just standing in a sea breeze.”

“Not all of us are born like giants or whatever the hell you are,” I snarl, rising to my feet and biting the side of my cheek to stop from screaming in pain.

“In fact, my ancestors were giants. That’s where I got all this from.” He flexes his bicep in a pose and taps his muscles. I don’t know what to say to him because giants are not real things and he is fucking with me. He laughs deeply. “If I told you fairies were real, would you believe it?” Chaos seems to be amused with himself as I trudge after him across the wood deck, down two stairs, and onto the main part of the ship. I don’t know enough about ships to know the names of all the areas, but it doesn’t matter because there’s quite a crowd on the deck—and they are all staring.

“Get back to work! You’re not fed and clothed to stare at her!” They immediately move, shuffling back to pulling ropes, rolling barrels, and carrying things in crates. “If you think I’m bad at eavesdropping, it’s nothing on that lot. I swear everybody on this ship seems to have eyes and ears everywhere. I’m going to be frank with you right this moment for your safety, which”—he gulps like he swallowed a bug—“is now part of my job. We’ve not had anyone new on this ship in roughly three years. The last pain-in-the-ass person we let on this ship is still a real fucking problem and annoys everybody with singing, so please don’t be like that and piss me off.”

“I get the feeling you really don’t like me,” I mutter.

“What gave it away?” he deadpans, looking right at me with nothing but annoyance. I swear he rolls his eyes before turning and walking quickly to the stairs. I have to jog to keep up with him, feeling every step in my ribs, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he is moving this fast on purpose.

My legs are shaking as I follow him down to the first floor, into the massive open room. It’s much bigger than I first thought. The width of the ship or just less is this entire room, and it’s full of seating, pillars with lanterns attached on every side, and barrels every so often. The ship is sturdy enough that it barely feels like we are on the sea in here.

Chaos leads me to the left and waves at the rooms we pass. “Here are the rooms where the rest of the crew sleep.” He shows me several split corridors that seem to go off into little square-shaped spaces with beds and personal effects dotted about. Most of them are empty of much more than a bed, though. The rooms don’t actually have doors, just simple black, floor-length curtains on a rail.

I notice right away the ship isn’t cold…it should be freezing, but it’s not. It’s warm everywhere we walk, and I don’t see a fire once. I go to ask when we stop in front of an actual door, so smoothly built into the wall that I’d miss it if Chaos weren’t gesturing to it. There is a small handle the same color as the door. “This is Healer Clark’s room.”

Then he doesn’t bother knocking; Chaos just pulls the door open, and I hear a crash followed by a squeak. Chaos steps to the side, and I find the source of the noise on the floor, an overturned chair next to him, and a broken glass vial in his hand. The man is silver-haired but not from age, because he looks as young as me. He shoves a pair of small glasses up his slender nose, brushing down his brown cloak that fits like a glove due to the several belts he has tied to his waist, pulling the fabric tight to his thin body. He is only a little taller than me, I’d guess. Chaos picks him up by the scruff of his cloak and drops him on his feet. “I-I have a door so people c-can knock.”

“Fine.” Chaos just ignores the request and doesn’t apologize. “This is the map holder. Fix this one. Captain doesn’t want a dead map, and don’t let her leave this room alone. I’ll be back for her soon.” Chaos looks at me once. “Fucking trouble.”

He slams the door on the way out, making Clark jump out of his skin. I want to help him pick his fallen chair up, but he is doing it already, and then he sweeps the glass up before addressing me. “Please, please sit. I can sense you’re in a great deal of pain. He should have brought you to me sooner. Door open or shut?” When I frown, he shakes his head of silver locks. “I always give that choice to my patients, to the people I heal. Some people like the door open because they feel scared of being alone with me when they don’t know or trust me, which I understand. Other folks shut the door because they don’t want anyone seeing them being vulnerable. It’s your choice.”

“Shut, open, I don’t really care,” I mutter. The room is spinning too much for me to notice.

“Then we’ll go with shut, mostly because I hate people staring, and they’re going to be nosy because you’re new.” He claps his hands once, clasping them together. “First off, there’s nothing to be scared of from me.” He pulls a stool over, nearly falling off it as he sits down close, and I note how he smells like chocolate and herbal tea.

There is a lantern hanging from the ceiling, with a burning yellow flame, and the glass is reflecting the light everywhere so it’s bright in here despite only having one tiny circular window. “My name is Clark and I’m a healer. I was blessed with the power to take a tiny bit of my blood and turn it into a healing potion. I can then place it on wherever it is that hurts on your skin, and it will heal you as long as I am close by. I know you’re scared and I don’t blame you. I’d be passed out on the floor in your shoes. Actually, my heart might have just given out. Who knows?”

“Do you talk a lot, Clark?” I interrupt before he continues about his heart.

“Yes, you will find I do. I often get told to shut up on the ship.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“You can talk. It’s kind of nice, actually.” I’d almost say he reminds me of my brother, who never stops talking too when he is nervous or excited about something. I hate when people tell someone to shut up when they are excited. It’s like kicking a happy duck in the face for no good reason.

Clark smiles so much his brown eyes almost look a shade lighter. “Tell me what’s wrong, and I will try my best.”

I show him my hands and he winces. “How’d you do that?”

“A giant rock fell from the sky, and it was hot,” I explain, leaving out anything important.

“Ah, that would explain what looks like ash and dirt embedded into your skin with the burns.” He goes over and starts grabbing a few potions, tweezers, and more little bottles. The last thing he grabs is bandages.

“Your potions actually work, then? I don’t have any money on me. I’ve heard of and met traveling people who shouted loudly that they were witches; they pretended and lied that they had potions that would heal anything. They weren’t real, and they didn’t have magic.” I got ripped off by a couple of them who promised they could heal my brother, and I was desperate—so desperate I ignored all the warning signs. I wonder if he can. “My friend has a family member born with a sickness. She was promised a few times that the potions from the traveling witches would heal her family member, but most of the time, it just made him weaker. Made his visit by Ixchel so much more of a threat.”

“Those sicknesses are incurable, even to me, and I actually have magic in a world with little. I’m sorry your friend was lied to, and I hope the family member lives long. I can’t heal things you’re born with. As for your lack of money, I do not charge for my services. I have a deal with Draven, and I do what he asks because of it. I can’t fix death wounds or bring anyone back from the dead. I can heal burns, I can heal minor stab wounds. The worst I’ve done was an arrow through an arm.” He goes pale and sways a little. When his head tilts a little, I notice his ears have small points, not as high as Draven and Chaos. “I might have thrown up while I was doing it. It’s why Chaos hates me. Apparently, they were his favorite boots, and they were ruined. Unfortunately, I don’t like blood, which is a downside to being a healer.”

My lips twitch and I almost smile. “Unfortunate. I’m good at sneaking around but bad at lying. It never helped with being a thief.”

“I know being a thief is something most people turn to in a world where the poor are treated like animals.” He picks up a vial to mess with. “I’m also not very good at jokes, but people always seem to be laughing when I explain my life and the irony of it. It seems to help patients calm down sometimes.” He taps the vial to stir up the contents before setting it down in its holder. “So, Miriam, that is a nice name.” I flinch as he uses the tweezers to pull out some pieces of rock and other crap from my hands, before pouring on a potion that immediately makes them feel better. The burns are still there, but I can’t feel them at all as he wraps my hands in a white bandage that feels strange.

My name makes me think of my family and how far I am from my brother. “My mother told me that it means ‘wished for child’ in the old languages.”

“Oh, wow. She must love you very much.” He nods like it explains something unseen. My mother didn’t love me enough not to be stupid and end up dead. I don’t think there will be a day where I’m not deeply angry that they made a choice, one stupid choice, and it rocked my world into this mess. They left. They died, and it wasn’t fair. I almost tell him that she’s gone, that I have no one but my brother, but I don’t know Clark that well yet, and he is still part of this ship led by a kidnapping asshole captain. His eyes flicker to part of the map on my wrist. I attempt to put my sleeve down, but it’s pointless with how burnt it is. “What an unusual thing for a map to be. A marking.”