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  “Do you know what’s wrong with her?” There was a shadow of guilt in Nels’s question.

  Ilta searched the cabinets until she found the brown glass vial she needed. She was thankful that Anja had insisted on inocu­lating the left arm rather than the right. Everything would’ve been so much more difficult otherwise. “I’m not sure.” Turning, she waved the open bottle under Harkola’s nose while avoiding the hated ammonia odor herself. “Maybe she’ll remember what happened.”

  Nels nodded, and just like that, the awkward boy was back. Ilta knew the question foremost in his mind. She could practically see it etched on his face.

  To Ilta’s relief, Harkola stirred and coughed. “Don’t sit up,” Ilta said. She asked Nels to wait outside and finished the exami­nation.

  Groggy, Harkola had no memory of events beyond that of the crowd gathering in the dooryard. She was exhausted but otherwise fine. Ilta told Harkola to rest, and Harkola slipped immediately into a deep sleep. With that done, Ilta stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

  “How is she?” he asked, stopping his pacing.

  “She’ll need to stay here overnight. I want to be sure nothing else is wrong before I let her return to her barracks house.”

  “Everyone else evacuated to the Narrows.”

  “Not everyone, obviously.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?”

  Ilta motioned to the critical ward. “Someone had to stay.”

  “You’re bleeding.” He touched the back of her left shoulder.

  She winced. Glancing down, she saw the inoculation site was red and irritated. Being jostled seemed to have made it much worse. Her whole arm and shoulder were tender and hot to the touch. It wasn’t like that before. She clamped down on that thought, afraid of what that might mean. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” She didn’t have the energy to tend to her own wounds. Above all, she was grateful that Harkola hadn’t needed healing magic. Ilta doubted she had enough power left for a simple blessing.

  “You should let me bandage it,” Nels said. He saw her hesitation and looked away. Shame shrouded his expression.

  An uncomfortable silence stretched like taffy between them.

  She finally said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It wasn’t?” He stared at the wall. “I can’t seem to do anything right.”

  “That isn’t true. You stopped that mob.”

  A stunned smile stretched over his lips. “I didn’t imagine it.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “What does it mean? Is it—is it possible that I used command magic for the first time in my life? It can’t be, can it? I’m eighteen.”

  She paused, thinking. Such a thing had never happened before. It was more likely that his magic had taken an unexpected form—one that had been unlooked-for, previously unknown, and thus missed. At the same time, she saw the joy in his face and couldn’t bring herself to destroy it. “I don’t know. But I could help you find out during our time together.”

  His smile grew and then died. “What if it wasn’t me? What if it was you?”

  “It couldn’t have been. I don’t have command magic,” she said. “Why are you so determined to accept responsibility for the bad things and yet refuse to take credit for the good?”

  “I wasn’t alone. You were in my mind. I felt it.”

  She hesitated and then nodded, shamed. “I reached out for the only safety I could. It was you. I’m—I’m sorry.”

  The smile returned, a specter of its former self. “Don’t be.”

  “I could’ve hurt you,” she said. “I might have.”

  He shrugged. “You didn’t.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Another silence was measured by the clock in the entry. Outside, the situation seemed to be stabilizing. The flames from the burning bakery had died back enough that their light no longer brightened the hallway.

  Nels’s face was painted in careful shadows. “I have to get back to the others.”

  “All right.”

  “Are you staying?”

  “I am.”

  He nodded and cleared his throat. “Then I will, too.”

  She wanted to kiss him, but he turned away before she could. “Thank you.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “For what?”

  “For being there when I needed you.”

  The smile was resurrected. “I’m happy that I could be.” And with that, he went outside.

  SUVI

  ONE

  “Didn’t expect to see you up here,” Dylan said. His teeth flashed white in his dark face. He wore his thick dark brown hair braided into long spirit knots—a Waterborne religious custom. A strong lake breeze blew them around his shoulders. Although smiling at the moment, his face was habitually set into severe lines. This contrast between Dylan’s intimidating presence and his warm intelligence inwardly amused Suvi. It made her feel as if she were in on a secret to which others weren’t privy.

  The kainen of the Waterborne Nations, much like the kainen of Eledore, originated from many different cultures and climates. However, unlike the kainen of Eledore, the Waterborne made no efforts to distinguish a person’s worthiness based upon magical power. Rank within Waterborne society was based on one’s shipboard role and thus, one’s ability to contribute to the survival of the Nations as a whole. Leadership was determined by the crew’s vote. Still, the captain of a ship wasn’t granted more rights than the crew. As far as Suvi knew, the Waterborne didn’t have royalty. Thus, she considered them to be an egalitarian mix of peoples in a sense that even her mother’s homeland of Ytlain could never be. Acrasia fascinated her brother Nels because they terrified him. Suvi made a study of the Waterborne because she admired them.

  Dylan raised an eyebrow, again asking an unspoken question.

  She shrugged.

  Five years older, Dylan was her closest friend and had been since she’d signed on with the King’s Navy when she was twelve. Initially, she’d been warned away from him, of course. He was Waterborne, and Waterborne didn’t observe blood custom. So, he bunked with the marines in the hold. There were other reasons she’d been instructed to steer clear of him, she knew, but she befriended him anyway.

  She didn’t give a shit about other people’s stupid prejudices regarding who had sex with whom.

  Dylan’s smile lifted some of her dark mood. That and the fact that he’d found her first. She had twofold reasons for seeking him out, and she’d been nervous. It’d been months since she’d last seen him. Still, here he was, just as if they’d never been apart. There were very few people with which she felt that comfortable, and she needed to talk to someone she trusted—someone who wasn’t Piritta. Suvi loved Piritta, but sometimes she wondered if they’d still be friends if Piritta weren’t her souja. In any case, the tension on the ship being what it was of late, it was a relief that Suvi wouldn’t have to search for him. It would make warning him without others listening easier, too.

  “Hiding from someone, are you?” Dylan asked in a quiet voice. A steady lake breeze tugged at the sheets. The cold wind, cries of birds, thumping rigging, and snapping sails nearly obliterated the question.

  “Father,” Suvi said. “Who else?”

  Balanced on the yard with her back to the mainmast, she took comfort in the rise and fall of the ship. They were sailing south on Dagfinna Lake, on their way to meet her Uncle Sakari’s ship, HREMS Falcon. Originally, she’d jumped at the chance to get away from the royal court and sail—the one thing that brought her peace and joy. Unfortunately, her happiness was short-lived. So, she’d chose to steal a moment’s peace, dressed in a set of Nels’s old clothes she’d packed in case a chance of climbing the rigging presented itself. The main topmast was her favorite place to think when she was troubled, and Dylan knew it. If she were completely truthful, she’d lied about her reasons for taking refuge in the rigging, but it was simpler to blame her father. As a rule, his temper ran short. It was even shorter when he was ill, which
was why the ship’s healer had barricaded himself in the forecastle, the captain had been conferring with his officers for days, and the royal chef was deep in her cups.

  Dylan settled on the yard in front of Suvi, his legs dangling as hers did. Northern Star’s topgallant swelled and snapped with the wind. An eager shiver vibrated through the spar against Suvi’s back. She breathed in, listening to wooden creaks, slapping lines, and shouts from the crew below. The acrid stench of hot tar and the hammering from the caulkers floated up from the decks, but the busy noise of those engaged in the constant work required to keep the ship sound was less intrusive so high up. The topmasts were the closest thing to real privacy onboard ship. Still, even this seemed to have little effect on the shadows weighing down her heart.

  She laid a hand on polished wood, willing the morning sun to warm her chilled skin. Dylan pretended to check the line binding Northern Star’s top sail to the yard. A bright red scarf covered the top of his head, and she found herself staring at the beautiful, curled patterns bleached into it.

  “Have you ever … hurt anyone in a-a fight?” she asked and looked away. She didn’t dare look him in the face. Although the effort most Eledoreans made to avoid speaking of death, violence, or blood annoyed her, it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to ask.

  “Only when I’ve had to.” Dylan shrugged.

  Deeply spiritual, the Waterborne kept different customs—equally valid ones as far as she was concerned. Sadly, Suvi didn’t know as much as she would’ve liked. Even Dylan tended to be closemouthed about certain things. “How do the Waterborne deal with … lost lives?” she asked, yielding to internal pressures.

  Well known for their water-based magical talents and strict code of honor, the Waterborne were clannish, secretive, and nomadic. Their ships were their homes. Their ultimate loyalty was bound to their families and shipmates. Very few Waterborne opted to live on dry land—let alone serve in foreign navies.

  Dylan was one of those few.

  “You mean killing,” he said, his voice flat.

  She nodded.

  “Everything and everyone dies. It’s part of life. Same as swiving, shitting, and eating.”

  She felt a corner of her mouth curl upward in spite of herself. Where some people might curb their language in front of her, Dylan never did.

  “Why do you ask?” he asked.

  “Just curious,” she said. She paused to consider whether or not to continue the conversation.

  Dylan sat patiently in silence until she resumed speaking.

  “Did you do a cleansing ritual afterward?” she asked.

  Squinting at the horizon, he said, “There’s what your people might call an act of contrition.”

  “Would you mind me asking what it is?”

  Dylan looked her in the eye for a length of ten heartbeats. Suvi did her best to hold his gaze. For a moment, she wasn’t sure whether or not he’d answer her.

  “The words are ‘May your passage through the deep be swift and true. Let no darkness bind you, and may the Judge of Souls give you your due.’ Then if you’re wanting to be sure his ghost won’t haunt you, make the spirit a gift.”

  “What kind of gift?”

  “Something that shines,” he said. “Doesn’t have to be valuable. A ghost can’t take much into the deep dark but light and memories for warmth.” He gave her a questioning look.

  She didn’t meet his gaze. The wind tugged the loose strands of her hair while she thought of something to distract him from the truth. “I’m afraid Father will be forced to do something about Mother soon. Her … headaches … are becoming more demanding.” When Nels had resigned as heir designate, their mother had withdrawn to her apartments and refused to see anyone. For a year, she had surfaced only when the strictures of government or ceremony dictated otherwise. She claimed to suffer from headaches. Of late, those headaches favored tight breeches, good wine, and expensive horses—not that it mattered to anyone including her father, but the terms of their binding had been permanent and exclusive. Thus, at the very least, the appearance of propriety had to be observed. Substance rarely mattered. Appearances always did. In Suvi’s experience, the whole of the Eledorean court was like that. It disgusted her.

  Dylan squinted. “Bad, is it?”

  She nodded.

  “Is that why you asked about—”

  “No!” Her head snapped up so fast, her neck popped. “Gods, no.”

  “Ah, good. Hard to tell with royals sometimes.”

  “I’m not like that, and you know it,” she said. At least, I didn’t used to be. Something pinched in her chest. I’ll do what I must for the kingdom.

  Is that what Uncle tells himself? She flinched at the thought.

  “It’ll sort itself out for the best, girl chick. These things do.”

  Dylan wasn’t as old as he pretended, but it amused him to treat her as if she were a little sister. It amused her, too. Most of the time.

  “I know. I just hope the matter doesn’t resolve itself with a headsman’s ax,” she whispered and glanced up at the platform above.

  “Don’t worry about Pirnes. He’s sleeping off a hangover as usual. I’m covering for him,” Dylan said. “He won’t hear a thing.”

  “Lost at cards again?”

  “Don’t know why I bother,” Dylan said. “Should hand over half my pay and avoid the whole thing. I’d get more bunk time.”

  “Does Pirnes still rub his chin when he has a good hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Jokela? Does she still blink when she bluffs?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then why do you keep losing?”

  A slow smile spread across his face as he stared out at the glitter­ing expanse of Dagfinna Lake. “Things go smoother when I do. Anyway, I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to otherwise.”

  “Damn, I miss you. I miss this stupid boat, too.”

  “Ship. For the Sea Mother’s sake, have you forgotten the difference already?”

  She grinned. “So, how’s the Star?”

  “Shipshape and Mehrinna fashion. Captain’s been hanging off the coast like we’re tethered,” he said. “Ytlainen privateers took three ships on the Sisters last month. And it’s not yet summer.”

  In spite of the years he’d spent in the Eledorean navy, Dylan still used the Waterborne name for the Great Chain Lakes.

  We each have our little rebellions, don’t we? Suvi thought. “Be careful, will you?”

  “No cannonball or splinter has taken me yet.”

  They sat in silence for a time, each pretending to study the clouds. It was time to ask Dylan the question she dreaded asking. There were multiple reasons for her fear. First, she didn’t want to insult Dylan. Over the years that they’d known one another, he’d been reluctant to discuss his past. She didn’t understand why but had always respected his wishes. That was about to change. Second, she was afraid of what might happen to him. She was the heir designate. He was known to be her close friend, and her uncle knew of her inability to shield her thoughts. It had been why she’d stayed away from the Star, restricting her contact with Dylan to messages that could easily be intercepted. It was also why she hadn’t included Dylan in anything political before. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option any longer. Either she included him or her uncle would.

  “Will the Waterborne enter the war, do you think?” She brushed her hand along the yard as if soothing the ship and not herself.

  She sensed rather than saw Dylan’s frown before she looked up.

  “Thick-headed, self-righteous bastards or not, the Acrasians are smart enough to leave well enough alone,” he said. “The clans won’t take sides. Why make enemies when one can secure shipping contracts with both parties and make a killing? Anyway, it isn’t their fight.” He shrugged. “It’s yours.”

  “What if—what if that wasn’t the case any longer? What would you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Waterborne have been spying on El
edore. Uncle won’t tolerate it—assuming he knows. And I would.”

  Dylan blinked and tilted his head. “That’s not possible.”

  “You have been away from home for a while.”

  “It doesn’t matter. That isn’t something that would ever change.”

  “Apparently, someone has decided that there’s a new policy.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “Those privateers? The Ytlainen claim they were Acrasians flying an Ytlainen flag. Uncle is looking into it. It’s one of the reasons Uncle has been in Ytlain for so long.”

  “No doubt your uncle is happy. Ytlain will join your war,” Dylan said. “But what does any of that have to do with the Waterborne Nations?”

  Suvi paused. “Several Waterborne message birds have been intercepted. Message birds from the eastern coast off the port of Mehrinna and destined for Acrasia,” she said. “My korva told me.”

  “Are you sure of him?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of her.”

  “No sea lord would risk such a thing. It would endanger every contract—”

  “One of the clans has been selling information about Eledore to Acrasia,” Suvi said. “She says there’s proof.”

  “That’s very serious.” Dylan paused, looking out at the horizon again. “Do you know which clan is accused?”

  “Jami said the messages originated from someone named Isak Kask,” she said. “Kask is your clan, isn’t it?”

  Dylan’s skin went a bit gray.

  Suvi blinked. He knows him. She hadn’t thought that Dylan would.

  “And you have proof, you say?” Dylan asked.

  “Jami had the messages copied and sent to me before they were destroyed,” Suvi said. “I can’t imagine that Uncle will be ignorant of the situation for long. It’s certain he’ll put the pieces together soon enough. And when that happens, the contracts between the Waterborne Nations and Eledore aren’t going to survive. You know how Uncle is. Weathermaster or not, you may not be safe. You have to leave. Before he decides you’re a person of interest.”

  Nodding, Dylan stared down at the spar beneath him. He seemed to come to a decision. “May I see your proof?”