be stripped bare for winter. Every year I pass the workers, watching the Reds sweat and toil for their distant overlords. Sometimes they run to the bank when they see us, begging for passage. We never take them. Patrols are too close and farmworkers have too little coin. A few make the journey on their own, though, building boats on the bank through the summer. We help those along if we can, out of Silver sight.
Quick, light footsteps on the deck shake me out of my thoughts as one of the passenger children scuttles up next to me, her eyes wide in a golden face framed by curly brown hair. She looks afraid. I grin at her, if only to keep the kid settled. The last thing I need is a screaming child. She immediately grins, pointing at my mouth, then to her own tooth.
“You like that?” I murmur, running a tongue over my gold incisor. It replaced a tooth knocked out in a fight in Memphia. A fight I won.
“Your tooth is shiny,” she exclaims giddily. She can’t be more than eight.
I glance back up the deck, at her mothers pressed together on the bench. They look on, apprehensive. I wonder if the child is adopted, or born of one of the women. Probably the latter. She has the same look as the paler one, the same spark in her eyes.
Gently, I nudge her back toward her family. Cute as the kid is, I don’t want to interact with her any more than I must. It’s easier that way. “You should go sit down. I’ve got work to do up here.”
She doesn’t move, still staring. “You’re the captain,” she says, persistent.
I blink at her. Even though keelboat crews don’t have any kind of insignia or markings to denote officers, it’s clear where I stand on my deck. “Yes.”
“Captain what?”
Nodding, I nudge her again, this time moving with the child so she has to follow. “Ashe,” I offer, if only to get her going.
“I’m Melly.” Then her voice drops to a whisper, one hand suddenly clutching mine. “There’s a Silver on the boat.”
“I’m very aware of that,” I mutter, prying my fingers from hers.
At the benches, I catch the Piedmont princess watching despite her lazing appearance. She glances at us beneath her lashes, pretending not to look. A good tactic. A smart one.
“Why did you let her on?” The little girl continues without any concern for the rest of the ship—or those who might overhear.
From her position at the side, Riette shoots me a smirk as she poles the river. I grimace in reply. Somehow the rat kids always gravitate to me, and somehow I keep letting them.
“Same reason I let you on,” I tell her, sounding short and gruff. Just let me work, kid.
“They’re dangerous,” she whispers back. “I don’t like them.”
I don’t bother to drop my voice. Let the Silver princess hear me. “Neither do I.”
One of the Red mothers, the pale one, gratefully reaches for her daughter when I push her over. She has short-cropped hair the color of wheat. “Apologies for Melly, sir,” she says, pulling the child close. Not out of fear, but out of respect. “You sit still now.”
I nod curtly. It isn’t in me to scold passengers, especially those fleeing a civil war. “Just keep out of the hold and out of the way.”
The other Red mother, holding tight to their young boy, smiles warmly. “Of course, sir.”
Sir seems to bounce off my skin. Though this is my keel and my crew, my river hard-earned, I never get used to it. Two grown women calling me such a thing still feels odd. Even if it’s true. Even if I deserve it.
As I leave the couple, I pass by the princess. She’s still stretched out, taking more room than she should. The Silver angles her chin to survey me. All thoughts of inadequacy or unworthiness vanish. If there’s anyone who doesn’t deserve my respect, it’s a Silver.
I harden under her attention, losing any warmth.
“When do we eat, Ashe?” she asks, one hand idly tapping the bench. Overhead, the strengthening summer sun forces her to shade her eyes with the other hand.
Ashe.
The Red child bristles before I can, leaning around one of her mothers.
“He’s a captain, miss,” she says, her voice wavering. I can’t fathom the bravery it must take for her to speak to a Silver at all, let alone correct one. She’d make a fine keel captain herself one day.