My clothes aren’t my own, and they fit poorly on my frame. Chest tight, sleeves short. I’m taller than the Lakelander guard I took them from, but she was the closest to my size. Every time I move, I’m afraid I might split a seam. Once I was vain about the curves of my body. Not anymore. I have more important things to think about. I make a note to try and buy something better suited when we dock next, wherever that may be.
I know the geography of the river well enough. The Disputed Lands are on our maps, albeit in far less detail than my own kingdom. I know the cities Memphia and Mizostium, both farther downriver. I admit, I’m eager to see them, if only from the river. I’ve known cities built by Silver crowns, beautiful but walled, ruled by one kind of blood. Of course I’ve seen Red slums, certainly, though not by choice. I wonder which the Disputed cities will be more like.
I wish I could see them under better circumstances. Without this horrible choice I’ve already made hanging over my head. Without running.
No, I’m not running. Cowards run, and I’m not a coward. A coward would have stayed behind. A coward would have waited for Orrian, accepted him and the fate already chosen.
A cool breeze plays off the water, balancing out the heat of the sun approaching high noon. It runs over me, light as a kiss, and I let my eyes flutter shut.
Then the deck creaks as someone stops beside me, and I grit my teeth, preparing myself for more of the needling captain.
Instead it’s one of the Red servants. I think her name is Jem. Her son stands at her side, less fearful of me than his sister. He stares at me brazenly, eyes black and round. I stare back.
“Hello,” I mutter after a moment, puzzled as to what else to do.
He nods curtly. Strange for a child.
Next to him, his mother looks on, warmly regarding her son. She ruffles his hair, golden as his sister’s. True to her training as a palace servant, she doesn’t speak to me and won’t unless I speak first.
“We’re in the Disputed Lands now,” I tell her. “You don’t have to stand on ceremony. You can talk if you want to talk.”
She rests her hand on her son’s shoulder and looks out at the river, regarding the far bank, where the Lakelands begin. “Who says I want to talk to you, Silver?”
I almost laugh. “Fair enough.”
It must be strange to see someone like me and someone like her standing side by side. A Silver princess and a Red servant, her child between us. Both of us fleeing. Both of us at the mercy of this river and this crew. The same, in most ways.
Strange, how this world is shifting. The wars in the east may not be over, won or lost, but they’ve certainly brought change already.
I have no taste for war. I want no part of the world behind me. Impossible lightning girls, murdered kings. Reds in rebellion, Silvers in exile. And I have no idea what kind of place that chaos will become.
But I don’t have the time to wonder about the future. I have to look back. I have to keep watch.
I leave the Red servant where she stands and spend the next few hours at the back of the boat, feet planted firmly, my eyes on the river as the bends turn and twist. The keel is quiet, mostly. The Red captain speaks softly to his crew, directing them once or twice an hour. The crew, a scarred woman and a reedy man with poles, do their job well. The breathing mountain puffs in and out of the cargo hold, doing who knows what below. The Nortan servants speak together at the far end of the keel, mostly focused on keeping their daughter in hand. The son is far more manageable. He stands at the front of the boat as I stand at the back, his eyes forward. He never speaks at all.
He also doesn’t make a sound when the river, elegant and lethal, reaches up over the rail and pulls him under.
Daria turns in time to see his legs go over the side, little feet flailing. She screams but I don’t hear it, already moving, already knowing what took the boy.