me stories from her old collection of books. Before he died, my father used to bring them to her when he got them on the river or by trading on the docks. Most were reprinted a dozen times over, handed down through generations, translated and copied. Stories of warriors, kings, impossible creatures, bravery, and adventure. Stories of Red men and women defeating impossible odds. I wish I’d never known those stories. They are for fools.
And I’m certainly acting like a fool now.
As a Riverman, I’ve always felt safest on the water, but for the first time in my life, that isn’t true. We don’t dare keep the lights running, and instead make do by the moon. Thank the river, it’s full tonight, bright enough to move by. I get Riette and Gill sleeping in shifts, one of them always ready should the current change. Big Ean sleeps in his scurry, ready to paddle off if we need to abandon the keel all together. I don’t plan to sleep at all, my mind abuzz with half-formed battle plans. The princess doesn’t sleep either.
Lyrisa said her Lakelander prince liked to hunt. I suppose he enjoys the sport of it, watching prey flee, terrified for its life. I wonder if he’s watching us now, in shadows and silhouettes across the water, moving without making a sound. I’ve passed Silver patrols this way before. I’m good at what I do. But those could always be paid off or tricked. Those weren’t noble Silvers, bred and trained to their abilities. Those weren’t Silvers with revenge in their blood, hungry for something far more valuable than grain or alcohol or illicit guns.
Once or twice, I think I hear a distant chorus of laughter beyond the bank. It could be the wind in the fields or the splash of a fish. Or nothing at all. Every noise sets me further on edge, pushing my nerves beyond reason. By midnight I feel like my teeth may shatter in my clenched jaw.
When the moon is high above us, Lyrisa abandons her post at the stern. Her steps are quiet and steady, but she doesn’t know which planks to avoid. Which ones creak and groan. I hear her move despite her best efforts, and so does the river.
Half asleep at his post, Gill shoots her a glare only I can see.
I move silently, joining her halfway down the deck. She leans over the rail, squinting into the darkness on the far bank. The moon glints off half-high cornfields, the perfect cover for anyone watching the river.
“You can sleep if you want,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. You should sleep. I’m abandoning you tomorrow. You need the rest. Guilt claws at my stomach.
Lyrisa shakes her head. “Absolutely not.” Then she sighs, resting her head on one hand. She stares into the dark without seeing. “He’s enjoying this. Orrian.”
Like all Reds, I carry a bone-deep hatred for Silvers. But this one inspires another layer of disgust I’ve not felt long these days. “You’d think a Silver would have far better and more interesting things to do. There’s a war on, last I checked.”
I expect her to smile. Instead she seems to shrink. I can almost forget her ability, looking at her now. How she could break me and this keel in half with a twist of her fingers.
“There’s war everywhere these days,” she says. “North, south, east.”
“Not west?” That’s hardly true. I say it just to speak, to give me a reason to keep my eyes open. Even we know of the raiders up and down the Prairie borders, Silver outcasts with no flag and no allegiance. The Prairie warlords are in constant flux. The Tiraxean triarchs are always chafing one another. Nowhere is quiet, not in the world ahead or the world behind.
“Not west,” Lyrisa murmurs. “Have you heard of Montfort here on the rivers?”
Ah.
“The Free Republic.”
“That’s what they call it.” She hesitates, her whisper catching. “Do you think it’s true?”
What I think to be true and know to be true are two very different things. And the many rumors of the Republic, even what the citizens of it themselves say, are varying stories, all at odds with one another. “I’ve heard as much. Reds, Silvers, whatever the others are. All together, equal.” I hesitate as I say it. Somehow, I don’t want to mislead her, or give her hope she shouldn’t have. “But I don’t believe everything I hear. I get it wrong half the time.”