But then her gaze settled on Kullen; the lines on her face relaxed.
Ryber and the first mate were together, and it was more than just a dalliance. It was serious and it ran deep.
True.
Safi’s lips pursed. She and Ryber seemed to be around the same age, yet here was something Safi knew little about. She’d had romances in Veñaza City. Flirtations with young men like the Chiseled Cheater, but those encounters had always ended in quick kisses and even quicker goodbyes.
“Does the prince,” she asked absently, “have relations with anyone?” Safi tensed, instantly wishing she could snatch back those words. She didn’t know where they’d come from. “I mean, is it allowed for Prince Merik’s crew to have relations?”
“Not with each other,” Ryber answered. “Also, we’re off Nubrevnan soil, Domna. That makes the prince Admiral Nihar.”
That caught Safi’s attention, and she embraced the distraction wholeheartedly. “The prince’s title changes according to where he is?”
“Sure it does. Doesn’t yours?”
“No.” Safi bit her lip as a fresh burst of salty wind lashed behind the barrels. Rather than cool her, though, it seemed to scald—to make fresh sweat bead on her brow. But this was different heat from before—an angry heat. A frightened heat.
And she only got hotter as Ryber went on to describe how Merik’s rationing of meals had upset a lot of men and only widened the gap between those who supported Merik and those in favor of Princess Vivia. How dirty and overcrowded the capital city had become since the Great War.
The potent truth behind these stories made Safi’s ankles bounce and her fingers curl. The world that Ryber described was nothing like the one Safi had left behind. There was poverty in the Dalmotti Empire—of course there was—but there wasn’t starvation.
Perhaps … perhaps Merik did need trade—even with a cursed estate like the Hasstrels.
Just as Safi towed in her leg to stand—to return to the cabin and check on Iseult—Evrane’s voice hit her ears.
“So you will let the girl die?” Evrane’s shouts swept up from the nearby ladder. Louder than the drilling sailors. Louder than the pounding drum. “You must take us ashore!”
Ice slid down Safi’s spine. Splintered through every piece of her. She rolled onto her knees, onto her feet. Then she stood, ignoring Ryber’s whispers to stay hidden. Just as she lifted above the barrels, Merik’s dark head appeared on the ladder. He climbed deftly onto the deck, his aunt’s cloaked figure behind.
Merik strode several paces forward, head swiveling as if he searched for someone, and sailors cleared aside.
Evrane stalked to his side. “That girl needs a Firewitch healer, Merik! She will die without one!”
Merik didn’t answer—even when Evrane’s voice lifted with fury and she demanded that Merik take them ashore.
Safi’s fingers flexed. Her toes, her calves, her gut—everything tensed for action.
If Merik wasn’t willing to save Iseult’s life, then that simply confirmed he wasn’t Safi’s ally. So, contract or not, enemy sailors or not, Admiral Nihar was now Safi’s opponent and this ship was her battleground.
TWENTY
Merik had gone belowdecks to check on the domna. He didn’t like how he’d left her in the cabin. Her Threadsister was ill, and Merik understood how that could wrinkle a person’s disposition.
Whenever there were wrinkles, Merik had to smooth them out.
Besides, this was basically the only wrinkle he could fix at the moment. Vivia’s Voicewitch was hounding Hermin, demanding that Merik tell her where the Dalmotti trade ship was and refusing to back off until she had seen this new Hasstrel contract for herself.
Merik had lied—again—and claimed the trade ship was only half the distance it actually was, but he had a feeling Vivia was starting to catch on.
Before he could reach the passenger cabin, his aunt intercepted him at the bottom of the ladder. “We need to stop,” she declared, her face dark in the shadows but her silver hair glowing. “Iseult is too ill to survive much longer. What ports are near?”
“None that we can visit. We’re still in Dalmotti territory.” Merik tried to step onward.
Evrane cut him off, bristling. “What do you not understand about ‘too ill to survive’? This is nonnegotiable, Merik.”
“And this is not your ship to command.” Merik didn’t have the patience for this right now. “We stop when I say we stop, Aunt. Now stand aside so I can visit the domna.”
“She is not in the cabin.”
And just like that, the familiar pressure ignited beneath Merik’s skin. “Where,” he asked softly, “is she?”
“Topside, I assume.” Evrane flicked her wrists disinterestedly at the cargo