above his head, and splashes in the water. Someone looped a rope around him and he was heaved up, limbs dangling and dripping like a wet sponge, onto the ship.
The sodden wood of the deck felt like heaven, and despite the rocking of the ship and the shouts and footsteps and hands wrapping blankets around him, he could have slept right there and then.
Ramson lifted his head, his vision blurring. “Fisher,” he croaked.
In the darkness, a boy’s face appeared, white against the black night, lips blue-tinged and trembling.
The question had lodged in Ramson’s throat when he first saw Fisher’s face looming like a ghost’s out of the violent black waves. “Why did you save me?”
Fisher shrugged. “Because I could.”
It wasn’t a straight answer, but it was answer enough. Half-frozen, his thoughts muddled, Ramson felt shame heat his cheeks and guilt churn in his stomach. He’d treated Jonah Fisher abhorrently…and Fisher had saved his life.
“Thank you.” The words were so quiet and the storm so loud that he didn’t think Fisher heard him.
Even on the cusp of death, Jonah Fisher looked bored. But then he did something that surprised Ramson for the second time in their brief acquaintance.
Jonah Fisher smiled. It was an unsettling, awkward smile: more of a grimace, setting his peaky face at odds with his long, dripping hair and dark eyes. “Call me Jonah,” he wheezed.
Ramson would soon learn that Jonah was named after the sea god’s disciple, who had been reincarnated as a mystical ghostwhale. From that day on, Jonah was the brother Ramson had never known he wanted. The orphan seemed to know everything, from the politics of Bregon to secret passageways in the Blue Fort to the best ways to cheat on tests. It wasn’t long before he turned his mind to other things—things that regular children learning and training at the Blue Fort did not care for. Jonah seemed especially interested in the politics of the grown-ups, of Bregonian warfare tactics, of what the latest shipments from the Aseatic Isles kingdoms contained, of new Cyrilian laws on Affinite indenturement. He snuck out to town often and would return looking occupied and distant for days.
“You should try harder at school,” Ramson chided him. “How will you ever end up ranking high if you don’t turn in your assignments? The girls like the cleverest and strongest recruits.” He grinned. “Like me.”
“The girls’ll like me for how handsome I am,” Jonah replied lazily.
Ramson burst out laughing. “Handsome? You look like a plucked crow, Jonah Fisher!”
“And you look like a gutted fish, with that constant dumb expression of yours,” Jonah quipped. He grew solemn again, considering Ramson’s question.
“I guess I don’t really see the point of studying such obsolete histories when there are very real tragedies happening on our doorstep.”
“Like what?”
“People are starving, when we have an abundance of food. People are dying from illness, when we have an entire warehouse storage of medicine.”
“Because we’re important,” Ramson had said. “They chose us to become future leaders of Bregon—”
“Don’t be naïve, Ramson. I used to be one of those starving people. There’s nothing different between us and them.”
“Well…” The thought unsettled Ramson, that his scheduled life of coursework and training and a future as a Navy commander could be wrong, and could affect someone so close to him. “Once we work our way to the top, once we rank as Admiral, we’ll be able to change things. That’s why you should do your assignments, you know. Otherwise you’ll never make it.”
He hadn’t thought his words would have an impact on Jonah, but they did. That year, Jonah turned his attention to his studies. And, of course, he excelled annoyingly at everything he did, with an effortless grace and characteristic taciturnity.
Ramson, however, prided himself on being the better talker—in fact, the best talker among the Bregonian Navy recruits.
“What’s the point of being good at everything if you can’t tell everyone you’re good at everything?” he’d taunted Jonah once, when they were in their fourth year of training.
Jonah gave him a pointed look as he chewed through a mouthful of whatever kitchen pickings he’d stolen. He was still as thin as the day they’d met, and no matter how much he ate, he seemed to stay that way. “The point is that after you’re done talking, Ramson of the Quick Tongue, I’ll kick your ass.”
That shut Ramson up.
Jonah dipped his finger in the water and traced a lazy circle. They were stretched out on a fishing barge, basking in the midsummer