of the Seventh god. Mostly, they called her the Corrupted One.
It wasn’t long before Lydia felt a chill in her own spine when the enemy queen’s name was mentioned, and she tried to fight away the unease by listening to the sounds of their voices rather than to what they were saying. Keeping her head down, she quietly mimicked their accent. She had landed herself in a hornet’s nest, but if there was an advantage to the chaos, it was that it gave her opportunity to blend in.
Following the salty breeze of the sea and the stink of fish led Lydia to a gate in the city wall leading to the harbor, where she picked her way through the crowd and down into the market. There were only two vessels in port—hardly any relative to the size of the harbor, and neither of them possessed the distinctive blue sails of a Maarin ship.
“Excuse me,” she said, tapping a sailor on the arm. His skin was a dark mahogany shade, his ears pierced with a dozen golden rings, brown hair curly and thick. “Do the Maarin trade out of this harbor?”
He shook his head. “Not seen one of their ships here in more than a month.” His voice carried a heavy accent different from any she’d heard before, lilting and beautiful. “The Crown has been seizing all cargos and paying below market rates, and the Maarin don’t have any time for such behavior.” He eyed her. “Why you looking for the Maarin?”
“I’ve friends among them.”
The sailor shrugged. “They’re still trading out of Serlania, if you can get there. Most captains are avoiding Mudaire for fear of losing their crews to conscription, never mind the vermin that haunt the skies. High Lord Hacken Calorian’s ships are constantly coming and going, but passage is more than most can afford. He’s touted as a hero for risking his ships and crews, but the filthy rich bastard is making a small fortune off others’ misery. Yet he pays my wage, so I can’t complain.”
Lydia’s throat tightened at the familiar surname, and she glanced around at the blurry crowds, half-expecting to see Killian’s tall form striding in her direction. Booking passage on a vessel associated with him seemed like a risk, but she had to find a Maarin ship. It was the only chance she had of making it back to Celendrial, and that made it worth the gamble. “How much?” she asked.
The price the sailor named in silver made her ill, but her ring was worth a small fortune in gold. “Where do I go to book passage?”
“Ships sailing today are full to the brim,” he said. “But you come back in the morning at first light with coin in hand”—he eyed her dubiously—“then like as much someone will find a place for you.”
The thought of remaining another night made Lydia’s stomach sink, so she ventured down to the docks, intent on finding a captain who could squeeze her aboard. But before each of the ships was a choke point, a lineup of people passing some sort of inspection before they were allowed to board.
Unable to make out what was happening, Lydia crept closer, her heart beating violently in her chest. But she needed to see. Creeping up next to a stack of empty crates, she peered around them, watching as person after person rested their hands against the bare arm of a boy whose face was marred with a livid burn. Only after a nod from an official-looking woman in white robes were the individuals allowed to proceed down the docks.
“Volunteer a broken bone or a bad burn for inspections, and one of the temple healers will fix everything that ails you as compensation at the end of the day.”
The sailor had come up behind her, and she asked, “Have they caught anyone?”
“Four, last I heard. So desperate to avoid their fate they cut off their own tattoos to try to sneak past, but Quindor’s nets are too fine and his rewards too lucrative. For their troubles, he rebranded them and then sent them off to join the King.” He spit on the ground. “It’s blasphemy, if you ask me. Mudamora treats its Marked Ones like chattel.”
“Where are you from?”
“Gamdesh, miss.” He grinned. “If you find yourself a ship, bypass Serlania and head to Revat. It is a better place.” Then he strode past the lineup and up the gangplank of the ship.
Lydia chewed on the inside of her cheeks, her fear demanding she