with pride for months.
The final island was the smallest but most important. Hesperus was one of the most pivotal defense posts in all of Arcannia. Its lighthouse, affectionately named Old Maude, stood taller than any other in the country. Not only did it assist ships coming in and out of port, it was also an excellent perch for spotting enemy boats.
I loved the lighthouse. It felt like a second home. When I was small, I’d volunteer to clean the windows in Highmoor till they sparkled, imagining I was polishing the lighthouse gallery. I’d climb to the highest cliffs and pretend to be atop Old Maude, spying on foreign ships—really, fishermen out for their daily catch—and noting all the pertinent details in a giant ledger, as I’d seen Silas do.
Silas had been Keeper of the Light for as long as anyone could remember. He grew up in the lighthouse, learning the beacon’s workings from his father. When it became clear Silas would never have children of his own, Papa realized an apprentice would need to be chosen as an eventual replacement. I prayed to Pontus every night it would be me.
Hanna’s son, Fisher, was chosen instead. He worked on the docks, but Papa said he was destined for greater things. As young girls, Camille and I followed him all over Salten, in awe of his every move and hopelessly smitten. When he left to begin his apprenticeship, I cried myself to sleep every night for a week.
Looking across the Selkirk wharf now, I could just make out the beacon’s flash and wondered what Fisher was doing. Probably cleaning windows. Silas was fanatical about them.
I made my way down the docks and stopped at the first boat I found, asking the captain if he’d heard of any men who’d discovered a body near Salten. He waved me off, saying it was bad luck for a woman to be near the ships. Two other crewmen followed suit before I found a dockhand willing to talk with me.
“The Duke’s girl?” he asked around a wad of chewing tobacco. The juice drizzled down from his lips, staining his beard yellow. “A couple of weeks back?”
I nodded eagerly, hungry for information.
“You’ll be wanting to talk with Billups….” He scanned the wharf. “But his boat is already out.”
“Do you know when he’ll return?” With all the party preparations, I could stay away for most of the afternoon without being missed.
“Not today,” he said, crushing my plan. “Nor tomorrow. He’s wanting one last big catch before Churning sets in.” He held up his hand in the breeze. “Feel that cold snap in the air? It won’t be long now.”
I tried to hide my disappointment, arranging my face into a smile of thanks.
“Wasn’t Ekher with him?” asked the dockhand’s companion, who’d overheard the conversation as he rolled an enormous spool of thick rope.
“Was he? Didn’t think he left the docks these days.”
The second man grunted, and together they flipped the spool over, setting it upright. “He’s a couple of piers down, the old netter. You can’t miss him.”
I navigated the maze of connecting docks, keeping my eyes out for someone with nets. Three piers down, I saw him.
Ekher sat on a bench, surrounded by coils of cobalt and indigo cording. Decades of life on the docks had left his skin dark and leathery, with wrinkles worn in deep. His sinewy fingers were hooked around a wickedly curved needle used to knot the nets together. As they lightly danced over a pile of cords beside him, searching for the right piece, I realized he could not see them.
He was blind.
I paused, wondering what I ought to do next. It was obvious he wouldn’t be able to tell me any details about finding Eulalie—Billups must have been the one who spotted her. I was about to leave when he slowly turned from his net and stared directly at me with milky, unseeing eyes.
“If you’re going to ogle an old man all morning, girl, at least come and keep him company.” He reached out, beckoning with clawed fingers.
Pushing back a nervous laugh, I approached his bench. “I didn’t realize you could see me,” I apologized, smoothing out my linen skirt.
“Of course I can’t see you. I’m blind,” he retorted.
I cocked my head. “Then how—”
“Your perfume. Or soap. Or whatever it is young girls wear. I could smell it at a hundred paces.”
“Oh.” My heart dropped with surprising disappointment, saddened his answer was so pragmatic.
“What do you want with an