the
temples sat on the single hill, surrounded by a green island of poplar and cypress. The ancient ruins of
Cor were easy to spot in the city, their walls and columns bleached white, unmistakable against the gold,
pink, butter yellow, and brick-red tiles of newer construction. The statues and temples still towered, pale
and broken against the sky. It was as if the rest of the city were moss growing in the skeleton of a giant.
Corayne drank it down, savoring even the shadow of Old Cor. Her body hummed in reply, calling out to
something long since gone.
I can feel my ancestors here, distant as they are, she marveled, finally able to name the sensation. I can
feel the shadows of what once was.
The port held dozens of galleys, cogs, balingers, fishing boats, and war ships. Sails flew in a rainbow of
color, flags flapping for every kingdom of the Long Sea and beyond. Corayne spotted a Jydi longboat
flying a peace flag anchored next to a triple-decked Rhashiran war galley, not to mention a dozen ships
of the Ibalet navy. They controlled the Strait of the Ward, racing back and forth across the narrowest
point of the Long Sea, collecting tolls from all who wished to pass. She named the many flags and ships
as she named the stars. It was a comfort, to list and understand, when there was so much she could no
longer quantify.
The ships make sense when nothing else does.
The Tempestborn would be halfway through the Long Sea by now, but still Corayne looked for her
mother. Does she know I’m gone? Will Kastio get word to her that I’ve run off? Will she turn back to find
me? The thought filled her with dread. But another fear bubbled up inside, corrosive as rust on a blade:
What if she doesn’t?
Her knuckles turned white on the rail. She could not say which would be worse.
The Impera flowed below, the water flashing silver to reflect a sky white with heat.
Around her, the crew of the galley bustled, preparing to set sail for Ascal, shouting in a tangle of
languages Corayne knew well enough. They were decent, not so skilled as her mother’s crew, but fine
enough for a passenger ship. If she shut her eyes, she could pretend this was the Tempestborn, that her
mother was at the helm, the port of Lemarta looking down on them. Corayne would go back to shore
soon, to wave the others off on their journey while she remained anchored, doomed to wait.
But her eyes were open. Those days were gone.
She felt the wind on her teeth before she realized she was smiling. Despite her fears and the sword
hanging over them, her body went loose. This is what freedom feels like.
“You look like a horse who’s jumped the pen,” Sorasa said, her voice flat.
The Amhara stood at the rail a few feet away, somehow both watchful and uninterested. Even with her
hood thrown back, her face was unreadable, impassive as stone. But the rest of her told an easy tale,
from her gloved hands to her clothes laced tight up her throat. Her cloak hid her sword, and her knives
were tucked away. Every inch of inked skin was covered, and her black hair was unbound, curling after
so long in a braid. Her eyes were lined again, heavy with black powder and a single stripe of gold. She
seemed a simple Ibalet woman, unremarkable but for her copper eyes, easy to overlook on a ship of
travelers.
Corayne tried her best to tuck away her excitement, and her nerves as well. To slip behind a mask as
easily as Sorasa could. She forced a shrug. “I want to see this,” she replied, indicating the city of
Lecorra. “While I can.”
A bit of Sorasa’s mask slipped and something crossed her face. Not fear, but close to it. A wariness, a
cat with fur on end, a charge in the air before a lightning storm. The Amhara had seen the Ashlanders
plain as the rest of them, whether she wanted to admit it or not. It had set her on edge.
Corayne felt it too, beneath every breath. The Ashlanders, What Waits, her uncle hunting. She did not
know Taristan’s face, but in her mind their eyes were the same, his and her own. An empty black, hungry
and consuming.
“Have you ever seen anything like . . . them?” Corayne murmured. A woman raised in the Amhara Guild,
a killer
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