had been left alone, he had searched with his mind, hoping to feel Dak, Arayevo, and Lakeo out there, alive and safe. But wherever they were, they were too far away for him to sense.
If Dak had deciphered that journal and found directions to the lodestone, he would have gone after it. Even though he had been openly skeptical when he learned what the artifact could supposedly do, his government would surely rather the Turgonians have it than the Nurians. Arayevo and Lakeo might have argued to go after Yanko, since neither of them had any interest in the lodestone, but would they have been persuasive? It wasn’t as if they could overpower Dak and pilot the underwater boat themselves. Even if Arayevo had experience with sailing now, it was not the same thing. Would Lakeo care about helping Yanko, after she had made away with a pile of coins? Maybe she was even now leafing through one of those Polytechnic brochures and picking out her classes.
Yanko touched his chest, where the prince’s letter still nestled in an inner pocket, between his undershirt and his silk tunic. It was amazing that it hadn’t fallen out, given the craziness of the night and the repeated water dousing. The pirates had removed his gear and searched it, but they hadn’t patted him down fully back at the waterfall. He hadn’t taken the letter out since his clothes had dried. Maybe the ink wouldn’t even be legible after being wet multiple times.
His stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Before they had gone to the island the night before, he was sure.
Kei squawked. “Chips? Seeds?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any.” After all the dips Yanko had taken into water, he couldn’t even produce crumbs from within his pocket.
Kei shared a memory of a basket full of chips on a clay tile counter. Yanko recognized it as the Komitopis’ kitchen and wondered if the parrot missed his home.
“We’re a long way from there, my friend,” he said softly. “We’re prisoners right now.”
Kei thought of a bamboo cage with parrots in it. He understood more than Yanko would have thought an animal could.
“Exactly.”
Two knocks sounded at the door, and it opened before Yanko could do more than wonder if the person would leave him alone if he said go away. Not that he necessarily would have. He had been in the cabin with nobody but Kei for company for hours while the ship had undergone repairs and set sail to wherever its next destination was. He could sense some things with his mind, but he couldn’t hear conversations, and he was curious about where they were going. Had Pey Lu read the journal before they’d found it and already gotten an idea of where the lodestone might be hiding?
She was the one to walk into the cabin, accompanied by the gray-haired Turgonian who had swatted her on the back—or maybe that had been the butt—at the waterfall. He wore a fresh scar across his cheekbone and looked tired. Pey Lu must have been up all night, too, but she appeared energized rather than enervated, her eyes bright as she strode in and considered him. She reminded him uncomfortably of Arayevo.
“Pirate bastards,” Kei announced cheerfully, “pirate bastards.”
“Is that greeting for me or for you?” the man asked. Gramon, that was his name.
“I know who my parents are,” Pey Lu said mildly.
“For me then. Wonderful.” Gramon cracked his knuckles, eyed the bird, and then eyed Yanko.
Yanko tried to appear calm, not moving from his cross-legged position on the bunk, but it occurred to him that the Turgonian might have been brought in to punish him if he didn’t answer questions to Pey Lu’s satisfaction. The man looked to be in his fifties, but like Dak, he still appeared fit and muscular. Turgonian bloodlines seemed to breed nothing but burly warriors who were capable of decapitating enemies well into their sunset years.
“You don’t know who your father is, Gramon?” Pey Lu asked. “That explains much.”
“Oh, I know who the warrior-caste street licker was. He’s the one who refused to acknowledge me or my mother.”
“It’s good that you’re not bitter about it, fifty-odd years later.”
“Turgonians like to keep their bitterness close. It fuels aggressiveness.”
“And here I thought that aggressiveness was a result of the poor rations served to your soldiers.”
“At least our soldiers get rations,” Gramon grumbled. “I’ve heard your people are surviving on rice.”
Pey Lu shrugged indifferently. “We’re small people. Rice is enough.”
As before,