The Crown of Embers(90)

Chapter 22


AFTER baths and a quick meal of salted pork with too-hard bread dipped in onion broth, we agree that Felix will give up the captain’s quarters for me and Mara. He and the men will share the largest passenger cabin below deck.

The next day at midmorning, I’m trying to make sense of the captain’s navigation charts when the crew sends up a raucous cheer, followed by much pattering across the decks. The ship lurches. I rush to the nearest porthole and am delighted to see choppy water pass by. We have caught a wind.

It takes two whole days to unload and sell the wine cargo and acquire a new batch of supplies. I spend the time pacing in the captain’s quarters, trapped and antsy, frustrated at having to backtrack, even for a short distance.

When Felix returns from his final negotiation, he brings back news.

“The queen and the conde are safely on their way to Selvarica,” he says, his eyes dancing. “Apparently it is the city’s greatest shame that the inn she was staying in burned down around her, but no amount of apologies could convince her to stay. They’re already calling it The Great Embarrassment.”

The relief is so overwhelming that I have to sit down. “They’re safe, then. No word about an assassin?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. That’s good.” Thank you, God.

“So, where to, Majesty?”

I look up at him and return his grin. “South, toward the island countships. I’ll know more . . . eventually.”

But as he takes his leave, I wonder, Will I? If God’s holy scripture has thus far proved unreliable in matters pertaining to the Godstone, how much less should I trust the apocryphal writings?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and whisper experimentally: “Zafira.”

My Godstone vibrates joyfully in response.



I’m standing in the prow, gripping the rail, fascinated by the way the Aracely slices the water below. Wind has whipped my braid into a tangled mess. Spray stings my eyes and chaps my lips. The foresail above me bulges with air.

The crewmen have accepted Hector and Belén easily enough, and they gawk at Mara whenever she passes. Storm stays hidden in the passenger cabin. But they give me wide berth, too frightened or shy to approach their queen. Or maybe the captain has warned them off. I don’t mind. It’s nice to feel a little bit alone on this tiny ship.

I sense a dark presence and look up to find Captain Felix studying me thoughtfully. “You’ve found your sea legs,” he observes.

“Not really,” I say. “It seems like they were always there, not needing to be found.” It’s been nice to have something come naturally for once. Storm, on the other hand, can barely get out of bed without vomiting, though we’ve been assured it will pass eventually.

“It’s like that sometimes,” he says. “It was like that for me.”

“Is that why you became a sea captain?”

“Partly.”

“I’m quite interested in the other part. You gave up the life of a conde’s son in favor of a dangerous career running cargo. But from what little I know of Hector’s family, I doubt they threw you out in the street. I’m guessing you ran away.”

He laughs. “Hector warned me that you are the cleverest girl I would ever meet.” My face flushes at the praise. “I understand now,” he adds.

“Understand what?”

“Why Hector stayed with you.”

I stare at him blankly as my grip on the wet rail tightens.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

I force myself to relax my hold. If I squeeze any tighter, I’ll hurt my healing blisters. Wearily, I say, “Please explain.”

He leans over and rests his forearms on the edge, gazes out to sea as if soaking up the sight of a lover. “I was set to inherit the countship of Ventierra,” he says, his voice distant with remembering. “But I hated it. The pageantry, the polite warring between houses, and sweet holy sacraments, the paperwork. One day, when I was seventeen, my father and I fought. I don’t even remember why, but yes, you’re right. I ran away to the shipyards. Offered my services as a deckhand on a merchant ship for no pay except food to eat and a hammock to sleep in.”

“And you fell in love with the sea.”

“Among other things.”

I don’t know what this has to do with Hector. “Why not go back? You could still inherit, couldn’t you?”

“Well, no. You see, I also fell in love with a lady of the docks and had a son with her.”

It takes me a split second to realize that a “lady of the docks” must be a prostitute, a split second more to remember how the crewmen referred to Mara and me as “ladies” when we first boarded.