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“Perhaps, but I will not seek out trouble now.”

  “Be ready, then, for trouble will find you.”

  Gozan flew away from the Seffynaw without answering. Halfway back to the Baretam, he risked a little of Jazlyn’s power to enter the Solid. He instantly felt the wind shift the hair on his body. He breathed in the ocean’s smell, heard the sea foam sizzle, admired his reflection rippling over the thick waves. Without his swarm around him, he appeared small. He reached his hands down into the water and basked in the cool moisture.

  Even at this distance, he could feel Jazlyn’s strength draining. Disheartened, he shifted back into the Veil and his senses instantly dulled. Unless Jazlyn could find Emperor Ulrik’s evenroot, before long she would lose sight of him completely.

  The thought birthed a well of terror within him. If he could never again enter the Solid, he would go mad. Life in the Veil was but a haze of the Solid. He cursed the sunbird, Nesher, for keeping his kind from it. It resolidified his vow to Lord Gâzar. He would continue to help the humans destroy each other. The more souls won to Lord Gâzar’s domain, the greater loss Nesher would suffer and the longer Gozan could enjoy the Solid realm that the sunbird had created for his pathetic humans.

  Trevn

  Prince Trevn exited his cabin and ran down the dark corridor, enthused by the movement of the ship around him. By the time he reached the first crossway, however, he was so winded he had to stop and steady himself.

  His second chance at life had brought an eagerness to make each moment count, but perhaps moving ahead slowly would be wise. It would not do to have his appearance frighten Miss Mielle Allard.

  Cadoc, his High Shield, pounded to a halt behind him. Brawny, with keen eyes and a dozen braids bound in a warrior’s tail, the man was determined not to let his charge get the best of him. He had five years on Trevn yet stood a hand shorter. “Your Highness? Is something wrong?”

  “No, Cadoc.” A few deep breaths calmed Trevn’s heart well enough. He moved forward at a walk, hands on the bulkheads on either side. He felt better. Truly. His head no longer burned with fever, and the gash Hinck had accidentally stabbed into his abdomen had mended to a pucker of light pink skin. A vast improvement over the wound brimming with pus that had left him delirious with fever. His mind spun at all he might have missed. “Are we nearing Odarka yet?” he asked.

  “Left the port yesterday,” Cadoc said.

  “Already?” Trevn stopped and faced his shield. “How many days did I sleep?”

  “Three, Your Highness. We only stayed one night at the Port of Odarka. It’s been five days total at sea so far.”

  Disappointment flashed over Trevn to have missed such a historic moment. “How many ships were waiting to meet us?”

  “We added ninety-five from Armania and another seventeen from Rurekau. Lost about a hundred reamskiffs between us all. Last I heard, total ships in the fleet numbered six hundred twenty-nine, and we’ve accounted for just shy of one hundred seventy-nine thousand people.”

  Almost triple the number that had left Everton five days ago. “What happened to the reamskiffs?”

  “Too small to handle the rough seas. People kept falling overboard. King Echad held council in the Port of Odarka with Prince Loran and Emperor Ulrik. They ordered all reamskiffs abandoned or tied for tow and the passengers dispersed among the rest of the fleet.”

  That seemed wise. Reamskiffs were little more than rafts. “Is King Jorger ill?” Trevn had learned of his cousin Ulrik’s ascension to the throne of Rurekau from Sir Kalenek, but what had become of King Jorger?

  “Missing. Princess Nabelle as well. Prince Loran had hoped they were together, but Lady Zeroah saw her mother taken by angry commoners when they were driving through the Sink.”

  How awful.

  Cadoc went on. “Prince Loran is holding out hope that his father took refuge on another ship and will make his way to the Kaloday soon enough.”

  In light of the time that had passed, such a thing seemed unlikely. Trevn continued down the corridor, wondering what else he’d missed. “How did Odarka fare in the Woes?”

  “Little of the island remained, but the duke had managed to evacuate all who lived there.”

  All. A pang of guilt seized Trevn for the thousands who had perished in Everton. Though he supposed it would have been less complicated to evacuate a sparsely populated island over a city of forty thousand souls—closer to seventy thousand considering the rural populations.

  This remnant from the Five Realms had survived a harrowing ordeal, yet the mood on board the Seffynaw had been optimistic—before Trevn’s fever had put him in bed, anyway. The fleet had left death and destruction behind and was sailing toward Captain Livina’s new island, eager to start over and build a bright future. A thrill ran through Trevn at the excitement of it all. Once the people settled on the new island, Trevn would go out with the explorers and look for more land. He was finally getting a chance to travel beyond the bowl. His dreams had come true, though the cost had been far too high.

  Trevn reached the next crossway and paused, suddenly uncertain where he was. The ship descended a large swell, knocking him against the bulkhead. He stayed put and jerked his head for Cadoc to go ahead. “Lead the way, Cadoc. I’m completely turned around.”

  Cadoc moved past, and Trevn followed, his thoughts drifting to how Ottee had made him so late. Because of the boy he would hardly have any time to spend with Mielle before Wilek’s meeting.

  “For a moment there, I feared I might have to punish young Ottee for disobedience,” Trevn said of his new—temporary, he hoped—onesent.

  “It was clever of you to ask him to choose your clothing for the morrow after he finished his chores,” Cadoc said.

  Desperate was more like it. “He is overly obsessed with my wardrobe. It seemed to be my biggest hold over him.”

  Cadoc reached a crossway and turned right. “He is quite eager to please.”

  “No, he is eager to tag along.” Trevn followed Cadoc around the corner. The crossway stretched out ahead. In the distance Trevn could see the indentations of two more lengthways. His cabin was on the starboard side of the ship, he reminded himself. “I fear Ottee is too wild to make a good servant. A onesent should make his master’s life easier, not more trying.”

  “He’s a boy,” Cadoc said, as if this excused Ottee’s insubordinate tendencies. “I suspect he will try your patience a great deal, but he’s young enough to train well. And Captain Livina assures me that it is against Ottee’s nature to lie.”

  “So he might be disobedient and trying, but at least he will be true? Is that to be my consolation?”

  “After Beal’s betrayal, I should think such a trait would be most welcome.” Cadoc turned right at the center lengthway.

  Ah, Trevn had his bearings now. King’s galley behind them, main deck straight ahead. They swept into the narrow companionway and started up to the quarterdeck, which was the quickest route to the stern deck, where Ottee had said Miss Mielle Allard might be. “I would rather have Hinck,” he said.

  “Hinck was your backman, not a onesent.”

  “He did both for me,” Trevn said, knowing that wasn’t the full truth. But Hinck couldn’t serve even as Trevn’s backman at the moment since Trevn’s brother Wilek had given Hinck over to Janek, Trevn’s other—possibly false—brother, to continue spying on the traitor.

  Everyone sought to make Trevn miserable, it seemed, but today was a new start. First and foremost, Trevn was healthy again. This enabled him to start his apprenticeship with Admiral Vendal, in which he would not only be learning to captain a ship, he would better understand the kingdom’s dilemma at sea. Right now he was on his way to see Mielle, who always brought him joy. And, perhaps most important of all, Wilek and his cobbled-together Wisean Council were going to question Janek this midday. Should the man be as treasonous as they all believed him to be, he would remain in his prison in the hold and Hinck would return to Trevn’s side where he belonged. Let Hinck train Ottee
for onesent duties and leave Trevn out of it. He’d much rather spend time with Mielle.

  Trevn and Cadoc exited onto the Seffynaw’s quarterdeck. Daylight seemed overly bright after spending so many days inside. He took a deep breath of salty air. Commoners crowded the quarterdeck, most of them sitting in circles on blankets as if enjoying a picnic. Trevn followed his shield up a simple stairway, which now marked the division between classes topside.

  He did not see Mielle among the scattered nobles on the stern deck. Trevn kept to the rail and nodded in reply to bows and greetings from those who recognized him. One of his half sister’s maids suggested Mielle might be serving food on the main deck, so Trevn and Cadoc went back down to the quarterdeck, this time crossing its length. They approached the mizzenmast and helm, the latter of which had been fenced in by a makeshift rail that hadn’t been there when they’d left the Port of Everton. The sailor at the whipstaff wore the blue half-cape of an officer. His sharp golden eyes followed them, so Trevn stopped and asked, “Your name is?”

  “Norgam Bussie, Your Highness. Second mate.”

  Trevn nodded. “You have a light hand on the whip, Master Bussie.”

  “Every able man can ‘hand, reef, and steer,’” Bussie said.

  Trevn had heard the sailors’ phrase before. Very soon he hoped to handle lines, reef sails, and steer the Seffynaw. Steering was the only thing he’d done before, so he knew enough about that to sound wise. “Very true, Master Bussie, but there’s a knack to steering a beast this vast. She takes time to change directions. My guess is that one doesn’t become second mate by leaving a twisting trail in the ship’s wake.”

  This earned Trevn a grin and a nod of respect.

  “What is the purpose of this fence?” Trevn asked of the rail around the helm.

  “Captain Livina ordered it built to keep people from sitting here,” Bussie said. “Dangerous enough having so many on deck. We need ’em outta the way so we can work.”

  Indeed. Trevn gazed beyond the mizzenmast, over the front rail of the quarterdeck and down the length of the ship. People covered the main and forecastle decks like pebbles on a road. Should a storm come . . . “There is no more space below deck?”

  “Just as many people below and no more hammocks, or we’d hang ’em triple,” Bussie said. “They’re already doubled up most everywhere.”

  “I see.” And Trevn would go down and see with his eyes when he got the chance.

  “The Heir’s mother, Rosârah Brelenah, has organized a troop of women to tie rope into new hammocks,” Cadoc said. “Perhaps that’ll help.”

  “Some,” Bussie said, “but we can’t use all our spare rope for hammocks either. Gotta keep some for sails.”

  Trevn nodded. No matter what, such a crowded ship was a pending disaster. At least they weren’t going far. Captain Livina had discovered his new island an eleven-night from Everton. The fleet was likely moving much slower in order to stay together, but even if the journey took twice that time, as long as the weather remained in their favor, they should survive easily. The Seffynaw had enough water to last three months, food to last even longer. But were all the ships in the fleet as well prepared?

  Trevn and Cadoc continued on. When they reached the main deck, the stench choked him. He pieced together a combination of unwashed bodies, feces, urine, livestock, and what passed for a slaughterhouse. Trevn had sailed dozens of times before and had never smelled anything so wretched. Some people sat in clusters. Some alone. All were refugees, fully reliant on the Seffynaw and her crew to keep them afloat. They each lived on the small piece of deck they occupied. No more, no less.

  Trevn would never again complain over the smallness of his cabin.

  With so many seated on the deck, it was difficult to traverse. Trevn and Cadoc kept to a narrow path someone had chalked out on the wooden deck. When people recognized Trevn, most stood and bowed. He stopped to talk with some, wanting to know their thoughts. The chalk path, he learned, had been Captain Livina’s idea. An attempt to provide a clear way for his sailors to move about the ship.

  Trevn spotted Mielle on the forecastle near the starboard rail. She stood nearly as tall as his own six feet, had ginger skin, eyes a man could swim in, and long brown hair braided into a hundred fine plaits. She wore her light blue dress and held a basket over her arm, passing its contents—rounds of bread—to the people around her.

  “May I have some?” Trevn asked.

  She looked up, and her face broke into a smile. “Trevn!” She threw her free arm around his neck, and he hugged her close. “Oh, I was so worried.”

  “About me? Just taking a long nap.”

  The commoners around them cheered. Over Mielle’s shoulder Trevn found nearly every face on the foreside of the mainmast fixed upon them.

  “Are you fully healed?” she asked, letting go.

  “Nearly so.”

  “I’ve missed you. Kiss me.”

  Trevn glanced around. “In front of all these people?”

  “Yes! I want them all to know I am yours. Few believe it now that Lady Zeroah has cast me aside.”

  So Trevn kissed her well and good, drawing another cheer from the crowd, which made him laugh and put an end to the fun. He took hold of her hand. “Tell me, what have you been doing?”

  Mielle nodded to a young noblewoman, who looked near her age. The girl was shorter, strikingly pretty with soft brown skin, long black coils of hair, and a figure accentuated by a fitted green-and-gold dress that bordered on teasing.

  “You remember my sister,” Mielle said.

  “Miss Amala?” Trevn quickly tried to hide his surprise. But this couldn’t be. Mielle’s younger sister was only weeks past thirteen. Trevn had last seen her in a child’s dress that bared her knobby knees.

  The girl curtsied, glanced up through long eyelashes, and smiled slowly. “I am so pleased to see you fully mended, Your Highness. We were all desperately concerned about your welfare.” Her silky voice gave Trevn a chill. Was she talking that way on purpose? Mielle did not seem at all bothered, so Trevn assured himself he must be imagining Amala’s forward behavior.

  “We have been helping Rosârah Brelenah distribute food above deck,” Mielle said. “There are ever so many people and no good way to reach everyone but to take it directly to them. Amala helps me. As do the sârahs Hrettah and Rashah and their mother when they have the time.”

  “Some of the guardsmen help as well,” Miss Amala added.

  “Because they are ordered to, not because they care,” Mielle mumbled.

  “Master Gelsly cares,” Miss Amala said. “His contingent was stationed in the Sink before the Woes. Every day he gave a portion of his midday repast to beggars. I feel much safer when one of the soldiers accompanies us, Sâr Trevn. They are all so strong, and with all the attacks, some of these common men frighten me.”

  “Tuhsh, Amala! Hold your tongue,” Mielle said, before Trevn could ask. “Take your basket and hand out the bread to those people there.” She pointed Miss Amala down the rail toward the stern. “Sâr Trevn and I will finish here.”

  “Very well.” Miss Amala curtsied to Trevn. “Pleasure and joy to you until we meet again, Your Highness.”

  Trevn nodded politely. “Good midday, Miss Amala.”

  Once the girl was out of earshot, Mielle growled and stomped toward the closest group of people.

  “What’s wrong?” Trevn asked.

  “Would you like some bread?” she asked, passing a roll to each who held out a hand. “When we finish,” she told Trevn in a low voice, “I’ll tell you exactly what’s wrong if you take me someplace private.”

  Trevn needed no more motivation that that. He helped Mielle distribute the remainder of the bread, then spirited her away to the stern deck, where they might talk, Cadoc following all the while like a distant shadow.

  “Now, tell me what is bothering you,” Trevn said when they stopped to stand at the taffrail.

  “Too much! You were ill, and I feared you would
die. I had nightmares that you did. I have nightmares of the Woes too. I feel guilty all the time, just for being alive. So many died. So many I couldn’t save. I still see them in my memory. I fear they will haunt me forever.”

  They haunted him as well. “You saved so many, Mielle. You did the best you could.”

  “And Sâr Wilek came and took the Book of Arman from me. He said the prophetess told him to read it. I didn’t think you would mind, but I’ve been feeling so guilty about not asking you first.”

  “I can relieve you there,” Trevn said. “The book is meant to go to Wilek, so you did right in giving it to him.”

  “Rosârah Brelenah says we’re sailing to an island. She says there is plenty of food, yet I am to give only one roll a day to each person. One! In my heart I sense she is lying to me and we have little food. What if we run out? What if we never find this island? It’s what the people fear. I tell them what the rosârah says, but they don’t believe her. And I’m not sure I do either!”

  “Believe it,” Trevn said, squeezing her hand. “Captain Livina’s island is only an eleven-night from Everton. It might take us a few days extra to find it since the fleet is moving so slowly, but trust me. We will reach it.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Then why ration the food so sparingly?”

  “With this many people a little caution never hurts,” Trevn guessed. “Besides, the almshouse back in Everton gave one roll a day. How could the people possibly expect more on board an isolated ship?”

  “And then there’s Amala!” Mielle said. “She has decided to dress like a woman and flirt with men. Kal scolds her, but the young sârahs have taken a liking to her and made her over. Kal didn’t dare refuse them. So Darlow and I can do nothing but nag and fret, knowing it will all come to ruin. Then there’s Lady Zeroah . . .” Mielle stifled a sob.

  Mielle did seem to be carrying a thousand burdens. Trevn put his arm around her. “Lady Zeroah has not apologized for her ill treatment toward you?”

  “She denies it ever took place! Yet she refuses me as her honor maiden, claiming she is too grieved by the loss of her mother to endure companionship.”