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“Oh. Of course.” I sidled towards my cabin door. “Good night, then.”

Demery nodded. I retreated into my quarters, realizing only once I was inside that I’d need to go back out to light my lantern and woodstove. But when I peeked back through a crack in the door, the captain was already divested of his pants. He stood in his knee-length shirt, revealing densely muscledthighs—whichI examined with a respectful degree of appreciation.

He raked out his sweaty hair as he stared at the bulkhead.

Harpy, the ghisting, parted from the bulkhead like a sigh. There was already a fan in her hand and as I watched she flicked it open and lifted it to her head. A face sunk into her spectral flesh, hard-eyed and cool, and her clothing transformed into the ribbed, structured gown of a queen at war.

Brother, she said.

“Sister,” he said.

All thoughts of Lirr fled in an instant. I watched the ghisting drift to Demery. She spoke again, but this time I barely understood her. The sense of them passed overme—plans,intentions,Lirr—butthe words were lost, as if someone held their hands over my ears. Demery’s responses, too, faded into unintelligibility.

Unnerved, I closed the door and stood in the pitch black of my cabin for a long minute, half listening, half reeling.

Brother. Sister. Ghistings spoke to Demery the same way they spoke to me. Back in Tithe he’d claimed that other people could speak to ghistings and mentioned he did too, on occasion. But I hadn’t imagined their communication to be as familiar and easy as this.

I pushed the heels of my palms into my eyes. I could ask Demery about it, but that would mean admitting I’d spied on him. I wasn’t sure the topic was important enough to risk that.

I fumbled my way into my hammock in the dark and fell asleep with my head full of ghistings, pirates and Samuel Rosser.

THIRTY

The Other Brother

MARY

The next day I arose to find Demery gone. I was immediately swept up in preparations for the Frolick, and by the time the fleeting winter sun ducked down behind the rooftops of Hesten, what I’d seen between Demery and Harpy had retreated to the back of my mind. I tucked Rosser’s coin into my pocket to join my sewing scissors and handkerchief, combed my hair through with rose-scented oil, and set my thoughts on the party.

To my surprise, a carriage delivered us not to Phira’s house, but to a grand palace at the end of the Boulevard of the Divine.Thegrand palace.

The winter residence of the Queen of Usti sprawled across a rise on Hesten’s largest island. Row upon row of windows glinted down into a lavish courtyard, where carriages discharged guests in fine clothes. It was snowing lightly but every walkway was clear, and golden dragonfly lanterns spilled light over the heads of the guests as they streamed towards a pair of huge, double doors.

I let Demery help me down from the carriage and stood to the side as Grant climbed out. My skirts were widened with proper panniers tonight, cages instead of the thick pads I normally wore, and they sat heavy with the weight of my gown.

The garment was a rich ocean blue with white embroidery and a black, deeply hooded cloak. The bodice was low in the current fashion, sturdy stays and a lack of a kerchief ensuring the swell of my breasts was well on display. One curtsy too deep, one reach too far, and the rest of them would tumble merrily out.

Below this rather impractical feature, my embroidered stomacher depicted a hundred tiny ships, tangled in gusts of wind and artful waves in shades of indigo, turquoise and cerulean. My skirts were long enough to conceal the toes of my black leathershoes—orrather, my boots. They were my one victory in this ensemble, painstakingly switched in the short break between Widderow putting the final pin in my bodice and coming back to pile my hair. Whatever tonight brought, I wouldn’t be tripped by my own feet.

Demery took my right arm, Grant my left, and we entered the palace. Candlelight poured from elaborate chandeliers and sconces, guiding us down a grand hallway and into a ballroom. Here, side tables overflowed with food and wine, each attended by pairs of immaculately dressed servants in burgundy who dealt out bows with each goblet of wine or plate of delicacies. The ceiling was magnificently painted, from a battle at sea to deep, evergreen wolds.

Guests swirled across the chamber, filling the air with a pleasant rumble of voices. Jewels glittered on gesticulating hands, at smooth-skinned throats and in ladies’ hair, which was stacked and curled and pinned with everything from feathers to miniature ships. The clothing was equally as rich, velvets and silks turning the company into a sea of high Usti fashion.

And the scent. The room smelled of beeswax candles, pine garland, warm cinnamon, and a hundred perfumes. I took a deep breath, grateful for the bulwark of Demery and Grant on my arms, and searched the crowd for Rosser.

I spied Phira instead. The crowd parted as she came forward and extended her gloved hand to Demery.

He slipped his arm from mine and took her fingers in a gentle grip. He bowed over them, low and straight, with one hand on the gilted, basket hilt of his ornamental sword. “Madam Phira, you do me such honor.”

I instinctively curtsied, and Grant bowed.

“Yes,” she agreed, withdrawing her hand and scanning the three of us. “Do not cause any trouble, my son, or I shall have you thrown into the snow.”

“I’d expect nothing else,” Demery said with a low nod. His tone was somber, but as Phira turned away, he grinned. And I hadn’t missed the way her eyes flicked overhim—cursory,but familiar, andsomehow…maternal?

“Son?” I murmured as Demery returned to my side.

“My godmother,” he said, voice low. He didn’t take my arm again, his focus entirely on the crowd. “Though she disapproves of all that I am and has made that fact clear on many occasions.”