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A corner of Sorasa’s mouth lifted, her smirk turning cruel. She muttered something under her breath, in Ibalet so fast and violent Corayne could not translate it, before switching to clear, daggered Paramount.

“They are not,” she growled.

The key shattered.

Neither spoke again until the ship was moving, the bright waters of the Impera carrying them out of the city. Lecorra gave over to the walls and outskirts, then farmland, then forest and scrabbly hills. A few towns clustered on the riverbank, with clay tile roofs and sleepy streets. Corayne turned her face forward, to watch every new curve of land as it came into view. Sorasa did not move from her side but did not bother to hide her annoyance at such a task.

On the deck, other travelers knotted in their groups. Most were merchant bands, along with a pair of Siscarian couriers in a duke’s livery, and a performing troupe that was very bad at juggling. They clustered, eager to stay out of the hold, where the row benches stank. Corayne thought of Dom, cooped up in a minuscule cabin, his shoulders brushing either wall as he suffered the odors below.

The other travelers weren’t of much interest to her, not while the ship raced toward the open sea. But Sorasa watched them intently, weighing each person on board as she would a prize pig. Corayne glanced at the assassin occasionally, trying to glean anything, always coming up short.

Near dusk, Sorasa straightened, pushing up from the rail, her eyes on another passenger.

An old crone approached from the opposite side of the deck, her footsteps uneven as the boat moved beneath her. Her hair was wild and gray, braided in places, set with feathers, yellowed bone, and dried lavender. She held out a basket, smiling with gapped teeth, crowing in Jydi. Corayne only understood a few words, and that was enough.

“Pyrta gaeres. Khyrma. Velja.”

Pretty girls. Charms. Wishes.

She was a peddler of empty promises, selling bits of trash she called tricks or spells. A polished river stone, some useless herbs tied with human hair.Nonsense.

“Jys kiva,”Corayne replied in the woman’s language, her pronunciation poor. But the message was clear enough.No interest.

The crone only grinned wider as she came closer, undeterred. Her fingers were so knobbled by age and use they looked like broken branches. “No price, no price,” she said, switching to accented Paramount. “A gift from the ice.” The basket rattled in her hands.

Sorasa moved between the crone and Corayne like an older sister shielding her sibling from a swindler. “No need,Gaeda,” Sorasa said.Grandmother.Her tone was oddly soft, drawing little attention from the rest of the ship. “Back to your bench.”

The crone did not stop smiling, her face split with wrinkles, her skin pale and spotted. Everything but her eyes seemed bleached of color. They were a luminous blue, like the heart of a lightning bolt. Corayne stared, feeling a brush of something familiar at the back of her mind. But she could not catch it, the sensation always slipping from her grasp.

“It’s fine, Sorasa,” she muttered, putting out her hand to the old woman.

The Jydi dipped her head and grabbed a twist of blue-gray twigs from her basket. They were tied with twine and catgut, trailing with beads that could be bone or pearl. “Gods bless you, Spindles keep you,” she prayed, extending the gift.

Sorasa took it before Corayne could, holding the twigs between her gloved thumb and forefinger. She sniffed at it, drawing in a shallow breath. Then she touched her tongue to the wood. After a moment, she nodded. “Gods bless,” she said, waving the crone away.

This time the old Jydi did not argue, and shuffled off, her basket tucked close. She moved down the deck, bestowing similar bits of nothing to the other travelers.

“It isn’t poisoned,” Sorasa said, tossing the twigs at Corayne’s chest.

She caught them shakily and looked at the twist of garbage in disbelief. “I doubt a decrepit old woman is trying to poison me.”

“Old women have more cause to kill than most.”

Corayne turned the twigs over in her hands, quirking a smile. “Is guard duty part of your contract?”

The assassin returned to the railing, leaning back on her elbows. She tipped her face to the setting sun, enjoying the glow. “I was tasked to find you and get you to Ascal alive.”

Alive.Again, Corayne felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature.I am marked somehow. There is something in my blood that blesses and dooms me.

“And the payment?” she asked, if only to have something to say. “I certainly hope you set a very high price for an Elder prince.”

“I certainly did.”

How much?Corayne wanted to ask. Instead she gritted her teeth and closed her fist around the Jydi charm. The beads dangled. They were not pearl, she realized, looking at them up close, but human finger bone, each one carved into a skull.

Some days later, Dom gasped free of the tiny cabin. To Corayne’s surprise, he looked pristine despite nearly a week cloistered in with sweating oarsmen, stale air, bad water, and little food. He sucked down a breath of fresh air and raised his hood, joining Corayne at the rail.

Meanwhile, Corayne felt dirty and slightly sick, her stomach still roiling from the waves of the open sea, though they were in the calm waters of Mirror Bay by now. Clearly her mother had not passed on her sea legs or strong stomach. But Corayne forgot her pains quickly.