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“Why do I need to have my dagger out while I do it?”

“Because assassins must often be sneaking about while balancing their weapons, but for stars’ sake, do not stab anyone.”

“I won’t,” she promises.

“When you’re ready, we’ll move on to the second rule.”

“How will I know when I’m ready?”

“Bring me a secret. Something you observe or overhear. Not something trivial. Something good. Then I’ll know you’re ready.”

She gets to work that very instant. She tests her little feet out on every square inch of the ship. From my usual position on the aftercastle, I watch her following her crewmates around. More often than not, they catch her and ask what on earth she’s doing.

But she is undeterred. If she’s not up in that crow’s nest keeping lookout, she’s snaking her way through the ship, desperate to catch a juicy secret to bring me. I hadn’t realized just how busy it would keep her. I thought for sure she’d grow bored by the task, but she’s more determined than I’ve ever seen her.

“Something weird is happening with the little one,” Dimella informs me one day. “I caught her riffling through the ship’s log. It’s not exactly a thrilling read.”

“She’s hunting for secrets,” I say.

“In the ship’s log?”

“Do you not have a personal journal that you write in at night?” I ask my first mate.

“I do,” she says, her voice showing her surprise at my noticing.

“And was your journal where you’d left it after you spotted her at the ship’s log?”

“No, I thought I’d maybe forgotten where I—That little sneak!”

I fight a smile as Dimella goes to punish the little one as she sees fit. Later that day, I find Roslyn swabbing the deck instead of enjoying her time off.

“Captain,” she says. “Couldn’t you tell Dimella the nature of our lessons to get me out of this?”

“Oh, no. If you get caught as an assassin, the consequences are far worse than extra chores. This is how you learn not to get caught. Be more careful next time.”

She grumbles, “Dimella doesn’t have any juicy secrets anyway. That journal is as dull as the ship’s log.”

“Keep looking.”

She does so, and the crew is so busy trying to keep her out of their things that they’re far too distracted to notice me observing them, even in broad daylight.

Kearan’s new patterns prove to be … unexpected.

For one, he’s on the move more than I would have thought. He takes his exercise routine very seriously, and he’s often running up and down the stairs belowdecks or hauling items out of the cargo hold and then repacking them. He’ll do push-ups and sit-ups next to his bunk or some weird movement where he jumps into the air over and over again.

He works himself up into a sweat, then cleans himself off. He likes to take naps every once in a while, and he still talks in his sleep. Rarely are the words understandable. But sometimes he’ll say a name. “Enwen.” “Alosa.” And once. Just once. I hear him say my name.

“Sorinda.”

Must be having a nightmare.

If he’s not exercising, he’ll be playing cards with the lads or chatting with Roslyn. He seems to spend more time with her than anyone else. For some reason, my mind can’t wrap itself around the fact that he’s good at talking to children. In fact, he’s good at talking to everyone.

He jokes with the lads, makes polite conversation with the lasses. I even witnessed him make Dimella laugh, though I was too far away to hear what he said. The only person he isn’t nice to is Enwen. But only sometimes.

They’re perfectly fine until Enwen makes some comment to specifically address their friendship. Then Kearan gets all defensive.

Yet Enwen continues to bring it up, and Kearan continues to contest the label.