Page 12

THREE DAYS UNDERWAY, AND THE SUN WAS GETTING hotter. The early summer rains of western Middren had not prepared Kissen for the heat of the Trade Sea, the perpetual blue of sky and water. So, she had made a habit of enjoying the chill as the sun rose, the softness of the breeze when all was quiet.

The sea Kissen knew was storm-lashed waves, foam and cloud and rain. That, or distant blue, white-flecked, seen from shore. She was used to the green stillness of the forest and the silent breathing of leaves and moss, to the ache of her body moving her over hillock and mountaintop.

She was not used to stumbling over a tipping deck where she had no use, and no one wanted her.

She was born on the love of the sea, but a very different sea.

She watched the sun rise to the east, spinning Osidisen’s dagger in her hand.

The stone of it was still whole and shining, telling her he lived, though his waves were now laced through with Talician briddite.

Every day she checked, though she did not fully understand why.

What could she ask him, with no one to tell? What good did it do her?

A step fell on the boards behind her, and she tightened her grip on the pommel then glanced back to see which of the crew had decided to try their hand at pushing her overboard.

They had made no secret of their dislike; she received the worst scum of the biscuit barrel, the meatless, fattiest slop of the stew.

She ate alone on deck, her back to the sea.

The only thing worse than crew would be …

‘Ho, Lady Craier,’ she said, not losing her guarded stance.

Kissen had watched the lady work the deck from spit to storage, galley to gunwale, as if she knew it better than her own self.

Lessa was barely in her third decade. How long had she been captain before she had handed the Silverswift to Lertes?

How many of her secrets were etched into the wood?

‘I got close enough to strike,’ said Lessa, her hand on her sword. ‘You should be more careful.’

She looked tired, weariness darkening the corners of her eyes, her mouth pinched. She was still vivid with a sharp-edged beauty, her nose crooked, her brows heavy and serious. Wearing an open shirt, with a slight curve to her chapped lips, she was breathtaking.

‘Do you intend to?’ asked Kissen.

Lessa’s mouth twitched, but she released her blade. ‘How’s Inara?’ she said at last.

‘Better,’ said Kissen. She didn’t add that perhaps Lessa should go and see her daughter herself. The first two days of their voyage the girl had reeled with seasickness, spewing buckets. Chewing ginger root between sips of water had barely held it at bay.

Lessa glanced down at Kissen’s knife. The air between them was tense, tightening like the string of a bow.

‘Still carrying that Talician god’s totem?’ she said, and Kissen shrugged. ‘You summoned his power to overturn my rebellion. What is he to you?’

Kissen sheathed the dagger. ‘Are you here to pick a fight?’ she asked. She owed her no answer.

Lessa scowled. ‘I don’t take fighting on my ship.’

‘It’s Lertes’s ship, or is he not captain?’

‘It’s mine by right, and he knows it. So should you.’

That was clearly a sore spot. Kissen tried to relax her stance, elbows back on the bulwark, leaning into the dawn. She had left her staff in her cabin, wanting to practise her sea legs, but felt unsure without it. Still, she gave Lessa a crooked smile. ‘Understood.’

They stared at each other, the silence stretching. Lessa’s animosity was palpable, sharpened by losing Tarin, being forced onside with a king she had wanted to dethrone, and being in the position of a guest on her own ship.

‘You know I mean you no harm, Craier,’ said Kissen at last. ‘We should make peace between us. For Inara’s sake.’

That was not the right thing to say.

‘Peace?’ Lessa’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘You stole my daughter, veiga.’

There it was. Kissen winced. A burned manor, a broken coup, and at the end of it all, Inara had turned to Kissen. Not her mother. To Lessa, Kissen was a usurper, a challenger. A thief.

‘I saved your daughter,’ Kissen pointed out.

‘You revealed to the world what she was when I had spent her whole life trying to ensure no one would try to use her, hurt her, take her.’

The wind blew between them, tugging at the loose hair around Lessa’s face and neck, raising gooseflesh on Kissen’s forearms. Well, if that was the card Lessa wanted to play, Kissen had a hand of her own.

‘You hid, isolated and lied to her,’ said Kissen. ‘She’s an angry kid with power that costs her dearly. I took her in.’

‘Where did that lead her?’ said Lessa. ‘She gave her blood, her hair, pieces of herself to the gods she summoned. She put herself in danger, over and over. For you.’

‘It wasn’t only for me,’ snapped Kissen. ‘She wanted to be her mother’s daughter. And, if not that, then her father’s child.’

Lessa’s jaw set, her shoulders stiffened with fury. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. ‘When we get to Irisia, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go, I don’t care how much I have to pay you to find your family. I don’t want to see your smirking face again.’

Kissen raised an eyebrow, and stroked the scars on her left cheek, the god’s curse that left a white mark like a shattering. ‘You wouldn’t miss it?’ she said.

Lessa scoffed and turned on her heel.

‘I promised Tarin,’ Kissen called after her.

Lessa paused.

‘She told me to guard you.’

The lady whirled around. ‘Tarin was loyal, skilled, and patient. She was my cousin, my captain, and I’d known her since we were girls. You are none of these things. I have no use for you.’

‘Perhaps not loyal or patient,’ said Kissen, ‘but I am skilled.’

Lessa scoffed. ‘I bested you easily.’

‘Bah, I was half dead.’ Kissen remembered well their brief spat that had ended with Lessa’s knee on her chest. Less of this sparring with words and guilt: if it was a fight she wanted … ‘Try me again. You might not find me so easy.’

Lessa had drawn her sword before Kissen finished speaking. The lady had been aching for an excuse to take out her frustration. Her curved sabre gleamed pale blue in the dawn light, a blade made for slashing and slitting rather than a knight’s duel.

Two could play at that. Kissen drew her own cutlass, slowly, as Lessa turned into a side stance and held her sword point down. An odd move. Either for someone very stupid or very skilled.

Perhaps this wasn’t Kissen’s best idea.

‘First blood?’ said Lessa with a wicked lift of her brow.

Kissen stepped along the deck, testing her balance and settling between the capstan and the galley’s chimney, which was already breathing out the first scents of charcoal.

That reminded Kissen of Elo, and she wondered how he might square off against Lessa.

Her weapon was lighter, sharper than a longsword, so he would use his weight and height, try to end it quickly.

Kissen was broader than Lessa: she had the height and weight advantage.

But she did not know the ship, and without Telle’s prosthesis she was at a disadvantage.

First blood could be Kissen’s last, if she wasn’t careful. Accidents happened at sea.

Lessa did not wait for Kissen to move into a fighter’s pose. She charged – light-footed – jumping up towards the chimney and kicking off it to give her height over Kissen, her sword slicing through the air, a hiss in the brightness.

Kissen brought her cutlass up to deflect Lessa’s strike and used the force of her parry to shove the lady before she landed and found her feet.

Lessa stumbled, her cool, stern expression cracking to show something fiercer, wilder. More like Inara when she was angry. She came back with darting cuts, aiming for Kissen’s abdomen, her good leg, her eye, pushing her towards the aftcastle and the neat coils of rope that would tangle her feet.

‘You don’t fight like a lady,’ said Kissen, her breath already quick. ‘You fight like a thief.’

Lessa’s long braid swung out behind her. ‘I fight,’ she snapped, ‘like a pirate.’

Kissen sidestepped the ropes and brought her cutlass up and across in a swift movement. She leaned too heavily on her right leg, and grunted as her knee twinged, but Lessa was forced to step back with the speed and strength of the blow, use both of her hands on her sword to block it.

‘A water thief then,’ Kissen growled. ‘That explains the blackfire that broke the city.’

‘I knew what I was doing.’

They tested their strength against each other, leaning in, pressing hard enough that the edges of their blades squealed, sending a shiver up Kissen’s spine.

Lessa adjusted her grip and ripped her sabre around, almost tearing the sword out of Kissen’s grip. Still, Kissen managed to keep it, and backed away again, clipping the edge of the stairs to the aftcastle.

‘Get her, cap’n!’ came a cheer. It was Slim on the helm, and Kissen glanced up to see another ragged gadgie with him called Sallath. A couple of others who were on sail watch had started making bets over a scattering of pipeweed and glass beads. An audience.

‘Piss and salt,’ Kissen growled.

Lessa did not look up. She advanced, blade swinging.

Kissen wasn’t about to be put back on the defensive. She judged Lessa’s first feint and swung her shoulder back at her strike so the lady would overreach. Then, Kissen grabbed her wrist, twisting it, pushing her towards the chimney just as a breath of wind blew the smoke their way.

Kissen was prepared and took a breath, but Lessa was not, and inhaled a mouthful of the thick black. She spluttered, eyes streaming, surprised.

‘Dirty trick!’ cried an older deck hand called Arlo. ‘Captain, stick her—’

They cut themselves quickly short, and Kissen realised that Lertes had come out on deck.