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‘No, you’re a worker. You weren’t blessed with a bellyful and silk sheets for swaddling.

’ Rhiyande gazed towards Lessa. ‘No matter what that woman pretends, she was. She will never be like us. She picks us up like toys. She picked up pirating, she picked up politics and rebellion. She’s picked you up, but she will drop you just the same. ’

Rhiyande was right. Kissen was in danger here of falling for a woman who was bound to death or glory, nothing in between.

Kissen shouldn’t even be here. She should be sitting at home with her sisters, in her wheelchair, hiding in some quiet corner away from the clashes of great gods, their countries, their councils and monarchs and greed.

But Kissen didn’t make promises lightly. She had promised Inara that she would look after her mother. She had promised gods and Elo that she would do her best to save Middren from Hseth. She had promised herself.

She did not break promises.

The Irisian ship was closer now, crew up the mast and the ship already at full sail.

‘Lady Craier of House Craier,’ said Efana, his voice certain and clear, ‘you are a threat to the peace of the Trade Sea, and therefore we have come to—’

Lessa growled up at him. ‘You have no fucking authority over me, pissant. Stab me like the sorry coward you are and get it over with.’

No. Kissen could see clearly now. The Irisians were headed straight for them, they just needed a bit more time. Lessa hadn’t seen it, she was only choosing to face death with all the pride she had.

‘As you wish, lady,’ Efana spat. ‘If you desire no ceremony.’

He nodded at one of the guards holding her, and one of the men stood to the side, drawing his sword as the other two forced Lessa down into the blood of the deck, pressing her face to the boards.

‘A beheading, how pathetic,’ she snarled into the blood, defiant still. ‘Scared to look me in the eye or scared of your own shit aim?’

None of them were looking at Kissen, or the encroaching ship. Rhiyande’s hands loosened, letting her go. Letting her run.

And she took her moment. She ran forward. Towards the would-be executioner, drawing one of her other knives as he lifted his sword. One stride, two. He turned, eyes widening with alarm.

I’m sorry, Kissen thought, then grabbed his raised arms to stop them falling, and slammed her blade into his belly, point up into his chest.

The blade punctured leather, skin, belly, organ. Hot, red blood gushed out onto her hands. He stumbled back, tugging himself off the blade.

No time to think. Kissen turned towards one of the men holding Lessa, flipping the knife around and coming down at him from on high, ramming it into his shoulder. He let go of the lady, who turned and tackled the legs of the final guard as Efana cursed.

‘This is foolish!’ said Mirim, trying to be the voice of calm. ‘You are outnumbered! Why do you insist on—’

A cry came from the Restish ship, a warning of some kind. Mirim looked up, frowning in confusion. Then Kissen heard its translation from Shah.

‘Hit the deck!’

A whistle in the air. Then wood splintering as a cannon ball smashed across the deck, smashing a banister from the aft-deck stairs and flying on into the side of the Restish ship.

Kissen threw herself to the ground, screaming as the arrow shifted, biting against the bones of her back and ribs.

‘Leave off my fucking ship!’ Lessa snapped, glaring towards the Irisian vessel. It had turned side on, revealing an array of cannons on every deck. Enough to blast them out of the water.

Bahba was on the prow, glaring as if she could stop them with her eyes. Sosul stood beside her, supported by two crutches, while Aslani shouted orders.

Efana drew his own blade again, his eyes fixed on Lessa. ‘I will kill the bitch now before they—’

‘Hold!’ cried Bahba, her powerful voice cutting through the chaos of the deck. ‘By order of the Mithrik! You have committed an act of war on Irisian seas.’

‘We are beyond the harbour, Mitha!’ Efana shouted back, flushed with anger. ‘These seas are not yours. We commit an act of piracy, not an act of war.’

‘This is the Long Harbour, ambassador!’ bellowed Bahba. ‘You have not left it yet.’

She pointed, and Kissen turned painfully to see what she had indicated.

There, a cluster of boats were moored together and covered by a sail that had been made into an awning.

At first glance they seemed like just fishing boats, till Kissen saw the heavily barnacled chain that must attach them to the harbour floor.

On them, sat six folk, clinging to the sides of their little island, holding pipes that had long gone out, eyes wide and terrified at the battle that had begun just near their trading spot and smoking break.

Efana looked fit to explode. He glanced at Mirim, who gave him a small shake of the head.

But that did not dissuade him. ‘Preposterous pedantry,’ he said, striding to Lessa, who scrambled to her feet, ready to meet him, though her hands were empty.

He lifted his blade. ‘You cannot claim all the sea your people trade on—’

He stopped, his eyes fixed on the city, terror in his face.

No … shock. Awe.

Kissen dragged herself to her knees again, grunting with pain, hoping that whatever had startled him wasn’t one more thing come to kill them.

A gauze of purple light, no, cloth, streaming through the silver clouds of the hazy dawn. A glitter of gold, light, curling hair, and darker, appearing out of the light.

Wings. Skedi. Still a hare’s size. She heard his will, whispering, pressing not to her but everyone else on board.

You cannot stand in arms before your god.

‘Yusef,’ whispered Mirim, her hands flying to the red beads at her neck, then she cried something in Restish and dropped to her knees.

All crew members did the same, their weapons clattering to the deck at Skedi’s suggestion.

The great god of safe haven descended in a ripple of rich cloth and gold, shining as if with the light of the sun.

As he landed, waves burst up around the boats, blasting and setting all of them bouncing from side to side.

Kissen clung to the deck, scared to move, squinting her eyes, but then she saw Inara, clambering down from his back. She ran towards them across the deck, worry etched across every feature.

‘You cannot harm the Craier family!’ boomed Yusef, resplendent with power and will so vast that even Kissen found herself caught in it, feeling nothing but shame and fear till she slammed that down with her own intent.

Cannot harm, came his will like the aftershock of an earthquake. Never harm.

‘B-but Yusef, great lord, guardian of ships and sailors …’ said Efana. ‘She is our enemy.’

‘She is your enemy,’ said Yusef. ‘Gods have no enemies. Gods have no petty squabbles over monarchs and borders. Gods are gods.’

I’m fine, Kissen signed to Inara, go to your mother.

Inara spun to see Lessa, bleeding badly from the arrow in her arm and now a slice to her ribs, but the lady was staring at Yusef ashen with disbelief.

He did not look like his old statues, even Kissen could see that.

He looked like a man just out of boyhood, a god fresh from his first manifestation.

Lessa was looking at her old lover, the father of her child, and he had the face of a stranger.

‘Be gone,’ the god commanded the Restish, ‘and offer me your apologies in gold and blood.’

His will came again, like a wave, flattening the delegates into shivering prostration.

The ropes holding the Restish ship snapped and broke, unravelled, sending all but the stern turning, creaking around on its anchor, pointing west. It must be frightening for Efana and Mirim to see their god as a force beyond human dignities, asking without giving, demanding without shame.

Inara was exchanging words with her mother, whispering quickly.

‘If you do not,’ Yusef added with palpable excitement, ‘your ship will shatter on Irisian shores. It will be torn apart in the seas and storms, and no one will remember why you sailed it in the first place.’ The sails billowed and rippled, and the sea shook the ships with churning currents.

Yusef could promise safe haven, or he could take it, break it, crush it.

Kissen got the impression the god was enjoying himself.

‘Y-yes,’ said Efana at last, his will crumbling before the force of the god’s. ‘Of course. We will … return.’

‘Them too,’ said Inara, pointing to the crew of the Silverswift . ‘Take my mother’s betrayers back to Restish with you.’

‘N-no,’ cried Lertes. ‘Please, my lady. Captain. Let us stay with the ship. Gather our things …’

‘No, Lertes,’ growled Lessa hoarsely, her daughter helping her up. ‘I will not risk me and mine, our fate to the north, on a traitor-fool’s losing game.’ She clutched her side, and glanced at Aleda. ‘You have lost your mutinous wife, so I will allow you to keep your tongue.’

Kissen looked to Inara, not understanding how she had convinced Yusef to fight for them. Then she saw it. A dark band wrapped around Inara’s left arm, like a manacle of writing. Kissen couldn’t read it, but she knew the style of stone-struck sea-script. The script of a god of waves and land.

A boon. A binding.

‘ Liln ,’ she whispered. ‘What have you done?’