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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LORE

Every emotion is a tool.

—Kirythean proverb

T here were ropes attached to the walls in the hold of the Ferryman’s boat.

Lore assumed they were for securing cargo, but after the second wave hit the side of the hull, she wrapped them around her waist and tied as tight a knot as she could, anchoring herself to the side.

Across the hold, Dani followed her lead.

It kept them from being thrown across the room, but damn, the rope biting into her gut was almost as bad.

As it turned out, Dani was the seasick one.

They sloshed back and forth, Dani going pale and sweaty before turning her head and losing what looked like the jerky and hard bread that had been dinner the night before.

Lore watched her dispassionately. If she’d been free, she still wouldn’t hold back Dani’s hair.

A few minutes of furious rocking, the boat turning back and forth so steeply Lore was sure it was fully on its side. But the Ferryman knew his shit, and they never capsized.

Then it was over.

Lore sat still in her ropes, consciously holding her muscles loose to move with the ship, waiting for the next wave to hit. But a minute passed, then a minute more, and the waters outside seemed placid. She relaxed, marginally. Hopefully the rest of the journey stayed calm.

Dani still looked a little shaky as she untied her ropes and stood, casting a rueful glance at the puddle of sick on the floor. “I’m going up. It smells like vomit down here.”

“Imagine that,” Lore muttered as the other woman climbed the ladder.

Something glimmered in the top of Dani’s boot right before she disappeared onto the deck. The hilt of a dagger. Lore supposed it was a good thing one of them was armed, but it wasn’t lost on her that Dani hadn’t been forthcoming about it. She tucked the information away.

Lore took a moment to get her bearings before standing on unsteady legs.

She hadn’t paid much attention to the rest of the hold when they first came down here, preoccupied with the loss of Nyxara in her head and an imminent trial-by-sea, but now she took the opportunity to look around.

Other than the open area where she stood, the hold appeared to be divided into a few other rooms, with one door toward the stern and another to the prow.

The stern door was open, revealing bare bunks and a chamber pot. The door at the prow was closed.

It was caution more than curiosity that drew her toward it.

This was the last situation in which she wanted to be caught off guard.

Lore searched around the floor of the hold until she found a splintery old chest with metal reinforcements at the corners that looked easy enough to pry off.

The old metal piece had a sharp edge; a few minutes’ work, and she had it in her hand, thin and narrow enough at one end to use as a lockpick.

It wasn’t necessary. The door opened smoothly when she turned the handle. Still, Lore tucked the sharp implement into her boot. It wasn’t a dagger, but it might do in a pinch.

The room was empty, other than a table in the center.

A handful of silver instruments were placed at equidistant spaces around its surface.

Some looked like pyramids, balancing delicate metal bars on their points.

Others were arches with weights hanging from chains, preternaturally still.

She thought of the thing Dani had brought the Ferryman, the silver balance to pay their way. It would fit right in here.

All the instruments were bolted to the table, presumably to keep them from being thrown around the room when the sea was raging. Brow furrowed, Lore stepped over the threshold, wanting a closer look.

Every instrument on the table spun in her direction.

The balancing pins whipped around on their silver pyramids. The hanging weights swung her way, held straight out on their chains, pointing right at her.

A moment later, a wave hit the side of the ship, almost sending her sprawling.

Lore scrambled out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Up on the deck, she heard Dani’s surprised shout, followed by a muffled curse from an unfamiliar voice in a language she didn’t know.

The ladder into the hold clattered as someone made their way down. The Ferryman, eyes narrowed, rushing for the room. He cast one dark look at Lore before shoving the door open.

Lore looked past him, at the table with all its delicate instruments. They were spinning, now, recalibrating, but only for a moment. They quickly settled back into a resting state, the pins balanced, the weights hanging still.

“Odd,” the Ferryman muttered. He looked back at Lore. “Don’t touch that. They’re the only things keeping us on course. I have one up at the wheel, but we need the backup. If they malfunction, we’ll be lost in ash for days.”

“Sorry,” Lore said, eyes downcast. “I got curious.”

“Well, don’t.” The Ferryman checked on the instruments again before closing the door, then looked back at her. “We’ll arrive in an hour.” He went back up the ladder.

With one more glance at the room, Lore followed.

The Ferryman was true to his word. An hour later, Lore stood on the deck, peering through itching eyes at thick ash that made it look like they were sailing through a storm cloud, or through a puff of smoke from one of Bastian’s cigarettes.

Up ahead, the ash seemed to thin somewhat, let through a little more light, but it could just have been a trick of perception.

“I’d go below, if I were you.”

Lore jumped. The Ferryman had come up behind her silently, giving her another of those searching looks. “The ash will get worse before it gets better.”

“Your navigation is impressive,” Lore said.

He stared at her long enough that she thought he might not respond. “I’ve studied.” With that, he jerked his head to the ladder.

Lore followed the direction, Dani close behind. They waited in silence, both their eyes streaming from being abovedeck.

A few minutes later, she felt the telltale bump of the hull meeting a dock.

She and Dani climbed out of the bowels of the ship again, this time into thin, gray sunlight rather than the perpetual gloom of the open water.

The Harbor dock was, strangely, in better repair than the ones on the Second Isle, with the same patchwork repair job as the Ferryman’s ship.

A stretch of rocky beach ended at a scrubby forest, the trees dark with centuries-old char.

If it weren’t for the lack of a mine, it would be almost identical to the island they’d just left.

It felt different, though. No, not felt… it sounded different, a fact Lore knew was true but couldn’t quite put her finger on. A quiet hum, beneath the thrash of waves. One that almost resolved into a song, if she concentrated.

“Here,” Dani said to the Ferryman, digging in her pocket. “You didn’t take our payment before we left.” She pulled out the silver instrument she’d stolen from Martin.

Lore tensed, half expecting the thing to swing her way, point at her like an accusing finger. But it didn’t, swaying lazily with the force of Dani’s movement and nothing else.

The Ferryman followed its motion, dark eyes narrowed.

But he took Dani’s payment without comment, carefully, a contrast with the way she’d kept it stuck in her pocket. He nodded without a word and lowered the gangplank, disembarking before Lore and Dani had the chance, headed with purpose into the scrubby woods.

“A man of few words,” Dani remarked, watching him go.

Lore’s shoulders relaxed, a tension she hadn’t known she was holding.

Someone came out of the woods at the same place the Ferryman entered them. A woman, dressed in nondescript clothing the not-color of something rough-spun and undyed. She and the Ferryman nodded to each other as they passed. “You need someone to take down the sails?”

“Please.” The Ferryman glanced back. “I have… something to check on.”

“Aye.” The woman gave him a puzzled look as he slipped between the burnt trees, then turned back to Lore and Dani. “You’re the newest escapees, then. I’m Sersha. Welcome to the Harbor.”