There was one more attempt on the ketch, which they repelled once again. That same night, the newly refurbished New Moon caught fire and burned to the waterline. The next morning, Evan and Destin walked down the quay to where Kadar stood glaring at the smoking hull.
“Too bad,” Evan said. “She was a fine ship.” He shook his head sadly. “What’s the world coming to?”
“What the hell do you mean?” Kadar said, looking him up and down.
“Last night, for the second time, somebody attacked our ship, too,” Evan said. “And now this.” He gestured toward the New Moon. “Do you think it’s the same people?”
Kadar was momentarily speechless, which was a fine thing.
“Look,” Destin said. “I might own the mooring, but it seems to me that, as dock boss, you should provide better security.”
“Go suck the Breaker’s balls,” Kadar said, regaining his voice and demonstrating his usual eloquence.
“It’s to your advantage to make sure there are no more incidents,” Destin said. His gaze swept over the ruins of the New Moon, and across the array of ships in the harbor and buildings at dockside. “This whole harbor could go up if it were to catch fire.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not at all,” Destin said, looking him in the eye. “I’m the one that’s asking you to make sure there will be no more problems.”
Kadar, a muscle working in his jaw, stood with his eyes locked on Evan for a long moment. Was it a threat, a promise, or an acknowledgment of defeat? It was impossible to tell. The dock boss turned on his heel and walked away.
Kadar hadn’t said yes, and he hadn’t said no, but there were no more incidents at the pier.
9
DESTINY
When the day arrived for freeing the ship, Frances, Evan, and Destin took a wagon laden with provisions down to the waterfront. Breaker rode along, curled up in Destin’s lap as if he knew they were going somewhere and didn’t want to be left behind.
We’re only going to be gone three days, Evan thought, shouldering a bag of lentils and carrying it up the gangway while Destin rolled casks of water and wine on board. Evan was used to a shipboard diet of hardtack and salt pork.
When the provisions kept coming, he spoke up. “With just the two of us, we’re going to have to focus on sailing, not cooking,” he said. Especially when one of us is as green as grass. “You’ve packed enough to take us to Baston Bay and back.”
With that, Frances stopped in her tracks and swung round to face her son, who all but ran into her. “You’re not planning to do something reckless, are you? Is that what this is all about?”
For what seemed like a long time, they looked at each other, silent messages rippling through the space between them. Obviously, this was a follow-up to conversations Evan had not been privy to.
“Of course not, Mother,” Destin said. “As least nothing more reckless than setting sail in a ship built by a pirate and a sword-dangler.”
As if unconvinced, she turned to Evan. “Promise me you’ll stay on this side of the Indio,” she said, gripping both his hands. “Don’t let him talk you into going farther. Promise me you’ll be back in three days.”
Evan, uneasy at being put in the middle, looked from Frances to Destin. “I’m planning on three days,” he said. “This ship needs a larger crew for a crossing, even with the changes Destin’s made.”
“Listen to him, Destin,” Frances said. “He’s the expert.”
“Of course he is,” Destin said, in the soothing voice of the practiced deceiver.
Frances lowered her voice. “I’ve lost so much. I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“Trust me, I have no intention of risking my life, my investment, and six months of hard work by sailing an untried vessel across the ocean. Especially with me as crew.”
Frances kept gazing at him until he said, with a flicker of irritation, “Mother, please. Let’s get this ship properly launched before she grows a crop of barnacles sitting here at the dock.”
Destin had asked Evan to name their new ship.
“It’s your ship,” Evan had protested. “You should name it.”
Destin shook his head. “No. It’s your ship. You’re the master. Frances and I are just the money.”
“We could name it ‘The Frances,’” Evan suggested.
“If we’re going to have a fleet,” Destin said. “We need names that will connect them together.”
We’re going to have a fleet? And then, we’re going to have a fleet? That sounded like a promise of sorts.
Evan thought a moment. “Destiny,” he said.
“Destiny?” Destin scowled. “You cannot name it after me.”
“I didn’t,” Evan said. “That’s a good name for a ship, and it opens up lots of possibilities for other ships. Alacrity. Temerity. Mutiny.” When Destin kept scowling, he said, “You were the one who wanted me to name it.”
Evan set out the tools for the ceremony—a curved Carthian blade, a small cask of wine, and a large silver cup, provided by Frances, emblazoned with an elaborate C. He ran his thumb over the engraving. Was that their initial? Destin C.? That was as far as he could go. Evan wasn’t all that familiar with wetland names.
“Are you sure about the cup?” Evan asked, for the third or fourth time.
Frances shrugged. “I have no need of silver cups these days,” she said. Then, eyeing the blade, she said, “I hope you don’t plan to sacrifice a goat and make us drink the blood. The goats, I need.”
“No goats,” Evan said. “That whole blood-sacrifice thing went away five or ten years ago.”
Strictly speaking, this wasn’t a new ship, so the ceremony wasn’t necessary. But it was a new venture, and a new name, and they were in the mood to celebrate. Not to mention that they needed the gods on their side.
Evan spiked the cask and let wine flow into the cup until it was full. A bit self-consciously, he raised the cup. “We, the builders of this ship, offer her up to the gods of ocean, sea, and storm and ask for safe passage beyond the shoals and to safe harbor wherever our journey may end.” He drank from the cup and passed it to Frances, who drank, and then to Destin, who drank and returned it to him. “I—” Evan stopped, collected himself, but couldn’t bring himself to seek the protection and guidance of the gods under a false name. He began again. “I, Evan Strangward, pilot, humbly ask for the skill and courage to chart a true course in fair weather and foul while this ship is under my command.” Evan drank. Looking over the rim of the cup, he saw Frances stiffen at the last-minute swap of names. But Destin seemed unperturbed.
He already knew, Evan thought. Once again, suspicion flickered through him. Was it possible that Destin had been working for the empress all along? Was this just a ruse to deliver him to her new capital in Celesgarde?
No. Why would Destin spend six months building a ship that he didn’t know how to sail? Besides, only a fool would set sail for the Northern Islands with a weather mage like Evan at the helm. And Destin was no fool.
“Pirate!” Evan looked up, startled, to find Destin checking the time on an imaginary pocket watch. “Quit sailing off inside your head and let’s get this done.”
“I name this ship ‘Destiny,’ and commend her to the care of the gods of ocean, sea, and storm, and ask that they welcome her when she sets forth, and give her up when she returns to shore.” Evan splashed the wine over the gleaming varnish, newly emblazoned with the name. He raised the empty cup. “To the gods of ocean, sea, and storm, I commit this silver cup, in compensation for their rightful claim to sailors and their ships.” With that, he cocked back his arm, and then sent the cup sailing out into the harbor, where it splashed down in the distance.
Now he nodded to Frances, who descended the gangway to the shore. Breaker found a perch on the quarterdeck. Evan and Destin raised the gangway and slid it into its rack. Evan took his position, where he could manipulate the sheets and get enough canvas to ease away from the pier. Destin raised the cur
ved blade and sliced through the hawser. “I set you free, Destiny,” he said, and then took his place at the helm.
And so they were under way. Once away from the pier and the other moorings, Evan loosed more canvas and their little ship leapt forward, as if eager to claim her freedom after so long mired at the dock. They threaded their way through the mouth of the harbor, passing in and out of the cool shadow cast by the pillars on either side—the sun dragons glittering in the sun.
Destin stood on the quarterdeck like a figurehead, gloved hands on the wheel, his long weather coat rippling around him. He tipped his head back, gazing up at the sculptures as they passed between them. “Have you learned how to use the dragons?”
“Maybe,” Evan said.
Destin looked amused. Then swung around, bracing himself against the sudden force of the winds as they passed into the open sea.
“Thirty degrees to larboard, Helmsman,” Evan called.
Destin shot a panicked look back at him, clearly searching through the nautical phrases and orders they’d practiced. Then he collected himself and said, “Aye, aye, Captain.” He turned forward, checked the compass, and adjusted their course southwest. Evan had charted a course far enough offshore to be forgiving, but close enough that they could seek an anchorage when they desired one.
Despite Evan’s limited ability to manage the sails on his own, and Destin’s lack of experience at the helm, Destiny turned out to be a nimble and responsive vessel, even with her novice crew. Through the day, they traded places, each playing multiple roles in navigation, piloting, and trimming the sails. They sang sea chanteys as they worked, which grew filthier and filthier as the day wore on.
That first night, they sailed through, each taking three-hour watches. On the second day, with Destin more comfortable trimming the sails and handling the steering, Evan experimented with manipulating the wind and currents. He found that by using weather magic and Destin’s amulet, he could more than compensate for their skeleton crew. Soon they were flying, whooping with joy, sails taut and spray needling their faces.
I could sail on like this forever, Evan thought, and never touch shore again.
The second night, having made good time, they anchored in a small cove. Evan cooked fish and lentils in the tiny galley while Destin fussed with a self-steering device he’d devised. He mounted it to the stern of the boat and then squirmed through the cabin, hauling lines to the tiller.
When he was finished, Evan eyed it with deep skepticism. “How does it work?”
Destin ran his fingers lovingly over a flat wooden blade that stuck up in the air. “This senses a change in the wind, which moves the tiller, which changes the direction of the ship to the most favorable point of wind.”
“What if that puts us off course?”
Destin shrugged. “It’s not for navigating in tight places. It’s more for what you call ‘blue-water sailing’—crossing large bodies of water where you’re not likely to run into anything. It allows for more flexibility with a small crew.” He laughed at Evan’s expression. “Don’t worry, Captain,” he said. “It won’t put you out of a job.”
“Hmm. We’ll try it when we’re both awake and watching,” Evan said. “Let’s eat.”
They spiked a cask of cider and ate on the deck, side by side, their backs against the cabin wall, hips touching. Wavelets lapped against the hull, and seabirds dove at them, scolding, hoping for a handout.
Destin poured more cider for both of them. When he passed Evan the cup, their fingers touched briefly. He said, “I’ll give you fair warning, Pirate, I’m plying you with cider because persuasion doesn’t work. If we’re going to work together, I’ll need some answers.”
“What if cider doesn’t work?” Evan said, stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes.
“Then I’ll have to find something that does,” Destin said, pinning him to the wall with those smoke-and-whiskey eyes.
Evan straightened, his heart beginning to hammer. What the hell did that mean? With this boy, there were so many possibilities. The soldier clearly wanted something from him. Was it something Evan would be willing to give?
To distract himself, he tossed a bit of fish to the gulls. That turned out to be a huge mistake. Flocks descended on them, in waves of black beaks and gray and white, so that he had to drive them off with a gust of wind. Breaker charged back and forth across the quarterdeck but came away with nothing more than feathers.
“So ‘Lucky Faris’ is not your real name,” Destin said, with an air of getting down to business.
“No,” Evan said, leaving off bird-herding.
“I’m so relieved. I have a hard time saying ‘Lucky Faris’ with a straight face.”
Evan laughed.
“Why did you change it?”
“Right now, certain people think I’m dead, and I’d like to keep it that way,” Evan said. He paused, debating whether to go on. Joining up with Destin had given him the leverage he needed to stand up to Kadar. Without Destin, he’d be begging for crumbs at the harbormaster’s table, waiting for someone to betray him to Celestine.
After more than six months, Destin was still keeping secrets. Yet Evan had to find a way to trust somebody. He couldn’t go it alone forever. He couldn’t help hoping that he would find a new life and a livelihood with Destin by his side.
Ship of dreams.
And so, taking a deep breath, Evan went all in. He told Destin about his life on the streets of Endru, his recruitment by Strangward, the encounter with the empress off Tarvos, and his escape from the ship and the empress’s bloodsworn crew.
Destin raised an eyebrow. “So, do you think you’re the long-lost heir to the Nazari throne?”
“If I were, I hardly think Celestine would want to take me alive. She’d want to eliminate the competition.”
“Is that why you declined the honor?”
“I don’t trust Celestine. Right now, I don’t trust anyone.”
“Always a good policy,” Destin murmured, sliding him a look, as if questioning Evan’s decision to trust present company. “This magemark you’re talking about. May I see it?”
Evan shrugged. “Why not? Maybe you’ll have some insights.” He bowed his head, pushing his hair out of the way. “Captain Strangward said that I needed to keep it hidden or it would stir up the crew.”
“What the hell?” Destin’s breath warmed the back of Evan’s neck, and his fingers whispered over his skin. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes.” Gods, yes, he could feel it.
“There’s definitely magic in it, though maybe it’s just drawing it out of you. Have you heard any stories about the Nazari mages carrying any sort of badge or marking?”
“No.” Evan shivered, acutely conscious of Destin’s fingers on his skin. “What do you see?” Despite repeated gymnastics with a mirror, Evan had never been able to get a good look at it.
“It’s abstract, but it resembles wavelets, clouds piled in a pyramid like a storm is coming, lightning bolts. Weather, basically.” He tapped it. “Is this what the empress wants?”
“I don’t know, but she definitely knows about it. It—it seemed to . . . It began to burn when she got close enough.”
“Was it a warning or a greeting?” Destin murmured, as if to himself. “Have you tried to pry it off?”
“No!” Evan turned abruptly, and they were all but nose to nose. “It doesn’t come off.”
“Don’t worry,” Destin said, his hands still loosely circling Evan’s neck, his eyes fixed on his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick and wistful. All at once, as if coming to his senses, he jerked back his hands and dropped them into his lap, as if he’d been caught reaching for a forbidden treat.
Evan sat back, cheeks burning, heart racing, disappointment mingling with relief. You are in deep water, Pirate, and you’ve forgotten how to swim. Do not fall for this dangerous, moody, mercurial boy. It will lead to heartbreak or worse.
Destin scowled, lips pres
sed tightly together, as if weighing the pros and cons of opening them again. But what came next was not a confession of love, but a major change in subject.
“Not everyone is convinced by your recent death, Pirate. The empress Celestine is still looking for you.”
“What?” This came as a shout that sent the gulls spiraling away. “How do you know?”
“I took a trip up the coast. Some of the bloodsworn mages you describe were stationed on the quay in every port, watching comings and goings. Most of the taverns have posted placards offering a reward for your capture and delivery to Celesgarde. It’s probably a blessing that Kadar hasn’t given you any contracts lately.”
“So . . . you’ve known this all along?” Anger rose up inside Evan, mingled with mortification. So much for his heartfelt confession. So much for his fragile hope of sanctuary.
“Easy, Pirate,” Destin said. “I haven’t known it all along, but I’ve known it for a while.”
“But you didn’t see fit to share it with me.”
Destin shrugged.
“So you’ve been spying on me.”
“I have been gathering information, yes,” Destin said, without a trace of remorse. “I need to know who I’m partnering with.”
Partnering? Evan’s mouth went dust dry. “Could you . . . be more specific?”
“I have a business proposal for you, Pirate,” Destin said abruptly, as if signaling that the time for moonstruck yearning was over. “I’d like to set you up here in Tarvos. You have one ship now, and eventually you’ll have more. You hire a crew, security, all of that.”
“You’d like to . . . set . . . me . . . up?” That was an unfortunate use of language.
“Exactly,” Destin said, rushing ahead. “With my money, and your talent, you should have no trouble making a go of it.”
Clearly this soldier was not used to charming his way to a yes.
“This is all very generous,” Evan said warily, “but what’s in it for you?”
“I want you to look after my mother,” Destin said. “She’s very fond of you, and I believe it’s mutual. My share of the profits will go to her, for her support. I would ask that you stay at the cottage with her when you’re not at sea, and hire staff to make sure she gets the help and protection she needs. She’s a strong woman, but she’s no soldier, and she’ll need help for some of the heavy work.”