his tiranthe over his back, next to his gear. “Even if she calls herself a free trader.”
The four scrambled down the ropes, each holding bundles and rolled items. Patka had hooked over her elbow one of the water-cleaning buckets from the galley. Thad struggled with an enormous basket that Wren recognized from having to carry special food to the captain’s cabin.
“They believed that bit about barnacles.” Danal flicked a grin Wren’s way. “So we got us some stores.” He pointed to the neatly packed trunk along the bottom of the gig.
“Good.” Wren sighed. “Listen, there’s something you should know before you go with me. You remember when we were first boomed, in Hroth Harbor?”
Four heads nodded.
“Well, when those people attacked, I heard one of them say something about my stripey hair.” Wren flicked one of her streaky braids. “It means they were looking for me. I, um, I do have enemies. Though I can’t imagine who knew about my trip, or would be after me. But I thought you should know.”
They looked at one another.
Lambin was the first to speak. “So some enemy paid to have you boomed. That’s no reason to stay with someone next thing to a pirate.”
Danal nodded violently, and Thad sighed with relief, then crouched down at the bottom of the gig to grip the mast stored next to the trunk. Patka just stood, scowling down at the water, arms crossed.
Wren said, “My last question is, will they chase us once we sail away?”
“Not with all that pirate damage still to be fixed,” Thad said, as he, Lambin, and Danal pulled up the mast, and worked to step it.
Patka opened the trunk and pulled out the two sails that were laid atop a rolled tent. Wren joined her, now so used to bending sail that she didn’t have to think about it. As they unfolded the main sail, Patka looked across at Wren, cheeks flushed. “Danal says I’m being a snob. Not about princesses and like that. About magic. That so?”
“Snobs are never willing to listen.” Wren smiled, not hiding her relief. “You were.”
Eleven
Teressa paused on the landing above the ballroom and looked down.
Duchess Carlas Rhismordith stood fanning herself in the center of the vast marble-floored chamber as she scowled at the servants putting the finishing touches to the decorations, then at the door, where she was expecting her son Garian.
The hot, breathless air had felt thundery for the past three days. Clear, bright sky and hot winds were not the weather for a ball, yet the Duchess had insisted on holding one in honor of the birth of Queen Rhis’s first child, Mordith—the ancestor of the Rhismordith family. Teressa leaned on a cool marble balustrade, lifting her face to the weak breeze ruffling up the stairway. It was too hot for a ball, and everyone seemed out of sorts.
Teressa knew that she was. The others could blame their bad moods on the weather if they wanted, but she knew the real cause for her own: everyone was far too busy minding Teressa’s business, unasked, and she didn’t want to listen to any of them.
She glanced at herself in the long framed mirror in the wall. The mirror was an old one, its glass dark and blurry. Her features were just discernable above the severe gown of sheer pale blue layers trimmed only with silver leaves along the neck and sleeves; unexpectedly Teressa was reminded of her mother.
How that hurt! Grief never seems to go away. Teressa glowered at her own image in the mirror. It just hides, and leaps out to claw at your heart when you least expect it.
But feeling sorry for herself would not bring her mother back. She forced herself away from the mirror, and down the last of the broad marble steps.
Duchess Carlas waited, her posture stiff. Her sharp nose, already elevated, now twitched. Teressa hated it when her aunt did that, as if she smelled something disgusting.
“Good evening, Aunt Carlas.”
The Duchess looked Teressa over from top to toe, then her thin lips creased in the
The four scrambled down the ropes, each holding bundles and rolled items. Patka had hooked over her elbow one of the water-cleaning buckets from the galley. Thad struggled with an enormous basket that Wren recognized from having to carry special food to the captain’s cabin.
“They believed that bit about barnacles.” Danal flicked a grin Wren’s way. “So we got us some stores.” He pointed to the neatly packed trunk along the bottom of the gig.
“Good.” Wren sighed. “Listen, there’s something you should know before you go with me. You remember when we were first boomed, in Hroth Harbor?”
Four heads nodded.
“Well, when those people attacked, I heard one of them say something about my stripey hair.” Wren flicked one of her streaky braids. “It means they were looking for me. I, um, I do have enemies. Though I can’t imagine who knew about my trip, or would be after me. But I thought you should know.”
They looked at one another.
Lambin was the first to speak. “So some enemy paid to have you boomed. That’s no reason to stay with someone next thing to a pirate.”
Danal nodded violently, and Thad sighed with relief, then crouched down at the bottom of the gig to grip the mast stored next to the trunk. Patka just stood, scowling down at the water, arms crossed.
Wren said, “My last question is, will they chase us once we sail away?”
“Not with all that pirate damage still to be fixed,” Thad said, as he, Lambin, and Danal pulled up the mast, and worked to step it.
Patka opened the trunk and pulled out the two sails that were laid atop a rolled tent. Wren joined her, now so used to bending sail that she didn’t have to think about it. As they unfolded the main sail, Patka looked across at Wren, cheeks flushed. “Danal says I’m being a snob. Not about princesses and like that. About magic. That so?”
“Snobs are never willing to listen.” Wren smiled, not hiding her relief. “You were.”
Eleven
Teressa paused on the landing above the ballroom and looked down.
Duchess Carlas Rhismordith stood fanning herself in the center of the vast marble-floored chamber as she scowled at the servants putting the finishing touches to the decorations, then at the door, where she was expecting her son Garian.
The hot, breathless air had felt thundery for the past three days. Clear, bright sky and hot winds were not the weather for a ball, yet the Duchess had insisted on holding one in honor of the birth of Queen Rhis’s first child, Mordith—the ancestor of the Rhismordith family. Teressa leaned on a cool marble balustrade, lifting her face to the weak breeze ruffling up the stairway. It was too hot for a ball, and everyone seemed out of sorts.
Teressa knew that she was. The others could blame their bad moods on the weather if they wanted, but she knew the real cause for her own: everyone was far too busy minding Teressa’s business, unasked, and she didn’t want to listen to any of them.
She glanced at herself in the long framed mirror in the wall. The mirror was an old one, its glass dark and blurry. Her features were just discernable above the severe gown of sheer pale blue layers trimmed only with silver leaves along the neck and sleeves; unexpectedly Teressa was reminded of her mother.
How that hurt! Grief never seems to go away. Teressa glowered at her own image in the mirror. It just hides, and leaps out to claw at your heart when you least expect it.
But feeling sorry for herself would not bring her mother back. She forced herself away from the mirror, and down the last of the broad marble steps.
Duchess Carlas waited, her posture stiff. Her sharp nose, already elevated, now twitched. Teressa hated it when her aunt did that, as if she smelled something disgusting.
“Good evening, Aunt Carlas.”
The Duchess looked Teressa over from top to toe, then her thin lips creased in the
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