ARC: The Wizard's Promise (12 page)

“Of course. I understand.”

Rudolf pulled off a long, slender key from the ring and handed it to me. “Finnur can show you where it is. Ain’t that right, Finnur?”

“Sure thing. It’s right next door to us.” He grinned at Rudolf. Rudolf scowled in return.

“I don’t get payment on the first of the month,” he said, “I’ll send my dogs after you.”

And with that, Rudolf hauled himself back up his ladder and disappeared over the railing.

“Don’t worry about the dogs,” Finnur said. “All you have to do is feed them sausages and they’ll be rolling around on their backs, waiting for you to play with them.” He laughed. “Come on, I’ll show you the
Cornflower
.”

We walked down to the edge of the pier. I still had this dazed, edgy feeling, like it was a huge mistake giving my money to that man. Of course, I hadn’t had that feeling in all the time we were sailing north from Kjora, so maybe my intuition wasn’t what it should be.

Finnur reached down in the water and picked up a thick salt-encrusted rope that was tied to the pole jutting off the pier. He tugged on it, and the dinghy drifted toward us, bobbing on the water.

“Unfortunately, we’re not pierside,” he said. “But it’s not a big deal, taking the dinghy.”

He let me step on first. It sank a little beneath my weight, but it was dry and solidly built. Finnur rowed us around the tangle of moored boats. The rope attached to the rowboat was long enough that it uncoiled out behind us, disappearing beneath the water’s surface. When we came to another junk with
Crocus
painted across the side, he jabbed the oar straight down into the water, locking us into place.

“That’s where Asbera and I live,” he said, pointing at the
Crocus
. “The
Cornflower
’s right there, just down that gap. We should be able to climb over from the
Crocus
.”

I nodded dumbly and watched as he crawled up the ladder onto the deck of his boat – of his home, I reminded myself. And I thought then of my own home, my real home, landlocked and built of gray stones. I couldn’t see much of the
Cornflower
from here, only a strip of peeling gray wood rising out of the water and some sailless masts, part of the forest of masts that made up the boarding boats.

“You coming?” Finnur was aboard the
Crocus
now, standing beside the ladder, waiting.

“Yeah, sure.” I made my way up the ladder, looking over at the
Cornflower
. I saw more of it the higher I climbed, but there wasn’t much to see. Just a moored cog. It was hard to think of it as a home.

Like a gentleman, Finnur helped me over the railing. The deck of the
Crocus
didn’t look like any boat I’d been on. No sails, and the wheel had been removed at the helm. There were pots filled with lichen and little blue flowers and shrubby, tough-looking herbs. Tall glass jars sat at random intervals, half full with gray water. Ropes of dried vines hung from the masts, twisted together into figures that looked human and animal at the same time. Protective charms, most like.

“You can see the
Cornflower
from the starboard side.” Finnur pointed. “No one’s lived there for a while, but Rudolf usually keeps the empty boats clean.”

I nodded and walked over to the side of the boat. The
Cornflower’s
deck was empty except for a pot of its own, lichen dangling over the sides like a waterfall.

“It’s warmer down below,” Finnur said. “We can see about looking for a plank to get you across the way. But it’ll be nice to have a rest first, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” I looked away from my new home and followed Finnur down below deck. I expected it to look like the
Penelope
, may the gods take her: sparse and empty save for stores and fishing supplies. But it didn’t. It was hung with brightly colored tapestries and stuffed with carved wooden furniture. There was a hearth, just like in a house, filled with hot, glowing logs. Asbera was there, her hair tied back, stirring a great cauldron of something that smelled like fish and spices and made my stomach grumble.

“Hello, Hanna.” She glanced at me over her shoulder and smiled shyly. “Did Rudolf give you a fair price?”

“I guess,” I said. “I don’t know.”

“Thirty stones,” Finnur said. “What we’re paying.”

“Oh, good.” She gestured at the table. “Please, have a seat. I’m afraid the lisila isn’t quite ready yet. We still have tulra ale, don’t we, Finnur?”

“We do.” Finnur ducked out into the corridor, his footsteps echoing around the room. I sank into one of the chairs, exhausted. I hadn’t realized just how much so until now, after three days on the
Annika
so soon after being washed ashore by magic. Really, I just wanted to sleep.

Finnur returned with a mug of some frothy amber liquid that I assumed was ordinary ale until I sipped it, and found that it was sweet and buttery and not at all fermented.

“Tuljan specialty,” she said. “We make it out of the tulra flower, from the far north.”

She smiled, but I stared down at the foam in my drink. The far north. It seemed that even when I left Kolur, the top of the world was still haunting me.

Asbera sat down across from me with her own mug, and Finnur sat beside her and rested his hand on her arm.

“Everyone wants to know what brought you to Tulja,” Finnur said.

Asbera sighed and slapped at him. “That’s rude.”

“Well, it’s true!”

“It’s fine.” I stared down at my mug again. I didn’t want to tell the truth, at least not the whole truth. “My ship wrecked here, like I said. Had a falling-out with my captain.” I shrugged. “We weren’t supposed to go this far north.”

Finnur gave a nod like he understood everything. Asbera stood up and checked the cauldron bubbling on the stove.

“I’m grateful for the work.” I paused, still not sure how much I should tell them. “But I’d like to try and sail home to Kjora if I can. I miss my parents.”

“Ah, yes, I miss mine, too,” Asbera said from the stove. “They’re yak tenders, you know, out near the base of the mountains.” She grinned at Finnur. “This one came by looking to trade pelts for Baltasar. He’d only just been taken on as an apprentice. He wound up living in an old yurt for the better part of the winter.” She laughed, and Finnur gazed up at her the way Papa would gaze at Mama sometimes.

“That’s a nice story,” I said, and then, because I felt a need to fill the silence in a way that wouldn’t involve explaining why my captain had been sailing us north in the first place, I told them about Mama and Papa, and how Mama’d served aboard the
Nadir
and decided she loved the north more than she loved the south. That drew smiles out of Finnur and Asbera both.

“That’s why the Empire’s always trying to claim our islands,” Asbera said. “Because they all know deep down it’s better here.”

I laughed at that, even if I didn’t know myself one way or the other. I’d only ever belonged to the north, even if Mama’s ancestors, warm and smelling like honey and spices, spoke to me sometimes through the winds.

Asbera checked the cauldron again, and this time she clapped her hands together and said, “Oh, praise joy, it’s ready. I’m
starving
. Aren’t you, Hanna?”

I nodded. “Three days with nothing but salted fish–”

“Oh, don’t even say the words.” Finnur slapped his hands on the table. “Here, Asbera, let me help. Hanna, you stay. You’re our guest.” He got to his feet and pulled carved wooden bowls out of the cupboards next to the hearth. Asbera spooned the bowls full of lisila and then delivered the bowls to the table. The lisila was a sort of stew, with a creamy white broth that shimmered like moonlight. It smelled of herbs, fragrant and grassy like summer.

“Once you’ve had a taste of this, you’ll wish everything else you ever eat is lisila,” Asbera said.

I assumed she was joking, or boasting, as cooks do. But when I sipped from the rim of my bowl, I could hardly believe that what I tasted was real. The flavor was savory and so complex I couldn’t quite define it, but as soon as I tasted the lisila, I wanted more. It didn’t help that I was so hungry. I’d slurped down half my bowl when I glanced up and found Asbera and Finnur laughing at me.

“Told you,” Asbera said. She sipped at her own bowl and closed her eyes. “As good as I remembered.”

“It’s the lisilfish,” Finnur said. “They cook down and create –
this
.” He gestured at the bowls.

“Shame they’re so expensive.”

“Oh,” I said, cheeks warming. “I didn’t know. I’ll be happy to help pay–”

“Nonsense.” Asbera shook her head. “You need to save your money, like you said.” She smiled and took another sip from her bowl. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to repay us in the future.”

I nodded. I certainly hoped so.

But more than that, I hoped that Asbera and Finnur were as normal as they seemed, and that the rest of my time in Tulja would be as simple and satisfying as my evening aboard the
Crocus.

CHAPTER 9

After dinner, Finnur helped me get settled aboard the
Cornflower
. It was a much smaller boat than the
Crocus
, but belowdecks was well cared for: the holes in the ceiling patched, the floor dry. The hearth had been cleaned of old ashes, and there was an actual bed in the captain’s cabin, with a small, hay-stuffed mattress. After weeks of sleeping on cots and hammocks, I found it an unimaginable luxury.

I slept easily that first night, deep and steady, although I dreamed, something I hadn’t done aboard the
Annika
. My dreams were strange but not unsettling: I was at the base of a tall, rocky mountain, surrounded by yaks that snuffled and pawed at the frozen ground. Wind roared over the mountains, coming from the north. It smelled of tulra ale and seemed to have a voice of its own, whispering my name, telling me I was safe. I believed it. I was certain it came from Finnur and Asbera.

When I woke, sunlight was spilling in through the doorway. I’d left it open in the night. I got up and stretched, feeling refreshed for the first time in weeks. A cask of lisila sat on my bedside table, left over from left night – Asbera had given it to me when I left the
Crocus.
I ate it quickly, and it was just as delicious for breakfast as it had been for dinner. Finnur had told me there was a shared well in the center of the town, so I dug around in the storage room until I found some empty skins. Then I went up on deck.

The air was cold and bright and still. The deck of the
Cornflower
was bare in comparison to the deck of the
Crocus,
but I had no intention of draping it with plants and charms. That would suggest I planned on staying here for a long time, and I didn’t. My bracelet could protect me for the time being.

The dinghy was still where we had left it the night before, lodged in the space between the
Cornflower
and the
Crocus
. I lowered myself down and rowed to the pier. The docks were mostly empty, just a pair of fish-boys running errands back and forth between the boats and the shops in the village.

Everything felt as much like a dream as the base of the mountain had.

I followed Finnur’s directions to the well. To my relief, no one was there, and I filled up the skins and dropped them in my bag. I realized I didn’t want to go back to the
Cornflower
yet. There wouldn’t be much to do besides sit on my cot and count down the days until we made sail again.

So I walked through the streets of Rilil, weaving through the mounds of earth and piles of stone. Most of the doorways were graced with twists of vine, simpler, more decorative versions of the charms Asbera and Finnur kept on their upper deck. I hadn’t taken those vines for charms when I’d been walking through the town with Kolur and Frida; in fact, I’d hardly noticed them at all.

Thinking on Kolur and Frida made me feel all twisted up. It had been easy to forget about them those three days at sea, but now that I was back in Tulja, I knew there was a chance I’d run into them. And I didn’t want that.

I passed the last semi-permanent building, and the road opened up into a huge field dotted not with yaks like I expected but with the same round, leathery tents that the old woman had lived in. They were clustered like people drawing together for warmth, and smoke drifted out of the tops of most of them. Far off in the distance rose a mountain, purple-gray in the misty air. It looked like the mountain from my dream – but then, all mountains tend to look the same.

I turned and walked in the opposite direction. The waterskins were starting to get heavy, but I still wasn’t in a mind to go back to my boat. Too dull and lonely, sitting down below by myself.

Eventually, I came to the other end of the village, to the road leading down to the ocean. I dusted some old snow off a nearby stone and sat down and took a drink of water. Birds circled overhead, crying out to one another. I smelled salt and fish. It was peaceful, in its way. Peaceful and lonely.

And then I heard singing.

It was distant, coming from the direction of the beach. I couldn’t make out the words, but as I listened, music joined up with the singers’ voices, a jangly, rhythmic instrument that I didn’t recognize. Part of me thought that maybe I should leave, that I was hearing something I wasn’t meant to as a daughter of the Empire and the southerly islands both, but I stayed put. The music grew louder. I realized they were singing in the language of the ancients.

Figures appeared on the bend in the road, moving in a procession through the cold, gray air. And they weren’t human. They were monsters.

All sorts of monsters, some with great shaggy coats and others with sharp, needly beaks and still others like men built of straw. My fear paralyzed me in place. I thought of the warship slicing toward the
Penelope
, thought of Gillian’s dead body. I thought of the Mists.

The monsters moved closer. One of them, a creature with a bulbous, oversized boar’s head, shook a ring of metal that flashed in the thin sunlight. Another carried a torch that guttered and sparked an unnatural orange-gold.

They come on the veins of magic
–

Isolfr’s words appeared unbidden in my head, and without thinking, I reached out to the magic on the wind, testing, trying to find that sense of
wrongness
–

There was none. The magic was calm, peaceful. Nothing wrong, nothing dangerous.

The figures drew closer. I scrambled off my rock and crouched half behind it, clutching my bag tight, too afraid to take my eyes off these monsters. The singing poured over me.

Not a single one of the creatures’ mouths moved.

I frowned. That didn’t make sense.

As they passed, the straw-man turned his head, pale gold shedding off him. His eyes peered out of the mound of straw. They were dark and benevolent – human.

They were human.

The monsters sang, but their mouths didn’t move.

Masks
, I thought, and I straightened up, still trembling. None of the other costumed men looked at me; they just continued their procession into the village. The torch sent sparks and smoke up into the sky, and I felt the shudder of its
enchantment, a warmth and protection I hadn’t expected.

At the first shop, a family stepped through the curtain in the doorway, a man and his wife, their little girl. The girl tossed something at the procession – it looked like dried flowers. She didn’t seem scared, only grateful.

I slumped down on the rock, sighing, and watched the procession make its way through Rilil. Magic trailed in its wake, settling over the village like a balm. Magic, it was just magic. Protection.

It just didn’t look like any protection I had ever known.

The
Annika
left for another trip two days later. Couldn’t come soon enough. I’d spent the rest of my money on food and wasn’t able to save anything for the trip home. I hoped this payment would be as large as my first, since I wouldn’t have to worry about doling out most of it for a place to stay.

Asbera and Finnur were already aboard when I climbed onto the deck in the pale early morning hours. Asbera smiled like she was glad to see me.

“Hanna!” she said. “I hope you’re settling in all right.” I hadn’t seen either of them for those two days, since I didn’t want to come across as a burden. I was glad to see her, though, since I had questions, mostly about those costumed men and their magic.

“I am.” But I didn’t have time to say more than that, since Baltasar blundered up on deck. Reynir stumbled behind him, reading fortunes from a little scrap of scroll. He glared at me when he saw I was back.

“Gather round!” Baltasar shouted. “We’re going southeast today, looking for lampreys. Reynir here says we can make the catch of the season if we can get there before those damned Kjiljans.”

The crew applauded and stomped their feet against the deck. A little thrill of excitement worked through me, too. Maybe the catch of the season would be enough to get me home.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Baltasar cried. “Get on with it!”

The crew erupted into action. So much was happening, I didn’t have time to think – and I was grateful for that after spending the last few days doing nothing but thinking. I called the wind into the sails while a couple of crewmen aligned the spars. The
Annika
pulled out into the water and swung around, moving parallel to the shore, heading west. The land was dotted with those little round tents, gray smoke twisting into the air.

We sailed.

It took most of the day to get to the southern point where Reynir claimed we’d find fish. Most of the crew spent the time lolling around the fires, throwing dice and playing Hangman’s Gambit, another gambling game Papa had taught me to play last year. No one asked me to join them. Which was fine, seeing as how I didn’t have any money to gamble.

Still, I felt isolated standing there among the masts, watching the men throw dice and count out stones. They got to wait out the trip, but I had to control the winds. I’d never thought of it as especially tiring magic, but the
Annika
was much bigger than the
Penelope
and it proved to be more work than I was used to.

The sun finally started to sink into the horizon. The winds shifted to the northeast, and so I didn’t have to control them as much. I was grateful for the break. But then I took one look around the deck, at the fires glowing in the darkness, and suddenly felt very lonely.

“Are you hungry?”

It was Asbera. She’d been scrambling up on the masts all day, where the men were afraid to climb, and so I hadn’t seen much of her.

“Yeah,” I said, grateful to have someone to talk to. “It takes a lot out, controlling the winds.”

She grinned. “I bet.” Then she handed me a fish that had been grilled by the fires. “Finnur caught them earlier. Fishing off the side like a child. No one believed he’d actually get something.” She laughed.

“Thank you.” I stared down at the fish, its scales blackened by the smoke. My stomach grumbled, and I peeled the flesh away from the bones and nibbled at it. Skrei. Nice to eat something familiar. It reminded me of Kjora.

I expected Asbera to leave me and go back with the others, but she stayed by my side.

“The wind’s shifted,” she said. “You don’t have to keep controlling it, do you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t mind.” I took a bite of fish to keep from saying anything more.

“You shouldn’t let the crew get to you,” she said.

“I’m not.”

She smiled and the skin crinkled around her eyes. “They’ll exclude you until they don’t anymore. It’s our way here in Tulja. We can’t help it.”

Part of me wanted to believe her and part of me didn’t care because I just wanted to go home.

I finished the fish and tossed the bones overboard. I checked the water, the way I did whenever I was at the railing, looking for a shadow beneath the waves, a glimmer like moonlight. But there was nothing there. Isolfr had dragged us into danger and then he’d abandoned us.

“How do you like Tulja so far?” Asbera asked. “Aside from–” she waved at the crew “–all that. I really do promise it’ll get better. They just have to get accustomed to you.”

I hesitated, trying to think of a diplomatic response. “It’s different,” I finally said. “Different from what I’m used to.”

“I’m sure I’d feel the same way if I ever visited Kjora.”

She laughed, and after a moment, I joined in with her. I’d let my magic die away a little as we spoke as a way of alleviating my exhaustion, and only just now realized it. The boat rocked along with the wind, moving us to the southwest. I sighed, my limbs loose with freedom.

“It’s strange,” I said. “Certain things are the same, and certain things are different. I can’t read your alphabet, but most of the food is the same, assuming it’s not a dish from – from the north.” I hesitated. “And the other day, I saw a parade, all these people in costumes – we don’t have anything like that in Kjora.”

“Oh, the Nalendan.” Asbera smiled. “Did they give you a fright?”

“A little. I felt the magic and realized they weren’t dangerous.” I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

“Oh, you poor thing. I didn’t realize they were going to be parading while you were out, otherwise I would have made sure to mention them to you.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“I’ve heard they’re another tradition we borrowed from Jandanvar, but us Tuljans like to claim we invented their magic whenever we can.” She laughed. “They’re a means of protecting us from the Mists. Do you know of the Mists as far south as Kjora?”

I nodded. I couldn’t bear to say anything more.

Fortunately, Asbera didn’t seem so keen on talking about them, either. “There is a group of priests who live out on the plains whose entire job is to watch out for the Mists. Whenever they feel them encroaching, they call for the Nalendan to protect our village.”

I shivered. I wondered if this was our fault, if Kolur had brought the Mists here.

“How often do the Nalendan cast their charm?” I asked. “I mean, how often do the priests feel–”

“Oh, pretty often. Twice a month or so.” Asbera interrupted me before I could say the word
Mists
, her expression uncomfortable. But she must have seen something in my own expression, fear or something worse, because she smiled and laughed. “My father used to say the priests can’t actually see anything at all, and they just call down the Nalendan to amuse themselves.”

But her words did nothing to console me.

I wound up with wages of thirty-five stones after we returned from that trip – it turned out lamprey was a favorite among the Tuljans. I ate dinner with Asbera and Finnur that evening, just as we had after the first trip. No lisila, but Asbera did bake the lamprey with wild roots and strips of dried yak meat. It was more delicious than I’d expected.

After dinner, Asbera walked me up to the deck of the
Crocus
. Night was just starting to fall, streaks of gold sinking into the water. The north wind blew strong and sweet-scented, and it knocked the vines and charms around, stirring up their magic.

“I have a gift for you,” Asbera said.

“Oh, that’s – you don’t have to do that.” I shook my head. “You’ve given me enough already–”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a little thing.” And she pulled a stonework jar out of her dress pocket. “I used to keep meal in it, but the side cracked.” She handed it to me. “It’d be perfect for saving stones.”

I took the jar and turned it over in my hands. I almost wanted to cry.

“Just make sure you keep it locked up in the captain’s quarters.” She laughed. “I’d hate to see your savings get whisked away.”

“Thank you,” I said. “This was very thoughtful.”

We looked at each other in the long violet shadows. It felt good to have a friend.

And so the days went by. They turned into one week, into two weeks. Our wages at the end of each fishing trip were good and steady, and with each payment, I made sure to drop a few stones into my jar. Sometimes at night, I’d lift the jar and shake it next to my ear, listening to the stones banging around. It was reassuring, a reminder that I was
doing
something to get home. Better than waiting for Kolur or anyone else to take care of my problems for me.

One afternoon, I shook out a handful of my saved stones and went into the village to find a wizard. It took a long time, in between my trouble understanding the Tuljan accent and something about the way I was asking, but eventually an old man pointed me to a tent on the outskirts of the village. I couldn’t read the sign jutting out of the frozen earth, but I pulled on the bell and the man who answered wore faded, tattered blue robes beneath his coat.

“Yes?” he said, peering at me suspiciously.

“Are you a wizard?”

“Of a sort.” He stepped out of the tent and studied my face closely. “How’d you get so far north, Empire girl?”

I sighed. “I’m from Kjora. Can you send messages across the islands?”

His eyes narrowed at that. “Across the islands? Why would you want to do such a thing? Surely if you’re
here
, you can travel south on your own.”

His words made my cheeks burn. “No,” I said. “I can’t. Can you send the message or not?”

“Can you pay?”

I held up my stones.

That was all it took. The wizard was worse even than Larus, but at least he could send a messaging spell. I wrote a note to my family. I’d been wanting to do it since I left Kolur, but I didn’t know what to say, if I should tell Mama the whole truth about him or not. I spent a good amount of time with the quill in one hand, staring down at the parchment while the wizard tapped his fingers and sighed impatiently.

Dear Mama and Papa
, I eventually wrote,
I want you to know I’m safe. I’m just out having an adventure, like Ananna of the Nadir. You don’t need to worry
.

I wasn’t sure how true that last part was, but I knew I didn’t want them to worry, even if they did need to.

I stood with my arms wrapped around my chest as he enchanted the parchment and turned it to sparkles of magic that floated on the air.

“How will I know they get it?” I said.

He shrugged. “You won’t. Takes a long time for messages to travel across the islands.”

And that was that. I hoped by the time the wizard received a reply from them, I’d be on my way home.

After that, my time aboard the
Annika
smoothed out, but I never truly felt like I belonged. I took my meals with Asbera and Finnur and hung my hammock up alongside theirs, and that was enough to quiet the whispers and stop the curious looks. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t terrible, and that was good enough for me.

When the ocean wasn’t safe or when Reynir couldn’t find any worthwhile catches, we’d have a day or two off. Asbera showed me around Rilil, pointing out the different shops, the grocer and the magic-dealer, the moneylender and the ship repair. Other days I spent alone, when I needed to be with my thoughts. I walked down to the beach, following the road that had brought me here, and fed scraps to the sea birds. I said a prayer at the circle on the edge of town, listening for the voices of my ancestors.

I never heard anything.

I also never heard anything about Frida and Kolur. Asbera didn’t go in much for rumors, and the rest of the crew wasn’t friendly enough to share what they’d heard. Still, I wondered. If they were still in Tulja, if it had been the right thing, leaving them and coming to work for Baltasar.

One day, we had a short run out to the Brightly Sea. We took only half the crew and were back by lunchtime with a big catch of skrei, and I was grateful that Baltasar had asked me along, since it was easy work for quite a bit of pay.

I walked along the docks, a pouch of nearly fifty stones weighing down my pockets. I was in a good mood and didn’t feel like eating salted fish back on the
Cornflower
. So, even though I knew it was wasteful, I walked down to the Yak’s Horn, an alehouse Finnur had talked about. He said the ale was good and the food was better, and that sounded like a fine idea to me.

The Yak’s Horn was located at the far end of the docks. I made my way along the damp stone path. Things were busier than usual – more boats in the water and more fishermen crowded around them. I paid careful attention to the voices, hoping to hear a southerly accent, someone who could take me back to Kjora.

And I heard one. A familiar one, shouting curses into the air.

I stopped. I was standing in front of a junk that was all carved up in the Jolali style with icons of the sea spirits. It didn’t have sails yet, but the wood was freshly painted, and it was in better shape than most of the boats here. The name across the side read
Penelope II
.

“I told you, boy, I don’t want the twisted, I want braided! Holds together better.” Kolur stomped across the deck.

I almost walked away. I had nothing to say to him, and if he’d had the money to buy that gaudy new boat, he’d had the money to send me home back in Skalir. But before my anger could overtake me, a second figure joined him, not Frida but a young man. The spiky, elaborate icons shielded the young man at first, but as he darted back and forth, I saw his pale skin and pale hair, his graceful way of moving. He looked entirely human now, his ethereal beauty replaced by a bland, forgettable handsomeness. But I still recognized him immediately.

Isolfr.

I stared at him. He stammered out something to Kolur – “Yes, sir, I’ll run to the supply shop now” – and then scurried over to the ladder. I was too bewildered to move. Kolur shouted something toward the bow of the ship, probably at Frida, and then walked out of my line of sight.

And then Isolfr dropped down to the dock, a loop of rope draped over his shoulder. He had his head down.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said.

He jumped, stopped, looked up at me. For a moment, his eyes glimmered like starlight, but then they returned to a normal, flat blue. It was my imagination, I told myself, a trick of the sunlight.

“Well?” I said.

“Please, miss,” he said, “I’m going to the repair shop.”

I scowled at him, not having the patience to deal with his tricks. But then he winked.

“The repair shop,” he said again, and scrambled off.

I sighed. I did not want to get involved with him again. I wanted to eat my lunch and go back to the
Cornflower
and shake my jar of stones and think about home.

But I was also angry, angry that he had foisted upon me the warning about Lord Foxfollow and then disappeared, that he had transformed himself into a blind spot for Kolur and Frida and then wheedled his way aboard this new version of the
Penelope
.

So I followed after him. I figured it was the only way I’d get answers.

I waited for him outside the repair shop, leaning up against the post of a sign I still couldn’t read. The repair shop was all aboveground, and every now and then, the wind would blow the curtain door aside and I’d see him studying the different loops of rope. When he came back outside, he lifted one hand in a wave.

“What in sea and sky is going on?” I said.

“I can explain.” He smiled. “You’re hungry, yes? Would you like to get something to eat?”

“No.” I didn’t like that he knew I was hungry. “I want you to explain what the hell you’re doing.” I leaned close to him, lowering my voice. “You wouldn’t let me tell Kolur who you were, and now you’re
working
for him?”

“Well, you ran off.” Isolfr turned and headed down the path, over to an empty space where the shops ended. He tossed the rope to the ground and gestured for me to join to him. I did, stupid me wanting my answers, and he cast a spell that washed over us both like a sudden wind.

“What was
that
?”

“So no one can hear us.” Isolfr sat down on the rope. “So yes, I’m working for Kolur, but he doesn’t quite
know
that. He thinks I’m a Tuljan boy named Pjetur.”

“You’re insane,” I said. “Why are you doing this to us? To him?” I pointed to the docks, in the direction of the
Penelope II
. “How’d he even afford that ship, anyway? Was it you? Do you have money? Could you have sent me home?”

“He didn’t buy it with money.” Isolfr ran his hands over the rope. “He got the boat in exchange for a spell he and Frida performed – Jandanvari magic, very dangerous.” Isolfr looked up at me. “And the boat wasn’t seaworthy. Still isn’t. That’s why we’re still here, doing repairs.”

“Doing repairs to go on a fool’s errand, is that it? And now you’re helping him? You aren’t even human. Why do you
care
?”

Isolfr drew his knees up to his chest. “I’m helping him because you won’t,” he said quietly.

“Because I
won’t
?” Anger flushed in my cheeks. “I tried! But I had no idea what to do. You just gave me all these warnings and then – then
Gillean
was on deck and he was
dead
–”

“That was Lord Foxfollow,” Isolfr said. “He found out. I had to go into hiding.”

I wanted to hit him. “I’m lucky Kolur turned out to have magic. All you did was tell me what was coming and give me no way to fight it, and then you wouldn’t even let me warn Kolur.”

Isolfr’s cheeks colored, twin spots of pink like on a doll. “I admit that clouding his memory may not have been the best course of action.”

“They why did you do it?” I glowered at him. “Why are you
still
doing it?”

The color on Isolfr’s cheek deepened. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I think I have a right to know.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re the reason I’m stranded here, after all. If you hadn’t gotten involved–”

“You and Kolur and Frida would be dead,” he interrupted. “Lord Foxfollow would have hunted you down.”

“He only found us because we gave Gillean a funeral.” I threw my hands in the air. “And we only had to give Gillean a funeral because his body dropped on our boat. Don’t try and lay the blame on me, Isolfr. Don’t you dare.”

Isolfr shrank back. The magic of his spell shimmered around us, sweet and bright like honeycomb candy. “He would have found you anyway,” he said. “Maybe you would have gotten all the way to Jandanvar first. But he would have killed you eventually.”

There was an intensity in his voice I didn’t expect. It shuddered through me and left me cold. But I wasn’t going to back down.

“I still wouldn’t say that anything you’ve done has helped us.” I peered at him, trying to find some clue in those washed-out human features. “Why are you keeping Frida’s and Kolur’s minds clouded? At least tell me that much.” I paused. “I have a right to know.”

Isolfr looked down at his hands. “You’re right,” he said.

I preened, hearing that. But it wasn’t enough to quell my anger with him.

“Well?” I said.

“I’m getting to it.” He looked up at me. “It’s Frida. She’s terrifying. When she was training in Jandanvar, she called down one of my brothers and she – she
bound
him to leach out his strength for her spell. My sister had to save him. He almost died.”

“Can you even die?” I snapped. But Isolfr’s eyes widened and I felt a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t–”

“Yes, I can die,” he said. “Just not like you.”

“What are you?”

He ignored my question. “Kolur was helping her. If either he or Frida saw me in my true form, they’d know what I am. They’d – recognize me. And I – I didn’t want that.”

“You’re scared of them.” It was a strange thought, and an unsettling one. A month ago, I would have found it laughable that anyone could be scared of Kolur, but now I wasn’t so sure. He’d pretended to be a fisherman when he could have been a wizard. Maybe there was some wicked explanation. I shivered.

Isolfr looked away. The magic around us rippled and flickered. For a moment, I thought it was going to disappear completely.

“I was sent to warn them.” He spoke down into the grass. “To give them aid. But I couldn’t do it.” His shoulders hitched, and I felt a twinge of pity for him that turned to irritation quickly enough.

“Who sent you?”

“My superiors. Their names are cloaked, so there’s no point in me even saying them.” He almost sounded miserable. “I don’t know why they sent me. I told them what Frida and Kolur had done–”

“They wouldn’t have hurt you,” I said. “If you really are trying to help.”

“I am!” He leapt to his feet and grabbed the rope. “And anyway, I’m working with them now, aren’t I?”

“In disguise! You could have just done that from the beginning.”

Once again, I’d said something he didn’t want to hear, so he ignored me.

“This is pointless. I hope Kolur makes you empty their chamber pots.” I stalked away from him and straight into the spell. At first I thought it was going to hold me in place, but the air yielded when I passed through. My ears rang, and my skin prickled. When I turned around, Isolfr was gone. No, not gone, just invisible. The way I’d been a few seconds previous.