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
