“Real sorry about this,” Zinc said. “But I did warn you. Gave you a chance to leave. Don’t say I didn’t.” He grabbed a fistful of Tahki’s hair and yanked him up. Tahki tried to free himself, but Zinc thrust him to the ground, hunched over him, and brought his fist barreling into his throat.
Tahki couldn’t swallow any air. He wanted to cry. To scream. To beg someone for help, but his throat burned and constricted and nothing came out. He grasped the black curtain and pulled himself up. Zinc waited patiently, until Tahki finally gulped in ragged, panicky gasps of air. When he could breathe again, he called as loud as he could for help.
Zinc smiled. “That won’t work, kid.” He lifted Tahki by his shirt and threw him across the room onto a table. Then with slow deliberation, he walked to the table and picked up a saw. “What do you think?” Zinc said. He flicked the blade. “A broken jaw, or maybe a few ribs. Or maybe I cut off that left wrist of yours. You seem so fond of it. ’Course, I could just throw you back out there, let my people do what they want with you. Enria, she’s got a taste for young dark-skinned boys.”
Tahki heard Zinc’s boots click forward. His saliva tasted heavy, and his nose filled with the scent of sweat and blood. The room spun as his hand flailed around for something, anything, that might deflect Zinc. His fingers touched something hard and smooth: a hammer. It didn’t have much weight to it, but the end came to a sharp tip. Zinc closed in and grabbed Tahki’s shoulder. Before the man could attack again, Tahki heaved the hammer with all his force. He wanted to hit Zinc’s face, but his aim was low, and the hammer stuck into Zinc’s shoulder instead.
Zinc let out a surprised yelp and stumbled back. “Fucking little shit!”
Tahki kicked him in the stomach. Zinc tumbled back into a pile of crates, and Tahki ran through the curtain. He sprinted beyond the tables, past the men and women at the counter. He ran out the door, down the dark tunnel. His legs cried, and his head felt like a dull weight on his shoulders. It was only after he made it outside, down the cobblestone road, fetched his gingoat—or someone’s gingoat, they all looked alike—and was galloping down the dirt road toward the castle, that he started to cry.
Chapter 9
THE HUMILIATION burned worse than his jaw. He felt like a fool. A failure. A child. Nothing had gone right since coming here. He wiped his face with his coat sleeve. He’d cried for a while, replayed the incident that had occurred, tried to figure out where it had all gone wrong. He had no idea how to explain himself to Dyraien. He remembered the conversation he’d had with his father before he’d run away, when he’d claimed to be an adult and his father had said he’d seen no proof of that. Going to Zinc’s alone hadn’t been an adult decision. It had been a childish one.
He needed help.
His first impulse was to find Gale, but she’d already risked so much for him. If she found out he’d lost all Dyraien’s money and the order details, she’d do more than hit him over the head with a dead fish.
He arrived back at the castle around midday, untacked his gingoat—who he was pretty sure was male and not the female he’d ridden over—and put it in the stables. When he entered the castle, he touched his face and winced. Blood crusted the edge of his mouth, and the scabs tore painfully when he moved his jaw. He wanted to go to his room to clean it off, but he heard a scraping noise coming from his left. He followed the noise; wood sanding, it sounded like. The sound led him to one of the larger rooms. When he stepped inside, wood dust filled his nose.
Rye worked with his back to him, sanding what appeared to be the underside of a boat. Schematics of boat designs were scattered across the floor. Tahki recognized a few models. They had been displayed in one of the rooms at the fair. He didn’t know a lot about boats, but these designs, with their narrow hulls, looked fast.
For a moment, all he wanted to do was watch Rye work. He looked so content.
A flake of wood dust caught in Tahki’s throat and he coughed.
Rye glanced up. “Where have you—” He did a double take and dropped his sanding block. “What in the hells happened to you?” Rye was beside him. He looked Tahki up and down, his mouth parted slightly, brow furrowed.
Tahki swallowed the knot in his throat. He felt his legs go weak right above the knee, but he refused to collapse. He wouldn’t give Zinc the satisfaction.
“I did something wrong,” Tahki whispered.
Rye rubbed his mouth and looked around. “Let’s stop the bleeding, and then you can tell me.” He led him to a room at the left of the staircase. Dyraien hadn’t shown Tahki this place before. The room tucked beneath the staircase and the second floor, giving the area a spacious feel on one end and a cozy feel on the other where the ceiling slanted. The walls were lined with bookcases and brass nautical instruments. Maps of the Calaridian Sea hung on the walls. Dust floated across a pale ray of light let in through an east-facing window.
Tahki felt his body gently pushed onto a wide bed. The sheets had been tucked with precision. Likewise, the entire room looked neat and orderly, aside from the dust. He filled his mouth with air tasting of linseed oil, brass polish, and coffee.
He was in Rye’s room.
Rye opened a cabinet and took out what looked
