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“If you need the cabin—” he began.
Sorasa cut him off with a whipcrack glare, her face pulled with disgust.
“I have little desire to share a sickbed with you,” she snapped.
Instead, she put a bucket at the door in a rare display of kindness, along with a tiny sachet of powder. The latter, he assumed, would kill a mortal man. Elder though he was, Dom carefully avoided it.
Dom knew better than to press. Even exiled, Sorasa was a bloodedAmhara. She had little to fear sleeping on a ship filled with pirates who could barely look her in the eye. Let alone make trouble.
By now, he knew her manner well enough to understand when she meant to attack. Or simply deflect. As she stared back at Corranport, the harbor destroyed with a half-burned city slouching over it, he guessed it was the latter. She studied the coastline, her gaze flicking between smoke and sea. Her thoughts remained a mystery, shrouded behind the mask she wore so well.
His own churned in his mind, sickening as the waves beneath them.
“Every mile forward could be another mile closer to Corayne. Or not,” he said, voice full of meaning.
The prospect weighed heavy in his mind, filling his waking thoughts.If we don’t know where she is, we don’t know where we’re going. Or how best to help her.
Sorasa remained silent, but she did not argue, setting her mouth in a grim line. From the Amhara, that was agreement enough.
She looked better than she had in weeks. Lighter somehow. It was an unseasonably mild day outside and she wore only a light shirt and breeches, her short hair gathered at the nape of her neck. Her tattoos were on full display, oil-black against bronze skin. She had no cause to hide her identity here. The crew of theTempestbornknew her measure. As always, she wore her belt of tricks—poison, powders, and a new dagger.
The little window looked out on the bobbing sea, pitching up and down. One glance sent Dom hurtling for the bed, to lie flat and hopefully weather the worst of his sickness.
Sorasa chuckled to herself, still amused by his inability to stomach the sea.
She crossed the narrow cabin, bending to peer out the thick glass.
“Three more today,” she said idly, counting the number of ships following alongside theTempestborn. “That makes ten in the last week.”
Dom watched her through slitted eyes, trying to read her expression. “More pirates?”
She gave a hum of agreement. “And Tyri ships. I can see the flags. Meliz has been busy these last few months, burning ports and building alliances.”
Then her copper eyes glittered.
“It seems they are united in their hatred of Queen Erida.”
Dom knew little of the mortal kingdoms, but even he understood what a feat that was. The Tyri princes and the pirates had a long history of mutual disdain.
“We all have that in common these days,” he muttered. “Hopefully that hatred is enough to raise the realm to war and stand against Erida before Taristan makes her too strong to fight.”
“Hopefully.” Sorasa cursed, shaking her head.
On the bed, Dom let himself be rocked by the ship, trying to lean into the sensation even as it shook his body. He stared at the low ceiling above him, studying the whorls in the planks of wood, each one of them familiar by now.
“We will be in Orisi soon enough and gather more news there. When Erida marches to war, we need only follow,” he muttered, repeating the plan like a prayer.
“Well, not follow. Hopefully,” Sorasa added, wincing. “I hate that word.”
Dom looked down on her, watching her mouth curve with distaste.
“Follow?” he offered.
Her frown deepened.
“Hope.”
After another week of maritime torture, Dom glimpsed the island city of Orisi. Most of him wanted to leap from the deck and swim the last mile into the harbor, leaving theTempestbornbehind. Only a stern look from Sorasa kept him standing.
