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It was the first time Rin had ever been glad she’d developed such a high tolerance for opium.
“I need your word you won’t hurt them,” she said.
Nezha looked offended. “Please. You’re not prisoners.”
“Then what are we?”
“Mercenaries,” he said delicately. “Think of it that way. You’re mercenaries out of a job, and my father has a very generous offer for your consideration.”
“What if we don’t like it?”
“I really think you will.” Nezha motioned for Rin to follow him down the deck, but she remained where she stood.
“Feed my men while we’re gone, then. A hot meal, not leftovers.”
“Rin, come on—”
“Give them baths, too. And then take them to their own quarters. Not the brig. Those are my terms. Also, Ramsa doesn’t like fish.”
“He’s been operating out of the coast and he doesn’t like fish?”
“He’s picky.”
Nezha muttered something to the captain, who adopted a face like he’d been forced to sniff curdled milk.
“Done,” Nezha said. “Now will you come?”
She took a step and stumbled. Nezha extended his arm toward her. She let him help her to the edge of the ship.
“Thanks, Commander,” Ramsa called behind them. “Try not to die.”
The Hesperian warship Seagrim loomed huge over their rowboat, swallowing them completely in its shadow. Rin couldn’t help but stare in awe at its sheer scale. She could have fit half of Tikany on that warship, temple included.
How did a monstrosity like that stay afloat? And how did it move? She couldn’t see any oars. The Seagrim appeared to be just like the Cormorant, a ghost vessel with no visible crew.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a shaman powering that thing,” she said.
“If only. No, that’s a paddle-wheel boat.”
“What’s that?”
He grinned. “Have you heard the legend of the Old Sage of Arlong?”
She rolled her eyes. “Who’s that, your grandfather?”
“Great-grandfather. The legend goes, the old sage was staring at a water wheel watering the fields and thought about reversing the circumstances; if he moved the wheel, then the water must move. Fairly obvious principle, isn’t it? Incredible how long it took for someone to apply it to ships.
“See, the old Imperial ships were idiotically designed. Propelled by sculls from the top deck. Problem with that is if your rowers get shot out, you’re dead in the water. But the paddle-wheel pushers are on the bottom deck. Entirely enclosed by the hull, totally protected from enemy artillery. A bit of an improvement from old models, eh?”
Nezha seemed to enjoy talking about ships. Rin heard a distinct note of pride in his voice as he pointed out the ridges at the bottom of the warship. “You see those? They’re concealing the paddle wheels.”
She couldn’t help but stare at his face while he talked. Up close his scars weren’t so unsettling, but rather oddly compelling. She wondered if it hurt him to talk.
“What is it?” Nezha asked. He touched his cheek. “Ugly, isn’t it? I can put the mask back on, if it’s bothering you.”
“It’s not that,” she said hastily.
“What, then?”
She blinked again. “I just . . . I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “For what?”
She stared at him, searching for evidence of sarcasm, but his expression was open, concerned.
“It’s my fault,” she said.
He stopped rowing. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it was.” She swallowed. “I could have pulled you out. I heard you calling my name. You saw me.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Yes, you do. Stop lying.”
“Rin. Don’t do this.” Nezha stopped rowing to reach out and grasp her hand. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you.”
“You should.”
“I don’t.”
“I could have pulled you out,” she said again. “I wanted to, I was going to, but Altan wouldn’t let me, and—”
“So blame Altan,” Nezha said in a hard voice, and resumed rowing. “The Federation was never going to kill me. The Mugenese like to keep prisoners. Someone figured out I was a warlord’s son, so they kept me for ransom. They thought they might leverage me into a surrender from Dragon Province.”
“How’d you escape?”
“I didn’t. I was in the camp when word got out that Emperor Ryohai was dead. The soldiers who had captured me arranged to trade me back to my father in exchange for a safe exit from the country.”
“Did they get it?” she asked.
He grimaced. “They got an exit.”
When they reached the hull of the warship, Nezha hooked four ropes to the ends of the rowboat and whistled at the sky. Seconds later the boat began to rock as sailors hoisted them up.
The main deck hadn’t been visible from the rowboat, but now Rin saw that soldiers were posted at every corner of the ship. They were Nikara in their features—they must have been from Dragon Province, but Rin noticed they did not wear Militia uniforms.
The Seventh Division soldiers she had met at Khurdalain wore green Militia gear with the insignia of a dragon stitched into their armbands. But these soldiers were decked out in dark blue, with a silver dragon pattern visible over their chests.
“This way.” Nezha led her down the stairs to the second deck and down the passageway until they stopped before a set of wooden doors guarded by a tall, spare man holding a blue-ribboned halberd.
“Captain Eriden.” Nezha stopped and saluted, though according to uniform he should have been the higher rank.
“General.” Captain Eriden looked like a man who’d never smiled in his life. Deep frown lines seemed permanently etched into his gaunt, spare face. He dipped his head to Nezha, then turned to Rin. “Hold out your arms.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Nezha.
“With all due respect, sir, you are not the one sworn to guard your father’s life,” Eriden said. “Hold out your arms.”
Rin obeyed. “You’re not going to find anything.”
Normally she kept daggers in her boots and inner shirt, but she could feel their absence; the Cormorant’s crew must have removed them already.
“Still have to check.” Eriden peered inside her sleeves. “I’m to warn you that if you dare to so much as point a chopstick in the Dragon Warlord’s direction, then you’ll be shot full of crossbow bolts faster than you can breathe.” His hands moved up her shirt. “Do not forget we also have your men as hostages.”
Rin shot Nezha an accusing glare. “You said we weren’t hostages.”
“They aren’t,” Nezha said. He turned to Eriden, eyes hard. “They aren’t. They’re our guests, Captain.”
“Call them whatever you like.” Eriden shrugged. “But try anything funny and they’re dead.”
Rin shifted so that he could feel the small of her back for weapons. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
