Shiare tried to pull back. “It’s an acceptable variant—”
“You nearly insulted your uncle,” the woman, who had to be Shiare’s mother—she had the same chin and the same nose—tsked. She wrapped her arm around Shiare and bustled her toward shore.
Shiare dug her heels in. “Mother, I didn’t come alone.”
Her mother clasped her hands over her heart. “You’re married!”
“Wait? No, I’m not married. Mother—”
“Engaged?”
“No, Mother, I—”
Her mother pointed at Dax, who was trying unsuccessfully to wipe Ree’s leaves dry with a towel. He was now nearly as wet as the myrtle. “Him?”
Oblivious, Dax offered a towel to Marin, and she thanked him and draped it absently over her shoulders. She was more interested in how this little drama played out than in being dry.
“Not him,” Shiare said. “Daxicend is a friend.”
Her mother looked him up and down, and Dax glanced behind him to see who she was looking at before realizing she was evaluating him. He gave a little bow. “Hello, ma’am. I’ve heard a lot about you, and it’s an honor to meet the mother of one of the most impressive drummers that the Crescent Islands has ever seen.”
“I like him,” Shiare’s mother said. “You should choose him.”
“Mother!”
While they’d been talking, the other musicians had begun to unload their belongings from within the boat. They carried them onto the dock. Shiare, talking quickly before her mother could start again, explained what was happening in Alyssium and why they’d left: they all needed sanctuary for an unknown amount of time.
“Of course, of course,” Shiare’s mother said, “but you know I only want your happiness. What am I going to tell your aunts, returning home with all these friends and not one single lover? Unless they’re all your lovers? No judgment, but that would be delightful!” She greeted each of the musicians with a hug and then gestured to the flock of onlookers who’d gathered to help them carry their belongings to shore.
The mayharp was hauled off the boat, as well as Shiare’s drums. As someone carried Dax’s three-necked lute, he plucked it out of their hands. He looked helplessly over to Marin, and it occurred to Marin that Dax wasn’t as oblivious as he acted—he knew that Shiare’s mother was gleefully plotting his future.
And Marin had an idea.
It wasn’t agoodidea, but she kind of liked it. “Agree to come with me to my island’s End-of-Harvest Festival and tell everyone there we’re engaged, and you can sail with me.”
Dax looked at her. “What?”
Marin felt herself blush, heat rising up from her neck. She regretted saying anything, but it was too late now. She pushed on. “Pretend engagement. It’ll help me deal with family matters.” She waved a hand at Shiare’s mother, implying that the problem was with her parents, which wasn’t true—the problem was everyone else, all the busybodies who’d be clucking their tongues at poor Marin who’d been tricked and heartbroken. And then, of course, there was Iovar, who would certainly be there. Seeing her with a new lover would knock the wind out of his metaphorical sails and make it far easier for her to handle seeing him. “Our festival celebrates the last harvest of the season—the final peach to fall from a tree. It’s a big deal onFlicker, even bigger than winter solstice, and I stupidly promised my parents I’d come this year.”
He started to grin at her.
Gah, she was blushing so hard that she thought her face might burst into flames. “It would be a business arrangement, not a romantic… thing.”
Smothering his grin, he nodded solemnly. “It’s a deal.” Without another word, Dax extracted his bags from the collection that had been unloaded onto the dock.
One of his friends, the sour man with feathers instead of hair, noticed. “Daxicend? What are you doing? You’re not staying?”
He beamed at them. “This is my chance to see the world. Of course I’m going to take it.”
The friend frowned, his usual expression but enhanced. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should stick with us. It’ll be fun—and you can still work on your opus. How are you going to get anything done on that boat?”
Marin wondered if any of them deserved the title “friend.” Had they been looking out for his best interest, or had they been looking out for their own skins, keeping him contained in the conservatory and clueless about the world outside? Wouldn’t a true friend want him to spread his wings? What kind of friend caged their friend? Again, she thought of Iovar.
I’m rescuing Dax. It’s decided.
Shiare slipped out of her mother’s arms and returned to the dock. “What’s going on? Daxicend? What do you mean ‘see the world’? Of course you’re going to stay with us.”
“Yeah,” his feather-haired friend said. “What are you thinking? You’re not a sailor. You’re a composer.” A few of the others gathered, echoing him.
