“Mainsail sheet,” he answered promptly.
She pointed at another line.
“Jib sheet.”
The wind was steady, and she’d be only a few feet away. “You’ll do great.”
Ree steadied himself, and she ducked into the cabin and returned with a crate for him to stand on. On the crate, if he extended his branches, he could reach the helm and the sheets, though not both simultaneously.
She crossed the deck to the bow and sat next to Dax. After taking off her boots, she dangled her feet off the front of the boat. Spray spattered her feet and ankles, dampening the hem of her pants, as they cut through the water. In the distance, she spotted the island of Faysa, which lay east of Caltrey, followed by Charik south of that—they were still well beyond the more populated islands, but at least these had familiar names, which meant they were at last truly on their way back to Alyssium. “What do you love most about the conservatory?”
“All the music,” he said immediately. “You wake, there’s music—the bells that welcome the dawn. You eat breakfast, there’s someone warming up their voice or their instrument. Then it’s classes, either teaching them or taking them. Practice, of course. This time of year, everyone should be preparing for the winter solstice concert… It’s one of the grandest of the year. You should see it! Or more accurately, hear it. Hundreds of voices! Hundreds of instruments! It begins with the oldest music known to us—drumbeats that mimic a heartbeat, and then it journeys through the history of music on the Crescent Islands. It’s a five-day celebration, and on the fifth day, that’s when the new pieces are debuted.”
“Your opus,” Marin said.
“It would have been this solstice.”
It still could be, if the conservatory stood, if Alyssium hadn’t fallen. They’d find out soon. She didn’t say that out loud. Instead, she said, “It sounds wonderful.”
“I used to think it was the best place in the universe,” Dax said. She noticed the past tense and tried not to read anything into it. “Until I was about twelve, I thought everyone felt the same way I did—that we were the lucky ones, to grow up with our gift encouraged, surrounded by music, taught by grandmasters, praised for ourevery success. I liked the clarity: Play well, you’re valued. Don’t play well, don’t work, don’t practice, don’t strive… There was another child prodigy, two years older than me. Keerik. He was an even better musician than me. He could look at an instrument and see how to turn its flaws into beauty. And his voice—it was like Perri’s but from a human throat. He had this incredible range…” Dax sighed, his eyes bright with memory. “When I was younger, I’d be paired with him for duets all the time, and then when I turned twelve, nothing. He’d never pop up on my schedule. Never saw him at practice or in classes.”
“Voice change?” she guessed.
“That’s what the professors said. What everyone said. We were told that he was embarrassed and not to ask him about it. So no one did, except for me, because I couldn’t imagine not singing, even if I sounded terrible. I went to his room one night—I brought him his dinner because he refused to come to the dining hall.”
Behind her, Ree let out a little squeak as the sail shimmied. She deliberately didn’t turn around. A few seconds later, the sail filled with air again. “What did he say? Keerik.”
“He laughed, and then he said there was nothing wrong with his voice. He just didn’t want to sing anymore. He’d had enough music. He wasn’t going to sing or play or practice or perform. He was done.” Absently, Dax strummed on the tri-lute, and then his fingers plucked out an errant melody, one that matched the lap of the waves on the hull as they sailed along. “I didn’t believe him, mainly because I couldn’t understand. How can you be done with something as fundamental as music? Obviously something was wrong. I begged him to tell me what. Truth is: I was terrified it would happen to me, that I’d suddenly lose everything that made me special, that made the professors fawn over me, that allowed me to call the conservatory home. But he proved it. He sang for me, just for me. One last song, he said. And his voicehadchanged, and it was even more extraordinary than it was before, with a depth to his register that was as deep as the sea.” He fell silent, looking out over the water.
“What happened to him?” Marin asked. She could imagine a slew of horrible things.
“That night, after he sang for me, he left the conservatory,” Dax said. “I didn’t know it was possible to leave, to want to leave, and it made me start to think about what was out there.”
“A lot of water,” Marin said.
He grinned. “Yes, a lot of water. But so much else too. I like to think that he found a place that made him want to sing again. A place—or a person—who showed him joy.” Dipping his head down, he played with another melody on the tri-lute. Out in the waves, Perri added harmony.
“How do you do it?” she asked Dax.
He didn’t look up. “Do what?”
“Keep your heart from breaking when you care too much.”
Now he looked at her. “I don’t.”
Ree shouted, “I see it! Alyssium! Yay! Ooh, Marin, I think we need to tack. We’re not, you know, heading toward the city, and I don’t know what to do.”
She returned to the helm, and together, with Marin coaching Ree, they tacked. It required several more tacks to aim for Alyssium, and she had Ree assist her with each one.
Ahead, the city looked fine.
Better than fine. It was sparkling so enthusiastically that it had to be magically enhanced. The spires looked as if they’d been drenched in jewels, and the north gate was gleaming like a torch, even though it was broad daylight. Clearly, the new government wanted to send a message that all was well. Whether it was or not… at least it was shiny.
“It’s not exactly subtle,” Dax said.
Marin agreed. “At least it’s an improvement over the flames.”
Ree said, “Maybe the Great Library will be okay, and we’ll find Rijes Velk, and we can all go back to Belde and celebrate the Winter Feast!”
