Page 121 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

“Deepwalker,” an older woman echoes, her blue-tinted hair flopping over as she inclines her head.

I blink. What in the Rot am I supposed to say?

Fortunately, Meroe sees me. She says something to the Scholar, then hurries over, taking my arm in hers and helping me away from the crowd. Behind us, the chaos of shuffling paper and shouted orders goes on.

“Isoka!” Meroe says. “How do you feel?”

“In quite a lot of pain, to be honest.” I put one hand to where the bandages bulk under my robe. “But I can walk without bleeding, at least. What’s going on?”

“Well, you talked the Council into trying for the Garden.” Meroe waves her hand vaguely. “We’ve just been working out the details.”

“It looks like you’re tearing the town apart.”

“There were some fights over that at first. Karakoa threatened to cut one of the scavengers in half if he didn’t get out of the way, and that clarified things.” Meroe looks at the piles. “My biggest concern is water. Everyone’s going to have to carry some. At least food shouldn’t be an issue. There’s going to be plenty of crab.”

I half-smile, thinking this is a joke, then decide it isn’t. “They’re still coming?”

She nods. “Zarun and Karakoa are out at the defenses now. We’ve had to pull people off the walls to give them some rest, so we’re stretched pretty thin.”

I shake my head. “Is all of this part of a princess’ training, too?”

Meroe looks surprised. “Of course. A princess of Nimar must be prepared to lead an army in the field, if necessary.” She looks a little embarrassed. “I admit it’s mostly reading and theory on my part. But while I was talking to the Council, it turns out I’m the only one who’s read Anjustius or Gero’s Campaigns, so the others agreed that I should … organize things.”

They agreed, just like that. I find myself grinning at Meroe. “You’re…”

“What?” She looks at me, then down at the deck. “I’m sorry I couldn’t consult you, but there wasn’t time—”

“Please.” I grip her hand. “It’s fine. What in the Rot do I know about putting together an … an army? You’re better off without me.”

“We’re not, believe me.” Meroe squeezes my hand back. “In fact, now that you’re awake, do you feel up to a short walk?”

“Where to?”

“Crossroads. That’s where people are resting. I think it would be good for morale if they could see you.”

“Good for morale? Why?”

“You’re the Deepwalker, Isoka.” Meroe lowers her voice. “Most of these people have never left the Stern. Even the hunting packs and scavengers don’t go into the Deeps, or beyond the Center. You’re living proof that it can be done. And you went against the Council because you knew this was coming, and fought the Butcher to convince them—”

“That’s not true! I didn’t know anything, except what the Scholar had already told them. And I fought the Butcher—”

“I know that,” Meroe says quietly. “So does the Council. But the rumors have gotten … overheated. At this point, it’s probably best to just let them believe what they need to.”

Rot. Bad enough that I had to get perforated fighting that monster. Now they’re trying to make me into some kind of saint for it? I shake my head.

“This isn’t going to work, Meroe. I’m not … what they want me to be. You know. I’m a girl who likes to hurt people, and I’m pretty good at it. That’s all. Not a … a leader, or a savior.”

Meroe leans closer, putting her head beside mine, her lips to my ear. My skin pebbles to goose bumps at her touch.

“How do you think I feel?” she says. I can hear the panic in her voice, deeply buried but still there, like lava bubbling underground. “Because I read a few books, they’re treating me like some great general! I am making this up as I go along, and every second I expect someone to stand up and say, ‘Hey, Meroe, you don’t have any rotting idea what you’re doing, do you?’ And then I realize that the reason no one does is because none of them know any better, and I can’t decide which is more terrifying. They ask me to decide things and I do the best I can and people are dying on the walls.”

I slip my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. I can feel her shaking.

“I’m not what they think, either,” Meroe says, pressed against my chest. “I’m a ghulwitch. If they knew that, they’d have torn me apart by now. But I’m going to keep faking it because I haven’t got any choice, and I need your help.” She looks up, her face close to mine, and my breath catches in my throat. “Please?”

“Of course.” I put on a shaky smile. “We’ll fool them all together; don’t worry.”

Crossroads had also been cleared, its tables and chairs pushed to the edges to leave a broad space. Sleeping pallets and blankets occupy about half of it, covered with exhausted-looking pack members, still in their armor with weapons nearby. The other half is a hospital, with the casualties laid out in neat rows, while Sister Cadua and her people move from one to the next and kneel beside them. Most of the injuries are relatively minor. A few who are worse off groan in pain, or lie ominously still.