Page 48 of Heir

Sufiyan and Arelia ignored her, the latter scanning the shore. “We won’t make it to land,” she said.

“You should jump.” Sufiyan’s voice was flat. “You and Quil. I’ll stay here, distract them—”

Arelia frowned. “That serves no purpose. The odds are that—”

Quil clenched his fists as Arelia and Sufiyan argued. They couldn’t run. They couldn’t hide. They couldn’t even fight, because the Kegari would rain down fire and death.

“Martial.” The tracker spoke, low enough that only Quil could hear her. She squirmed, panic creeping onto her features. “I’d say we have seven minutes before they start circling. Another three before they drop one of those infernal bombs on us. Let me go—I swear, I’ll get us out of it. You can trust me. I’ll prove it.”

Quil approached her warily.

“Lift up my shirt. I want you to see something,” she said, and at Quil’s scandalized expression, she sighed. “Not that. Lift it!”

He did as she asked, her skin warm against his fingertips. She had an injury above her hip that had bled through a binding. He winced at the sight.

“I’ll deal with it later.” She flicked her gaze down to a pouch strapped at the flare of her waist. “Untie it,” she said. “Quickly.”

At the surprising heft of the pouch,the prince realized what was inside.

“Bleeding hells,” he said. “How much—”

“That’s the ten percent Elias paid me to take on this mission.” She spoke with an intensity that startled Quil. He wasn’t used to it. Probably because so few people were willing to meet his gaze for an entire sentence.

“You don’t know me. I understand that,” she said. “But consider: Sufiyan’s father and the hero of the bleeding Empire trusted me enough to hire me for a job. To pay me for it.”

If Quil reached out to touch her, if he let his magic out of its cage, he’d see her memories. He’d know in an instant if she was telling the truth.

Yes, his magic whispered.

No, Quil growled back. He had no intention of digging around someone’s mind.

“Your friend was right—I’m tracking a murderer.” Sirsha glanced over Quil’s shoulder at the swiftly approaching Sails. “Elias trusted me because he knew my reputation and because I gave him my word.”

Quil quashed his sadness at how desperate Elias must have been to hire an unproven tracker from skies-knew-where to hunt down the fiend who killed his son.

“Trust me, like Elias trusted me,” the girl said. “Cut me loose. Please.”

Never depend on anyone else to keep you safe, nephew. You keep them safe instead.

Sometimes, that meant fighting, defending. But right now, instinct told him to trust this tracker. Quil cut her bonds, two swift slices of his dagger.

Sufiyan glanced over. “What are you doing?”

“She has a plan,” Quil said. “Which is more than I can say for us.” He turned back to her. “Perhaps you should tell us your name.”

“Sirsha Westering,” she said, and he might have imagined it, but as their eyes met, he felt a shift in his skin, a flash of something in her face that wasn’t disdain. “Tracker and ship’s malcontent. The pleasure is all yours. You,” she called to Sufiyan. “Take off your shirt. Arelia, cut the engine. If we look like we’re trying to escape, it will only anger them. Check the servants’ cabin for something nondescript to change into.”

Arelia flew down to the cabins and Sufiyan stripped, eyeing Sirsha with something between curiosity and mistrust.

“Get oars in the water.” She pointed Sufiyan to the rowers’ bench. “Quil”—she regarded the prince—“tear off the sleeves of your tunic,” she said. “And turn around.”

“I don’t trust you enough to turn my back,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows as she dug a bundle of cloth from her pack. “Fine,” she said, and began to pull off her clothing.

Quil spun around, cheeks heating, trying to rid himself of the brief but potent image of her bare skin. A light, metallic ringing sounded, like wind chimes. It was strangely familiar, though he couldn’t place it. The ship slowed, and moments later, Arelia emerged from the engine room wearing the wrinkled blue uniform of a palace maid. When she looked past Quil’s shoulder, her jaw dropped, and despite himself, Quil turned.

Sirsha was no longer the scrappy tracker who’d tried to steal their ship. She was clad now in the unmistakable, heavily embroidered formal robes and gold chain headdress of a Jaduna.

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