Page 52 of Heir

He shook his head and glanced up at their escort, jaw hard. “Nothing good.”

Quil disappeared into the crew’s quarters shortly after, no doubt to find Sufiyan and Arelia.

Sirsha smiled. The earth still lived in the wood of the shabka, and her magic always allowed her to hear the earth most clearly. In cities and over long distances, eavesdropping using her skill was difficult, or at least time-consuming. But here on a ship, with no other conversations? Child’s play.

“—are we going to do once we reach Jibaut? Go south? Go back?” Sufiyan asked.

“I don’t know,” Quil said. “I— Let’s see what this says, and we can decide.”

“Give it to me,” Arelia said. “In case it’s been tampered with or poisoned.”

“I’ll open it,” Sufiyan said. “If anyone deserves to get poisoned, it’s me.”

“Sufiyan.” Arelia’s pragmatic voice was surprisingly considerate. “That’s not true.”

“That wasn’t an invitation to converse about my feelings.” Thecrackof a seal breaking. “Lo. I am not dead.”

Silence. A gasp. And then Quil staggered out onto the deck and retched neatly over the side. She thought at first that he had been poisoned. But then she read the contents of the note he’d dropped.

Navium has fallen. Silas at risk. Serra and Antium under attack. Floods in the spring. The Butcher lives, the Orphan roars. Death to the east, the north, and the south. They search for you. Find him. Stay away. Stay alive. —AH

Some of it made sense, but the rest was in code. Sirsha didn’t pay attention to Martial gossip or politics, but Elias Veturius—and his son—were heirs to a powerful Gens. They would have powerful friends. Quil might be the son of a high-ranking military official or ambassador.

Or he might be a spy.

She watched him. Spy seemed likely. It would explain how he’d gotten so good at controlling his emotions.

Though he wasn’t doing so now. He looked oddly vulnerable with his back bowed, his fists hanging over the side of the shabka and the sea winds tousling his black hair. He looked as if he bore a yoke around his shoulders no one else could see.

“Here.” Sirsha offered him a stick of what looked like cinnamon. “Lilangia,” she said. “Helps with nausea.”

He took it, and looked moderately less green after a few moments of chewing. The wind tore at Sirsha’s hair, pulling it free from the knot atop her head. Her gaze fell upon his bracelet—a medallion strung tight on black leather, a gold sun against blue lapis. That and an etched band of silver on his middle finger were the only adornments he wore.

Sirsha sniffed experimentally. Something about the bracelet spoke to her. It had an aura. She glanced up at Quil. It would be easy enough to nick it off him. Kade taught her the basics years ago. She made to touch Quil’s wrist as if offering him comfort—

He snatched his arm away.

“I hope you weren’t thinking of stealing that.” Quil’s tone was more musing than chiding, but Sirsha still felt like a schoolchild who’d been reprimanded. Her face heated in embarrassment.

“I hope you aren’t accusing me of something untoward. Just because your bracelet is precious to you doesn’t mean I give a fig about it.”

She waited for him to stalk off. To find something else to do, as he had whenever she said more than two words to him. Instead, he stared at her. Long enough to make the scowl fade from her face. Long enoughthat she wanted to look away, but found she could not, caught by the sudden storm of feeling in his eyes, which faded almost as swiftly as it had appeared.

He stepped toward her, but there was no anger in his expression. Only curiosity.

“Why do you do that?” He sounded strange—careful. Almost gentle. “Distract. Deflect.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets, vexed at the way he could read her so easily. “Why do you keep your anger so bottled up when it will feel better to let it out?”

“Because I have self-control.”

“Or,” she said, “because you’re so afraid if you feel something, you’ll actually have todosomething. And that if youdosomething, it will be the wrong thing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Effie needs steering.”

“Effie.” He looked confused. “Who—”

“The ship.” Sirsha spoke to him like he was a child.“E-F two.”

“That’s not—” Sadness flashed across his face. “That’s not whatE-Fstands for.”

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