After that, she did not know what she would do. Only that she might be at peace.
Elder Vara seemed to know from her face that she could give him no answer. “I will send you away with my blessing, Tané, if you promise me one thing,” he murmured. “That one day, you will forgive yourself. You are in the spring of your life, child, and have much to learn about this world. Do not deny yourself the privilege of living.”
Her jaw trembled.
“Thank you. For everything.” She bowed low. “I am honored to have been the student of the Driftwood Prince.”
He returned the bow. “I am honored to have been your teacher, Tané.” With that, he ushered her toward the doors. “Go, now. Before someone catches you.”
The storm still raged around the island, though the thunder was more distant now. Rain drenched Tané as she swung along the rope bridges and picked her way to the hidden steps.
The village was silent. She crouched behind a fallen tree and watched for any movement. There was a flickering light in one of the old houses. A wind bell chimed outside it.
There were two lookouts. Too busy muttering and smoking to see her. She slipped past the buildings and ran over the stiltgrass, making for the stone-cut stair that would take her to the beach.
The steps flew beneath her boots. When she reached the bottom, she faced the sea.
Rowing boats had been pulled on to the sand. There would be more lookouts on the ship, but she could fight them. If she had to shed blood, so be it. She had already lost her honor, her name, and her dragon. There was nothing left to lose.
Tané turned and looked once more at Feather Island, her place of exile. One more home she had gained and lost. She must be destined to be rootless, like a seed tossed on the wind.
She ran and dived beneath the waves. The storm roiled the sea, but she knew how to survive its wrath.
Her heart was rising from the dead. She had worn armor to survive her exile, so thick she had almost forgotten how to feel. Now she savored the warm embrace of salt water, its tang in her mouth, the sense that she could be swept away if she put a hand or foot wrong.
When she came up for breath, she considered the ship. The sails were stowed. A white flag lashed at the stern, emblazoned with a sword and crown. That was the ensign of Inys, the richest nation in the West. Another great breath, and she was under again, deep beneath the waves.
The hull was close enough to touch. She waited for a swell to lift her and grabbed a rope that trailed down its side.
She knew ships. With the jewel as her crew, she could tame this wooden beast.
There was no one on the beach. Elder Vara had not betrayed her to the elders. In the morning, there would be no trace of the ghost she had become.
It was the wind chimes that kept Loth awake. They had not ceased to ring all night. On top of that, he was cold and salt-encrusted, surrounded by the smell and snores of unwashed pirates. Harlowe had told them all to get some sleep before they sought sweet water.
The captain himself had kept a vigil by the hearth. Loth watched the flames dance over his face. They brought out the white tattoo that snaked around his forearm and glinted on the locket he was studying.
Loth sat up and pulled on his shirt. Harlowe glanced at him, but said nothing as he left.
It was still raining outside. Melaugo, who was on watch, looked him up and down.
“Midnight stroll?”
“I’m afraid sleep eludes me.” Loth buttoned his shirt. “I won’t be long.”
“Have you told your shadows?”
“I have not. And I would be grateful if you would leave them to rest.”
“Well, they must be very tired in all that mail. Surprised they haven’t rusted. I doubt these scholars are going to waylay you,” Melaugo said, “but keep your eyes open. And take this.” She tossed him her whistle. “We don’t know their real feelings toward us.”
Loth nodded. He coaxed his sore feet back into his boots.
He walked beneath the canopy of trees, following the few lanterns that still flickered, and took the stair to the beach again. His steps had never been so heavy. When he finally reached the bottom, he found a natural shelter and planted himself on the sand, wishing he had remembered his cloak.
If the storms continued, they might be marooned on this Saint-forsaken island for weeks, and time was running out. He could not fail Sabran now. Lightning splintered the darkness yet again as he pictured the fall of Inys—the certain outcome of his failure.
That was when he saw the woman.