Page 110 of Quarter Labyrinth

On the far side of the deck, the quartermaster inspected each item with a critical eye, his fingers brushing over the goods as if he could feel their worth. He adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and nodded to a sailor who had been waiting nervously for approval. “Load it into the forward hold,” he said curtly, and the sailor hurried off, hefting a bundle of silk that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.

Above me, the rigging groaned as sailors scurried up and down the ropes like spiders on a web, adjusting sails and tightening knots. The ship swayed gently with the waves, but the crew moved as if they hardly noticed, their balance steady and sure.

The real excitement came when someone rang a bell three times, and one of the bigger merchant ships moved forward. Ourrowboats were lowered, three women hopped in, and they rowed to meet the bigger ship. Their deck mirrored ours, but was twice as alive.

TheSea Serpentstayed nearby, drifting from ship to ship. But the real leader was here, on this small ship, with this small crew.

This was what my father built. All the towns on the islands around us, and most of the Hundred Islands, depended upon the Silver Wings to deliver goods. These waters, these ships, these deliveries—they all had my father’s hand on them, and being on board made it almost feel like he was here.

I couldn’t help but feel like I robbed my father of his moment of unveiling me, and while that hadn’t gone how I envisioned it in my head, it still matched every expectation I had.

The one in the captain hat kept close while I took it all in, then he said, “Follow me.”

He led me inside the other on-deck cabin and closed the door.

My wonder began anew. I stole glimpses of the room as if they could tell me who my father was—and I liked what I found. The scent of aged wood, salt, and faint spices permeated the air, mingling with the tang of oil from the lanterns swinging gently overhead. Brass fixtures gleamed in the flickering lamplight, from the hinges of cabinets to the trim on the sturdy desk bolted to the floor.

The desk itself was the centerpiece of the cabin, its surface cluttered with maps, charts, and navigational tools. A sextant rested on one corner alongside a magnifying glass and a compass. Ink bottles, some half-empty, and a cluster of quills sat in awooden tray, though ink stains marred the surface of the desk like battle scars from years of use. An open ledger lay at the center, columns filled with neat handwriting recording cargo manifests, debts, and profits. The walls were adorned with relics of past voyages—a curved scimitar mounted on one side, its hilt encrusted with small jewels, and a large, faded map of the known seas pinned above the desk. A spyglass, polished to a golden shine, rested in a rack near the door.

Behind the desk were shelves lined with books. The spines bore titles ranging from maritime law to poetry. I’d always pictured Father as a stern man, but now I painted a new portrait of him—sitting at that desk and reading poetry.

One red spine caught my eye, and I squinted to read it.

Two Iron Knights.

The name sounded familiar. That’s right—Mother mentioned it several times.

“That was Gerald’s favorite novel,” the man beside me said when I brushed a finger down the words. “The main character was named Serenity.”

The question dwelled in the depths of his blue eyes.

“You’re his daughter, aren’t you?”

I lifted my chin. “Yes.”

“You didn’t win the Quarter Labyrinth, did you?”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed, then they sparkled.

“But you claimed us anyway.” He chuckled, and the sound was like rippling water. “Sounds like something the daughter of Gerald would do.”

I exhaled. “Did you know my father well?”

“I was his first mate. I knew everything. Is your mother well?”

“Very. Though we were expecting to see Father by now.”

He let out a hiss of breath before removing his hat. His hair, streaked with threads of gray, caught the dim lantern light as he placed the hat carefully on the polished desk. “For that, we are sorry.”

Sorry wasn’t answers. Sorry didn’t explain why we waited, and he never came.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jorin.”

“Jorin, where is my father?”

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