Page 75 of Dark Water Daughter

Grant doffed his hat and grinned in a way I instinctively distrusted. “We will be there.”

MORGORY—A small, predatory creature related to a huden, possessed of multiple long fins, a feathered ruff and an equine aspect. Morgories are almost always found to be in ravenous schools and have been known to devour entire ships. First documented in 1624 by their namesake, Captain K. P. Morgory, whose bones were never recovered.

—FROMTHE WORDBOOK ALPHABETICA: A NEW

WORDBOOK OF THE AEADINES

TWENTY-SIX

The Drowned Prince

MARY

Afew hours later, another door opened with a wash of rumbling, clinking, perfume-and-cigar-scented lanternlight. Charles strode ahead of me into The Drowned Prince, pulling his gloves off and surveying the establishment through glistening, elated eyes.

“Ah, there’s our fellow,” he murmured in my ear. His gaze fastened on Mallan, at his ease across the room in a dark blue, fur-linedkaftan—legsopen, fingers laced around a cup as he laughed at some joke.

Here, he wasn’t Phira’s servant. Here, he was someone of note.

I fiddled with the clasp of mycloak—Rosser’scloak—inthe sudden heat. I loathed to take it off, particularly because Grant had insisted I wear no shawl or neckerchief tonight, dressing down the gown I’d worn to visit Phira. It wasn’t that I felt exposed, but I felt false, out of my element in a world where Grant thrived. A world where tattoos crept across the throats and hands of dice-tossing patrons, where carefully displayed brands on the back of necks marked various Usti gangs, and the only punishablecrime—accordingtoGrant—waslawfulness.

As Demery had said when we told him of Mallan’s proposal, “We may find our most liberal investors under the table, as itwere—thoughif that is literal, do make sure they’ve enough wit to sign in a legible hand.”

Demery himself was now gone, off to track down the promised Sooth and Voyager somewhere out of the city. Until the Frolick in one week, Athe was in command ofHarpy, and Grant and I in charge of finding investors.

But when I’d volunteered for this mission, I hadn’t imagined we’d start at the bottom of the barrel. My expression was cool as I surveyed the company, but inside I ached for the touch of the cold wind, the rustle of leaves and scent of woodland air.

I strode after Grant, removing my cloak with a sweep and keeping my chin high. Glances from nearby tables darted overme—myface, my high-pinned hair, the curve of my breasts and the knife at my belt.

Mallan sighted us and stood, dropping into a small bow and gesturing for the company at his table to make room. Two more chairs were produced as Mallan and Grant grasped one another’s wrists in the Usti style and exchanged pleasantries.

I sat, casting a brief nod around the table. There were five men and three women present. All were well-dressed in a variety of kaftans and fine coats and bodices, but no matter how beautiful their clothing was, they were all distinctly underworldly. One woman wore lip paint as red as blood and rings on every finger. Another wore earrings all the way up the brim of one delicate ear, revealed by her finely braided crown of black hair. The old man across from her was moon-pale, with a ring of scars around his shaved scalp.

“Morgory bite.” The man bowed his head towards me, showing me the top. His manner was genuine, with a smile that dared me to smile back. He spoke in Aeadine and looked Aeadine, but he had an accent I suspected was Capesh.

I’d never met anyone from Cape before, only heard their accentsimitated—lowand rolling and stately. My stomach fluttered with anxiety, but no one else here seemed concerned.

“You can touch the scars,” the man said, “if you like.”

Despite my better judgement, I reached out and touched a long mark with two fingers. It was impossibly smooth and somehow seemed tohum—someof the morgory’s energy lingering in the healed flesh.

“I’m Farro,” the scarred man said, sitting back and offering me his hand. It was warm and rough, enclosing mine with gentle pressure. “And you’re?”

“Mary Firth,” I replied.

“Daughter of Anne Firth, Fleetbreaker, and a Stormsinger in her grand line,” Grant chimed in, leaning on the table. A serving boy set a goblet before him and he picked it up, giving it an absent sniff. “And we, my friends, are here to gamble.”

The woman with red lips smiled at him, a sultry thing that immediately earned Grant’s reciprocal gaze.

“Well, then, let’s begin.” The woman’s Aeadine carried the same accent as Farro’s. She was Capesh too. “A round of aatz?”

“I will sit out for now,” I jumped in. “I know my cards, but not that one.”

In truth, I did not want to be tied into the game. I wanted my attention and wits free to observe our surroundings, and Grant.

Red Lips nodded and Farro shifted his chair closer to mine with a soft scrape.

“Then sit near me, Stormsinger,” he said, “and I’ll teach you how to play.”

---