Bitterblue was cutting herself a second piece of sweet vinegar pie when a letter fell out of her pocket.
Skye reached down and grabbed it. “This is Saf’s handwriting!”
“Oh, yes,” said Bitterblue. “I forgot I had that.”
“Did you read it yet?”
“No.”
“Why is he writing to you?”
“How can I know that if I haven’t read it yet?”
“Well, when are you going to read it?”
“I’ll read it now,” said Bitterblue, giving Skye a look, “if it’ll make you stop behaving like a fretful puppy.” She used her knife to break the seal, then pulled out a single sheet of paper written in the most illegible scrawl Giddon had ever seen. No one wrote as badly as Saf, who was Bitterblue’s . . . friend? Giddon wasn’t sure of Saf’s status at the moment, beyond that he and Bitterblue had been lovers once and that he was a reckless, purple-eyed ass who’d decided a few months back, for no good reason, to take work on a ship sailing to Winterkeep. Presumably, that was where he was writing from now. Saf and Skye were great friends, and had spent the last few years sailing together on Pikkian mapmaking missions in the northern Winter Sea. Giddon supposed Skye must miss him.
“Well?” said Skye.
“Give me a minute. It’s ciphered,” said Bitterblue, whose eyes were racing back and forth across the page. Bitterblue had a mind for ciphers; she was the only person Giddon knew who could decipher a letter quickly in her head. And the key she was using to decipher Saf’s letter was certainly “Sparks,” Saf’s nickname for Bitterblue back when they’d loved each other. So maybe they still loved each other. Which was fine.
“He’s in Ledra,” said Bitterblue, naming the capital of Winterkeep. “He’s basing himself there for a bit, while he decides what to do. The first paragraph is about zilfium. Isn’t that a funny coincidence, Giddon?”
“What’s zilfium?” said Skye.
“Fuel,” said Hava in a bored voice from the sofa, where she was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, pretending not to listen.
“He says the Keepish Parliament is going to vote about whether to legalize zilfium use in Winterkeep, and they want to know where the Royal Continent stands.”
“The Royal Continent” was the Torlans’ name for Giddon’s continent; they’d thought it was quaint that most of the nations upon it were monarchies. It was a name that had always had an air of condescension to it, in Giddon’s opinion, much like the official name for Giddon’s language, Gracelingian, which had also been assigned by outsiders. But that hardly mattered now. What mattered was that as Bitterblue began deciphering the letter’s second paragraph, her eyes widened.
“Giddon!” she said. “He says he’s made friends with Katu, and Katu thinks there’s something suspicious about the ship that went down with my men!”
“Suspicious!” said Giddon, sitting straighter. “On what evidence?”
“Saf doesn’t know,” said Bitterblue. “And—wait—he says Katu has disappeared!”
“Disappeared!” said Giddon. “What does that mean?”
“Everyone in Ledra says Katu’s gone traveling,” Bitterblue said, her eyes still flying back and forth across the page. “That he’s taken his boat north. But Saf had a date with Katu to go sailing, and Katu never canceled the date or said goodbye. Katu had been searching for Mikka and Brek’s sunken ship, the Seashell. They were going to go out together. Katu was going to show Saf where he was searching for it, since Saf’s such a strong diver too. But now Katu’s gone, and Saf has a funny feeling. He says he’s going to look into it.”
“What!” cried Skye, reaching for the letter. “Look into it how?”
“He doesn’t say,” said Bitterblue, handing him the letter, which was pointless, since it was ciphered. “But he says he wrote to you separately, Skye.”
Skye studied the letter with an expression of rising aggravation. “Then where’s my letter?”
“Giddon?” said Bitterblue. “What do you think? Does any of this make sense? Saf might be the type to look for trouble where it doesn’t exist—but is Katu?”
Something about Bitterblue when she focused on him always made him want to rise above his lower instincts, for fear of hurting her, or disappointing her. He could never tell if it was the pucker of worry she let him see between her brows, or the appeal in her eyes, or the way her voice changed, as if she was ready to believe whatever he said. He wanted to be worthy of the trust she’d bestowed—arbitrarily, it seemed—upon him.
So he thought carefully about the disappearance of one of Bitterblue’s lovers, reported by another of Bitterblue’s lovers.
“I don’t think Katu makes things up or drops appointments,” he said. “And I don’t think Saf would repeat Katu’s suspicions if he didn’t trust Katu.”
“That’s what I think too,” said Bitterblue.
“If there’s something suspicious about that ship going down,” said Giddon, “then I’m more curious than ever about what Mikka wanted to tell you about zilfium.”
“Yes,” said Bitterblue. “And I’m worried about Katu. He hasn’t written in forever.”
“Balls to Katu,” said Skye contemptuously. “What about Saf? What does he mean, he’s looking into it?”
“Skye,” said Bitterblue gently. Reaching out, she touched her cousin’s dark hair, touched his worried face. The Lienid wore gold in their ears and on their fingers. Skye was a handsome man, glowing with gold, his eyes gray and his skin sun-brown. Bitterblue, who was half-Lienid, shared his coloring and wore Lienid rings. The two of them gleamed together.
“There’s no cause for you to fret,” Bitterblue told him. “You know how Saf is.”
“That’s exactly why I’m fretting!” said Skye. “What’s he doing? Diving into the Brumal Sea in random locations, drowning himself?”
“I think Saf is undrownable,” said Bitterblue, returning to her pie.
“And where’s my letter?” said Skye. “And why is he endangering himself searching for one of your boyfriends?”
“Skye,” said Bitterblue, whose fork was now frozen in the air between her plate and her mouth. “What’s this about?”
“He promised me,” said Skye, suddenly standing, so fast that his chair tipped over. “He swore to me that if he went to Winterkeep without me, he wouldn’t do anything dangerous!”