She looked up, and Davri gave a single, conspiratorial nod.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded, dreading his answer.
To protect you, Davri signed. At least you have time now.
“Time,” she said. The concept felt particularly cruel. Time to sit and grieve. Time to wonder what she’d tell her father in her next letter. “Why?”
To leave, he signed. He looked close to tears. So we can find Kesia.
He paused, his eyes wide and pleading.
“Find Kesia,” she echoed. “You want to . . . chase after her.”
I want to go after her, he signed. I think we can save her.
Anger filled her stomach like bile; she felt sick with it. He wanted to save her. Was he hoping to be some kind of hero? Miren had been protecting Kesia for years, and yet this—this boy thought he somehow had an equal stake in her loss. As though his pain was anything close to Miren’s.
I am a baron’s son. Davri signed hastily, sensing her fury. I can say she is exempted from the draft.
Exempted from the draft, like he was.
The heat of her anger dissipated. “How can you do that?”
He reached into his trouser pocket and produced a ring. It was the baron’s crest, a collection of five circles arranged to look like a rose, used to seal his letters in wax. Davri must have stolen it.
He truly intended to go.
Miren’s pulse spiked. “Do you have a plan?”
Davri nodded. I know the duke of the province just north of here. He will likely have connections to find out exactly where she was taken. We may need to cut a deal, but it’s our best option.
“And you can just . . . ask him?”
He nodded once, his brow furrowed.
He believed it was possible. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.
There were holes, glaring uncertainties, a litany of ways this could go wrong. She didn’t know how Kaleon nobility operated, the rules or expectations—they might be set to fail before they began. She had never left Crescent Bay. She had very little money. She might be reduced to begging at some point. She might be arrested for breaking a law she didn’t even know. And the only person who was willing to help her was a soft, entitled baron’s son.
But how could she stay, knowing that in some way, there was a sliver of possibility that she might see her sister again?
Kesia Kesia Kesia.
Protect your sister.
“I’ll need time to pack,” she said.
* * *
A day of mourning had left her exhausted, but now everything was in sharp, pristine focus. She flitted around the cabin in search of supplies while Davri stood at the door, shifting his weight uncomfortably and asking if he could help.
“No, I just need a minute.”
The truth was that she didn’t want him here, in her house. He was here because Kesia was not.
Miren hated him. But he was the only chance she had.
Can I save you? Miren thought. Can I bring you home?
Once she had her largest pack full of essentials—bread, jerky, candles, spark rocks, a change of clothes, money, rope, a topped-off canteen—she reached for her father’s revolver, still in the desk drawer. She located bullets and powder and the leather holster that went with it and suddenly found herself thinking of her father supporting her from behind as she practiced her aim, holding her arm, Kesia jumping impatiently for her turn—
Kesia Kesia Kesia.
She looked around the small cabin, trying to consider what else she should bring without letting the barrage of memories overtake her. Her eyes landed on her mother’s favorite book of recipes. She let her hand drift over the well-worn leather cover and heard the rustle of her father’s last letter underneath, right where she had left it.
What would he say? What would Mother say?
Father might still be alive, but Miren’s hope that Mother lived felt stale and poorly kept. Neither would be coming home soon, if ever.
Their crops would die. Their chickens might starve or be eaten by wolves. The lighthouse would never be lit.
“I have to visit someone,” she said to Davri. “I’ll meet you down at the beach.”
* * *
It must’ve been past midnight, the sky thick and dark. Not a single home flickered with light, not even the manor at the top of the northern hill.
She headed to the blacksmith’s house and found the bedside window in back. She tapped out the rhythm of an old fishing song her father sometimes hummed, one of her favorites.
Welcome brother, welcome home.
We’ve missed you these years three.
Welcome brother. Tell us of your
Love across the sea.
The window opened, and she saw Haro blinking sleep from his eyes, the tufts of hair on his head sweeping in all directions. “Miren, what are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I need you to do me a favor. Can you water Kesia’s garden? Just once in a while, to keep the plants alive. You can have the fruit, and the carrots have been good lately. Also the chickens, just feed them once a day. Or you can take them—”
“Miren,” he repeated slowly, “what are you doing?”
She swallowed. To say it aloud would sound ridiculous.
“I’m going after Kesia.”
“Skies and mountains, girl, that’s a stupid thing to do! Are you going to leave your mother childless in one day?”
“Don’t do that, Haro, I swear—” She took a shuddering breath. “Don’t make this harder than it is.”
“You idiot girl, how are you expecting to get her back?” he demanded, and Miren found a strange comfort in his anger. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is? What are you planning to do?”
“You’ll know by tomorrow.” She didn’t think she should mention Davri’s involvement. “I shouldn’t have woken you, but I didn’t know who else—what to do.”
Miren couldn’t see Haro’s features in the dim light. She thought of what Davri had told her: I understand why you lied.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured again. “About keeping Kesia’s Singing a secret. I didn’t—I never thought—”
“Don’t apologize, Miren,” he said, and she thought he suddenly sounded much older. “If I were given the chance, I would’ve done the exact same thing. Anything to keep my boy alive.”
Miren’s eyes stung, aching for Jonath. She nodded.
“Perhaps if I were younger,” he continued, “I’d be doing the same thing you are.”
She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his bristly cheek. “Take care, Haro.”
She hurried down the road, quietly humming her father’s old song, its lilting melody plucking at the silence.
Welcome brother. Tell us of your Love across the sea.
Davri stood at the very edge of the surf. He turned at her approach, his blond hair silver in the light of the moon.
He was even taller than she’d thought; she came to his nose. But he was still soft. Little work and more food than most had given him a belly and a bit of extra chin. He would be useless on this trip. She couldn’t fathom how Kesia found him attractive.
It was too dark to sign, but Davri motioned for her to follow him.