“Do you have a boat ready?” she asked.
He nodded emphatically. They walked the shoreline in silence, Miren staying just a pace or two behind him.
It was one of those rare times when the sea was brighter than the town. The Southern Hills circled around the village as though herding it toward the surf, where the flat surface of water stretched out of sight.
Miren knew Kesia had dreamed of leaving. She had acted casually with her questions—What is the capital like? Or Avi’or? Don’t you ever wonder?—but Miren often saw her staring out the window, one hand cupping her chin, the other tracing something on the table.
Miren expected Davri to lead her to a boat at the docks, although she couldn’t quite convince herself that it would be right to take one of the villagers’ fishing ships. No one could afford such a loss.
But Davri passed the docks and continued on, down a dip in the shore that curved around the rise where the estate sat. The shore was soaked black from the high tide. Miren’s boots squelched in the wet sand, just behind Davri’s footprints.
“Where are we going?” Miren whispered, the surf loud in her ears. Then she remembered he couldn’t respond. “Never mind.”
Davri pointed around the turn, where a small cove had come into view. In her eighteen years, Miren had never seen this cove before; it would be impossible to spot from the village. She opened her mouth to comment, but Davri’s Water Song hushed her.
Water Song was different than Fire. Where Kesia’s Voice would leap and flutter, Davri sang low and constant, with fewer notes and syllables and slower changes in pitch. Miren wasn’t as familiar with Water Song, but she thought this one felt like reaching, or welcoming. Bringing something close.
And then she saw the boat.
It was smaller than the fishermen’s boats, with a single mast in the center built for a triangular sail, which was now furled.
Set in motion by Davri’s Song, the boat drifted close to them and turned to face the ocean. Davri grabbed the stern and pulled it up on the sand. He motioned for Miren to climb aboard.
She hesitated. There were a rudder and paddles—she didn’t know why she was so surprised—and even some packs. Davri must have spent the whole afternoon preparing for this.
She realized she hadn’t lit the lighthouse. She whirled and stared in shock. Sure enough, the tower was nearly invisible.
She had forgotten.
She had never forgotten before. She was occasionally late, but when she was, Kesia would take care of it without comment.
She looked back at Davri and found him staring at the lighthouse too. He turned to her and waited, his expression impossible to read in the dark.
Miren stepped forward and climbed into the boat, thinking it small and brittle against an entire sea. This was so foolish, so reckless. Her mother would set her shirt on fire for this.
It’s for Kesia, Mother. I’m going to save Kesia.
Miren found a seat near the bow and tucked her pack underneath it. Davri pushed the boat forward into the surf. Too late, Miren realized that she should’ve done that. Not out of politeness, but because she didn’t want his help.
He jumped into the boat, his trousers sloshing, and began a new Song.
This one was faster, if Water Song could be such a thing. Miren grabbed the side of the boat as she felt the current surge. The boat tipped forward, then back, then steadied. Water churned against the hull as the air brushed past her.
Miren watched the wake, surprised at their speed. The dark line of the town grew small and indiscernible from the mountains. The baron’s estate sat still and bloated on its hill. The lighthouse did not glow. Before them, the Tehum Sea filled the horizon.
Six
KESIA
Miren, I want to go home.
Kesia breathed the stench of fish and grime. She cringed every time she heard a crew member approach her cage. She had caught a few cautious glances from above, brief and fleeting, but the men otherwise left her alone.
They were afraid of her.
She knew that she should use that fear. She should terrify them somehow, so she could . . . But no second step came to her. She couldn’t Sing. She was trapped in a large metal box on a pirate ship, with her arms tied so tightly behind her that her shoulders screamed with pain. Her jaw ached from the gag.
She had no way to escape.
Everything Miren had worked so hard to prevent had come to pass. Her sister would live in the lighthouse, alone, waiting for her and for parents who might never come home.
Davri.
Sweet, loving Davri with the most honest face she had ever known. Even Miren kept secrets from her, but Davri was never patronizing, never lying, never cruel. His honesty was kind. She was surprised at how much she ached for him.
But he hadn’t come. How could he not have known what was happening? How could he not have heard Miren’s screams or her own Song? The wall of fire she had Sung had been enormous, and she knew his room had a window overlooking the bay. Where had he been?
Her thoughts drifted to her mother. As far as they knew, she was still alive. Fire Singers were rare and valuable. Perhaps Kesia would get stationed somewhere near her.
But with the thought of military service came a twisting anxiety. She had never been healthy. She had trouble breathing when she worked too hard, and her appetite was small. Miren could run and work the whole day through without pause.
She knew Miren’s secret too: Miren loved to sing. Kesia remembered her sister sitting by the fire with their mother, practicing the Songs that her voice wasn’t quite ready for. When she went fishing with their father, she would come back humming some new sailor’s tune that he had taught her. Her voice was beautiful and rich like their mother’s, except that it never made flames dance.
Kesia cried until her gag tasted of her own tears. Sleep was impossible. She tried standing once, just to stretch, and found that she could see some of the sailors shouting orders and pulling ropes. One caught her gaze, and she ducked out of sight.
Her stomach felt bitter with hunger, and her throat grated from so much crying, and she needed to relieve herself. How long would they be sailing? Days?
Toward the end of the day, a shadow fell over her cell, and she nearly choked on her gag again.
It was a boy. No older than nine, she thought, with a long, dark face and unwashed rags hanging over his lanky body. He held a block of cheese and a misshapen loaf of bread. His lip trembled as he looked down on her.
“I’m—I—” He swallowed and tried again. “I’m going to take your gag off so you can eat.”
He tucked the loaf of bread under his arm and produced a ring of keys. “I’m coming down there, all right?”
Kesia nodded.
He shuddered. “Please don’t kill me,” he whimpered.
She ducked her head and backed into a corner as best she could to give him room, trying to look submissive and composed. The boy struggled to unlock the latch, until the door swung open with a gritty whine. His bare feet dropped down in front of her. He put the food on the floor, next to a canteen. Her throat itched in anticipation.
“I’m gonna untie your bindings now.” The fear in his voice made her heart ache. “Do you promise not to burn me?”
She paused, so she wouldn’t look too eager to convince him, and nodded.
“Turn around,” he said.