Miren tucked the letter back inside her mother’s book. She looked around, but the candles were already wrapped in string and paper. She grabbed her pack and slid the candles in, along with some carrots, potatoes, and a few pieces of jewelry, necklaces of seashells and stones, that Kesia had made.
She glanced at the bottom left drawer in the desk, then opened it slowly, as if Kesia might hear.
Inside sat a large, black revolver, one of the few Kaleon-made firearms that had existed before the war. Her father had received it from a friend who had served in the military some ten years ago, though Father had refused to take it with him when he had left for the war. Just in case, he had said, his well-used hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, the draft notice peeking out from his shirt pocket as he headed for the docks.
Miren picked up the revolver, the stock cold and heavy in her hand. It was loaded, but she checked and rechecked that the safety was still on. The metallic weapon made the wooden cabin feel brittle around her.
She placed the revolver back in the drawer and instead clipped her father’s old fishing knife to her belt. I won’t need it, she thought. I’ve never needed it before.
From the open window, she heard the chickens squawk happily. “Kesia,” she called. “Let’s get going.”
* * *
By the time they made their way down the rise, the ship was visible to the entire village. Everyone moved with enthusiasm, spurred by the prospect of selling their wares to someone other than one another. Kesia carried the coin purse on her belt, her smile eager. She was always so much happier outside, but Miren noticed how the sun made her skin seem paler, her cheekbones a bit too prominent.
Haro the blacksmith pounded at his furnace, the rhythmic clink of metal ringing through the village. He had burn marks on his arms that had been there all of Miren’s life, and a heavy hunch in his back that had not.
Miren arranged her features into a warm smile. It had been difficult to speak with him for the past six months, since his older son, Jonath, had abruptly stopped sending letters home.
Haro looked up as they approached, and his bushy, peppered beard tweaked in a smile. “Morning, ladies. Did you see the ship?”
“We did,” Miren said. She sometimes felt like her voice wasn’t hers—it was too controlled, too polite to be true. “Kesia wants to spend all of our savings on whatever they’re bringing.”
Haro chuckled. “I could go for a stronger drink than wine, you know?” he said.
Miren smiled cordially. “Sure.”
“At least we know it’s not from the army, huh?”
Miren blinked. “How do we know that?”
He nodded at the horizon. “Wrong flag.”
“Oh.” Of course. Military ships always flew the king’s crest: a white star on a deep purple background.
Haro looked at Kesia, and his features softened. “How are you feeling?”
Miren winced. When the villagers had pity to spare, they often saved it for Kesia, the last Singer among them, who, they believed, had lost her Voice to cloud fever years ago. Miren knew how her sister hated their pity.
Kesia smiled and signed, Thank you. How are you and Raila?
“Fine, fine.” Haro kept grinning. “Raila spent all night working on some pies. I managed to restrain myself and only ate one.”
Miren joined in his laugh. “We’re going to see if Etela has any bread,” she said. “But be sure to save us a slice or two of pie.”
“Will do. Take care, Kesia.”
Kesia waved as they walked away. She glared at Miren, but Miren put a hand over her signing fingers. “Wait until he can’t see,” she murmured.
But Kesia discreetly flicked her hands. I’m going to see Davri. You don’t need me to come.
“Just a few more stops,” Miren said, trying not to sound frustrated. “Don’t you want bread?”
I don’t want pity bread, Kesia signed.
“I’m pretty sure it tastes the same as regular bread.”
Kesia glared for a long moment.
Miren sighed. “Don’t be angry with me.”
You won’t give him a chance.
“Let’s not do this here.”
He’s considerate and kind and respectful—
“And he’s young, and you’re young, and I really don’t want to discuss this in public,” Miren hissed.
Kesia narrowed her eyes. We need to find you someone. Then you’ll understand.
“Ah yes,” Miren swept a hand around their village. “Will all the eligible young men please line up!”
Kesia rolled her eyes again, but Miren thought her anger was fading. This conversation was so overdone that Kesia could probably argue Miren’s side for her.
“Come on,” Miren said. “Let’s get bread.”
Etela’s cabin was toward the center of the village, just by the dock. Miren glanced out toward the horizon, where a large brown hull sliced the water only a few hundred paces away. “The ship’s almost here.”
Kesia looked past her and opened her mouth in surprise. That ship is fast.
“It is.” Miren swallowed a muted panic. It might be of Avi’ori make. “Maybe we should go back to the cabin.”
Kesia grimaced. I want to see!
“I know, but—”
A slow-rolling noise of excitement grew from behind them as fishermen and farmers and their eager children hurried past. Miren felt a tug at her chest at the sight. There were so few reasons to be happy these days.
The flag, sporting an odd symbol of a sword parting an ocean wave, flew high on the tallest of three masts. There was no royal seal on the hull, and if the ship had been military, it would’ve docked closer to the baron’s estate at the northern end of the village.
So they were either traders or pirates.
Miren shuddered.
The crew were on the deck now, all male, their clothing rough and weathered, their skin darkened from the sun. Some carried crates between them as though they weighed nothing.
Kesia patted her arm and walked past Miren, signing, I want to see, again.
“No.” Miren grabbed her arm but kept walking. Curiosity was overriding her fear.
One man dressed more extravagantly than his shipmates stepped down the loading dock. His coat was long and deep blue with angular patterns embroidered in golden thread—Miren had the ridiculous notion that it was somehow real gold. His fingers glinted with jewelry, and glittering threads were woven into his gnarled beard as well. He flashed a gold-toothed grin at the crowd.
“Greetings, Crescent Bay!” the man said grandly. “I am Captain Edom of Darkcrest, the most adventurous trading ship on the sea. Please come see our wares, the finest goods from all of Kaleo and Avi’or.”
Avi’or. Miren swallowed. “Are they Avi’ori?”
Kesia glanced at her, an eyebrow raised in confusion. He doesn’t have an accent, she signed.
“Proving nothing,” Miren said. “They have wares from Avi’or.”
And?
“Well, there’s a war, see?”
That’s not strange. Must you worry about everything?
Miren shook her head but said nothing. Though the war had officially halted trade between the two countries, there were active trade ships on both sides. Still, ships willing to risk being caught rarely bothered to come this far south.