Add in that supply locker. “Debris.” Any writing conveniently obscured—like this tea set.

Captain Hetnys had thought it was important to station her ship by the Ghost Gate. A piece of debris that was likely more than three thousand years old—and extremely unlikely to have ended up here at Athoek to begin with—had come out of the Ghost Gate. A piece of a Notai shuttle.

Captain Hetnys had made a great deal of money selling a Notai tea set nearly as old as that supply locker likely was. Where had she gotten it? Who had removed the name of its first owner, and why?

What was on the other side of the Ghost Gate?

14

Back in my room, I removed my brown and black shirt, handed it to Kalr Five. Had bent to loosen my boots when a knock sounded at the door. I looked up. Kalr Five gave me a single, expressionless glance and went to answer it. She had seen Raughd’s behavior these past few days, knew what this was likely to be, though I admit I was surprised she had chosen to make this blatant a move so soon.

I stood aside, where I would not be visible from the sitting room. Picked up my shirt from where Five had laid it, and drew it back on. Five opened the door to the hallway, and through her eyes I saw Raughd’s insincere smile. “I wonder,” she said, with no courteous preamble, “if I might speak privately to the fleet captain.” A balancing act, that sentence was, offering Five herself no consideration whatsoever, without being rude to me.

Let her in, I messaged Five silently. But don’t leave the room. Though it was entirely possible—indeed, likely—that Raughd’s idea of “private” included the presence of servants.

Raughd entered. Looked around for me, bowed with a sidelong, smiling glance up at me as I came from the bedroom. “Fleet Captain,” she said. “I was hoping we might… talk.”

“About what, Citizen?” I did not invite her to sit.

She blinked, genuinely surprised, I thought. “Surely, Fleet Captain, I’ve been plain about my desires.”

“Citizen. I am in mourning.” I had not had time to clean the white stripe off my face for the night. And she could not possibly have forgotten the reason for it.

“But surely, Fleet Captain,” she replied sweetly, “that’s all for show.”

“It’s always for show, Citizen. It is entirely possible to grieve with no outward sign. These things are meant to let others know about it.”

“It’s true such things are nearly always insincere, or at least overdone,” Raughd said. She had missed my point entirely. “But what I meant was that you’ve undertaken this only for political reasons. There can’t possibly be any real sorrow, no one could expect so. It’s only needed in public, and this”—she gestured around—“is certainly not public.”