Anji lay alongside Kit on the deck, her body shivering and twitching. Strands of Kit’s gray hair twirled in the breeze, tangled in sodden knots, slapping at her cheeks. The wind picked up in a gust, as though Kit’s last breath had shot around the world and returned to speed Anji along the careless sea. She held Kit’s body tight against the pain and the betrayal, the loss and the weariness and the resounding, immovable loneliness that seemed determined to follow her to the earth’s end.

She cried in a puddle of ice-cold blood beside her dead friend.

Anji looked to the deck where the Hawk mask lay, gleaming under moonlight obscured by coming clouds. The boat trudged across the waves, rigging and mast groaning with the wind. Rain began pattering on the pitted wood. She shifted to her knees and picked up the mask.

It was cold in her mangled hand, its edges chipped and scratched. Anji wondered how many sword tips had glanced off the battered face, how much of Kit’s sweat had soaked into the leather band lining its inside lip. She realized she was still holding the two coins tight in one hand and stuffed them snug in her coat pocket. They vibrated together against her breast, and she felt the corners of her mouth twitch ever so slightly up.

The wind blasted south against the ship’s tack, buffeting the heaving sail, throwing waves against the groaning wood that had become Kit’s final stand, her confession ground. Anji stared down at the woman who had shepherded her away from the salvation she now faced, the Hawk who’d taken her captive and set her free in so many ways with her final breath.

Anji sat against the stern, the tiller wobbling against the tugging waves underfoot. She took in a lungful of icy, salted air, then another, and another until she at last released a steady breath. Every muscle in her body throbbed, every bone felt ground to dust. A rumble shook through her stomach, and she loosed a tiny laugh at the thought that she could possibly be hungry now, but there it was.

People get hungry, kings and killers die, and the wind turns its course.

She grasped the tiller and turned with it.

Chapter 46

46

Anji hauled herself out of the sloop and onto the dock, cradling Kit’s emaciated body in her arms.

“Two Celdia for the dock,” called the attendant, blinking in the sun. She shaded her eyes against the glare and shoved a thin cigar into the corner of her mouth. “You’ll want to speak with the port master about—Nine Gods!” she yelled, the cigar tumbling from her lips. “You can’t just bring one of those things onto the dock! What are you—”