“Not always,” Orca said. “I’ve seen you—”

“Do you report me to Pezarrat?” Djola pulled away from Orca’s strong hands. “Is that why you smile in my face and dig at my secrets?”

“Of course he reports.” Vandana sucked her teeth. “He wishes to breathe another day. I also tell Captain what you do. What does Pezarrat understand?”

Djola flailed. “Never underestimate an enemy.”

Vandana slapped whipcord braids in his face. “If it’s so bad, you need gods or heroes to save your world—”

“You’re already lost,” Djola muttered.

“No. It’s time to pull together.”

“All people are the same.” Orca quoted Pezarrat. “We live in a pirate world. Everyone is thief, liar, and cheat.”

“You don’t believe that.” Djola sighed. He’d sealed Vandana and Orca in his heart with Samina and the children.

Vandana poked his heart Vévés. “When you run to home, will you look to see if we follow?”

Djola gripped her hand. “I have no home to run to. They stole everything from me.”

“You aren’t the only one who suffers.” Vandana spoke Lahesh. Orca gaped at northlander talk. “Xhalan Xhala is warning. A rehearsal of spirit, not carnival show or vengeance.”

Djola spoke Lahesh also. “Anything can be turned into a weapon.”

Vandana licked dagger teeth. “Will you be weapon or something else?”

Djola circled her. “Griots say Lahesh have a stronghold across Mama Zamba.”

Vandana laughed. “Griots also say Lahesh live a full-bodied life in Smokeland and walked an ice bridge to beyond where the sky falls into the sea. Tall tales.”

“Lahesh walk among us, changing us from the inside.” Djola spoke Yari’s words.

“Truth, yes.” Vandana held up her small bag, a Lahesh wonder of folded space. “Lahesh have not vanished. They live in everything we do.”

“Will you teach me this talk?” Orca spoke Empire vernacular.

“So you can be a better spy?” Djola arched an eyebrow. “Or a master of stories?”

The sick bay door burst open. An arrow whistled past Vandana and nicked Djola’s ear. Orca shoved Djola to the ground as a second bolt headed for his heart and landed in the old healer’s eye. He’d been spying behind a barrel. He screeched and fell over dead.

Before the assassin let loose a third arrow, Vandana knocked the bow from his hand and ripped his throat with dagger teeth. The assassin crumpled, clutching a bloody neck. Shock and disbelief would be his death mask. Behind him, an old woman in a greasy apron carried pots of glowing coals. Jibber jabber drooled from her lips.

“Another assassin cook.” Vandana wiped blood from her chin and pulled diamond-tipped blades from her small bag. “Bowman was telling you to burn our bodies and speak lies to Captain: Djola misplaced wits. Almost set fire to ship, yes?” She waved blades at the guilty look on the cook’s face. “Alive, we don’t go following bowman’s plan.”