His boots stopped before mine and I watched the easy way he looked at me. The wrinkles around his eyes were deeper, his fair lashes like threads of gold. There was a scar I’d never seen before below his ear, wrapping around his throat and disappearing into his shirt. I tried not to wonder where it came from.

“We need to worry about any of them?” His chin jerked toward the dredgers on the deck.

I glowered at him, not sure I could believe that he was actually talking to me. What’s more, he wanted information, as if we were on the same side. “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

“I see.” He reached into the pocket of his vest, pulling a small purse free. “What’ll it cost me?”

“Four years,” I answered heavily.

His brow knit in question.

I took a step toward him, and his hand tightened on the purse. “Give me back the four years I spent on that island. Then I’ll tell you which one of those dredgers is most likely to cut your throat.”

He stared at me, every thought I couldn’t hear shining in his eyes.

“Not that it would really matter.” I tipped my head to one side.

“What?”

“You never really know a person, do you?” I let my meaning fold under the words, watching him carefully. Not a single shadow passed over his face. No hint of what he was thinking.

“We’ve all got a job to do, don’t we?” was his only reply.

“You more than any of us. Navigator, informant … traitor,” I said.

“Don’t make trouble, Fay.” His voice lowered. “You do what’s asked of you and you’ll get paid like everyone else.”

“How much is Zola paying you?” I snarled.

He didn’t answer.

“What’s Zola doing in the Unnamed Sea?”

Clove stared at me until the ring of grommets singing on the ropes overhead broke the silence between us. A sail unfolded on the deck, casting Clove and me in its shadow. I looked up to where it was silhouetted against the sunlight, a black square against the blue sky.

But the crest painted on the canvas was missing the curve of the crescent moon that encircled Zola’s insignia. I squinted, trying to see it. The crisp outline of three seabirds with wings extended made a tilted triangle. It was a crest I’d never seen before.

If they were raising a new crest, it meant that Zola didn’t want to be recognized when we crossed into the waters of the Unnamed Sea.

I looked over my shoulder, but Clove was already disappearing into the helmsman’s quarters, the door slamming shut behind him. I could see the ripple of his white shirt behind the wavering glass of the window that looked out over the deck.