I must have leapt six inches off my seat. A boy jogging by changed course and headed toward us, face flushed with exertion. I guessed if he was from Koniag, as Lang had said, he was Yupik, one of the people indigenous to the coast of Alyaska and the islands beyond. Skop wasn’t much taller than I; but he had a durable look to him, with strong arms and hands, and fawn-colored skin that grew ruddy over his cheeks and knuckles. Angular, heavy-lidded dark eyes were set in his round face over high cheekbones and a broad nose that looked as though it had been broken at least once, but probably a few times.

Lang nodded between the boy and me. “Seneschal-elect, this is Skop Koniag, our first mate. Skop, this is Selah.”

Skop dipped his head, chewing the inside of his cheek and considering me.

“Skop, take the helm. I’m going to show the seneschal-elect to her room,” said Lang. He glanced at my ragged dress, my ruined makeup. “I imagine she’d like to rest.”

“Sure thing.” Skop nodded efficiently, and took the wheel from Lang’s hands.

The captain strode off, hands in the pockets of his navy-blue canvas jacket, and I followed him off the forecastle.

It was kind of him to pretend I wasn’t drowning.

9

My head spun as I followed the captain across the deck, through one of two doors in the stern, and down a flight of steps. “Captain’s quarters,” he said, jerking his head at a blue-painted door off the landing. “Or—rather, my quarters.” He said the words like they came as a surprise to him, too.

My vision adjusted slowly as we descended. “This is the lower deck,” he announced. “Crew’s cabins are at the far end. Stores are here and in the hold, below.”

I squinted, just able to make out an aisle lined with benches. “There’s another level below this one?”

“Yes, and don’t go poking around,” Lang said sharply. I stared at him, and he hesitated. “The ladder’s not quite right, and you’re liable to get hurt. Besides, it’s dark below.”

I crossed my arms, a bit taken aback. “Fine.”

Lang fumbled with the knob in the door beside him. “Good. And here’s your room.”

The door swung open, and I winced at the daylight streaming in through the portholes on the far wall. By the early morning sunlight, I could see the room was plain—a little bunk with a blank white quilt and bedside table, a worn leather chair, an armoire beside all my trunks. Its open cabinet and drawers looked like an empty face.

I thought of my room in Potomac, of my own bed and my bookshelves and the walls I’d scribbled on when I was three, and felt my chest go tight.