“Why don’t you talk to her? Get to know her? I won’t scoff at you or tell you you’re being ridiculous. If it makes you anxious to have her around, we can take more precautions. You said before that I’m one of the few people you trust. I may trust more easily than you, but there is no one I trust more deeply. I’ll ask the guards to keep an eye out. They can track when she leaves and when she comes back and what she takes with her. Would that help?”

Some of the tightness in her chest eased. “Yes, that would help.”

“I’m the governor now. I saw how quickly my father lost his position and how easily the Shardless Few incited a riot. This isn’t something I take lightly.” Phalue cleared her throat. “Speaking of things I don’t take lightly… I think we should send out the caro nuts. We don’t have to send them straight to Imperial, but the Emperor is right. If we do what Gio wants us to, people will suffer and die. People who have already suffered under the Empire.”

Ranami clenched her hands, the knot in her chest growing tight again. “If Gio finds out, we don’t have enough guards here to fend off an attack.”

“Just a little at a time,” Phalue said. “Hidden among other goods.”

“You want to smuggle them?” Ranami said. “We’re not the Ioph Carn.”

“Smuggle what?”

Ranami whirled to see Ayesh emerging from behind one of the pillars. She hadn’t heard her approach. Hadn’t she just been here? The bag Ayesh had been carrying was gone.

“Ah. Nothing,” Phalue said. And then she was sweeping up the shield, a grin on her face. “Here’s the surprise I was promising you.”

The girl’s black eyes focused for a moment on Ranami. She could have been imagining it, but for a moment, she thought she saw the flicker of acknowledgement. Again, that tug of instinct.

Ayesh had known Ranami was following her.

25

Jovis

Somewhere in the Endless Sea

Ylan insists that he can use the power of the Alanga language to keep the Alanga in check. “You are granted long life (immortality?) and powers over wind and water,” he says. “What can the rest of us do in the face of that?”

What he shows me isn’t a pulley or a fish trap. It’s an abomination. I cannot even commit some of the things I’ve seen to paper. It’s too much. He means well, I know he does.

He asks me for my help. I deny him. He pleads. He argues.

And then, at last, he says he must return home. He says it’s been years. Has it? Days and years have little meaning to me; I measure the time in seasons.

I wish he wouldn’t go, but I’m too angry to tell him so.