“Fuel,” said Hava in a bored voice from the sofa, where she was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, pretending not to listen.

“He says the Keepish Parliament is going to vote about whether to legalize zilfium use in Winterkeep, and they want to know where the Royal Continent stands.”

“The Royal Continent” was the Torlans’ name for Giddon’s continent; they’d thought it was quaint that most of the nations upon it were monarchies. It was a name that had always had an air of condescension to it, in Giddon’s opinion, much like the official name for Giddon’s language, Gracelingian, which had also been assigned by outsiders. But that hardly mattered now. What mattered was that as Bitterblue began deciphering the letter’s second paragraph, her eyes widened.

“Giddon!” she said. “He says he’s made friends with Katu, and Katu thinks there’s something suspicious about the ship that went down with my men!”

“Suspicious!” said Giddon, sitting straighter. “On what evidence?”

“Saf doesn’t know,” said Bitterblue. “And—wait—he says Katu has disappeared!”

“Disappeared!” said Giddon. “What does that mean?”

“Everyone in Ledra says Katu’s gone traveling,” Bitterblue said, her eyes still flying back and forth across the page. “That he’s taken his boat north. But Saf had a date with Katu to go sailing, and Katu never canceled the date or said goodbye. Katu had been searching for Mikka and Brek’s sunken ship, the Seashell. They were going to go out together. Katu was going to show Saf where he was searching for it, since Saf’s such a strong diver too. But now Katu’s gone, and Saf has a funny feeling. He says he’s going to look into it.”

“What!” cried Skye, reaching for the letter. “Look into it how?”

“He doesn’t say,” said Bitterblue, handing him the letter, which was pointless, since it was ciphered. “But he says he wrote to you separately, Skye.”

Skye studied the letter with an expression of rising aggravation. “Then where’s my letter?”

“Giddon?” said Bitterblue. “What do you think? Does any of this make sense? Saf might be the type to look for trouble where it doesn’t exist—but is Katu?”

Something about Bitterblue when she focused on him always made him want to rise above his lower instincts, for fear of hurting her, or disappointing her. He could never tell if it was the pucker of worry she let him see between her brows, or the appeal in her eyes, or the way her voice changed, as if she was ready to believe whatever he said. He wanted to be worthy of the trust she’d bestowed—arbitrarily, it seemed—upon him.

So he thought carefully about the disappearance of one of Bitterblue’s lovers, reported by another of Bitterblue’s lovers.