4

Rysn had been warned never to mistake Thaylen naval traditions for Thaylen naval regulations. Regulations, after all, were written down—which made them far, far easier to change. She considered this as Nikli and his assistant brought her aboard the Wandersail. Her ship. And not her ship. Both at the same time.

It was an incredible craft. Full-rigged, built for speed from light—but strong—Soulcast wood. It had ballistae with attached firepods for setting aflame enemy ships, and could drop sails quickly and maneuver with oars if faced by the same. It was fearsome in war, swift in trade. And a part of Rysn still couldn’t believe she owned it.

And she did. Rysn was its master, though ownership of Thaylen merchant ships could be complex. Vstim, her teacher and friend, had ordered the ship built, but had accepted investment funds from several others. Since he was now Minister of Trade, he’d given the ship to her—transferring ownership while remaining the primary investor.

A large part of its profits would go to the investors, including Vstim or his heirs—but he had given her the writ of ownership, and the symbolic captain’s cord to hang with her colors. That was the strictest definition of ownership, and no one would dispute it.

And yet, she had never touched the ship’s wheel. She wasn’t so innocent as to assume that she’d be able to helm the ship herself, but Vstim—when they’d been on voyages together—had usually been offered the chance to steer the ship for a short time near the start of the voyage. A symbolic ritual, but one he had always seemed to enjoy.

Rysn had asked for the same privilege on her first voyage last month. She hadn’t realized that her babsk had earned this privilege over years of caring for the crews of his ships. The captain had explained the distinction clearly to Rysn, in the same breath that she’d forbidden Rysn from ever asking again.

Rysn could order the ship to a destination, but she could not steer it. It was a distinction she’d never understood. And it meant that despite what the papers said, the ship was not Rysn’s. She owned it. She commanded it. But at least according to maritime tradition, it was not hers.

Tradition. Stronger than Soulcast wood. If only they could find a way to build ships directly out of it, they’d fear no wind or wave.

The captain, Drlwan, was a short woman with a sharp nose and unusually blonde hair. Rysn hadn’t realized until recently that having female officers was odd in other navies. In the Thaylen navy, while the bulk of sailors were men—trained to work the ballistae and repel boarders—female captains were common. Plus both the quartermaster and the navigator were women by tradition.

On the Wandersail, the soldiers were led by Kstled, the ship’s man-at-arms, who was the captain’s brother. Both captain and man-at-arms bowed formally to Rysn as she was carried up to the quarterdeck. Nikli and his assistant carried her in her wheeled chair to her new station: a tall seat, bolted to the deck, with a sunshade. It was out of the way of the helm, but would give her an excellent view of both the main deck and the surrounding ocean.

“Any thoughts?” she asked Nikli.

“It looks great, Brightness,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You might want a table at the side—or better, something with a flat top and drawers you can latch shut.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said.

“We can move one of your nightstands from the cabin, if you want,” he said. “Would only require some basic carpentry. We’ll try not to bother you too much setting it up.”

She nodded in thanks, then had him move her from the wheeled chair—which had a place to strap it down nearby—to the new station. This had a belt to hold her in place. The extra support would be welcome on the rolling ocean waves. The chair also had, by her request, some leg straps she could fasten to keep her legs in place during rough seas, though she didn’t intend to use those during ordinary sailing.

Nikli stowed her chair as she did up the belt. The burly porter didn’t say anything, but eyed the captain as she stepped over. He obviously didn’t like the way Rysn was treated on board, though he hadn’t said anything on the matter.

“Rebsk,” the captain said, calling Rysn by her formal title. It meant “shipmaster” or “owner.” “I formally welcome you on board.”

“Thank you,” Rysn said.

“I would like to suggest, now, that you remain at port,” Drlwan said. “You are not needed on this mission.”

Rysn felt an immediate burst of frustration. “Why would you think that, Captain?”

“Your job is to handle trade negotiations,” Drlwan said. “This voyage will include no such need. It is a survey mission. It could be dangerous, and as such, it would be wise if you remained safe at port. We can relay our experiences to you via spanreed.”

“Your concern for my well-being is commendable,” Rysn said, controlling her voice with effort. “But I have been tasked with this mission, and I will see it through.”

“Very well,” the captain said. She left to return to her post; by tradition she needed no dismissal from Rysn. And she never waited for one.

Nikli stepped over, handing her Chiri-Chiri, who was dozing. “I don’t think the captain cares a wink for your safety, Brightness,” he said softly. “She simply doesn’t like you.”

“I agree,” Rysn said, idly scratching Chiri-Chiri under the neck as she watched the captain chat with the man-at-arms.

“Do you think it’s because of . . . the way you are?”

“Possibly,” Rysn said. “But usually others are uncomfortable—or condescending—around people like me, not outright hostile. Not everything in people’s interactions with me is related to my condition.”

So what was the reason so many of the crew resented her? She wasn’t certain she could stand another full trip constantly feeling their eyes on her.

“I hesitate to mention this,” Nikli said, “but perhaps it would be better to delay the trip and look for another crew. That would give us more time to install the table for you, also.”

Rysn shook her head. “I need to learn to work with this crew. They are made up of my babsk’s most trusted and accomplished sailors. Plus, they trained on this ship. They were sailing it on test runs before it was formally commissioned.”

Nikli nodded and withdrew to stand near the steps, waiting for her commands. Rysn continued scratching Chiri-Chiri, lost in thought. Below, Queen Navani’s team arrived: two Windrunners, an ardent scribe, and a young Horneater woman—perhaps in her late teens or early twenties—who Rysn thought must be their servant. The sailors hailed them, and a few cheered.

“An odd reaction,” Rysn mumbled. Though she’d made her seat high, the railing to midship still obscured some of her view. An unfortunately common experience for her. “I would not have expected cheering.”

“It’s always good to have a Windrunner or two nearby, Rebsk,” the man-at-arms said, walking past. “I’d never turn down passage to one of them.”

This war had proven how vulnerable ships were to enemies who could fly. Large stones—dropped from very high—could sink even the strongest of ships. But that reaction, the excitement from the crew . . . was it covering something? Rysn had been trained to watch for overexcitement in a trade deal. Sometimes a person would try too hard to sell a product or idea. The way the sailors acted reminded her of that.

“Captain?” Rysn said, calling over Drlwan again. “What has happened? Why are the sailors on edge?”

“It’s . . . nothing, Rebsk,” the captain said.

Rysn narrowed her eyes. Though she hadn’t thought it remarkable at first—as the captain could be a showy woman—Drlwan was outfitted today in her formal dress uniform. Stark white, glistening with medals. She also wore an intimidating tricorn hat, her eyebrows curled and dangling beneath it. Although she had retired from official military service, the navy and the merchant marine were really two sides to the same card; ranks and accolades were shared between the two.

Today, that uniform was a show of force. A symbol.

“Tell me anyway,” Rysn said.

Drlwan sighed. “Ship’s pet was found dead this morning.”

The ship’s pet was a skyeel, good for hunting rats. Rysn knew from her previous voyage that a lot of the crew had liked her.

“Bad omen,” Kstled muttered from behind.

That caused Drlwan to glare at him. Modern Thaylens weren’t as superstitious as their ancestors—or at least they weren’t supposed to be. They were good Vorins these days. And the coming of the Voidbringers—whose ways and worship seemed uncomfortably close to the Passions and Thaylen pageantry—hadn’t done the old religions any favors. Rysn herself had drifted away from such ways of thinking, trying to be more intentional about her beliefs.

At any rate, Thaylens formally ignored omens. It was on the books, you might say, that such things were nonsense. Yet tradition was powerful, and when out at sea, logicspren could seem distant things indeed.

“Having a Windrunner on board,” Rysn said. “Good omen?”

Kstled nodded, eyebrows sleek and tucked behind his ears. “You could call it a . . . replacement for the dead skyeel. A counter-omen to the one this morning.”

“It’s all nonsense,” the captain said. “I have told the crew many times that I won’t stand for this kind of talk.”

“Indeed, you are wise,” Rysn said. “Tell me, have the crew been informed of our destination?”

“They have.”

“And did any express concern?”

The captain sniffed. “They were instructed, prior to the briefing, that there would be no questioning or grumbling. Queen Fen herself sent a writ supporting this mission. So we are committed.”

“I see,” Rysn said. “Spread my will among the crew. Tell them that if any have misgivings about our destination, they may remain behind—with no punishment—and join us again when we return.”

Drlwan drew her lips to a line. She didn’t like it when Rysn gave orders about the crew, though it was within Rysn’s rights. “Very well, Rebsk,” Drlwan said, nodding to her brother. He bowed to Rysn and ran off to pass the word.

“This could delay the mission,” the captain noted.

“Then so be it,” Rysn said. “I know that the crew still feels uncertain about following me, considering my lack of experience.”

“You were hand-picked by Vstim and given this ship as a mark of his favor. No sailor would speak out against you.”

And that isn’t exactly a contradiction of what I said, now is it, Captain?

In that moment, a thought occurred to her. She’d been seeing this entire experience—Vstim giving her the ship, her elevation to rebsk—through her own eyes. But she had been taught to look at interactions in a different way. What did the captain want? Why was she dissatisfied?

You thought the answer a moment ago, Rysn told herself. This ship was commissioned long before it was given to you. It was sailed by this crew for months. And then . . .

“Captain,” Rysn said, “did you know Vstim was going to retire?”

“He . . . spoke of it to me. And others who served him.”

“Yet he commissioned a new ship. An expensive one, the jewel of his fleet. The best any sea had known. He told you to train a crew, to practice sailing it.”

“And?”

“You thought he was going to give it to you, didn’t you?” Rysn said, softening her tone. “You didn’t realize he was planning to give it to me.”

The captain stiffened. “No sailor would presume that a man like Vstim would simply give them a ship.”

“But he mentioned he was taking an investment position, didn’t he?” Rysn said. “He knew an appointment from the queen was going to come to him, and he wouldn’t be able to continue his expeditions. So he prepared you all ahead of time. He always watches out for the people he employs.”

The captain, not meeting Rysn’s eyes, gave an almost imperceptible hint of a nod.

Storms, that’s it. That’s why. Rysn’s sudden elevation, and her arrival on the ship as its new master, must have taken the entire crew by surprise. Vstim wouldn’t have prepared them for that, not when he hadn’t been certain Rysn would take the appointment.

All this day, Rysn had been thinking about how the ship wasn’t truly hers. Drlwan must have spent the entire previous voyage thinking the same exact thing.

“Is that all you need from me, Rebsk?” the captain asked.

“Yes,” Rysn said. “Thank you.”

The captain walked off to watch as her brother gathered the crew to relay Rysn’s order. Nikli, always trying to be helpful, brought her a cup of some orange wine, not intoxicating.

“You heard?” Rysn said.

“That they are spoiled children? Angry that someone would dare earn an appointment above them?”

“That is a shallow way of thinking of it, Nikli,” Rysn said, sipping the wine.

“I’m . . . sorry, Brightness. I’m merely trying to show you support.”

“You can support me without denigrating others,” Rysn said. “Think instead of how they must feel. You’re new to my employ, so you might not know my reputation.”

“I’ve heard you were a difficult apprentice.”

“Difficult?” Rysn said, smiling. “I was a spoiled child, Nikli. I complained about every expedition I went on, despite being shown the very best treatment by my master—one of the most renowned traders in the nation. The sailors who served Vstim would have seen firsthand the type of person I was then. Even if none of these did, they’d have heard.”

“Everyone acts a little entitled when young.”

“True,” Rysn said, “but you still wouldn’t be happy when that entitled youth was given the ship you thought would be yours.” She scratched Chiri-Chiri under the neck some more, earning a few quiet, contented chirps.

“So . . . what do we do?” Nikli asked.

“I do what Vstim did,” Rysn said. “Spend my life earning the trust of those around me. The captain likely thinks she could do the trademaster’s job, but she’d find negotiations far more difficult than she assumes. Vstim trusts me for a reason. I simply have to show the crew, through my actions, that his trust is well placed.”

“I don’t know, Brightness,” Nikli said. He turned to glance toward the crew gathered around the man-at-arms, who spoke to them loudly. “I think you’re giving them too much benefit of the doubt. I know how these sailors treated me during our previous trip. They don’t like me. I have odd tattoos, and I’m a foreigner. I tried talking to them, but . . .”

“A ship’s crew is a family,” Rysn said. “They can be hostile to outsiders. I’ve felt it too. But if you really want to feel like one of them, ask Flend—he’s the man on day shift in the eel’s nest—if he has ever seen a sailorspren.”

“What will that do?” Nikli asked, frowning.

“It should make him start a little hazing ritual they often put new sailors through. They love pranking new hands with that old trick.”

“Hazing,” Nikli said. “Brightness . . . I find the idea distasteful. We shouldn’t encourage such behavior.”

“Perhaps,” Rysn said. “At first I thought it was cruel. Then I heard about the old hazing rituals. They were often humiliating, sometimes dangerous. After talking to my babsk, I started to realize something. Sometimes you accept deals you don’t want, because they’re better than the alternative.

“In a perfect world, no one would get hazed. But when I read about attempts by the military to stamp the practice out, I learned that doing so caused more mishaps. Banning hazing made the sailors afraid of being discovered, but it didn’t stop them from acting on the sly with no warning, making it more dangerous. So several far safer practices were encouraged, with the officers turning a blind eye.”

“A compromise with morality,” Nikli said.

“An imperfect solution for an imperfect world,” Rysn said. “I won’t force you, of course. But if you want to get to know the others, give my suggestion a try. Play along with their prank, and I’ll increase your wages by whatever they bilk out of you—it won’t be much. They know not to push it too far.”

Nikli retreated, seeming thoughtful, as Kstled finally returned to the quarterdeck. The captain joined him as he reported to Rysn.

“Only three crewmembers took the offer, Rebsk,” he said. “And I think we can sail without them. We carry a larger complement these days in case of attack, and those two Radiants will more than make up for three lost swords. Though Nlan, the cook, was among the ones who decided to leave.”

“That presents a problem,” Drlwan said.

“I thought so as well,” Kstled said. “But the Radiants said one of their companions is an excellent cook. So we could use her.”

“I think that will do,” Rysn said. “Captain?”

“Crew is ready, Rebsk. At your word.”

“We sail, then.”