Felitïa.

There was no rest. There couldn’t be.

Every day, every night, it called to her. Constantly. There were periods of silence—anything from a few minutes to an hour or two—but it was never enough. Felitïa had lain awake night after night due to its incessant calls. What broken sleep she got provided little rest. Last night had been particularly bad. She had gotten at most an hour of sleep total.

Felitïa.

It was driving her mad.

Felitïa.

When she had first heard the Staff of Sestin calling to her outside the Grand Temple in Ninifin—before she’d known what was calling to her—she had been determined to rush in and find it. She had risked her life—and the lives of her friends—to recover it. She had been impulsive and reckless in a way she didn’t normally behave. She had been so certain it was important.

She still thought it was important. But that didn’t matter if it killed her.

Felitïa.

“Ready?” Nin-Akna asked.

Felitïa nodded.

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s right hand and began to cut the strings holding the splints on Felitïa’s fingers together. Felitïa tried not to flinch as Nin-Akna’s knife moved about ever so close to her skin.

Felitïa.

What do you want? She’d asked that questions hundreds of times already. She’d tried so many ways to answer the Staff’s call, but it never responded. It didn’t seem to recognise she was even addressing it.

It was broken. It had to be.

In her head, in the Room she visualised there, it loomed above the queue of people and the uncountable blurred images beyond them. It stretched perhaps the length of the line, although given the strange dimensions in the room and just how impossible it was to determine the length of the line, the staff was possibly longer or shorter. Indeed, she couldn’t even say it was truly above the line. It was in some other direction, at right angles to all the normal directions. It was fitting. An inexplicable staff in an inexplicable place. As if to emphasise that fact, the eyes of the coiled serpent at the Staff’s end sparkled in the non-existent, yet ever-present light of the Room.

But in the real world, the serpent had no eyes. Just empty sockets.

Felitïa needed to find those eyes. Maybe then the Staff’s mind would be whole. Maybe then she could understand what it wanted.

The Staff’s mind.

Even her own thoughts about it made no sense. The Staff was an object. A thing. It couldn’t have a mind.

Yet in some sense, it did.

Felitïa.

As Nin-Akna finished with each finger, she tossed the wooden pieces of flint into the river, where they drifted away with the current. Her right hand free to move at last, Felitïa tried to bend her fingers. They shook, but otherwise refused to budge.

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s left hand. “You’ll be stiff for a while. Don’t worry. You’ll get your mobility back. Just give it time.” She began to slice through the strings on the left-hand splints.

Felitïa nodded.

Felitïa, you must listen to me.

Occasionally, the Staff said those extra words, echoing the voices in Felitïa’s head, the ones that spoke the names of the people in the line. There had to be a link. The Staff’s voice and the voices in her head were exactly the same. They had to have the same source.

Felitïa.

She could block it out sometimes. It took effort, but just like with the emotions of other people, she could manoeuvre the walls of the Room around the Staff’s presence and keep its calling at bay. For a time. Whether five minutes or twenty, the Staff always broke through eventually and would be twice as intense for the next while, almost like it was angry at her. As such, she only did it if there was something else important to concentrate on—or when the frustration got so great she just had to have a few minutes of freedom, even if it meant dealing with worse later.

Felitïa.

There was a new pressure on her fingers. Felitïa looked down. Nin-Akna had already tossed aside the splints from Felitïa’s left hand and was now gently bending Felitïa’s fingers with her own. Nin-Akna was also saying something but Felitïa had missed most of it, too focused on the Staff.

“Like that,” Nin-Akna concluded.

Felitïa nodded as if she understood.

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s right hand again.

Felitïa.

Shut up. Sometimes, that was all she could say to it. Sometimes, when the frustration built up more than she could bare, she would just mentally scream and curse at it. It usually let her feel better for a very brief time, but otherwise achieved nothing.

Felitïa.

She wasn’t going to let the frustration get that great this time though. She would remain calm.

Felitïa.

Nin-Akna pressed on Felitïa’s fingers. “Try to move them as I push on them.”

Felitïa. Felitïa. Felitïa.

“Oh, just fuck off!”

A flare of annoyance shot from Nin-Akna and she let go. The annoyance died away quickly though. “The Staff?”

Felitïa gave a small smile, then lowered her head. “Sorry.” Sometimes, stress and exhaustion made her say things meant for the Staff out loud in front of others.

“It really gets to you, doesn’t it?”

Felitïa sighed. “You don’t know the half of it. Sorry again. What did you want me to do?”

Nin-Akna took Felitïa’s hand again. “Try to close your fingers. I’ll help.”

Felitïa tried. Her pinky refused to move at all, and her index finger only moved a little—until Nin-Akna moved them for her. All her fingers ached and protested at the movement. The fingers on her other hand were aching too. It must have been from Nin-Akna’s earlier manipulations.

Six weeks they’d been immobile. Stiffness and aches now would only be a minor inconvenience in return for being able to move them again.

When Fra-Ichtaca had ordered Felitïa’s fingers broken, it had been to prevent her spellcasting, and that had been its immediate effect. It had nearly crushed her spirits, as so much of her spellcasting was dependent on her fingers. Over the weeks since, she had begun working on alternative means to cast her spells, and she was enjoying some progress. It was slow, but it was still progress, and she would continue it now even though the splints were gone and she would soon have full mobility back.

Yet she had also discovered all the other things that needed her fingers—the mundane, everyday things she had always taken for granted. Picking up objects. Writing. Even hugging her friends. So many things that had never drawn any thought were now complex tasks that needed careful planning. For a significant portion of them, even careful planning wasn’t enough without assistance. She needed someone to help her mount her horse, and she could barely keep hold of the reins herself, never mind use them effectively. She couldn’t even dress and undress herself without help.

She had felt so useless.

Having mobility back might finally change that.

Felitïa.

“The stiffness should clear up eventually,” Nin-Akna said. “I can show you a few exercises to do every day until you get full mobility back, and for a while after that.”

For the last four weeks or so, poor Nin-Akna had been the one stuck assisting Felitïa in all those mundane tasks. Zandrue had done it at first before they’d had to go separate ways. Now there was mostly just Nin-Akna. Corvinian liked to help where he could, but there were so many things he couldn’t help with, so the majority fell to Nin-Akna. The young woman had done everything without verbal complaint, but the resentment at having to be here outside Ninifin was strong, and it hadn’t diminished any in the weeks of travel. If anything, it had gotten stronger. Felitïa often had to block out Nin-Akna’s emotions just for her own peace of mind. Dealing with the Staff was enough.

It wasn’t just resentment; Nin-Akna was brimming with anger, fear, and depression too. The poor girl often cried out in her sleep. Felitïa understood. Nin-Akna had been through a lot. They all had.

At the moment, however, Nin-Akna was smiling, which was a rare event these days. And amongst her other more common emotions, relief was flooding from her as well. Nin-Akna was a warrior, not a nursemaid.

“I’ll be sure to do them,” Felitïa said.

“You should be able to start doing a lot of things on your own again, but don’t overdo it,” Nin-Akna said. “You don’t want to strain yourself, so if you need anything, you can still ask.”

Felitïa smiled. “Thank you.”

Nin-Akna stood up. “I’ll start breaking camp so we can get moving.”

“I’ll help.” Felitïa started to stand, but stopped at a surge of annoyance from Nin-Akna.

“No, don’t worry. Like I said, don’t overdo it. You just moved your fingers for the first time in weeks. They’re not ready for lifting and carrying heavy things yet. Corvinian will help me.”

Felitïa sat back and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll wait here.”

In the last several weeks, pitching and breaking camp were amongst a very small number of moments Nin-Akna got away from Felitïa. It had been foolish to suggest invading that time before Nin-Akna had had a chance to experience other moments of freedom.

“If we make good time today,” Felitïa said, “we might reach Dorg.”

“Don’t worry. Corvinian and I have a system going. We won’t take long.” Nin-Akna moved off and called out to Corvinian.

While they took care of the camp, Felitïa decided to try meditating and focusing on her concentration exercises. Maybe the Staff would leave her alone long enough to do so.

She closed her eyes and tuned out her surroundings. One by one, she let them go. The sound of Nin-Akna’s and Corvinian’s voices. The sound of the river. The buzz of insects. The last was the feel of Lon’s and Nesh’s tiny feet on her shoulders.

Felitïa.

This time, she was going to ignore it.

Felitïa.

No matter how much it pressed her.

Felitïa.

She sighed, opened her eyes, and looked over at the camp. She wasn’t sure where the Staff was right now. It was packed with the saddle bags, and Nin-Akna and Corvinian had not yet saddled the horses. But it only needed to be nearby to bother her. That made her concentration score so far today just three calls of her name. Not a good start.

She took a deep breath, and started again.

* * * * *

“It’s so big.” Corvinian climbed onto the carved balustrade and peered over the top. “Way bigger than the Jaguar.”

Nin-Akna shrugged. “Sure, but you can still see the far side. Since sailing to Scovese, I’ve come to the conclusion no water is big unless you can’t see the other side. Still, as rivers go, yeah, it’s big.”

Felitïa had never seen the Tirin before despite living alongside its source for most of her life. It was the largest river in Arnor—the largest on the continent—flowing all the way from Lake Belone to the Bay of Ras. But Quorge was on the opposite side of Lake Belone, so Felitïa had never seen the river, even though Quorge saw many visitors who had sailed upon it.

For the last few days, they had been following one of the Tirin’s many tributaries on the road to Dorg. The tributary was a sizeable river itself, but it was small compared to the Tirin, which had to be several miles wide here near its mouth into the Bay. Right now, the water looked calm and placid, but Felitïa had heard that it could become violent in stormy weather.

“How did they build the bridge?” Corvinian asked.

“What do you mean?” Nin-Akna asked. “It would be like any other bridge, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s so wide.” Corvinian leaned over the balustrade and peered down into the water. “And we’re so high up. It must have taken a long time and been really difficult.”

Nin-Akna shrugged and looked at Felitïa.

“I don’t know,” Felitïa admitted. “I don’t actually know anything about building bridges.”

A sign just before the bridge had identified it as the Peldwin Bridge, though Felitïa had no idea who or what that referred to. She had to admit it was a marvel of engineering, stretching the thousand or more feet across the river and rising a hundred feet or more above it at its apex. Meleng would have loved it. He could probably even have answered Corvinian’s question.

But Meleng wasn’t there. He was doing important things, though Felitïa still found herself wishing he, Zandrue, and the others were there. She missed them, and she knew Nin-Akna would be happier if Meleng were here.

Corvinian stood up on the balustrade and craned his neck. “I wonder how far I can see!”

“Be careful, Corvinian,” Felitïa said.

Looking southeast from the side of the bridge, it was just possible to make out the docks of Dorg in the distance—a tangle of ships and piers on the left side of the river and mouth of the bay. It wasn’t really possible to see the bay itself, but Corvinian tried, rising up onto his tiptoes.

One foot slipped.

Nin-Akna threw her arms around him and pulled him back off the balustrade, stopping him from plummeting into the river below. She placed him back on the deck of the bridge on unsteady feet.

“I told you to be careful!” Felitïa snapped.

Corvinian clutched at Nin-Akna, shaking.

“Ye should never’ve let him on there in the first place.”

Felitïa spun at the sound of the voice. So did Nin-Akna. A man was standing beside them, although Felitïa hadn’t heard him approach. “If yer his mother, ye oughta be ashamed of yerself.”

“She’s not my mother!” Corvinian said before Felitïa could reply.

“Then yer guardian,” the man said. “Either way, she oughta be ashamed.” He was short and muscular, with the tawny brown skin of western Eloorin rather than the more russet colour of the local Orwinians. His face was broad and flat, his brown hair stringy and greasy, and his left eyelid drooped. There was a Friazian lilt to his speech. Despite the harshness of his words, there was no anger emanating from him. Instead, he was radiating a calm certainty.

“I’m sorry, but...who are you?” Felitïa asked.

He frowned, though amusement flowed briefly from him. “Just a concerned passerby.”

There was something off about this man, though Felitïa had to admit he was right. She should never had let Corvinian climb onto the balustrade like that. Her exhaustion was causing her to make bad decisions. Once they reached Quorge, she hoped to store the Staff in the Hall of Knowledge so she could get away from it from time to time, and study it on her own schedule. But Quorge was still a long way away. She needed to come up with some other solution in the meantime.

Felitïa.

There it went again.

The man patted Corvinian’s cheek. “Ye be careful now, boy.”

Corvinian pulled back from the man’s touch. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be on me way then.” The man turned and began walking away.

Felitïa turned to Corvinian. “He’s right, Corvinian. I’ve told you many times, you need—”

“Fine horses ye have here.” The man had stopped by Xoco. He reached out his hand, but Xoco stepped aside with a snort. “Ninifin-bred, aren’t they? Ninifins don’t usually take good care of their horses, but these are fine indeed. ’Specially this one. You, girl, you look as though yer from Ninifin, yes? Ye bring ’em with ye?”

Nin-Akna nodded slowly. She had one hand on the hilt of the dagger at her belt. Her eyes stared, unblinking, at the man.

The man’s gaze fell on the Staff, its ends sticking out either side of the saddle bags on Xoco. His hand moved towards it, but the horse stepped aside again. Xoco was a finicky horse, though Felitïa didn’t blame her in this situation.

Felitïa.

This man was starting to aggravate her. There was something off about him. Truth be told, she was more annoyed at herself for not noticing his initial approach. She should have been more alert for... No, wait. Those were Nin-Akna’s feelings.

Felitïa was getting her own feelings mixed up with others’—usually Nin-Akna’s—more and more these days. The more sleep she lost, the worse it became.

Felitïa.

“Well, good day to ye.” The man started on his way again. He paused to pat Mulac’s nose. The gelding was much more willing to allow his approach than Xoco had been. After a couple gentle pats and strokes, the man finally headed away along the bridge.

Nin-Akna’s hand lowered. “I’m sorry. I should have noticed his approach.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Felitïa said. “You were paying more attention to Corvinian, which was the right thing to do.”

Nin-Akna huffed. “Maybe.”

“Besides, we’re not alone here. It’s not surprising someone noticed Corvinian nearly fall.”

Nin-Akna shook her head. “He was right behind us, Felitïa. He must have been practically here before Corvinian slipped. I should have noticed.”

That was a point. He had gotten uncomfortably close to them unnoticed.

“I didn’t like him.” Corvinian rubbed his sleeve on the cheek the man had patted. “He was dirty and gross.”

Nin-Akna leaned to the side to look past Felitïa and the horses. “Where did he go?”

Felitïa looked in the direction the man had gone. There was a small group of people with a horse-drawn cart coming towards them, but none of the group appeared to be the man. Past them, there were silhouettes of people farther in the distance—too far for the man to have gotten in so little time. She looked the other way, but there was still no sign of him.

“He moved fast,” Felitïa muttered. She approached Xoco and touched her hand tot he Staff.

Felitïa, you must listen to me.

I’m trying, she said out of habit.

As usual, the Staff didn’t respond.

Nin-Akna came up beside her. “Rudiger and Zandrue spoke of a man...” She trailed off.

Felitïa nodded. “Yeah, they did.”

Mister Speedy, Zandrue had called him. An unbelievably fast man who had dogged Zandrue, Rudiger, and Jorvan months ago. Could that have been him? Felitïa couldn’t remember the description they’d given of him. Wasn’t there something about a drooping eye? If only Zandrue were here.

But Zandrue was on her way to Arnor City. A place Felitïa couldn’t go.

Not that it mattered. There were more important things for her to do in Quorge. As much as she would have liked to go to Garet’s funeral, it was necessary that she not. She did not regret her decision.

So she told herself anyway.

Though she did wish there had been a way to make Quilla understand.

Felitïa.

“Let’s get going,” Felitïa said. “I’d like to reach the city before nightfall.”

Felitïa.

Go away, she told the Staff.

Felitïa.

* * * * *

The bells of the nearby church rang out, penetrating the clamour of Dorg. People, horses, carts, and more packed the wide streets. Travellers and sailors moved between merchants hawking their wares and services—some from hastily assembled stalls, others from more permanent structures, or from the doors and windows of shops. As Felitïa, Nin-Akna, and Corvinian got closer to the docks, the crowds got denser and the noise louder.

Despite the noise and the fact she often had to shout to be heard—especially whenever Corvinian darted ahead—Felitïa found the noise comforting. Dorg was different from Quorge, but it was the most similar to Quorge of any place she’d been in quite some time. She was feeling a little homesick.

But the noise had another benefit: it was almost enough to distract her from the Staff. Shortly after arriving in the city, she had drawn in the walls of the Room to block out the emotions of everyone. In large groups, if everyone started feeling the same way, it could overwhelm her. Blocking everything had blocked the Staff as well. However, it had soon started breaking through as usual.

Felitïa.

She had decided to drop the walls and let everyone in. The ruckus of Dorg—both in her head and the city around her—was calming compared to the Staff.

“I thought Lockanith was busy.” Nin-Akna was looking all about, her head moving in short, furtive motions, and she was making sudden small changes of direction to avoid people she wasn’t in any actual danger of walking into but who came close to her. Mulac was following her dutifully, but the horse’s constant changes of direction were disturbing Xoco, who was getting jittery, and harder for Felitïa to lead.

Felitïa adjusted her grip on the reins to try to keep Xoco in line. Her fingers were still stiff—especially her left pinky—so it was hard to maintain a good grip. “Dorg sees a lot more traffic. There’s both the river and the sea. Plus, it’s just more highly populated than Lockanith.”

“I’ll be glad when we get somewhere less populated,” Nin-Akna said.

“There’s constant traffic along the Tirin. It should be easy to find a ship that leaves soon.” They were taking an unusual route to Quorge, but it was the safest option. Zandrue had suggested it.

Up ahead, a queue of mostly men extended from a stall set up by the side of the street. It stretched well into the street. Corvinian darted forward and pushed between the people in the line like many other people on the street were doing.

“Corvinian, wait for us!” Felitïa shook her head and sighed. “Typical.”

Nin-Akna turned to go around the line. Felitïa turned too, but Mulac followed more quickly than Xoco. The gelding nudged Xoco, and the mare squealed, rearing back. The reins yanked out of Felitïa’s slow-responding fingers. Felitïa stumbled. Lon and Nesh ran across her back.

Xoco started to bolt, but Nin-Akna grabbed the reins. The horse pulled her forwards a few steps, but the young warrior held on. Xoco squealed again and continued to pull on the reins, taking several steps back away from Nin-Akna.

Felitïa rushed over to the horse’s side and placed her aching hands on the horse’s neck. She spoke a few quiet words and released just a small amount of magical energy. Xoco settled and stopped pulling. “There, there. It’s all right now.”

“Sorry,” Nin-Akna said. “I turned too suddenly. I’m on edge and not thinking straight.”

“Don’t worry. No harm done. We’re all on edge these days. Let’s just catch—”

The air behind Nin-Akna blurred. It was just for a moment, but Nin-Akna’s hand shot to her neck. “Ow! Something stung me.”

Felitïa unfolded the Room and tried to sort through the countless presences there. At the same time, she looked about the real world. What had that blur been? “I don’t think that was—”

Nin-Akna lowered her hand. There was blood on her fingertips and neck. “Oh shit.” Panic shot from her, stabbing at Felitïa and overtaking all other emotions in the area. Nin-Akna stumbled to Mulac and reached for her spears strapped to the horse’s side.

Felitïa continued to glance about, trying to watch for a return of the blur. “Are you all right?”

Nin-Akna fumbled at the straps on her spears. Her panic was rising. “I think I’ve been... Oh gods.” She clutched at the straps as her feet slipped out from under her.

Felitïa lunged forward, managed to catch hold of Nin-Akna before she fell. She wrapped her arms around the girl’s stomach and lowered her to the ground. She placed Nin-Akna’s head in her lap to keep the wound raised. Nin-Akna was breathing heavily, her body twitching, drool dripping from her mouth.

The wound on the back of her neck was small—a short gash, not very deep. There wasn’t much blood, just a thin stream running down to her shoulder blade.

“Help!” Felitïa screamed. “I need help here! Someone! Please!”

Over the years, Felitïa had picked up a few basics of first aid. She’d watched Agernon, and Drummor had shown her how to use many of the medicinal herbs Elderaan had sold in the shop. She had even made certain to take a few of those herbs when she’d left. Some of them would have been useful for certain kinds of poisoning. Unfortunately, even if she knew what kind of poison she was dealing with now, those herbs were long gone, lost somewhere on her long journeying.

She wished Meleng was there. He’d have a better idea what to do. All she could do was keep screaming for help.

Nin-Akna’s eyes flickered closed, her body stopped twitching, and she went limp.

Oh gods.

Felitïa pressed a couple fingers against Nin-Akna’s neck. There was a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Nin-Akna was still alive for now, but her mental presence was quiet.

As carefully as she could, Felitïa shifted Nin-Akna’s body round so she could pick her up. She had no idea if it was safe to move her, but leaving her lying on the ground until she was dead wouldn’t do any good either. She had to find someone who could help. Maybe there was someone at the church they’d passed a few minutes ago.

She continued to call for help. People nearby looked at her, emotions ranging from concern to annoyance, but none came to help. Most people didn’t even notice. The streets were so noisy, her screams probably didn’t travel far.

Nin-Akna was not a big woman, but she was muscular enough to weigh quite a bit more than most people her size, and that weight was more than Felitïa was accustomed to. She couldn’t get a good grip either, as her fingers were still too stiff. It was all she could do to avoid dropping Nin-Akna as she stumbled around the horses.

Gods, how was she going to get the horses to follow her?

Where the hell was Corvinian?

There was another call for help, and Felitïa looked ahead. Others were echoing her calls, sending the word on. So not everyone was ignoring her.

Up ahead, at the front of the long queue, someone leapt over the stall and ran in her direction. His hand was on the hilt of a sword at his side. Two others followed also reaching for swords.

Dear gods, she didn’t need this now—though it was surprising it had taken this long for a follow-up attack. She titled her head and prepared to put them to sleep.

“How can I help?” the first called.

Felitïa held off on the spell. He wanted to help?

The man slid to a stop in front of her and looked about, his hand still on his sword, but he didn’t draw it. The other two stopped just behind him, remaining just as vigilant. All three of them wore Arnorin military uniforms with an embroidered emblem of a dolphin leaping a bear: Royal Navy.

Felitïa relaxed a little. “She’s been poisoned. I didn’t see who did it.”

“Here, let me.” The man in the lead reached out and lifted Nin-Akna from Felitïa’s arms.

“The wound’s in her neck. Keep it elevated to slow the spread of the poison.”

He was a tall Folith with tanned skin. There were several additional pins on his uniform that Felitïa was unfamiliar with, though she was certain they indicated his rank. “We have medical supplies on my ship. We’ll get her there.”

“Thank you.” It was a little embarrassing that she had jumped to the conclusion they were about to attack her, but people wanted her dead so often these days, and someone had just poisoned Nin-Akna. “My horses...”

“My men will see to them.” He nodded to the two men with him.

“There was a young boy with me, too. I’m not sure where he’s gone.”

“Find the boy, too,” he told the others.

“He’s almost ten,” Felitïa said. “You can recognise him by his hair. The ends are black, but a lighter brown towards the roots.”

“We’ll find him. For now, we need to get this young lady help. This way.” He turned towards the dock and broke into a run. “Clear the way!”

People nearby moved out of his way.

Felitïa ran after him, but he soon began to outpace her and she struggled to keep him in sight.

He continued to bark at people as he ran and people continued to move aside. Many turned to watch him and then Felitïa as they passed. Amidst feelings of confusion, there were also hints of recognition, sometimes awe. People here knew who this man was.

The docks were a maze of quays and piers with ships of all kinds and sizes, from small riverboats and barges to massive sea-faring ships. The man darted along one quay and then another, and then onto a pier berthing several military ships. He ran up the gangplank of a three-masted Porthaven Clipper, barking orders as he went.

By the time Felitïa reached the deck, the man was bent over, clutching his thighs and breathing heavily. The crew on deck were returning to their regular duties. There was no sign of Nin-Akna.

The man straightened up as Felitïa approached. “She’s with my physician.”

Felitïa was breathing heavily as well. She gasped at her words. “I hope we’re not too late.”

“He’s very good. If anyone can help her, he can.” He held out a hand. “Forgive me for not introducing myself, but the situation was desperate.”

Felitïa held out her hand to him. He bent over, took her hand, and kissed it. The whiskers of his short, trimmed beard tickled her sensitive fingers. The edge of a red tattoo was just visible above the collar of his uniform.

“Harrick Padara, Captain of the Silhouette. Welcome aboard.”

“Harrick Padara?” Amar Padara was Lord of Orwin, but Felitïa didn’t know the names of everyone in his family. However, Harrick’s sounded familiar.

“Yes,” he said. “Grandson of Lord Amar, but on this ship my naval rank is more important, not my birth station. To whom do I have the pleasure?”

Felitïa had been using her childhood alias of Asa since leaving Ninifin, and had intended to continue doing so until she reached Quorge. It helped her to avoid the local nobility. There was no way to be sure how they would react to her presence. Yet now, she hesitated to give the name. If she recalled correctly, the Padaras did not have a lot of love for her mother, so they might be more accepting of her, and getting in to see Lord Amar could have its advantages.

“Is there a problem?”

Felitïa gulped. “No. Sorry. I just...” To hell with it. She didn’t feel comfortable lying to this man after what he’d done to help Nin-Akna. Would he believe her though? “I’m Felitïa Asa Folith, daughter to King Wavon and Queen Annai.”

Harrick straightened his back and snapped his feet together.

Well, that answered that question.

“Your Highness! I didn’t realise. My apologies.” He made a low bow.

Felitïa held up her hand. “No, that’s all right.”

“Royalty on deck!” he barked, and others nearby relayed the order across the deck. The crew began to snap to attention.

“No, really. That’s all right. You don’t—”

“It’s protocol, your Highness. We must maintain proper discipline. Gabriella hates it too, if that’s any consolation.”

He knew Gabriella? “Of course. Now I remember who you are.”

The crew had now all snapped to attention. As one, they all bowed. Felitïa sighed.

“Return to work,” Harrick bellowed. While his command was related across deck, he faced Felitïa again. “Remember me now, do you? I supposed I could be hurt you didn’t know who I was right from the start, but there’s no reason you should have.”

“You’re courting Gabriella, right?” Felitïa asked.

Harrick clasped his hands behind behind his back. “Actually, we’re engaged now.” He grinned. “Let me guess, you never thought of Gabriella as the marrying type.”

Felitïa shrugged. “Honestly, I never thought anything. I haven’t seen Gabriella in years.”

“Ah yes, the whole running-away-from-home thing.”

“That would be part of it, yes. However, I was in Arnor City earlier this year. Gabriella wasn’t there. I believe she was here visiting you, so I didn’t see her.”

Harrick chuckled. “It seems you continue to have bad timing. She was here until only a couple weeks ago, so you just missed her.”

Felitïa shrugged. “I’ll have to continue missing her, I’m afraid. I’ve been banished from the Royal Palace and Arnor City.”

Harrick nodded. “Yes, I heard something about that. Word is, you’re responsible for the war we’re now preparing for.”

Felitïa groaned. “I was involved, though probably not in the way you’ve heard. The Volgs were pushing for war regardless.”

“I’ve heard a bit about that, too. Whatever the case, it helped you today. War preparations are why I was in the city signing new recruits.”

Felitïa smiled. “So that was the reason for the queue.” There wasn’t any disgust, disapproval, or dislike emanating from him, so perhaps revealing her identity hadn’t been a bad decision.

“Forgive me, your Highness,” Harrick said, “but before we continue, we should discuss what happened to your friend, so we can make an effort to catch whoever is responsible. Perhaps we should go to my cabin?”

“Of course, though I doubt there’s much you can do at this point. I didn’t see who did it.”

“We shall see. This way.”

The captain’s cabin was small, cramped, and packed. A desk sat in one corner and Harrick went straight over to it when they entered. A small bed sat in another corner along with a wardrobe and several chests. Shelves full of cases and stoppered, large glass bottles filled most of the rest of the room. Two maps of the east coast of Arnor hung pinned to one wall. The first showed the coast from the northern reaches of Rivalle south to Nallin and the Bay of Ras, along with the west coast of the Thumb. The second showed the east coast of the Thumb from Fisvin all the way down to Fal at the very southern tip of Arnor.

Harrick sat down and took a pen and ink bottle from a drawer. “Tell me about what happened.”

Felitïa turned from the maps to face him. “Someone struck Nin-Akna.”

“But you didn’t see who?” Harrick took a sheet of paper from beneath a weight on the desk.

Felitïa shook her head. “It happened too quickly.” That was technically true. She would just let him think she wasn’t looking directly at Nin-Akna. “I have an idea who it was though.”

“Oh? How do you know?”

“It’s someone who has given my friends trouble in the past. We saw him a couple hours ago on our way into the city.”

“Describe this person.”

Felitïa described the man on the bridge to the best of her memory. Although she hadn’t had a long look at him, she was certain she remembered the most pertinent details, like the drooping eyelid.

Harrick wrote down the description. “Do you know his name?”

Felitïa shook her head. “He has a Friazian accent though.”

Harrick scribbled down the final note and frowned. “You may be right about there not being much we can do, but I’ll have this description delivered to the city and dock watches, as well as to as many ships as possible. If he tries to book passage on one, we might get lucky and catch him.”

He wasn’t likely to. Anyone who could move as fast as he could would cover more ground on their own than using transport. He’d only use a ship if he had to get somewhere that couldn’t be reached by land. That wouldn’t be easily explained to Harrick, however.

“Thank you,” Felitïa said. “Any idea when we can check in on Nin-Akna?”

He shook his head. “We’ll just have to wait for word.”

Word was slow in coming. Felitïa paced about the small cabin the whole time. She couldn’t be sure how much time passed. There was no word on Corvinian, either. What would it mean if, only weeks after finding the boy, she had lost him again? What would Quilla think? Quilla had not been happy about Corvinian coming with Felitïa, so how would she take having to find him all over again?

Not well, Felitïa could be sure.

Their parting hadn’t gone well.

“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?”

Quilla had come to her during the “party” Zandrue had thrown their last night in Getavin, though it hadn’t been much of a party. Felitïa had spent the entire time sitting at one end of the table in the restaurant, barely eating anything—partially because she wasn’t hungry, and partially because she couldn’t feed herself and Zandrue was too distracted to help.

“Aren’t you?” Quilla repeated.

Felitïa looked at her and tried to smile. The anger radiating from Quilla, however, was enough to make Felitïa dizzy. “Quilla, he doesn’t want to go with you, and you can’t force him.”

“He’s my son.”

“You have to give him time.”

Quilla slammed her hand on the table, rattling Felitïa’s plate and knocking over a nearby cup of wine. Zandrue stopped fondling Rudiger and turned to face them. The others at the table went silent.

“He’s...my...son.” The words came like a hiss. “It’s bad enough you won’t come back for the funeral, but at least I understand your reasoning. But this?” Quilla slammed her hand down again.

“Quilla, we’ve been through this. We—”

“You’re not my mother!” Corvinian shoved his plate—and that of Meleng beside him—sending them clattering to the floor.

Quilla spun to face him. “You are my son!”

“I’m not!” Corvinian shoved the table, knocking over cups and pitchers, and ran from the room.

Quilla started after him, but Zandrue reached across the table and grabbed her arm. “Let Meleng go. He’ll bring him back shortly.” Zandrue nodded to Meleng, who rose and followed after Corvinian.

Felitïa stared at the table.

The room was silent, but the Room was deafening. Quilla’s anger threatened to drown Felitïa.

“And I thought you were my friend,” Quilla hissed. There was more than anger coming from her. There was hatred, too.

Felitïa didn’t look up, but spoke quietly. “You are my friend.”

“Fuck you.” Quilla pulled her arm free from Zandrue’s grasp and stormed from the room.

“She’s not my mother,” Corvinian stated when he returned with Meleng. He got himself a new plate of food and sat back at the table. He didn’t speak again for the rest of the evening.

In the weeks since, Felitïa had thought about that evening and the events leading up to and following it many times. Each time, she had questioned her decision over and over. Had she done the right thing, or had she missed a better solution? Corvinian had made it clear he would only go with her or Meleng. And neither she nor Meleng could go with Quilla. Meleng was going partway though. Maybe she should have… No, she needed Agernon to work with Corvinian.

Felitïa sighed and pushed the thoughts out of her mind for now. She’d thought about them enough. There was no other decision she could have made.

To distract herself, she retrieved Lon, who had spent most of the time from the run to the ship until now with his claws dug into her side. He didn’t like it when she ran. She couldn’t really blame him, though Nesh didn’t seem to mind as much. A simple calming spell got Lon to let go of her, and then she sat and waited, stroking Lon’s back and talking to him with soothing words. Nesh crawled beside Lon and waited for the same attention. Harrick looked on, bemusement seeping from him.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door, and an ageing, bald Folith entered, accompanied by one of the ship’s officers. Both bowed to Felitïa and saluted Harrick.

Felitïa placed Lon on one shoulder and Nesh on the other. The two rats darted into her hood. “How is she?”

“Sleeping,” the older man said. “There were some traces of the poison on her neck, so I was able to narrow down the exact kind to a small list. I’ve given her a broad-ranging medication that appears to be helping.”

“So she’ll pull through?”

“Impossible to say. The poison was almost certainly intended to kill, although it appears hastily delivered. I suspect she took a smaller dose than intended. Whether it was small enough to survive, I don’t know. She has a tough constitution though, so I’m optimistic. We’ll know more in a few hours.”

“Thank you.” Felitïa turned to Harrick. “Captain Padara, I should go find the boy who was with me.”

“That’s what I was coming to inform you of, your Highness,” the officer who had accompanied the physician said. “We’ve found the boy. He’s on deck.”

Felitïa closed her eyes for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“With the Captain’s permission, I will take you to him.”

Harrick Padara nodded and stood up.

The officer motioned to the door. “We have your horses as well. They’re waiting on the pier.”

Corvinian was standing near the gangplank with another officer and a couple sailors. As Felitïa approached, he tried to slink behind the officer’s legs, but the much larger man held him in place by the shoulder. Corvinian lowered his head and stared at the deck when she reached him. “Sorry.”

“How many times do I have to tell you about running off? You see what can happen? It’s not just that you can get hurt or lost. Nin-Akna was attacked and I could have used your help.”

“But I hadn’t gone far. You were the one who left.”

“You’d gone far enough that you couldn’t hear me screaming for help, and that’s too far. And I left because I had no choice. Nin-Akna would have died otherwise. If Captain Padara hadn’t come to help, she would have.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you say that every time. I hope maybe this time you’ll learn your lesson.”

Corvinian peered up at her, his green eyes glistening with tears. As normal with him, though, no emotions emanated for him, no thoughts at all. He was like the opposite of the Staff. The Staff was an object that should be mindless and yet somehow had a mental presence. Corvinian should have had a mental presence, yet had none.

“Is Nin-Akna going to be okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Hopefully.”

“I really am sorry.” He lowered his head again.

“It’s all right. I believe you.” She nodded to the officer holding Corvinian and he let go. Felitïa knelt down in front of him to look him in the eyes. “Just don’t keep running off, all right?”

Corvinian nodded.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She spread her arms and he hugged her.

Corvinian took awhile to let go, but when he did, Felitïa stood up and turned to Harrick. “Captain Padara, would you have a place on board where we could bunk for the night? I’d prefer not to leave Nin-Akna.”

Harrick shuffled his feet. “I do, but I’m afraid my grandfather would never forgive me if I didn’t bring you to see him and let him offer you a place for the night.”

“The offer is appreciated, but I really don’t want to leave Nin-Akna. If she wakes up, she—”

“If there’s a change in her condition, my men will send someone to summon you immediately.”

Felitïa shook her head. “If she takes a turn for the worse, by the time I get back here, she could already be dead. I’ll visit your grandfather in the morning. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Harrick didn’t immediately respond, but after a moment, nodded. “Very well. We don’t have guest cabins—we’re a military ship, after all—but you and the boy can use my cabin. I’ll bunk with the other officers.”

“Thank you,” Felitïa said.

“We don’t have facilities for you horses, but my men will ensure they’re properly stabled.”

“That will be fine,” Felitïa said. “I’ll just collect a few things from them first.”

“As you wish.”

“Corvinian, give me a hand.” She took Corvinian’s hand and they headed for the gangplank.

Harrick followed. “I’ll be happy to assist as well.”

Xoco and Mulac were tied to posts beside where the gangplank reached the pier. Two sailors stood nearby, watching them.

Felitïa.

“Damn it,” Felitïa murmured. She paused partway along the gangplank.

“Something wrong?” Harrick asked.

She shook her head and continued on. “It’s nothing.”

She’d finally gotten some time away from the Staff, and she’d been too distracted to even notice.

Felitïa.

“Want me to take the Staff for you?” Corvinian asked.

“Yes, please.”

She also let Corvinian do the untying of the packs as her fingers were still stiff. As he freed the Staff from Xoco’s side, Felitïa ran her hand along it.

Felitïa, you must listen to me.

I am listening, and I want to help, but I don’t know what to do.

Felitïa.

The Staff had a mental presence, but it was essentially mindless. It had something to do with the missing eyes. She was sure of it. Maybe if she could find them, the Staff would stop its incessant calling and tell her what it wanted. But she had no idea how to do that, so for now, it had to remain mindless.

But the more it remained mindless, the more it threatened to drive her out of her mind.