“We have to disembark and search,” Tavithê added.
“No,” Fréthfâre said, leaning hard on her walking staff. “Eywodan, go and find the harbormaster. See what you can learn first.”
As soon as the ramp was lowered, Eywodan headed off down the pier and vanished into the crowd. A somewhat uncomfortable silence followed.
Tension between Fréthfâre and Dänvârfij had grown, though Én’nish blamed the latter for their failures. Dänvârfij was too cautious, too hesitant to shed blood. They should have taken this ship the first day out of the isle. Had they done so, they might have caught the Cloud Queen long before now.
Only Fréthfâre had the strength of spirit to lead this team. But so far Dänvârfij remained the one to give orders and make tactical decisions, if not all strategic ones.
Én’nish often wished Fréthfâre would simply take control, but perhaps it no longer mattered if they could trap their quarry by tonight.
“Help me with my arm,” Rhysís said to her.
She tried not to show pleasure at his request. For much of this journey she had barely noticed him. That had changed somehow. He had taken an arrow in the shoulder of his bow arm back in Calm Seatt. Though the wound had healed, his arm needed strengthening. He had taken to holding it out, and she would grip it, and then he would try to bend it and lift her.
Stepping close, she grasped his forearm.
“Tighter,” he said.
Én’nish learned Rhysís’s one weakness among all his skills: he needed to take care of someone. For the better part of their journey to this land, Wy’lanvi, the youngest member of the team, had fulfilled that need almost as a younger brother.
In Calm Seatt, Brot’ân’duivé had killed Wy’lanvi, and Rhysís had taken this hard.
Én’nish understood the anguish of loss, and she tightened her grip on Rhysís’s arm.
Shortly after Wy’lanvi’s death, Rhysís had shifted his need to care for someone to her. At first she had not known what to think of this. He was never overt, but he took notice of her extra duties in caring for Fréthfâre. He tried to lighten her burdens in small ways.
Én’nish had never valued kindness, had even learned to distrust it, for there had been so little of it in her life. But coming from Rhysís, she did not mind it so much.
“Plant your feet more firmly,” Tavithê growled at her good-naturedly. “Make him work harder ... or perhaps I should be the one to dangle from his weak limb?”
“I do not think so,” Rhysís answered with a slight smile.
Tavithê was wiry but muscular, by far the best of them in hand-to-hand combat. It seemed both strange and oddly comforting that they joked with each other while Eywodan located their quarry. Humor was another challenging thing to Én’nish, but again, with these two companions, she had come to neither despise nor distrust it.
Dänvârfij and Fréthfâre stood apart and separate, waiting in silence.
Én’nish was not tense. They were within reach of the half-dead monster, Magiere; her murderous consort, Léshil; and the traitorous Brot’ân’duivé. Soon the first two would be suffering and the last would be dead—finally.
They passed the time in this manner, though at each effort, Rhysís barely lifted Én’nish’s feet off the deck, but he managed it five times in a row. As her feet touched down a sixth time, Eywodan came striding up the ramp. In her hunger, Én’nish tightened her grip on Rhysís’s arm, and she did not wait for her superiors to ask.
“Where?” she blurted out. “Where are they docked?”
Eywodan hesitated.
“What?” Dänvârfij nearly barked.
Eywodan shook his head. “We missed them by less than half a day. The Cloud Queen sailed this morning.”
Those words did not register over the roar of pounding blood in Én’nish’s ears. When they did, she wanted to shriek in fury. She kept silent, swallowing the pain and frustration, and then found Rhysís frowning at her—or rather at her biting grip on his arm—and she let go.
This was all Dänvârfij’s fault for not letting them take the ship.
Dänvârfij’s jaw muscle clenched, and Fréthfâre smoldered with visible anger. But it was Rhysís’s expression that kept Én’nish grounded. She could only describe it as ... dark. Normally a stout supporter of Dänvârfij, he now glared at her.
He wanted the traitor’s blood as much as Én’nish wanted Léshil’s. They both sought payment for the loss of someone cherished.
“We take the ship?” he said flatly, only half questioning. “As soon as we are out of harbor?”
Dänvârfij dropped her head in brief contemplation. “Yes.”
The following morning the Bashair left harbor, resuming its journey south.
Dänvârfij stood on deck with her team spread out to strategic positions and awaiting her command to act. Only Fréthfâre remained below in one of their cabins, and Dänvârfij knew how that grated on the crippled ex-Covârleasa. But it could not be helped; she would be less than useless up here.
Dänvârfij maintained her calm disinterest, though she was well aware how the others felt—that they should have taken the ship before now. They did not understand how difficult it would be once they did so. There were not enough of them to sail this vessel, even if all of them had known what was needed. And only one of them had such skill. Revenge clouded their reason.
All Dänvârfij’s instincts and experience told her this choice was wrong, that waiting would be better, but she could not put it off any longer. Rhysís, Én’nish, and even the good-natured Tavithê had made their positions clear. They had lost too many comrades to Brot’ân’duivé. They had been humiliated in being outmaneuvered by the monster and her half-blood consort. They were failing in their purpose given by Most Aged Father.
Still, questions plagued Dänvârfij. Eywodan was the only one who also hesitated at this impending action. He stood silently near the ship’s prow, and she strolled casually along the port rail to join him. He had experience with sailing vessels, as had some others originally assigned to the team, but they were all dead now. Perhaps that also had been a calculated choice by the traitor.
“If we leave half the crew alive,” she said quietly, “but find we cannot trust them to assist us, can you bring this ship into a dock with only our help?”
Eywodan did not answer at first, and then, “No.”
This concerned Dänvârfij greatly. It was one thing to manipulate a captain into serving their needs and entirely another to force a crew to obey. Her team could kill two-thirds of the men and lock up the others with little effort. That would be over in moments, but what then?
She could terrify enough of the remaining crew into service moment by moment, but they were loyal to Captain Samara. That created an unknown variable. Killing the captain might intimidate them into submission, but for only so long. Keeping the captain as a hostage might prolong their obedience, but eventually they would try to free him. Either way, her control would eventually falter, and going by Eywodan’s word, there were not enough of her own, skilled or not, to handle this ship.
“Hold off and wait,” she whispered. “I am going to speak with the captain.”
Eywodan cocked his head with a quizzical lift of one eyebrow but then nodded. As he flashed subtle hand signals to the others, she headed off down the deck’s center. Rhysís frowned as she passed, but she ignored him.
Shortly after leaving the harbor, Samara had gone below. She made her way down through the narrow passages to his cabin and knocked softly. Beyond the door, he called out a single word in Sumanese that she did not understand. Taking it as an invitation, she opened the door.