The sight sent a note of guilt thrumming through his gut. He had been focused on his own pain, his own tragedy. He’d forgotten about Jerri. She had been taken along on his plan, caught up in the summoning of an Elder and the destruction of Imperial property. While he was being tried by the Emperor, she must have been sick with worry, left with no idea what would happen to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “This is my problem, not yours. You should go back to your family.”
Jerri looked at him, eyes wide in evident surprise. “And miss the Aion Sea?”
That reminded him: she had been eager to attempt a jailbreak, delighted at the appearance of the Lyathatan, and just as angry at the Emperor as he was.
She, at least, didn’t blame him for the disaster that had ruined their lives.
He couldn’t have faked the smile that split his face in that moment. “I should have known better.”
Waiting for them on the deck of The Testament was a dark-skinned Heartlander man in a pristine white suit. His white pants were freshly pressed, his white shoes polished, and his white hat round and wide-brimmed. A silver pendant gleamed around his neck: the White Sun, symbol of the Luminian Order.
Calder paused halfway up the ramp to his ship, staring. A Luminian? The Empire had sent a Luminian Pilgrim as his babysitter? He had already assumed that the Imperial officer would make all his decisions for him, but he had never imagined that they would come with a sermon on the side.
“Andel Petronus, pleased to meet you,” the man said, unfolding a sheet of paper. “And you would be Calder Marten.”
“What gave it away?” Calder asked, running his hand over his head. “Was it the hair?”
Andel ignored him, reading off the top of the page. “Calder Marten, in the name of the Aurelian Empire and with all the authority of the Emperor himself, you are hereby placed under my custody until your obligation to the crown is paid. Until such time, you are required to…”
The man in white stopped reading, folding the paper back up and slipping it into his pocket. “Essentially, I get to do whatever I like.”
Jerri gave Andel a flattering smile. “And how much is that debt, exactly?”
“Five thousand goldmarks,” Andel said, with no expression one way or another.
Jerri made a choking sound. “Five thousand? That’s absurd!”
“You’re right,” Calder said, then he turned back to address Andel. “Why isn’t it ten? The Emperor said this was a ten-thousand-goldmark ship.”
“Apparently the Blackwatch declined to formally register charges against you,” Andel said. “Leaving you burdened only with the cost of an Imperial prison.”
That was more than he’d expected, and he likely had his mother’s influence to thank. “Fair enough,” Calder said, nodding.
Andel nodded back. “Anything the Emperor chooses to do is the definition of fair treatment.” There may have been a taste of irony in those words, but it was hard to tell. Judging by his face, he seemed completely serious.
Jerri looked from one of them to the other. “That’s more than all of us will make in a lifetime.”
“Then I expect we’ll get to know one another quite well,” Andel said, adjusting his sleeves. “Think of me as part of the ship.”
“I choose to think of you as the anchor,” Jerri said lightly.
“I can see that,” Calder agreed. “Over the side with you.”
Unfazed, Andel pulled another paper from his other pocket. “Think of me as the part of the ship that tells you where to go and what to do at all times. Today, we are awaiting,” he looked down at the paper, “a package of considerable size, to be delivered to a gladiatorial arena in Izyria.”
Calder perked up at that. At least he would be performing actual duties as a Navigator, not simply being held prisoner on his own ship. Surely there was something on the Aion that could ensure his eventual freedom.
“How long does this trip take?” Jerri asked.
“Two months total, there and back again,” Andel said. “For an experienced Navigator with a crew. For you, I would say four months. Maybe five.”
For one trip? Calder had never done anything in his life for five straight months. He was afraid he’d go insane in a week. Besides which…
He glanced around him. He could feel the ship like an extension of his skin, feel the seamless dark green deck beneath him, the towering presence of the mast supporting a green-veined sail, the splash of water cradling the hull. He felt it, but he had very little idea how it was supposed to work. He’d be lucky to make it out of the harbor.
Then again, he was a Soulbound now. All Soulbound were supposedly capable of great feats. He would figure it out.
“What about the pay?” Calder asked, striking at the subject most near to his heart.
“Fifty goldmarks, on receipt of the package,” Andel recited. “They were generous. At this rate, it will only take you thirty years to pay off your debt.”
A crippling weight settled onto Calder’s shoulders.
“Lighten up,” Andel said, with a tone that suggested he was telling them to scrape barnacles. “There are worse fates than thirty years of arduous labor.”
Calder looked around the deck in a daze. He had participated in the construction of The Testament, binding its pieces together into one cohesive whole, but the ship had never seemed so cramped as it did now. For the rest of his life, this would be his world.
From beneath them, a surge of timeless resentment boiled up into his mind. The Lyathatan, bound by invested chains and sworn into service, seemed incapable of contentment. So not only would he be trapped onboard a ship, he would be accompanied by a bound Elder whose loyalty would last only as long as its vaguely defined term of service.
Besides which, he had little idea how to actually work as a Navigator. What supplies would they need for a four-month journey? Would they be able to pick up food in Izyria? He could steer, but how would he find his way to the correct destination?
Calder wished he could keep up his conversation with the Imperial officer, to show this Andel Petronus that it was Calder’s ship and he would give the orders.
Instead, he stood on the edge of the deck, lost.
It wasn’t like him. He had always thought of himself as the one to take action, who was never at a loss for something to say or do. And now the sheer enormity of the future overwhelmed him.
Andel turned toward him, hat gleaming in the sun. He studied Calder’s face with no apparent change in expression.
“While you were still sleeping in the palace, I had the ship loaded. We are now carrying twelve barrels of fresh water, two cauldrons, a set of pots, four canvas flags with the Navigator crest, two rifles with matching ammunition, three quicklamps, and almost a thousand pounds of food. Mostly beans, rice, cheese, and salted meat. There are three Navigator supply stations in the Aion, and we can stop and resupply at each of them, if necessary. I have their locations logged.”
When he finished his speech, Andel tipped his hat. “It’s in my own best interests to see to the success of this ship, after all.”
Calder took what felt like his first full breath of air all day. The relief made him feel ten pounds lighter; he even smiled at the man in white. “Well done, Andel. I may have spoken too hastily with you earlier. Welcome aboard my ship.”
Andel ran his hand along the railing and held it up, as though inspecting his fingers for dust. “Until your debt is cleared, Mister Marten, this is my ship.”