Kalam and Rorra had come aboard the wind-ship, leaving the rest of the crew in the port to get transport back to Kish-Jandera. The plan was for Esankel and Rasal and the others to ask for help from the local leaders in Kedmar, who knew them and Callumkal and would hopefully be more inclined to listen to their story. It would be nice if that happened, but Chime wasn’t counting on it.
Dranam sat back, frowning at the first jar. To Chime’s eye she was almost identical to Kalam, with short curly hair and dark red-brown skin, except that she was a Janderi and therefore shorter and more thickly built. Her dark coat was open across her chest, revealing the four breasts that marked her as female. Dranam said, “I still can’t detect the Hian ship. The distance must be too great for the moss. But that at least tells us that it isn’t coming back toward the coast.” She traced a line on the map with one finger. “I think we should keep going south, the direction of the last clear sighting, until your scouts return with news.”
Niran stepped forward to look at the map. His golden brow furrowed and he didn’t look pleased, but then he seldom did, especially since finding out that his grandfather had been stolen. “A number of trading ports are marked along that coast. Some are built around foundation builder ruins, according to Kalam.”
Lithe’s expression was doubtful. “I think we need to look inland.”
Niran nodded absently, still studying the map. “Your guess is better than mine,” he admitted.
Shade asked, “The second fragment?”
Draman’s shoulders hunched in reflex, though Shade had spoken softly, and he was sitting there in his groundling form, slender and lovely, dressed in a plain blue shirt and pants. He looked more like a warrior than a consort, his only jewelry copper wristbands and an anklet. His skin was the pale white of a Fell ruler, but his eyes were green and his hair dark, and his sharp-featured profile was just enough like Moon’s to make Chime’s heart twist.
They shouldn’t have told her he was half-Fell, Chime thought, a little sourly. Rorra and Kalam seemed to have no fear of Shade, but then they had met him aboard the sunsailer when he had arrived with Malachite and their other rescuers, and had seen how he had helped care for the poisoned crew. They hadn’t had much time to think about the fact that Shade and Lithe’s mother was a Fell progenitor, and by the time they had, it must have seemed a minor consideration compared to everything else that had happened.
Lithe, whose groundling form had dark copper skin and a halo of dark hair, looked like nothing other than a small Arbora. Dranam didn’t seem quite as nervous around her. But then Lithe never shifted when the groundlings were around if she could help it, so Dranam might not fully realize Lithe was also a Raksura.
Dranam tapped a point on the map, and in a mostly steady voice, said, “That’s the sample the two . . . consorts took with them.” She stumbled over the Raksuran word. “It’s here, to the south of this port.”
At least Moon and Stone had a moss sample so Dranam could follow their progress. And find their bodies when they were killed by something, but Chime was trying not to think about that part. As a line-grandfather, Stone had traveled the Three Worlds on his own, and so had Moon. They were the best suited to the task. Keep telling yourself that, he thought sourly. Jade and Balm, and Malachite, had also gone off scouting in different directions, to follow sightings of flying boats supposedly crewed by Hians that had left isl-Maharat before them. Chime was left to sit here on the wind-ship with the others, nursing his frazzled nerves. “South of the port?” Niran asked. “Not at the port?”
“It’s not exact,” Chime reminded him. Niran had lived with Raksura long enough to understand how scrying and augury worked, but he kept wanting the horticultural direction-sensing to be as right as his magnetic stones were when they pointed south, and it just didn’t work like that.
“That’s right,” Dranam said, though Chime couldn’t tell if she appreciated the support or not. “The sample just gives us the direction. We won’t be sure of their position until they move a more significant distance, or we get closer.”
Lithe looked up at Niran. “We should keep going southwest, at least until we hear from Malachite and Jade.”
Niran grimaced, and tied his long white hair back up in his scarf. “This delay is frustrating. It gives Grandfather more time to annoy the Hians into killing him.”
Trying to be reassuring, Chime said, “Delin is very sneaky. And—I don’t mean that in a bad way. He just might be able to get away from the Hians on his own. Especially with Bramble and Merit to help him and Callumkal.”
Niran made a weary gesture. “Perhaps. I should be accustomed to worrying about him, but the waiting wears on me.” He sighed. “At least the lying carrion-eaters don’t know where we are either, yet.” The problem was, of course, that bringing that moss fragment aboard so that Dranam could try to pick up the track of the Hians’ flying boat meant the Hians could also pick up the track of the wind-ship.
Niran went along the passage to climb the steps to the steering cabin, as Dranam fastened the lids on the jars and got up to carry them back to the rack where they were stored. Helping her with that task just made her more nervous, so Chime sat back on his heels. He had nothing to do but wait. At least the warriors could guard the wind-ship and the Golden Islander crew could clean and tend it.
Lithe rubbed her face wearily, and Shade gave her a nudge to the shoulder. “Remember to rest, and eat,” he said. Like Merit, Lithe would scry herself unconscious if you let her. I hope Merit’s alive, Chime thought bleakly.
“I will,” Lithe promised. “As long as you do too.”
“I’ll make some tea,” Chime said, and got up to go to the wind-ship’s little heating hearth. It was set back in a cubby, a square metal box carefully insulated from the deck and walls by squares of thick polished stone. Though Chime knew just how hard it was to set a wind-ship on fire; the plant fiber that looked so much like wood was much tougher than it appeared. This main room was where the crew had their meals, and a long low table, stools, and seating cushions were pushed back against the far wall now to make it easier to spread out the big maps.
Chime found the pack where the Raksuran tea was kept and filled the Islander’s oddly-shaped version of a kettle from the water cask. Shade got up to fish the embossed metal cups out of the storage chest, though as a consort he wasn’t supposed to do little tasks. Or do anything, really. Chime hesitated, not feeling he knew Shade well enough to tell him not to. Then Flicker arrived, shouldered Shade aside and gathered up the cups. Shade complained, “There’s no one here to see. It’s like being at home.”
Flicker frowned at him. “Go sit down.”
Amused, Lithe patted the mat beside her, and Shade stamped over and dropped down to sit like an annoyed fledgling.
Flicker gave Chime a sideways look, as if gauging his reaction. Keeping his voice low, Chime said sympathetically, “Moon isn’t good at being a consort, either.”
An instant later he regretted it, realizing Flicker could take it as an insult. He felt as if he had shoved his whole tail into his mouth. But Flicker nodded in relief and said, “It’s important for him to follow etiquette, when we’re away from the court. Because if he doesn’t act like a consort then someone might . . . You know.”
Someone might not treat him like one, Chime finished. It was even more important for Shade than it was for Moon. Insults bothered Moon more than he liked to admit, but he was so practiced at dealing with them it was hard to tell. Shade, gently raised but without Moon’s impeccable bloodline, shouldn’t have to deal with it at all.