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Strangely breathless, she leaned against a lamppost while Jarin disappeared into a nearby shopfront. The window displayed saddlery and belts and rather more sensible-looking shoes than the ones she’d been wearing. He returned minutes later with a pair of brown leather boots in her size.
Holding Jarin’s arm for support, she changed into the boots. She tested them out, pacing up and down, amazed at the difference. The grips on the flat soles made walking far easier.
“Good?” he asked.
“Good,” she confirmed.
“Let’s go start a mutiny, then,” he said, handing her silk slippers to a grubby-faced girl on the side of the street.
Dusk drew nearer, the docks striped with long shadows as Riella and Jarin descended the street.
“Is Artus invulnerable, like you?” she asked. “If I’m to fight him, I ought to know.”
“No, he’s not. I believe he’s trying to be, though. It’s why he attacked a royal ship carrying artifacts, and why I need to move against him. He’s always hated my invulnerability—secretly though, so he can keep me close. I helped him take the Pandora from the last captain. But he’s always known I’d be his biggest threat, one day.”
Riella thought of Yvette’s toxic bondage to Madame Quaan. “He’s not your father, is he?”
“No. But he saved me when I was younger, which is why it’s taken me so long to overthrow him. When I lost my parents, I stowed away on a pirate ship. Artus was the gunner and he took me under his wing. Best and worst thing that could happen to an angry young man.”
“What were you angry about?” she asked, trying to fill in the gaps in his cryptic story. “Were your parents killed, then?”
“My father was killed, yes. My mother . . .” He squinted at the crimson horizon. “. . . is complicated.”
“Was she invulnerable too?”
“No. She’s not. But she made me so.”
The siren’s mind brimmed with questions, but she and Jarin were fast approaching the docks, so she asked the most pressing one. “What are Artus’s weaknesses?”
“He takes advantage of any kindness,” answered Jarin without hesitation. “Show him none.”
A horn blared long and loud, penetrating the late afternoon din of the city. The sound echoed through the streets and sent chills through Riella.
“The Pandora’s horn,” said Jarin, quickening his pace.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But we don’t sound the horn at port unless there’s dire trouble.” He turned to Riella. “Whatever it is, I can’t leave my men to fend for themselves. If you want to part ways, now’s the time.”
“You’ll still take me to the Black Cliffs?”
“I will.”
“Then, let’s go.”
CHAPTER 13
Jarin was grateful that Artus could no longer access Ferrante and his prophetic words. The captain hadn’t yet realized that Riella was valuable on a grander level. He was too focused on finding the amulet, and had only wanted to earn a pouch of gold from selling her.
If the siren fought on Jarin’s side during the mutiny, that might tip the scales of victory in his favor, thus altering the destiny of the clan like Ferrante said she would. All in all, Jarin felt sure he’d decoded the Seer’s prediction correctly, and could use it to his advantage. Artus would fall, that very night.
The docks were as crowded as ever, but as dusk approached, the mood changed. Everyone was in a rush to either set sail or finish unloading cargo. The stallholders packed up, and the beggars migrated uphill to the tavern district. No one was more generous than a drunken sailor stopped at port for the night.
At first, he could see no reason for the horn. Against the scarlet late afternoon sky, his crew mates hauled the anchor and climbed the rigging, preparing to set sail. But when he looked closer, he realized there were fewer crew members than usual, and the men were in a great rush.
Riella stopped dead, pointing at the ship.
“What’s wrong with that boy?” she asked in an uncertain voice.
