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“Not exactly,” Sirsha said. “It doesn’t matter. I’m notsupposedto hunt magic-users. That’s the arena of the Jaduna. For me, it’s forbidden, and if they find out that I took this mission—”
Arelia—thankfully no longer looking at Sirsha as though she might have lice—spoke up. “I thought you were a Jaduna.”
“Not anymore.” Sirsha attempted to say it like this wasn’t a loss she’d spent eight years mourning.
“Why are you heading to Jibaut?” Quil said. “Do you think the killer is there?”
“Could be,” Sirsha said. The sea had been silent since Navium. The only way to tell if the killer was in Jibaut would be to pick up the trail there. “But mostly I have a friend there. I’m hoping he can help.”
“The bookseller,” Quil said.
“Don’t let him hear that.” Sirsha grimaced, imagining Kade’s face. “He’s a dealer of rare and one-of-a-kind manuscripts, enchantments, charmed goods, and information. Books are the least of what he does. If a killer’s been active anywhere in Devan or Odista, Kade will know.”
And Sirsha might get a better sense of what the hells she was hunting. A wraith perhaps, or an efrit, one that had been cursed or ensorcelled. She doubted it was a jinn—they tended to their own troublemakers for the most part—but it wasn’t out of the question.
Whatever it was, she needed to know. Binding a magical entity required an understanding of their weaknesses. Trying to bind a monsteryou couldn’t identify was like trying to aim a bow while tied upside down to a tree after you’d been slapped a few times.
Quil cleared his throat and considered Sirsha, thoughtful. “Thank you for telling us.” Sufiyan and Arelia nodded, and Sirsha suspected that whatever Quil was going to say next he’d already discussed with them.
“We’re traveling together for at least another week and a half. I thought it might be good if we made peace.”
Sirsha smiled tentatively. “A truce, then.”
He offered his hand. Sirsha meant to shake it firmly to seal their agreement. But as her fingers found his, a spark leapt between them and her breath caught. Her lips parted in surprise and Quil’s gaze flickered to her mouth before he met her eyes, some dark emotion flashing across his own.
“Truce,” he said, before releasing her and walking away.
After that, the mood on the shabka was easier. Sufiyan made Sirsha a tea for cramps and shared remedies for headaches and sore muscles. Arelia explained Mehbahnese engines in impassioned and incomprehensible detail.
The two of them, at least, had softened toward her. Quil was a tougher nut to crack.
Even though he’d been the one to suggest a truce, he hadn’t spoken much to Sirsha. When she attempted conversation, he responded with variations of:Just a moment. Please, excuse me. Sorry, I should trim the jib sail.The message was irritatingly polite and very pointed:Piss off.
Right now, he was at the other end of the ship—as far away as he could get without jumping into the bleeding sea. While Sirsha took the helm, he’d spent most of the morning fixing a storm-damaged windlass. The day wasn’t too hot, but he’d doffed his shirt.
Which Sirsha didn’t necessarily mind. It’s just that it was distracting. All that rippling skin. The Martial was a beautifully built man, and Sirsha was a dedicated admirer of beauty.
Still, she’d kept her eyes to herself. Mostly. As she glanced up, she noticed that he’d dropped his tools, and was examining something in his hands. Could be a weapon he was planning to sharpen and stab her with. Could be a poem he’d written about how she was a treacherous viper.
Not that she cared what he thought.
Sirsha gazed at the speck barely visible above them. Their Kegari escort had kept herself scarce, never descending, never speaking to them at all. Just as well. Sirsha thought she’d have to tie Quil up if that sky-hag came down. Every time he looked up at her, the wrath fairly radiated off him.
But he kept it bottled up. It was fascinating, the way he suppressed his emotion, forced it down and killed it dead.
“Tracker.”
The girl jumped.
“Sorry to startle you,” Quil said, and she was minorly disappointed to see he was fully clothed. This close, she saw that his light brown skin had freckled in the sun, and his dark hair had glints of gold in it. “Will we make it into Jibaut by tomorrow?”
“I have a name, you know.” She tried to stare him dead in the eye, but, as always, he looked away, unwilling to show how much she vexed him.
“Sirsha,” he said quietly, almost patiently, and there was something abouthowhe said it, low and intimate without meaning to be, that made her wish he’d say it again. “Will we make it into Jibaut by tomorrow?”
“Should be in by evening.” She glanced down at the scroll in his hand. So that’s what he’d been looking at. He tucked it away quickly.
“What is that?”
