Rae Carson - The Crown of Embers

“That’s her,” Hector says. “The Aracely .”

My heart thumps. I have a feeling I’m going to learn something very important about Hector. “Should we signal?” I ask.

He throws back his head and laughs. As we all gape at him, he explains, “I had this system all worked out to signal them from afar. But with the sea so calm, all we have to do is row right alongside.”

Storm mutters, “It’s about time something on this accursed journey proved easier than expected.”

“The captain and the crew,” I say. “Are they to know who I am?”

“The captain, yes,” Hector says. “We’ll speak to him first and then decide.”

As we approach, Storm crouches lower and lower on the bench. My own misgivings swirl in my thoughts, but I’m also a little bit excited. I’ve studied about ships and seafaring, but I’ve never been on a ship before.

Figures appear on deck as we close the distance. Two others hang fearlessly from the rigging; another watches us from the top castle above the main sail. I shudder to think of him so high up, tossed this way and that by wind and water.

The curving bow looms over us when Hector waves his hands. “Ho, Aracely !” he calls.

A bell rings across the water, letting the crew know they’ve been hailed, and they respond with a flurry of footsteps. More heads peek over the rails. They’re a ragged, weathered bunch, with long hair tied back, two-week beard growth, and suspicious eyes.

“Ho, trawler!” The speaker’s voice races across the water. “We’re short on supplies and have little to trade. Best to be rowing back toward Puerto Verde.”

“We wish to treat with Captain Felix,” Hector yells.

Some of the heads disappear. The others exchange wary glances. A moment later, another man appears, more finely dressed than the rest in a clean linen blouse and thick black vest tight across his barrel chest. The whites of his eyes are uncannily bright next to his sun-dark skin. Beads are woven into his enormous beard; they catch the sunlight and return sparks of amethyst and aquamarine. His neck is thick and corded. He places huge hands on the rail above us; he’s missing the first two joints of his right pinky.

He scowls deeply when he sees us. “I was afraid that would be you,” he growls in a voice black as night. He turns to the crew. “Winch them up onto the quarterdeck!”

Hector is grinning like a little boy as he and Belén maneuver us to the front of the ship. The crew lowers thick hemp ropes. Hector grabs one and dives neatly into the sea, which sets us to rocking wildly. A moment later, he comes up on the other side, rope in hand.

They wrap the boat three times and tie off in a flurry of twisting knots. Hector gives the signal, and after a loud count and a “Heave!” we are sucked out of the water and left swinging in the air.

When we are halfway up, Hector leaps from the boat to the netting hanging over the side and climbs up. Belén follows, and the lightened load allows us to be hauled up more quickly. When we are close enough to touch the gunwale, Hector is already there, looking down at me, his hand outstretched. His hand clasped in mine feels relaxed, which surprises me. With his help, I pull myself over the rail and land on the quarterdeck.

As he reaches to help Mara and Storm, I look around. Most of the crew are busy hauling up the boat, their forearms veined and straining at the knotted ropes. But the others eye me with obvious interest. Some warily, some hungrily, as if I am a delicate cream puff with honey glaze. Instinct forces me to back away, but my rear hits the rail and I realize I’ve nowhere to go.

“A lady!” one whispers loudly.

“Two ladies,” says another as Mara clambers over the side.

“I don’t see any ladies here,” the captain bellows. “And neither do you. Get back to work.”

The crewmen on the ropes flip the boat onto the stern and tie it down through iron loops that I realize are for that exact purpose.

The others stare unabashedly at Mara and me, even as they resume their tasks. I stare right back, trying to seem unafraid. At least they’re staring at us rather than Storm. Maybe they won’t notice his uncanny height or that his eyes shine like emeralds.

The dark captain herds us with his vast arms. “This way. To my quarters now .” His urgent voice rumbles, like empty barrels rolled across cobblestone.

We take the steep steps to the main deck at a near run, then twist under the quarterdeck and through double doors hung with real glass. He closes the doors behind us and swings the latch closed.

The chamber is low ceilinged and made entirely of polished mahogany. Light pours in from portholes, two on each side. A large desk rife with paper and ink and small metal instruments I don’t begin to understand takes up most of one wall. Jutting out from the other is a huge bed covered in silk the shade of pomegranate fruit. A thick rug covers the floor, woven to show a cluster of purple grapes in a circle of green vines—the seal of Ventierra.

The captain turns to us, and a huge smile lights his face. I gasp in recognition. I know that smile. I’ve seen another version of it many times.

“Hector!” he says, opening his arms wide, and the commander of my Royal Guard rushes into the embrace and endures a fierce back thumping.

The captain grabs Hector’s upper arms and pushes him back to study him while Hector grins like a little boy. “Look at you,” the captain mutters. “A Quorum lord.”

I say, “You’re Hector’s brother.”

His gaze whips to me, and his eyes narrow. He studies every part of me: my dirty face, my unraveling braid, my breasts, legs, and feet. Something sparks in his black eyes, as if he has learned something. My face grows hot, but I refuse to flinch.

Softly he says, “And you are his young queen.” And he drops to one knee with more grace than a man his size ought to have. “Welcome aboard the Aracely, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you. Please rise.”

He stands and turns an accusing look toward Hector. “This is a very dangerous thing you ask me to do, little brother. Our hold is full and we sit low in the water. We should not be so near the coast. I trust you have a good reason?”

Hector nods. “You may have heard that Her Majesty is on her way south to negotiate a betrothal with Selvarica?”

“Yes, the whole country speaks of nothing else.”

“It’s a fabrication.”

Captain Felix raises his eyebrows.

“We were heading south, it’s true,” Hector continues. “But we were followed by an Invierne spy, a trained assassin. Given the recent attempts on Her Majesty’s life, we thought it prudent to slip away.”

I gape at Hector. He must trust his brother indeed to share all these details with him. Mara shifts uncomfortably in the space beside me.

The captain steps out of Hector’s reach and crosses his arms. “You want me to take you south,” he says.

“Yes.”

“I can’t.” He turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty, but I have a hold full of early harvest wine, the first decent harvest since the hurricane three years ago. I must get it to port so I can pay my men and bring home much-needed supplies.”

At first, Hector’s face is cast in stone and unreadable. But I see the exact moment he resigns himself to his next course of action. He’s going to commandeer his own brother’s ship. He has the right, as a Quorum lord. But not even brotherly affection could survive something like that. And I can’t bear to see it happen. Not because of me.

He opens his mouth to give the order, but I jump in. “Can you sell your cargo at Puerto Verde?”

Hector slams his mouth closed and stares at me. I give my head what I hope is a near-imperceptible shake. Please don’t do it.