When I wake for the second time, light streams through the window over my bed. I can’t see the sun from the porthole, but the sky is bright, the shore so distant it could be an illusion. Waves glisten in the sunlight, the ship rocking along. I rub at my eyes and hope that my middle-of-the- night conversation with Rocco was all a dream, that I’ve slept straight through.

But it wasn’t.

How long was my brother suspicious of me? Only these last few months.

Months. And Harristan never said a word.

I shouldn’t be so upset about it. Honestly, he should have been suspicious of me for years.

He left me in the Hold for an entire day. It makes me wonder if he’s put me on this ship to get me out of the way as efficiently as he did with Lochlan.

But he snuck into my carriage before I left. He all but threatened the captain.

He sent this jacket. I slide a finger along the lapel.

I wish I could talk to my brother. My throat threatens to tighten, but I breathe through it. I’m being ridiculous. I’m not a little boy.

I want to talk to Tessa—but the irony is that I’ve closed that door, too.

My joints are sore from a poor night of sleep. Or maybe I truly am hungover this time. I should just go pick a fight with Lochlan and get it over with. Or that captain. Surely he’s around here somewhere. That might be more satisfying.

Perhaps I’m just hungry.

All of these options require leaving my quarters. I find my pocket watch and discover it’s past midmorning. Very late for me. I should have asked one of the guards to wake me.

I wash my face, then take a good look in the mirror and realize I should spare a few minutes to shave, too. It’s my first morning on board the ship. No sense looking how I feel.

I consider leaving that jacket in the trunk, but something about it keeps calling to me, so I buckle it into place again. By the time I emerge from my quarters, I’m buttoned up and presentable, my tumultuous thoughts locked away. The King’s Justice, Cruel Corrick, ready to face the decisions of the day.

Kilbourne is down the hallway a bit, near the staircase, but he heads my way when he sees me. “Your Highness.”

“Kilbourne.” I have no doubt that the guards have discussed every second of what has transpired over the last twelve hours, but they’re too well disciplined to mention any of it to my face. Even still, as Kilbourne strides toward me, I remember my early morning conversation with Rocco.

Which one of you had a mark on me?

I wonder if it was Rocco himself.

These thoughts all war with each other as Kilbourne draws close and stands at attention. “I can give you the morning’s accounting,” he says.

“Go ahead.”

“Silas is above board with Lochlan and Tessa. Rocco retired at six. He will relieve one of us at midday, unless you’d rather I call for him sooner.”

Lochlan. I remember the way he was looming over Tessa in the hallway. “Lochlan and Tessa are above board together?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been stationed in the hallway.”

Because I was sleeping. I scowl. I’m hungry and irritated, and I feel like I’ve completely lost control of everything in my life that matters.

And I’m in the middle of the Queen’s River, hurtling toward … who knows what.

“Miss Tessa awoke before Lochlan,” Kilbourne continues. “I was able to see a bit of the main deck from the stairwell. She was climbing the rigging with Captain Blakemore early this morning, but now it seems most of the crew is awake. I don’t think she’s in danger from Lochlan.”

“Wait—did you say she was climbing the rigging?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” He pauses. “They seemed to be in good spirits.”

I scowl. I want to storm onto the deck and demand answers, but I know that will only reinforce the illusion that I’m bothered by any of this.

What did Rocco say last night? Do your best to enjoy the journey. The longer they believe we are willing passengers, the more we can learn.

Fine. Kandala is most important. I can lock away my feelings. I’ve been doing it for years.

I tug my jacket straight and look at Kilbourne. I keep my voice light, as though I don’t have a care in the world. “Surely there’s a kitchen on this ship. Do you know the way?”

“I do.”

“Good. Have you eaten? I’m famished.”

The kitchen is at the front of the ship, directly opposite our cabins and one deck lower. There’s an undercurrent of smoked fish and sour ale in the air as we approach, but above all that is the sweet warm scent of something baking. When we step through the doorway, I discover the “kitchen” to be not much more than a set of ovens built into one wall, and a wide stove set into the other. No windows, so the space is overly warm, and sweat finds my brow almost immediately. Pots and pans and utensils are hung everywhere there’s room, including over the tables and benches bolted to the floor.

A middle-aged woman is pulling a pan full of tiny loaves

out of one of the ovens, a stern expression on her face. A young girl sits nearby, chopping root vegetables at one of the tables. She can’t be more than seven years old, but she wields the knife with the precision of a surgeon. When her eyes fall on me and my guard, the knife goes still for a moment, but then she returns to her task without saying a word. A tiny line forms between her eyebrows, the shadow of a frown on her lips.

Splendid. I don’t know what I’ve done to aggravate a

child, but somehow I’ve accomplished it.

The woman sets the pan on a flour-speckled counter in front of her, then bobs a half-hearted curtsy. “Your Highness.” She swipes at a sweat-damp forehead and barely glances at me. “Looking for some breakfast, I assume?”

She sounds annoyed, too, and I frown.

No one talks to me like this in Kandala. I’m not offended, not really, but it rattles my foundation. I don’t

know how to move forward. They can’t all be angry that I’m not fawning all over their captain. We might need Moonflower, but he’s the one who came to us looking for steel.

“Yes, in fact.” I pause, wondering how soon Rocco will be awake and ready to eat. “For my guards as well.”

“I cleaned up from breakfast two hours ago. I’m on to lunch now.”

“Lunch, then.”

“It’ll be ready in an hour.” She pulls eggs from a cabinet and begins cracking them into a bowl. The little girl scowls at me and chops her vegetables with renewed vigor.

“Are you truly angry that I did not arrive on time for breakfast?”

“Angry?” She laughs, but there’s no humor to it. More like she can’t imagine my audacity. “I have six extra people to feed. I’m busy.” She starts whisking the eggs briskly.

I try to imagine Harristan being treated this way. I can’t even fathom it.

Then again, I can’t see my brother downing shots of brandy at three in the morning because he’d been spurned by a girl. Harristan would have been on time for breakfast.

I could seek the captain and complain, and he’d probably make her prepare me breakfast, but that wouldn’t endear me to anyone on the crew. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to alienate the cook. I’m also certain he’d have a quip that would make me feel inadequate. No, thank you.

“What’s your name?” I ask the woman.

“Dabriel,” she says. She nods at the girl. “This here is Anya. She doesn’t like strangers.”

She says strangers as if we boarded the ship like pirates. The girl glances at me with shadowed eyes but says nothing. Her hands are swiftly slicing through the

vegetables, but I see a dozen scars lining her tiny forearms. Straight, clean lines that had to come from a blade.

“Your daughter?” I say. “Not mine. Gwyn’s.”

Gwyn’s. So this girl is Lieutenant Tagas’s daughter, the one Rocco said we could use as leverage. For a moment, I’m struck by the brutal practicality of his suggestion. I thought he meant a younger member of the crew. I hadn’t realized he meant a child.

As King’s Justice, I’ve been forced to do a lot of terrible things, but I’ve never harmed a child. I’m sure there are rumors of me boiling children alive, but truly, I don’t have much interaction with children in any way at all. Some of it is due to my vicious reputation, and some is due to my brother’s cool aloofness, but either way, children rarely grace our halls.

It was very different in the Wilds, when I could lose myself in the persona of Weston Lark. I knew dozens of families. Easily a hundred children.

I helped dig graves for some of them, when the medicine wasn’t enough.

Maybe Anya can sense my sudden disquiet, because the girl looks up, her dark eyes evaluating me. I shouldn’t be kind, in case Rocco’s warnings come to pass, but regret has already started eating at my gut.

“Are those for lunch?” I say to her.

She hesitates, then shakes her head.

Then the vegetables she’s chopping are obviously for dinner, but I say, “Ah, so you must be preparing a meal for the fish, then. You throw them overboard? Get the fish nice and fat?”

She looks at me like she can’t decide if I’m crazy or stupid. Dabriel glances over, and it’s clear she probably thinks I’m both.

Anya shakes her head again.

“You feed them to the seagulls, then? I really don’t think seagulls like carrots.”

A tiny smile begins to peek through. “They’re for

dinner,” she whispers.

“We’re having seagulls for dinner?” I say, feigning horror.

That brings out the full smile. “No! The carrots.” “Oh. Just carrots for dinner then.”

“Not just carrots. I have potatoes, too.” She spreads her hands as if I can’t see the neatly sliced vegetables on the table. “And Dabriel does the fish.”

“Oh. You’re the head cook. I should have known.” I nod appraisingly. “You’re very good with a knife. So obvious now. I should have asked you for breakfast.”

She giggles, then holds up a piece of carrot. “Here.”

“My guard is very hungry, too. Could you slice it in half?”

She laughs, full out, then holds out a second piece.

I take them both, then give her a nod. “You have my deepest gratitude, Miss Anya. I promise not to be late for breakfast tomorrow.”

She grins, but I turn away to extend a hand to Kilbourne, offering our “breakfast.” This time he is the one who’s looking at me as if I’m crazy.

“Close your mouth, Kilbourne,” I say.

He snaps his mouth shut, then takes one piece of carrot. “Take them both,” I say to him as we turn for the

doorway. “It’s my fault you didn’t get to eat.” “Your Highness,” Dabriel calls from behind me.

I turn, and I’m glad I have quick reflexes, because she’s tossing an apple at me—and then a warm roll from the pan. “For your guard, too,” she says, and she tosses a second set. Kilbourne snatches them out of the air.

“My thanks,” he says to her. “Mine, too,” I add.

“Just don’t make a habit of it.” She doesn’t smile.

But I do. It’s a tiny win, and rather meaningless, really, but for the first time aboard this ship, I feel like I’ve done something right.