“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 br**sts, 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.

“Yes,” the captain says. “But we’d only get half price. It’s the Orovalleños who pay top coin.”

I smile with remembrance. “I don’t doubt it. Ventierra wine was a favorite in my father’s court. Do you mind if we sit down?”

“Please,” he gestures with a flip of his hand. “Anywhere.”

I plunk down on the nearest cushion and say, “It’s a long journey to Orovalle and back. You’ll overlap with hurricane season.”

He grins with the understanding that we are about to haggle. “It’s one of the many reasons I love the life of a sailor,” he says. “Don’t you find, Your Majesty, that when you and death are bedmates, that is when you feel most alive?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

His eyes widen. He expected to put me off balance by referring to the attempts on my life.

“I’m always in bed with death. Since the moment I left my father’s palace. I’ve nearly died more times than I can count. And I’m a bearer, which means I’m likely to die very young. So, you see”—I shrug with purposed nonchalance—“I wouldn’t know the difference.”

His beard hides any turning of his lips, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. “What do you propose?”

I have a hunch about him, about the person he is. What kind of man leaves the soft life of a conde’s son to embrace the open water? Sacrifices his youth to endless sun and wind, his fingers to the sea? Someone who loves open space and danger, I’d bet my Godstone crown. Someone who can’t wait to see what lies just over the horizon.

“My honor compels me to warn you,” I say, “that our journey is dangerous and our destination uncertain.”

Sure enough, one eyebrow raises high, and the expression is so familiar, so endearing, that it’s hard not to smile. “Oh?” he says.

“I need a captain and crew I can trust absolutely. For it is a secret journey. Outside this room, only a small handful of people know its purpose.”

He raises his chin and looks down at me through lidded eyes. “Seems to me that someone would pay top price for such a venture.”

“Seems to me that the kind of discretion I need cannot be bought for any price. I hardly know where to start.”

His eyes glow, and he’s practically salivating over what I’m about to offer. Good. “Let’s start with my lost cargo. I’ll need to be compensated for the difference in price.”

I nod. “That’s fair.”

“And I’ll need extra supplies.”

“You’ll need the same supplies as if you were traveling to Orovalle,” I point out. “You’ll just be going in a different direction.”

“I’ll need compensation for this danger you speak of, and to ensure crew loyalty.”

“So the crew is loyal to coin but not to you?”

“They’re loyal to me because I make good on my word to give them coin. Did you bring any to give me?”

I hesitate.

He glances at Hector, then throws up his hands in a show of frustration that may be a bit exaggerated.

I’ve intrigued him, certainly, but here I am at a loss. I’d hoped to trade on royal credit. But I have no coin on hand, no horses or—

“I have saffron,” Mara says. “Enough to line the pockets of your crew and then some.”

I twist to face her, remembering how carefully she has preserved her satchel throughout our journey so far. “Mara, are you sure?”

In answer, she pulls a small porcelain phial from her satchel and hands it to Felix for inspection. He feigns disinterest, but his eyes light up when he raises it to his nose.

“I suggest you sell your cargo in Puerto Verde,” I say. “Get what you can for it. The saffron will more than make up for the rest.”

But how do I compensate the captain for risking his ship and his crew? I purse my lips, thinking hard, while Captain Felix unstoppers the phial and examines the contents carefully.

I get an idea. Though I don’t have money to bargain with, as queen I possess something much more valuable. I add, “And for the service of taking us where we need to go, fearlessly and loyally, I’ll write a letter to my kitchen master and stamp it with my own seal, declaring Ventierra the official Royal Vintner.”

His mouth drops open before he can school his expression, and his breathless voice belies his nonchalant demeanor as he turns to Hector and says, “We’d have to pull out all our stores to meet demand. We’d have to sell the oldest barrels at premium prices to keep from running out. We’d have to replant the southern vineyard.”

“Yes,” Hector says. “We would have to do all that.” But he’s staring at me, a little perplexed.

“Do we have a bargain?” I ask. “Because if not, your men should lower our boat before we’re too far from shore.”

The captain crouches down to take my hands in his huge ones. He pauses, noticing the burst blisters from my disastrous attempt at rowing. I’m determined not to wince. Instead, I squeeze his hand hard, and the expression on his face takes on a measure of respect.

“Your Majesty, we have a bargain.” His beard tickles my knuckles as he kisses them.

“You haven’t even asked where we’re going!”

“Later,” he says, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “First, baths for everyone. I can only offer seawater for baths, but I must insist. You all reek of something terrible.”

“I can’t smell anything except the fish oil in your beard,” Hector says, straight-faced.

Felix laughs free and easy, so unlike his younger brother. On his way out the door, he clasps Hector’s shoulder and says, “That queen of yours played me like a vihuela, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Hector agrees, and though his face is solemn, his eyes shine.

“Please stay here while I make arrangements,” the captain says to the rest of us. “I need to evaluate my crew and see if anyone should be quietly disembarked before you start making regular appearances on deck.”

As the doors close behind him, Hector says, “Thank you, Elisa.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t think he noticed Storm,” Mara says.

The Invierno is huddled on a cushion behind me, partly hidden by the corner of Captain Felix’s enormous desk.

“Oh, he noticed,” Belén murmurs. He is using a small knife to clean under his fingernails.

“Felix trusts me,” Hector explains. But the look he gives Storm is one of suspicion. Or maybe regret that he brought the Invierno onto his brother’s ship.

Chapter 22

AFTER baths and a quick meal of salted pork with too-hard bread dipped in onion broth, we agree that Felix will give up the captain’s quarters for me and Mara. He and the men will share the largest passenger cabin below deck.

The next day at midmorning, I’m trying to make sense of the captain’s navigation charts when the crew sends up a raucous cheer, followed by much pattering across the decks. The ship lurches. I rush to the nearest porthole and am delighted to see choppy water pass by. We have caught a wind.

It takes two whole days to unload and sell the wine cargo and acquire a new batch of supplies. I spend the time pacing in the captain’s quarters, trapped and antsy, frustrated at having to backtrack, even for a short distance.

When Felix returns from his final negotiation, he brings back news.

“The queen and the conde are safely on their way to Selvarica,” he says, his eyes dancing. “Apparently it is the city’s greatest shame that the inn she was staying in burned down around her, but no amount of apologies could convince her to stay. They’re already calling it The Great Embarrassment.”

The relief is so overwhelming that I have to sit down. “They’re safe, then. No word about an assassin?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. That’s good.” Thank you, God.

“So, where to, Majesty?”

I look up at him and return his grin. “South, toward the island countships. I’ll know more . . . eventually.”

But as he takes his leave, I wonder, Will I? If God’s holy scripture has thus far proved unreliable in matters pertaining to the Godstone, how much less should I trust the apocryphal writings?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and whisper experimentally: “Zafira.”

My Godstone vibrates joyfully in response.

I’m standing in the prow, gripping the rail, fascinated by the way the Aracely slices the water below. Wind has whipped my braid into a tangled mess. Spray stings my eyes and chaps my lips. The foresail above me bulges with air.

The crewmen have accepted Hector and Belén easily enough, and they gawk at Mara whenever she passes. Storm stays hidden in the passenger cabin. But they give me wide berth, too frightened or shy to approach their queen. Or maybe the captain has warned them off. I don’t mind. It’s nice to feel a little bit alone on this tiny ship.

I sense a dark presence and look up to find Captain Felix studying me thoughtfully. “You’ve found your sea legs,” he observes.

“Not really,” I say. “It seems like they were always there, not needing to be found.” It’s been nice to have something come naturally for once. Storm, on the other hand, can barely get out of bed without vomiting, though we’ve been assured it will pass eventually.

“It’s like that sometimes,” he says. “It was like that for me.”

“Is that why you became a sea captain?”

“Partly.”

“I’m quite interested in the other part. You gave up the life of a conde’s son in favor of a dangerous career running cargo. But from what little I know of Hector’s family, I doubt they threw you out in the street. I’m guessing you ran away.”

He laughs. “Hector warned me that you are the cleverest girl I would ever meet.” My face flushes at the praise. “I understand now,” he adds.

“Understand what?”

“Why Hector stayed with you.”

I stare at him blankly as my grip on the wet rail tightens.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

I force myself to relax my hold. If I squeeze any tighter, I’ll hurt my healing blisters. Wearily, I say, “Please explain.”

He leans over and rests his forearms on the edge, gazes out to sea as if soaking up the sight of a lover. “I was set to inherit the countship of Ventierra,” he says, his voice distant with remembering. “But I hated it. The pageantry, the polite warring between houses, and sweet holy sacraments, the paperwork. One day, when I was seventeen, my father and I fought. I don’t even remember why, but yes, you’re right. I ran away to the shipyards. Offered my services as a deckhand on a merchant ship for no pay except food to eat and a hammock to sleep in.”

“And you fell in love with the sea.”

“Among other things.”