She launched back into her pacing. A double beat to the drum’s slow rhythm. A triple beat. Why couldn’t she come up with a plan? Iseult made it look so easy, yet every time Safi tried to organize her thoughts, they swirled apart like silt in a stream.

“You shouldn’t walk so much,” the girl said, still following Safi’s steps. “The crew will complain, and then the Admiral might lock you up.”

That gave Safi pause. Being locked up would severely limit her chances of defense or escape should it become necessary.

“I have a good spot topside,” the girl offered. She pointed to the ladder. “You can’t pace, but you can watch the drills.”

Safi’s nostrils twitched. She marched to the lowest rungs and glared into the bright sunlight overhead. Merik was up there. And Kullen too, who could incapacitate Safi at even the slightest disobedience.

But going topside would give Safi a better handle on the ship, the crew, and the layout. Maybe she could assemble a strategy if she learned more.

“No one will see us?” she asked the girl, thinking of Merik’s orders to stay below.

“I swear it.”

“Then show me.”

The girl bared another grin and scrabbled up the ladder. Safi scaled behind and soon found herself surrounded by sailors, their cutlasses high and feet moving in vine-like steps across the heaving deck. Though many men ogled Safi as she sneaked past, she heard no jeers, felt no aggression. The prejudiced men, it would seem, were mostly below.

Which meant she wouldn’t stay here long. She’d get the information she needed and return to Iseult’s side.

Safi followed the girl, counting fifteen steps from the ladder to the forecastle’s shade. The girl slunk behind four barrels that stank of dead fish and hunkered down. Safi crouched beside her, pleased to find that she was indeed hidden. The spot also gave her a clear view of the practicing sailors—of which, she realized with a sickening twist, there were many.

With all the crew displayed in rows instead of clambering in the rigging or scouring the decks, Safi estimated at least fifty men. Probably twice that, since she was gull crap when it came to math.

Safi craned her neck until she glimpsed Merik, Kullen, and three other men beside the tiller. They all wore wind-spectacles and their mouths moved in unison.

Behind them, Safi found the source of the endless thundering. A young man—with braids like the girl’s—pounded an enormous horizontal drum.

Safi wished she could break his mallet in half.

Though more than that, she wished she could get a breath of fresh air. “Gods below,” she swore, turning back to the girl. “What is that stench?”

“It’s chum. We save our offal.” The girl flicked a gleaming scale off the closest barrel, and now that Safi examined the planks around her, she found many scales. Leaking from the barrels, clinging to the sides. “It’s for the sea foxes,” the girl added. “We have to feed them when we pass by or they’ll attack.”

“The … sea foxes,” Safi repeated flatly. “As in the mythical serpents that feast on human flesh?”

“Hye.” The girl’s ready smile flashed again.

“But surely you don’t believe in them. They’re just stories to scare children—like mountain bats. Or the Twelve Paladins.”

“Which are also real,” the girl argued. As if to prove her point, she pried a worn pile of gold-backed taro cards from her pocket and flipped over the top card.

It was the Paladin of Foxes, and a furry teal serpent coiled around a sword. Its fox-like face stared at Safi.

“Nice trick,” Safi murmured, fingers itching for the deck. She’d seen many taro cards in her life, but she’d never seen ones with sea foxes instead of normal red foxes. It made her wonder what was painted on the other five suits.

“Not a trick,” the girl countered. “I’m just showing you what a sea fox looks like. They’re these huge serpents in water, see? But every few decades, they shed their skins and come to shore as beautiful women who seduce men—”

“And drag them to their graves,” Safi finished. “The mountain bat legend is the same. But what I want to know is if you’ve actually seen a sea fox.”

“No. Although,” the girl rushed to add, “some of the older crew claim they fought foxes during the War.”

“I see,” Safi drawled—and she did see. Merik and his captains must keep the chum onboard to appease the more superstitious in their ranks—just like Uncle Eron sent sheep to the Hasstrel caves each year for the “mountain bats.”

Throughout her childhood, Safi had scoured the alpine forests around the Hasstrel estate for any sign of a bat-like dragon. She’d combed the nearby caves, where the bats supposedly lived, and she’d spent hours beside the dead Earth Origin Well, waiting for a beautiful woman to suddenly appear.

But after ten years with nary a glimpse, Safi had finally accepted that mountain bats—if they’d ever existed—were as dead as the Well they lived beside.

Sea foxes, Safi decided, were no different.

“My name’s Ryber, by the way.” The girl bobbed her head. “Ryber Fortsa.”

“Safiya fon Hasstrel.”

Ryber bit her lip as if trying to stifle a grin. But then she gave up. “You’re a domna, right?” She flipped up another taro card.

The Witch. It showed a woman, face hidden, staring at an Origin Well—the Earth Origin Well, actually. Except that unlike the Well Safi had grown up exploring, the illustrated version was still alive. The six beech trees around it were burgeoning, the flagstone walkway intact, and the waters swirling.