The following day they were to meet with Arik and his men at the docks.

Mira fed Halvar before they left and noticed one of his palms was blue. Sour rage grew inside her, quicker than any anger she’d ever experienced. “What is this?”

Fell came to look and laughed. “It is only paint. I thought I cleaned it better, but last night was dark, and I was tired.”

Mira felt less anger but not none. “Why would you paint him?” What if the boy licked his fingers and swallowed some of the colouring? Could paint make him sick?

Fell brought his shield to Mira, and all the rage floated away like milkweed fluff in autumn. A tiny blue handprint was pressed into the wood. She wanted to cry at the sweetness but also from the weight of reality. Fell would be fighting soon, and she hated this. She covered her heart as best she could and feigned irritation. “And where is my handprint?”

He laughed and drew her eye lower on the shield. It was not her hand she saw but her harp. Sometimes Mira found love light and giggly and sweet. Sometimes it was sore and heavy. Seeing herself on Fell’s shield made love heavy that day.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her.

“Let us not make it harder,” he said.

Mira knew he was right, but the ache stayed with her all morning. She distracted herself with packing and getting Halvar ready for the voyage.

Most of their belongings would need to stay in Arik’s home. Fell explained that there was limited space on a ship, and the captain might want to use it for something other than traveller’s possessions. They argued over what would come and what would stay. Of course, they were actually arguing because they were angry about Halvar going on the warships and because their inevitable separation—when Fell would go to land to raid—was nearing. In the end, Mira got to bring all the tonics Myret had given her, even though Fell said these things would be on the ship already.

Arik was taking sixty ships with him to Byernen. Twenty ships would stay with enough men to protect the city and its trade routes if need be. The rest of the country’s ships were likely already on their way to Byernen.

There was a great commotion on the docks as the ship Arik was travelling on—The Unholy Dread—refused to take the extra passengers.

The captain was old and gruff, and he laughed in the king’s face. “On land, you are my king, but at sea, I am your captain. I will not have a screaming child on board. The men will go mad.”

“It is a short journey,” the king protested.

“Yes, and maybe if we knew where we were headed, I would not mind, but since you have told us nothing of where we sail after Byernen, I cannot sacrifice the sleep of my crew for your whims.”

Several captains were asked, and all of them refused, citing similar grievances. They were annoyed not to know where they were headed. They did not want a bawling baby on board. Some wanted no women at all.

“It is back luck,” one captain said. “You ask me to carry not one woman, but two? You are trying to sink my ship.”

One man in the crowd of captains burst into laughter. “You are the strongest men in all the North! Yet you fear the cry of a babe?”

A man with a bushy red beard and gleaming yellow eyes stepped forward, still laughing. “I will take them, Arik; I have space for a few more.”

“Flojer! You beautiful bastard!” the king shouted with glee.

As things were moved and loaded, Jorn pulled Mira to the side. She hadn’t said a word to the man since their last conversation and wondered if the king had told him about her letter.

“My lady,” he said. “We shall not see one another again, I think.”

“You are to stay in Aalt?”

He shook his head. “I wish to tell you that sometimes a cage feels real and impossible to escape, but often this is a trick of the mind. There is always a path if one is looking, if one is listening.”

Mira did not know how to respond. It was an odd thing to say to someone you were parting ways with. Finally, she decided on: “I will always keep in mind the things you have taught me.”

The soothsayer moved too quickly, his hands wandering along his arms. “It will all make sense in the end. Things do not happen for no reason,” he said. “Pay attention.”

Mira laughed. “You could say this to any person in the city, and it would be true.”

Jorn laughed as well, though when his smile left, there was only sorrow on his face. He seemed like he was to say more, but the bushy-bearded captain Flojer approached.

“Jorn! Up to your usual tricks, I see!”

Immediately, Jorn’s demeanour shifted. He smirked, “You know me well, but not so well as you think, Kaker.”

Mira followed Flojer to his ship, but not before Jorn shouted after the captain. “Take care of this one!”

As they walked, Flojer leaned in to whisper to Mira, “It is not good to keep a captain waiting.” She looked up at him, a little worried she had offended the man she was to live in close quarters with for the coming fortnight. But when she saw his face, Mira’s worry left. He was smiling, and she felt that, while what he said was true, he was mostly teasing her.

And so, Mira, Fell, Rowan, Fyrrah, and Halvar were placed on a ship called The Fearsome Beast.

Mira saw Arik boarding a different ship and was confused. “The king is not coming with us?”

“Most Norsern are superstitious when it comes to the sea. Most want to row on only one ship all their lives.” Flojer smirked as he offered Mira his hand to help her on board. “Do not worry, my dear; he has told me all about you. You will reach Byernen safely. I swear it.”

Just before she was to step onboard, her throat grew scratchy with fear. She hesitated.

“You are uneasy?” Flojer said.

“I have only been on a ship twice before. Once when I was stolen from my home and once when I was bringing a child into the world.”

Flojer laughed. “This journey will be more pleasant, I am sure.”

Mira took a deep breath through her nose as Fyrrah taught her and stepped forward.

Captain Flojer leaned in and whispered once more. “Between you and me, you are very lucky. This is the best ship in all the North.”

Flojer’s voice rose above the chatter of his crew. “We will have guests with us on the voyage. I would suggest that you all keep your hands and eyes where they belong.”

A ripple of laughter spread throughout the crew as everyone looked to a tall blond with a long braid that ran down his back to his hips.

“I will row with my eyes closed if need be,” the man promised with the most charming smirk Mira had ever seen.

The drummer began to play, and men grasped their oars. A steady rhythm of drums and sea and the sounds men made when lifting heavy weights blended together. Once again, Mira watched a city shrink in the distance. Perhaps it is my skael to be moved around forever.

She was pleased to find that she did not feel as sick as she once had upon the sea. She was also proud to discover that Halvar seemed not to notice he was aboard a ship. His stomach was calm, and he was, for the most part, happy. He was particularly interested in the oars and, when placed in Fell’s lap, he would grip onto them and shriek with joy as they moved. Many on the crew seemed to find this endearing. They laughed and spoke of how strong the boy would become, having begun rowing at such a young age.

Flojer directed Mira and Fyrrah to the head of the ship. “There is space to sit and enjoy the sea,” he said.

“Yes, Kaker,” was Fyrrah’s response.

This was always what people said when Flojer spoke. No matter what words came from his mouth, people answered yes, Kaker.

When the land was out of sight, Flojer came and sat with the girls, offering to hold Halvar so Mira’s arms could rest. She was grateful and thanked the man.

“Do not think of it,” he said. “I, too, had one this young once. I remember what it was like.” For a moment, the captain appeared lost in his own memory as Halvar grasped at his foxtail-beard.

As the man settled the boy in his arms, he looked at Halvar’s palm.

“Do not tell me you are one of those men,” Mira teased.

“Which kind of man?”

“One who puts stock in the lines of a hand.”

Flojer shrugged. “I am curious why the king wants one so young to travel with him.” He looked at the boy’s palm for only a moment before he began to laugh. “This is the right ship for such a boy! How lucky he is. Pray tell me, what is his name?”

It was the first time a hand reading had not driven Mira to fear or anguish. “Halvar,” she said.

“From the storm,” Fyrrah said.

“A lucky name as well, I think. May I see your hand?” Flojer said, turning to Mira.

She revealed her hand, and he laughed once more. “Hyrold’s rage, girl! You will have many great stories to tell. I find myself a little jealous.”

He asked for Fyrrah’s hand, too, though he did not laugh when he saw it. He opened his own palm and pointed at one of the lines. “We share something.”

Fyrrah smiled. “I am nervous for it.”

He looked into the girl’s eyes, and Mira knew by how still they both became and how all expression left their faces, that something very profound was happening between them.

“You need not be,” Flojer said at last.