In the dark, she can make out only a little bit. The sailors are backed against the starboard rail, a few with knives that they no longer brandish. There is defeat on their faces, and the captain says, “We are not a luxury vessel. Our passengers have little with them.”
“Nevertheless,” the voice says. Ruti can see the speaker now, a Bonded who holds a torch that burns flickering light. His skin is light, tanned only from the sun, and he has a group of others with him with similar coloring and a few who hold torches. The torches are odd, but Ruti can’t place a finger on why. “We will search the cabins,” the man declares. “All your valuables are ours now.”
Diri, Ruti finally realizes. They’ve been boarded by pirates.
She twists around, racing back down the ladder and through the passageway. “Diri,” she says breathlessly. “We’ve been boarded. They’re coming down to the cabins.”
Dekala springs from the bed. “What?”
“We need to hide you,” Orrin says at once, taking Dekala’s hands. “If the Diri find out who you are—the ransom they’d demand—” He wheels around, raising his hands so they spark energy. “I’ll protect you.”
Dekala shakes her head, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “No,” she says. “You need to take care of Kimya.”
“Kimya?” Orrin and Ruti say it together, both equally alarmed.
“He is not looking after Kimya,” Ruti says, eyeing Orrin distrustfully.
“He has to.” Dekala is calm again, a veneer of ice cooling over her expression for the first time in a long time. “If the Diri find me here with a Bonded built like a royal bodyguard, there’s a chance they might remember the news from Zidesh and put two and two together. But if they find Orrin with a little girl and us two sisters on a voyage together, we’ll go undetected.” She turns to Orrin. “I am trusting you to protect her,” she says, and her voice is fierce. “With all you have. That’s a royal command.”
Orrin says, “I won’t be parted from you.”
“You must,” Dekala says firmly. “It’s the safest way for all of us. And if we are separated, you will bring Kimya home, do you understand? She will have a place in the palace.” Kimya is awake now, seated on the bed and watching them with quiet fear on her face. Dekala meets her gaze and says in a voice that invites no argument, “Be strong, Kimya.”
Kimya bobs her head, sitting back. Ruti feels sick at the thought of it, of trusting Orrin with Kimya. But Orrin will obey Dekala, and Ruti can’t leave Dekala helpless, either. “I don’t like the idea of splitting up,” she says, and turns to Kimya, signs to her in question.
“It’s the only way,” Dekala says, her voice commanding. Feet pound above them, nearing the ladder above deck. They don’t have much time.
Kimya’s fingers move, her hands slicing up and down in a sharp motion. Go now, she signs, and she presses a tight fist to her heart for a moment and pulls it away to spread her hand. Ruti makes the same motion, her heart thumping against her fist.
She flees with Dekala, slamming the door behind them and heading to the compartment two down that has been Ruti and Kimya’s. “I don’t like this,” she says in a low voice.
Dekala is silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is tight. “Ruti,” she says. “What do you think a group of Diri men will do to two girls they find on a captive ship?” Ruti stares at her, eyes widening in horrified realization.
Dekala, who travels with a trusted bodyguard at all times, is aware of it in a way that Ruti never has been. “Orrin will care for Kimya,” she says now. “He might not like the Markless, but he will do my bidding.” She exhales, her face unreadable and icy with determination. “And the two of us … we need to hide.”
There’s a storage compartment beneath the bed that they nearly miss. It’s long and shallow, only visible once they pry up one of the rubbery floor mats under the bed. Together they manage to squeeze into the compartment and cover it back up just as the Diri begin searching their passageway.
The compartment is small and Ruti is squashed against Dekala, the two of them pressed together in silence as doors slam open and Diri shout out orders. Someone in the next room gets belligerent, and Ruti hears a cry and the thump of a body hitting the ground. She shuts her eyes, her arms shifting where they’re pressed to her sides.
“Can I …?” she whispers, shifting again uncomfortably. They’re lying side by side in the compartment, shoulders pressed together and arms at their sides, and there’s more space between them and the mat than there is on either side of them. She turns, exhaling as though she hasn’t had space to breathe until now, and Dekala follows her lead. Their breaths mingle, the scent of sea-salt air as strong as mustiness in this cramped space, and Ruti’s pulse echoes like a drumbeat in her ears.
Ruti squirms in place. “Stop moving,” Dekala breathes, her fingers digging into Ruti’s waist. “They’ll hear us.” Their foreheads press together, their legs intertwined, and Ruti slips her arms around Dekala to give them more space. There is a heady scent in the air now, a hint of the clove oil that Dekala purchased in Guder. They’re even closer now than they’d been when Ruti had awakened in the guest house in Rurana, and they’re awake this time. Ruti feels Dekala’s nearness like heat in her belly, coupled with the adrenaline that comes with the terror of being found.
The door to the compartment opens, and a rough, accented voice calls out, “No one in here.”
“Someone was staying here,” another man responds. Dekala stiffens and Ruti shuts her eyes, unwilling to dare a whispered song. “Cloaks, a bag under the bed.…” The voice is closer now, and Ruti feels the vibrations of footsteps against the floor and hears only their mingled ragged breaths. Dekala’s fingers are tight against Ruti’s skin, Ruti holding Dekala close. “They must have run elsewhere when they heard us board,” the man concludes.
“Wait,” the other says slowly, and Ruti hears it: the high-pitched sound of wind as it whips around the cabin. No. Dekala squeezes her eyes shut, straining with all her might, but the wind only grows louder. “An Unbonded is in here,” the man says with certainty, and Ruti hears shuffling around and the inevitable scraping noise of the bed being moved.
Within moments the mat is yanked up and the two of them are exposed, curled around each other in the ground. The men who stare down at them are unpleasant looking, lips curled into sneers and knives in hand, one knife glittering red as though it’s still hot from the forge. A fire Bonded. “Look at that,” the red-knifed man says, his eyes narrowing. “Little girls.”
Dekala shifts even closer to Ruti, her lips grazing her cheeks as she breathes, “Don’t sing.” She’s right, of course. If the Diri realize that Ruti is a witch, she’ll be gagged before they have a chance to break free. Instead, she clamps her mouth shut and allows herself to be yanked up from their hiding spot.
Dekala is being pulled up with the same force, and she makes herself limp, like a doll made of cloth and straw. Ruti wrenches herself free of the red-knifed man, glaring up at him. The mark on his palm is unfinished, she notices in sudden surprise, a half circle of majimm that closes around the knife again as he thrusts it at her. “Don’t move,” he grunts.
The other Diri glances over at her, his arms restraining Dekala as he eyes her. “Why is she wearing those gloves?” he says suspiciously.
Dekala says swiftly, “It’s a sacred Kaguruki custom, don’t—”
Red Knife laughs caustically. “The Diri are Kaguruki, imbecile.” He moves with unexpected speed, pinning Ruti against the bulkhead. She struggles desperately against him, new terror in her heart as he reaches for her gloves, and he lets out a hiss when he yanks them off. “Markless,” he spits out, recoiling.
Ruti shoves him again, and Red Knife catches her this time, hurling her against the bulkhead with renewed force. Her back crashes against a piece of metal that sticks out from the wall and she cries out in agony, falling to the floor. The Diri thrusts the knife at her, tracing a line from her neck down into her shirt. The knife burns as it cuts, cauterizing and blistering at once, and she chokes at the sheer pain of it. “Do you know what we do to Markless in Kaguruk?” Red Knife says darkly, and Ruti can only feel the burn of the knife, the wind whistling through the room and blowing the sliced top of her shirt open.
“Stop!” It’s Dekala who speaks, her voice commanding. Gone is the limp, dull-eyed girl who’d been dragged out of their compartment. Instead, she stands in captivity like a queen, her voice unwavering. “Don’t touch her. She is mine.”
The Diri look unimpressed. “And you are …?” the red-knifed man demands, his knife still burning against Ruti’s skin.
Ruti croaks, “No,” but Dekala has already begun to speak.
“Princess Dekala of Zidesh,” she says, her voice clear, and reaches into her shirt to remove a royal signet ring from where it hangs on a chain around her neck. “If you leave us untouched and unharmed, the ransom you receive will be beyond your comprehension.”
The Diri scuttle back, knives still out and eyes on Dekala, and Ruti slumps on the floor and watches Dekala with dismay. Identifying herself means they’ll be brought back to the palace for a ransom, and they might make it out of here alive. Unless, that is, the pirates decide that they’d rather take their chances.
The Diri have a hushed conversation, and then Red Knife roughly seizes Dekala’s arm. “We’ll take you to the captain,” he grunts. “Get the Markless.” His sharp eyes move from Ruti to Dekala, and he says, “We’ll need it to keep the lady in check.”
“It?” Ruti repeats, her eyes narrowed, but she is dragged all the same, and she doesn’t dare whisper the magic that will heal her chest. As they’re pulled down the passageway, she notes with relief that two Diri are exiting the room where Orrin is guarding Kimya, both of them empty-handed.
