The Forgotten Sisters (17 page)

“Already?” she squeaked.

“Timon's condition for lending me this boat was that, when the war is over, he gets to meet and negotiate with you himself for Mount Eskel's quarry.”

Miri blotted the water from her face. When she spoke, she was amazed that she did not scream. “I can't … I can't think about Timon and the quarry right now. I can't think about another thing.”

Peder nodded and was silent for a time.

“This ship was docked in Fuska when Stora took Asland. Timon thought it our best bet to avoid capture because it was built from a Storan design. I traveled by land from Asland to Fuska's harbor, and we sailed at night. By luck, no patrol ships have seen us.”

“Well, as soon as we get back to Asland—”

“No,” Peder said. “We're taking you away. Timon has friends across the channel. He said we can stay there till after the war.”

“My family is in Danland. And Britta! Britta and
Katar and Steffan are trapped in that palace. I can't leave them.”

“If you won't worry about your own safety,” said Peder, “think about these girls, who—”

“Who just might be the answer. That's why we need to get them to Asland before the Danlandian army returns to fight. We need to negotiate with Stora and give the plan a chance.”

Peder turned to look at her fully. “You would turn them over to Stora so their king could have his pick of brides?”

“I know,” Miri whispered. “Sometimes I wonder what's the matter with me. But … but they know about it now. Astrid agreed to just
meet
King Fader, and if he's not too horrible, for the sake of Lesser Alva and Danland and her own sisters' safety, she might be willing …”

“What if it was
you
King Fader wanted to marry?” Peder said. His blue eyes looked purple in the starlight.

“But it's war, Peder.” She rubbed her eyes, a dozen memories colliding behind her lids—musket shots, bodies crumpling, Peder struck by a pistol bullet, the Storan soldier's sword falling onto the boatman's neck. “Shouldn't we do anything we can to stop a war?”

“Sometimes I think we should do anything we can just to get back home.”

Captain Bodel strolled over, his thumbs in his sword belt. Miri startled upright, suddenly aware she and Peder had been speaking so close that their foreheads had nearly touched.

“Not sleepy, my lady?” Captain Bodel said, raising an eyebrow, his eyes taking in her whole self.

This ship felt as safe as a nest of snakes.

“Thank you for coming for us, Captain,” she said.

“My employer was
eager
to save you. I'd love to know why.” The captain scratched his bearded chin, his dark eyes never leaving Miri.

She glanced at Peder, who was frowning.

“Captain,” a breathless sailor called. “Captain, I see something off the port bow.”

“A ship?” he asked.

“If it is, it's running dark,” said the sailor.

Captain Bodel, Miri, and Peder followed the sailor to the port railing. The sky was cloudy above the horizon, and Miri could not tell where the sea ended and the sky began. But she noticed one space in the darkness that shifted. Moved toward them. Moved fast.

The captain was peering through a spyglass.

“It's probably a first-rank ship,” he said. “Three gun decks, at least eighty cannons. We can't outrun her and certainly can't outgun her.”

“How many cannons do you have?” Miri asked.

The captain closed his eyes and touched his fingertips as if counting a high number. “Uh … two.”

“A Storan or Danlandian ship?” Miri asked, though the coldness in her belly told her she already knew.

“The only ships running in this part of the channel are Storan or pirate,” said a sailor.

At the captain's command, another sailor climbed the mast and clipped something to its top. The wind snapped at it, and Miri recognized the green field and crossed daggers of the Storan flag.

“One flag won't fool them,” Miri said.

“Well, one's all we have,” said the captain. “Peder, be ready to fetch that fancy paper my employer drew up for you and pray to the creator god that it works.”

“Why don't we at least try to run?” Miri asked.

No one answered, as all attention was on the looming black shape. The silence seemed to contain the answer. If they ran, the ship would follow. And fire. And send them all down into the blackness.

The captain called out orders, and sailors lowered the sails. The ship drifted, slowing against the waves. The loss of speed panicked Miri's blood. How could they bear to just sit here and wait?

The great ship came up beside them, its broadside
facing theirs. A voice from the darkness called out a warning Miri did not understand, but the sailors on the pirate boat did. They backed away to the starboard side, so Miri and Peder followed.

Hooks came flying out of the dark, grabbing the port railing. Unseen sailors pulled the hooked ropes, and the small ship moved till both ships were nearly touching. The pirate ship looked like a puppy beside a horse. Miri leaned her head back, failing to glimpse even the Storan ship's upper deck.

Sailors descended the ropes, with swords in scabbards and pistols in their belts.

Lastly, a man in a fine uniform climbed down. He wore a close-fitting iron helmet like the Storan soldiers, though his peaked higher, and red fringe topped the hilt of his sword. His beard was black streaked with gray, his hair bleached pale blond.

“Name yourself,” he said in a loud, precise voice.

“I am Captain Bodel,” their captain said with a short bow. “We're a cargo vessel, sir, as you can see, but we received orders from General Jons to run this route. He said extra eyes for Stora are always needed.”

“And why are you running dark and so close to the shore?” the Storan captain asked.

“Running dark was a precaution, sir,” said Captain
Bodel. “I didn't want to be spotted by rebel Danlandian ships. We're small, as you see, and with few defenses.”

The Storan captain nodded. These were the responses he was expecting. But then he held out his hand and said, “Papers.”

There was the slightest hesitation, but Captain Bodel said, “Of course,” and nodded at Peder, who descended to the cabin.

Papers. Those would be official, signed and stamped documents from the Storan naval commander commissioning Captain Bodel's ship into the Storan wartime navy—proof that this boat was what it claimed to be.

But it was not. So whatever papers Peder had gone to fetch would be fakes.

Miri stared at the great wall of ship beside them, the black eyes of cannons staring back, and tried not to imagine what would happen when this commander discovered Captain Bodel's story was a lie.

There was motion at the ladder, but it was not Peder who emerged through the hole.

“What is all the bother?” Astrid asked, her voice flutey.

Astrid was wearing one of Britta's dresses—the fine peach silk with a white silk apron in the Storan style. It was wrinkled from being stuffed in a bag, but the wrinkles
were hard to spot in the starlight. She'd pinned up her hair to hide the snarls, and her face and hands were well washed. But most striking was her posture—shoulders back and down, spine straight, hands held modestly before her middle. Her chin was raised and she looked around as if at inferiors.

Miri blinked. And then she curtsied. “Um, my lady, you shouldn't trouble yourself.”

“Who are you?” the Storan captain asked Astrid.

Miri took a long breath while trying to think. “It is vulgar to ask a lady to identify herself.” She curtsied to Astrid, backed away, and then spoke in a low polite tone, as if for the captain's ears alone. “Her Grace, Princess Helka Appaluna of House Stora. She has been summoned to Asland.”

There was, in fact, a Princess Helka Appaluna, one of King Fader's many daughters. Miri had read her name on the Storan genealogical charts. If the Storan captain had ever met the princess, the farce would fail. As it would if he had any opinions about how a proper lady's maid should dress. With great effort, Miri resisted smoothing her wind-tangled hair or adjusting her skirt, dried stiff from seawater.

The Storan captain narrowed his eyes at Captain Bodel, waiting for him to speak. Miri held her breath.

“Apologies, sir,” said Captain Bodel. “I would have mentioned the princess at once, only her presence here is secret, as you can understand. But now that you've met her, you understand our stealth and need to get quickly to Asland.”

Astrid held her chin up as she spoke. “Gentlemen, you do realize it is
night
? I was attempting to relax in my quarters. Perhaps you could trouble yourself with a few manners and keep the ruckus down.”

She turned and started back down. Miri followed like a helpful maid, taking her hand as she descended the ladder.

Once they were in the dark of the hold, Miri could hear Astrid let out a shaky breath.

“How—” Miri whispered.

“I paid attention during Poise lessons,” Astrid whispered.

“You could have fooled me.”

Peder came from deeper within the hold, a box in his hand. “What—”

Miri held up a hand to stop him and pressed a finger to her lips.

They looked up, listening through the boards. There were footsteps, some murmurs, and then the Storan captain's clear voice. “My ship is better equipped to house royalty than this little sloop.”

“I wish she would go with you,” said Captain Bodel. “To be frank, Her Grace is the most difficult cargo I've ever carried.”

The Storan captain laughed. “That I can believe.”

“But the general reminded me of that wise adage: A woman on a warship is like a crack in its keel.”

The Storan captain laughed again.

“I gathered the general would rather transport her in a cramped cargo vessel than bring bad luck to a vital ship such as yours.”

“And I thank him for it,” said the Storan captain. “But such a treasure should be well guarded. Sail in our wake. We will see you to Asland.”

The Storan captain barked some orders. Miri heard boots cross the deck and then a scrambling sound as if men were climbing back onto the warship. After a few minutes, their ship lurched forward, the sails full of wind again.

“You'd better stay in your quarters, Princess Helka Appaluna,” Miri said to Astrid.

Miri and Peder climbed back up to the deck. She'd been about to ask a question, but a look from Captain Bodel silenced her. A dozen soldiers from the Storan ship had remained on their deck.

Miri slowed, smiling as if nothing was wrong in the world. She ambled to the bow, Peder beside her.

“There's no escaping across the channel now,” Miri said quietly.

Peder shook his head.

From behind a cloud, a thin moon uncurled, barely brighter than the stars.

The water was sky-black, each lift and bend reflecting a fragment of the moon, as if the sea too were full of stars. The ship slowed, following the Storan vessel toward the open sea, caught the wind again, and pushed forward with a jolting speed. Looking back, she could no longer spy any land. She'd never felt so far away from home. Her legs trembled, missing again the stone mountain underfoot. It seemed for a moment that there was nothing but dark and stars and wind.

Peder took her hand.

Some shade from the sun would be glad

A plate of hot roast would be glad

A kiss from a girl would be glad

Out here on the surging sea

If I kissed you would you be mad?

Out here on the surging sea

For the rest of the voyage, Astrid remained Princess Helka Appaluna. At first she hid in the captain's cabin. But the motion of the ship rocked her stomach, and she became so ill she could not keep down even water. So Miri prepared them all to be seen by daylight. They washed their hair with a block of the rough kitchen soap, rubbed it with cooking oil, and painstakingly combed out the snarls. Felissa trimmed and cleaned Astrid's fingernails, Sus worked the wrinkles out of the silk dress, and all reviewed Miri's lessons on Poise and Etiquette.

“I thought learning to curtsy properly was a kind of
game,” Felissa said. “Who knew our lives might depend on it?”

Felissa smiled. Astrid did not.

At last Astrid emerged on the deck. Miri brought her a stool so she could sit by the railing, and her sisters acted as her maids, standing nearby. Astrid stared at the swelling water and seemed to concentrate on not revisiting her breakfast.

Miri was now a maid to Princess Helka. Peder was a sailor to Captain Bodel. They had only stolen moments together.

“Stora always paid rent to Eris to use their harbor,” Miri whispered as they sat in the galley chopping potatoes. “Why did they invade now?”

“Maybe they grew sick of paying rent,” said Peder.

“Maybe,” she said. “And once Eris fell so easily, they had this whole big army armed and ready and thought, ‘Well, Danland is nearby' …”

“I don't like this,” Peder said.

“Chopping potatoes? They are a bit knobby and sprouting hairs. Don't they remind you of an old lady's chin? Not that I'd eat old-lady-chin soup—”

“Not chopping potatoes. War.”

“I know,” Miri said quietly.

Peder put down his knife. “We were going home at
last. We were going to get betrothed, and you would teach and record Mount Eskel's history, and I would carve stone …”

“We will.”

Peder held her fingers. She leaned over the small wood table and kissed him. The sea heaved beneath them, the footsteps of Storan soldiers creaked on deck above their heads, but for a moment, she was not afraid.

They heard movement outside the door and pulled away.

Astrid walked in, pulling at the neck of her dress. “I feel like I can't breathe.”