Page 145 of Daughter of No Worlds

“Yes,” I answered, and a shadow passed across his face. Most people that I met in Ara knew how to shield their emotions, but Moth’s still seeped into the air like a cloud. I knew he was thinking of my scars.

“I could help.”

I shook my head. “Not yet. You still have many things to do here in Ara.”

Things like learning and growing — slowly — I hoped. Things that had nothing to do with battlefields and war.

His brow furrowed. “One day I will, though.”

“I believe you, Moth.”

And, as I felt that cloud around him harden into resolve, I meant it.

A flush rose to his cheeks. He extended one hand and waited. When I stared at it, confused, he muttered, “Yourhand, Tisaanah.”

I laid my palm in his and tried not to laugh as he planted a clumsy brush of a kiss against my knuckles. “Good luck,” he said, then too-quickly dropped my fingers as he gave the three of us one final, hurried wave and was ushered away with his new instructor.

“Moth, breaker of flowers, spy glasses, pitchers, and hearts,” Max mused, shaking his head. “Heisyour apprentice after all, Sammerin.”

“He’s a little smitten, I think. But I suppose it can’t be helped.” And I tried not to notice how Sammerin’s gaze slid to Max as he said, “When I saw that red dress, I knew we were all in trouble.”

* * *

We setoff so early that the sun was only just beginning to rise in the sky. No one seemed to feel entirely comfortable. We got through the day with tight, stilted interactions — easy enough, since there was so much to do. Long after the sun had set, we finally stopped to eat. Zeryth took his stew up above deck and dangled his feet over the edge as he ate at the front of the ship. Nura took hers off to a corner, alone. Max, Sammerin and I ate in long, awkward silence. That strange suspension still hung between us -- not quite an absence of words but an overabundance of them — and neither of us, it seemed, were ready to confront it.

Instead, as I choked down bland stew, I couldn’t help but watch the two Syrizen across the deck. For two people with no eyes, they moved with such precision. There was no stumbling over the location of the ladle or bowls. No second guessing as to where the pot was.

They couldn’t be fully blind. Not really.

“You’ve never met a Syrizen before?”

My staring must have been obvious, because I turned to see Sammerin watching me thoughtfully.

“No. They’re—”

But as if they sensed that we were talking about them, Eslyn turned around, gave us a half smile, and sauntered towards us with Ariadnea in tow.

“I’ve got to admit, Sammerin. I was surprised to see you here, of all places.” The two of them settled beside us, and we scooted around to make room. Up close, everything about them seemed honed for lethal perfection. Their uniforms, crafted of black leather and stiff fabric, were identical and meticulous, their hair perfectly pinned, their spears gleaming beneath the lantern light. And of course, there were those scars — neat, straight, precise.

All of this seemed jarringly at-odds with Eslyn’s jovial friendliness as she settled down beside us. Even though, there was even something aboutthatthat seemed… predatory.

She cocked her head towards Sammerin. “Been awhile. How’re things?”

“Well enough, Eslyn.”

“You know each other?” I asked.

“Many years ago,” Sammerin said, justslightlytoo quickly, and Eslyn’s eerie, eyeless gaze fell to me.

“Syrizen are recruited from the military, so once upon a time, we ran in the same circles. Didn’t we, Sam?”

“One might say so,” he said, mildly.

That tone was downright frosty, by Sammerin’s standards.

“We had a mutual friend,” Ariadnea said. She had a low, deep voice that reminded me of stone. Steady and heavy.

“Yes, one of our fellow recruits,” Eslyn added.

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