Page 21 of Of Songs and Silence

The fact that watching someone die never gets any easier.

Ari gives a curt nod.

“There are three classes of Mayima,” he begins, the deep, calm timbre of his voice instantly soothing me. “Nobility, Warriors, and Traders, or the villagers. Your class is decided by birth, and it cannot change.”

“And you were born a Warrior.” It’s not really a question.

He told me his clothes belonged to a warrior, and he goes by Commander. It explains why he serves such a cruel master, when he is not an inherently cruel person. Like my sisters, he has no choice.

“I was,” he confirms. His tone is hesitant, like he’s waiting for my judgment, so I let my shields drop enough for him to see that there is none.

He relaxes incrementally, offering me further explanation. “That’s what the tattoos mean.”

Do I imagine the smug tilt to his lips? He certainly knows I have noticed his tattoos. Several, several times. That thought leaks out, and though he has said these feelings are dangerous, satisfaction rolls off of him in waves.

“They’re lines for each challenge I’ve won.”

I think of the respect offered to him today, the fear. “Is that how you climb ranks? Or are you born into that, too?”

“Not born into it. We can challenge anyone to claim their rank.” He doesn’t have to tell me that Commander is one of the higher ranks, based on what I witnessed earlier.

“What constitutes a win?”

He levels me with a look, and I realize how naive the question was after what I’ve witnessed today. They fight to the death. Of course they do.

“Does that bother you?” he asks, carefully guarding the rest of his mind so I can’t get even a hint of what he’s feeling.

I ponder the question. Perhaps it should, but it feels high-handed to judge a culture I know nothing about. What bothers me the most is realizing that Ari’s rank is likely sought after. That anyone can challenge him at any time.

“I can take care of myself, Kala.” His tone is warmer than it has been, and I wonder if his fatigue is getting to him the way mine is getting to me.

“Thank you for telling me that,” I say instead of responding. “And for keeping me safe today.”

His features close off at that, and he all but scoffs. I get the feeling the bitterness is directed at himself more than it is at me.

“Don’t thank me yet, Kala.”

CHAPTERTWELVE

REMY

Einar finds me at the quarterdeck.

He must have taken his tonic, because his legs are far less shaky now than they were earlier. Wordlessly, I hand him the bottle of whiskey that has been keeping me company this evening.

I know it weighs on everyone, the fact that I’m keeping more and more to myself and running through our booze supply with abandon.

But I don’t relish talking much these days. And likely won’t until I can bring my sisters the vengeance we deserve. Stars, the vengeance we all deserve, the man at my side included.

Madame has haunted us all for far too long.

Einar takes a long sip from the bottle before passing it back. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at the night sky, like me. His presence is calming, steady, not unlike my father’s. He looks young, not too much older than me, and sometimes it’s easy to forget that they were friends for longer than I have been alive.

The thought brings a pang that I’ve been trying to escape. I take another swig of whiskey, hoping to bury the feeling in the haze of alcohol.

I don’t want to think about either of my parents.

“It will get easier,” Einar says after a long bout of silence.

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