“Shall we go on deck?” he suggested.
She didn’t look at him. She tossed the knife again. “The wind’s too strong.” Petra had forbidden Astrophil to go topside when the wind was high, afraid that he’d be blown into the water. He had replied that she had no right to order him around, and would not like it if he tried to do the same with her. She had then thrown a tantrum the likes of which he had not seen since she was eight years old.
“You have no idea what the wind is like.” Astrophil sniffed. “You have been down here all day. It is already twilight, and I have it on good authority that the wind is kinder than you are to your poor spider.”
Petra caught the knife and turned to him, an apology on her lips.
Astrophil hid a smile with one shiny leg.
When Petra climbed through the hatch that opened onto the deck, she nearly fell off the ladder. There was so much shouting. She blinked. Only her head and shoulders were poking out of the hatch, but that was enough to give her a good view. It took her a moment to realize that the entire crew was thronged on deck and cheering (really, truly) for her. She saw that someone had made colored lanterns and strung them between the two masts.
Her heart swelled, both glad and sore. She tried to forget the people who weren’t here, and drank in the sight of those who were.
Treb stepped forward, grabbed her hands, and pulled her out of the hatch and onto the deck. For all his previous grumbling about the party, the captain had a theatrical flair and enjoyed being the master of ceremonies. In a booming voice, he announced, “I present Petra Kronos on the day of her Coming of Age: fourteen years old, and an adult in our eyes.”
The gifts were simple, but Petra treasured them: a bar of soap, a dried apple saved from dinner, a pair of slightly used sandals. Most of the Maraki gave her promises. Nicolas, the best swordsman on the ship and Petra’s trainer since they had left London, offered to introduce her to fencing masters in the Vatra.
“I’ll steal you something nice once we get there,” Neel added.
Tomik’s voice was hesitant. “I made the lanterns.”
She looked up again at the lanterns and saw that they were made of glass. “They’re beautiful.” She smiled. “And you gave me this party, didn’t you? You and Astrophil.”
Both Tomik and the spider were thinking how lovely Petra’s smile was, and how much they had missed it, when someone thrust a violin at Neel. It was Nadia, one of the young Maraki. “Play,” she commanded.
He shook his head. “I’m no good.”
“You’re good enough.”
“That fiddle’s waterlogged.”
“You will be, too, if I toss you in the sea.”
Neel gave her a disdainful look.
“Come on, Indraneel of the Lovari.” She said his full name like a challenge. “Are you a true member of your tribe, or aren’t you?”
Neel snatched the violin. He was the captain’s cousin but, unlike the rest of the Roma on board, he had been raised by the Lovari, the tribe known for acrobatics, acting, and music. Neel tuned up and began to play. It was a sprightly but rough music, that of a player who could have been a master, but wasn’t and never would be, because he couldn’t care less about it.
The deck thumped with the feet of dancing sailors.
“Would you like to dance?” Tomik asked Petra.
Her smile slipped. She thought of Kit, the last boy she had danced with, someone who had betrayed her.
Tomik saw her reluctance. “Would you like to sit with me instead, and watch?”
“Yes.” Petra looked at the rainbow lanterns and thought that happiness was something that must be protected, like the glass shielded the flames. “I would.”
They settled onto a pile of coiled rope. Petra tucked her arm into the crook of his, and felt warm even when the sky darkened and the wind picked up.
The breeze strengthened like a muscle, and pushed them farther into the Arabian Sea—closer to India, and the Romany kingdom.
2
Danior of the Kalderash
IONA, QUEEN OF THE ROMA, adjusted a silk scarf around her swollen neck. The entire Vatran court knew she was dying, of course, but that didn’t mean they needed to be reminded of it.
“Let me help,” murmured a lady-in-waiting. She tied the scarf into a clever knot, hiding the ugly lump on the queen’s throat, and said, “Arun is waiting in the hall.”
Iona nodded, indicating that her adviser could enter. She didn’t like to speak unless she had to do so.
Arun, who knew that the queen’s silent ways didn’t mean that she was a patient person, was brief. “The Pacolet will arrive soon with the Mercator Globes. The crew was spotted in Ethiopia, restocking their supplies.”
The queen cleared her throat. Her voice was a hideous whisper: “There is someone on board I need to see.”
“Of course. The Pacolet’s captain will be brought to you directly.”
Iona shook her head. When she spoke again, it felt as if a crab was lodged in her throat, attacking her with vicious claws. “No. He is not the one I mean.”
* * *
PETRA JIGGLED the fishing line. There were so many impossible things she wanted to do—find a cure for her father, be with her family again—that it didn’t seem fair that she couldn’t even catch a measly fish. Come on, she ordered the iron hook sunk deep in the sunny water. Catch a fish. Catch a fish.
But she was not her father, who could tap a nail into a plank of wood just by thinking about it. Petra had a gift for metal, but it was weak. If she wanted to influence the hook magically, she’d have to be able to touch it.
“Bet you didn’t bait it right,” said Neel.
“Did you try using some of those dead little squids?” asked Tomik. “Or even meat. That works for catching yellowtail.”
“Nah. That’s for nabbing sharks.”
Petra yanked on the line. It went taut. “I’ve got something!”
“You didn’t use meat, did you, Pet?” Neel widened his eyes. “’Cause I don’t want a shark.”
“Don’t be a baby,” said Tomik.
“Baby? Just ’cause I don’t fancy dragging up a gnashing, thrashing, biting—”
“Um, help?” said Petra.
Neel and Tomik rushed to her side, and the three of them hauled on the line. It was with relief and a little disappointment that they discovered that Petra had not caught a shark. It was a heavy net, dripping with seaweed and crusted with barnacles. A few shrimp wriggled from it and fell to the deck.