Tress of the Emerald Sea (The Cosmere)(56)

No no no no no no no no no obey.

Crow was returning. Key in the lock.

Had to—

In a flash and a burst of black smoke, Tress was cast out into her own body. She found her mouth parched, dry like it was full of sand. She couldn’t recognize the feel of her own tongue, now like a lump of cloth, and her hands were withered before her. She had collapsed sideways on the bed, and when she tried to speak she let out only a croak.

“Tress!” Huck said, squatting before her face. “Tress!” He held the silver knife awkwardly in his paws. “There was a line of darkness coming out of your mouth. I didn’t know what to do, but you were coughing and…”

“Water,” she managed to force out. She reached toward the second waterskin.

Huck scrambled over and grabbed it in his teeth, pulling it toward her. She managed to dump it into her mouth. As soon as it touched her tongue, her mouth burned. She kept drinking through the pain, choking on the water, forcing it down a throat that was dry as parchment.

After that she lay on the wet mattress, wheezing. If she had been that dehydrated normally, she would undoubtedly have died, but this was no normal effect. Timely application of liquid reversed the process, reinflating her twig arms as the burning in her mouth and throat faded.

She slumped back, enjoying the sensation of not being in pain, and thought about what she’d learned. That led her to worry. Would Crow find remnants of the midnight spores? As Tress had broken free from the bond, she thought she’d felt her body evaporating into black smoke. Had that left residue?

“Tress?” Huck asked. “Are…you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice hoarse. She pushed her hair away from her face, as it had escaped its tail in her thrashing. “You might have saved my life, Huck. Thank you.”

“Well, I guess we’re even now,” he said. “I’d be at the bottom of the Verdant Sea if you hadn’t let me out of that cage.”

He was still wringing his paws, so Tress forced herself to sit up and show him a smile. But moon of menace, she could feel a monster of a headache coming on. Perhaps she’d be better off leaving midnight spores alone in the future.

Nevertheless, she knew what Captain Crow wanted. And—though she couldn’t be certain—it seemed the things that Huck had overheard hadn’t been about Salay and the others. The “secret meetings” had been with Weev, and “getting rid of them” referred to the spores in her blood.

Perhaps Salay, Ann, and Fort would know what to do. Tress waited to see if Crow would come barreling in, furious about being spied upon. When that didn’t happen, Tress took a luxurious bath, then dressed and prepared to attend the secret meeting. Hopefully the others wouldn’t be too angry at her when they found out she wasn’t a King’s Mask.

Tress, of course, underestimated the human mind’s ability to believe whatever the hell it wants.





THE LIBERATOR





“I’ve found a way for us to escape our predicament,” Salay said, then gestured at Tress. “Behold our liberator.”

Tress froze, her hand still on the door to the quartermaster’s office, which she’d just shut. She hadn’t expected to be put on the spot the moment she stepped in. “Um…” she began.

“She can’t confirm it, of course,” Salay said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I’m confident she is a King’s Mask.”

Fort held up his sign. Not to be a contrarian, Salay, but I sincerely doubt that’s the case.

“Yeah,” Ann said. “I’m with him. Tress is great and all, but she’s obviously a girl from a backwater island.”

“The entire point of the King’s Masks is that they seem innocent,” Salay said. “How many girls from backwater islands have you seen walk on the sea? Then cling to the outside of a ship at sail?”

Fort and Ann studied her, and Tress blushed beneath their scrutiny. “I was desperate,” she said. “I just did what I had to in order to survive.”

It IS a little suspicious, Fort wrote, how you almost immediately ended up as ship’s sprouter.

“Right?” Salay said. “She’s not afraid of spores.”

“I’m very afraid of spores,” Tress corrected.

“And she could have fled the ship at Shimmerbay,” Salay said, “but chose to remain so she could keep an eye on Crow. She admitted as much to me earlier.”

Tress sighed. “I…don’t want to impose, Salay. But I think you’re misinterpreting what I said.”

“Wait,” Ann said. “Salay, you’re acting like this is a good thing. If she were a King’s Mask, then she’d kill us all. We’re outlaws now.”

“Ah,” Salay said, holding up a finger. “But she knows we aren’t complicit in killing anyone.”

Technically, we are, Fort wrote, looking morose. We turned pirate, then people died. Doesn’t matter that we didn’t shoot the cannon. We’re responsible for those poor people’s deaths.

The small room grew quiet. Fort sat on his stool behind the counter, shoulders wide enough that they nearly touched both walls at once. He wore suspenders, as the last seven belts he'd tried to wear had given up on the spot—and I have it on good authority he’s been ordered by judicial mandate to stay at least thirty feet from any others as a judgment for past brutality.