Tress of the Emerald Sea (The Cosmere)(81)

It was a drawing; these people hadn’t discovered photography yet. But it was a good one, drawn expertly but quickly by a street artist in the zephyr capital. It depicted a tall, smiling man and a young girl who bore a striking resemblance to Salay.

“Your father?” Tress asked, pointing.

Salay looked up, then nodded. “I promised him I’d pay his creditors. But when I returned, he was gone. Pressed into labor by the king’s collectors. By the time I caught up to the ship, they’d left him at a debtor’s prison at some port, but couldn’t remember which one.”

“That’s awful.”

“Trouble is, when royal ships need an extra hand, they can always press men from the debtor’s prisons onto their crews. So tracking him proved impossible. He must have bounced around the islands, being pressed and dropped off a dozen times.

“I keep telling myself, and promising Mother via letter, that our only hope is for me to keep sailing. Keep visiting new ports and asking. He’s out there somewhere, Tress. Either that…or he died in one of the conflicts, forced onto the crew of a warship. If that’s the case, I guess I’m too late. I’ve already failed him, like I failed Pakson.”

“Salay,” Tress said, “you mustn’t give up hope.”

“Why not?” Salay asked, turning toward her. “Is it true? Do you have a way to get us out of this? Do you have a secret from the king that will let us survive the Crimson? Please. Please tell me you have a plan.”

“I…” What could she say? Did she try again to protest she wasn’t what Salay thought? Now, when she’d just told the woman to keep hope?

Hope in a lie—hope in me—is not true hope, Tress thought.

Unless she could do something. Unless there was a way to help. Tress remembered with stark clarity watching the rains approach, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop them. Knowing her life was now subject to random chance.

She’d almost begun feeling like she was in control. Like she could shape her own destiny. Then the rain had come, a hammer sent by the moons to deliver humility to her via a firm blow to the forehead.

Salay turned away. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to protect them, is it? I don’t know your mission here, your true mission. It’s possible your duty was simply to get us out of the kingdom. We had become deadrunners, dangerous to all we encountered. I can’t blame you for steering us toward our deaths, to protect the innocent. I let it happen. I failed there too.” She smoothed the edges of her map of the Crimson Sea. “If only we knew where the captain was taking us. Then at least I could plan for how long we’d be in here.”

“Oh,” Tress said. “Salay, I know that.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Er, I should probably have told you earlier. The captain is taking us to see the dragon.”

“Xisis?” Salay said, spinning again in her seat. “Is he real?”

“Ulaam says he is. And the captain has books that claim the legends are real.”

“Well, Ulaam would probably know,” Salay said, rubbing her chin. “But why visit the dragon… Oh, she’s looking for a way out of her affliction, isn’t she? I had assumed Crow was so stubborn, she’d bullied the spores in her blood to submit. She’s lived longer than anyone should as a spore eater. But what would she trade…?”

They locked eyes.

“Oh,” Salay said. Then she laughed. “She thinks you’re going to let her trade you for her life? Ha!”

“Yes, um, it’s very funny.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one thing to look forward to,” Salay said. “It’s going to be rich watching her discover what you really are. But tell me. I know you can’t confirm or deny your true mission, but is there any hint you can give me for what to expect after Crow is dealt with?”

“Well,” Tress said, “I will need your support. If I do deal with Crow—if—then I wouldn’t want the crew to free her. I would need to…um…take her to face justice, you see.”

“Of course!” Salay said, looking hopeful for the first time today. “Yes, I can arrange that. Once you have her, we leave the Crimson, then?”

“Yes,” Tress said. “Though…well, this is a little awkward…but I have business with the Sorceress in the Midnight Sea next. And I was hoping…”

Salay’s eyes went wide. Then she laughed again. Her laugh was like a bell calling sailors to arms. Sharp, excited, yet somehow controlled. “Of course you do. Why was I worried? If you are going to sail the Midnight…well, dealing with the Crimson is nothing to someone like you.”

Then her expression turned more serious. “But could you help me protect the crew? I know a bunch of pirates are worthless to the king, but nobody else is going to look out for them. Even their captain doesn’t care about them. Please, please don’t let us lose another friend.”

In that moment, Tress felt like something Fort had cooked. Grimy, crusty, and barely able to fulfill its intended purpose. She shrank down before the weight of Salay’s hope. What could Tress do? She was a fake. A liar. A…

Wait.

A very strange, very desperate idea occurred to her. Probably nothing. Probably a useless whim.

Notably, strange desperation is exactly the state that often leads to genius.