The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(55)

Khodaye man. Did Navigation truly have the power to destroy—and to create? I shuddered at the memory of the look in Crowhurst’s eyes as he’d claimed to be a god. Had Nix only made me in her image? Had I sprung fully formed from her head?

But this line of questioning was useless—the answers were not to be found within. And while Crowhurst might cloak his secrets in grandiose claims, Dahut seemed far more practical. There was a crack there, between them—one I hoped I could slip through. Her condition complicated matters, but Nix had mentioned a diary. I wrinkled my nose. A girl’s diary wouldn’t be the worst thing I’d ever stolen, though it would come close. But my honor was the least of my worries.

Gathering myself—the energy humming in my fingers, the anger simmering at the base of my skull, and the queasy bubbles in the pit of my stomach—I pulled them all tight into a knot in my chest and breathed in deep. It left me as I exhaled.

Then I threw back my shoulders and went boldly down the middle of the hall.

Although I would have preferred to be safe on the Temptation, being an invited guest in the castle did make my search easier. The servants I saw deferred, nodding to me, not meeting my eyes. I wandered as I walked; the castle sprawled, very large for such a small island. Finally, outside a wide door to the south wing, I was stopped by a guard with waxed blond mustaches. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The smile I gave him was genuine; a guard was a sign I was moving in the right direction. Besides, I’d come prepared. “I need to see the princess.”

His jaw worked. “Pardon?”

“She dropped this,” I said, pulling a silk handkerchief from my pocket, edged in lace, threaded with gold. “I want to return it.”

The man rocked back on his heels, somewhat mollified. “I’ll bring it to Her Highness.”

“You don’t understand,” I said, cocking my hip just a little. “She dropped it in my lap.”

Cold radiated from the man as from a frozen statue. It was a gamble. I would have preferred something from the king—after all, the princess was just a girl—but the only thing he’d had on him was that massive necklace and something that jingled in his pocket, a set of keys, most likely. Nothing that could be construed as a token.

And I’d seen the way the servants looked at Dahut. I recognized the scorn, the suspicion, though it had a new spin—the ugliest type, that men reserved for women alone. It was there now, on the guard’s face. After a moment, the man turned on his heel. “This way.”

He led me through the royal wing and to the base of the southeast tower—a tower for a princess, how typical. But when he started up the stairs, I dismissed him. “I can find it from here.”

“As you wish,” he said with a barely concealed sneer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man make the nah, with his thumb poking out between his fingers.

My back stiffened. It was a disgusting gesture, but I’d seen men do the same in the tavern when talking about sorcery. Did it mean the same thing here as it did where I was from? As I climbed the stairs, I withered inside. Stolen handkerchiefs were easily returned; not so stolen reputations.

But shame was a luxury I couldn’t afford—the safety of my friends was at stake. Steeling myself, I continued up the stairs. At the top, a door, unguarded, unlocked . . . but there was more than one way to make a prisoner. Under the crack, dim light glowed and flickered. The fire in the hearth was dying. Surely she would be asleep by the time the flame went out.

I sat in the dark to wait. A chill seeped up from the stone; I did pushups on the landing to warm my blood. No sound came for an hour. Two. The light under the door was lower now, nearly gone. I stood, stretching my legs slowly. Then I opened the door just a crack, slow enough it did not squeak.

“Father?”

Inside, I cursed, but I painted embarrassment on my face as I poked my head into the room, waving the silk square like a white flag. “No. It’s Kashmir. Please forgive me. I was trying to put your handkerchief under the door. I must have pushed it open.” My eyes flicked around the room: a soft chair, leaded windows, and a table beside the bed holding a guttering candle and a pen—but no diary. “You dropped it earlier. In the excitement, I forgot I had it. I’m so sorry to intrude.”

“It’s all right.” She was sitting up on her bed, her hair falling across her shoulders in black waves. The candle reflected in her eyes, as though there was nothing behind them. My body wanted to shudder; I stopped it. “Thank you,” she added.

“A pleasure,” I said, giving a little bow from the doorway. When I straightened up, I gave her an apologetic shrug. “I guess I couldn’t sleep.”

She cocked her head. “Me either.”

“Oh?” I laughed a little, as though I hadn’t already figured that out. “Why not?”

Dahut pursed her lips, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer. “I had to write down everything that happened today,” she said at last. “So I can remind myself later.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and then rested her hand on the stack of pillows behind her; her body language told me just where she’d hidden the diary when I’d opened the door. But how to get across the room without alarming her? And if I took it from under the pillow, how quickly would she realize?

“You do that every night?” I said, to draw her out. But the look of concern on my face was not hard to fake; the idea of forgetting terrified me.