They should not have found the ship, Zyardil sent. This would all be contained if it hadn’t been discovered.

It was sent to sink, Alalhawithador replied. It could not have survived storms without help. Its discovery is no coincidence.

Arclomedarian crosses us again, said Yelamaiszin, the First. It meddles more and more. It has met with these new Radiants.

Are we certain it was wrong to do so? Nikli asked. Perhaps that was the wise move.

You are young, Yelamaiszin sent, calm and sure. Youth is beneficial in some ways. You learn faster than us, for example. Nikli could imitate humans better than the others. When the swarm that had become Nikli had been Separated, it had already contained hordelings evolved for this subterfuge. Nikli had further evolved them, and was now certain that the body didn’t need the tattoos to cover the seams in its skin.

Arclomedarian is dangerous, Nikli sent. I can see this. But it is not as dangerous as the true traitors.

Both are equally dangerous, Yelamaiszin sent. Trust us. You do not bear the scars of memory older swarms do.

We must listen to the youthful, Zyardil snapped. They are not set in their ways! The humans that come this time are not pirates, First, looking only for lucre. They are more persistent. If we kill them, there will be more.

My plan is the best, Alalhawithador sent with a feisty set of buzzing noises. Let them breach the storm.

No, Yelamaiszin said. No, we must prevent that.

At this point of conflict, the question was sent to all of the swarms—all twenty that still accepted the leadership of the First—to ask. Was it time to sink the human ship?

The responses were tallied. It was a stalemate, they decided. Half wanted to let the humans reach the storm—where they would either fall to the winds or enter the realm of the Sleepless. Half wanted to kill them immediately, before the storm. Several, like Nikli, abstained from the vote.

Nikli’s own swarm buzzed with relief and satisfaction at the uncertainty in the others. This was an opening.

I would like to try one more time to ward them off, Nikli repeated. I have an idea that I believe will work, but I will need help.

This was sent to another vote, and Nikli’s bodies—the distant ones, not on the ship—all vibrated with anticipation.

Yes, the vote came. Yes, Nikli should be allowed to try again.

It hurts us to kill Radiants, let alone one of the Sighted, said Yelamaiszin, the First. You may try this plan. If it fails, however, I will hold another vote—and you must be willing to take more drastic measures.

7

“Does something about the crew seem strange to you?” Lopen asked as he lounged in the air about three feet off the deck, hands behind his head, floating beside Cord.

The sturdy Horneater was mixing something that smelled good. It was pungent with the spices that he associated with Rock’s cooking—which wasn’t spicy hot, just . . . full of other flavors. Interesting ones. This dish, though, also had an oceany scent she said came from seaweed. Who ate weeds? Weren’t her people supposed to eat shells?

“Strange?” she asked Lopen. “Crew?”

“Yeah. Strange.” He watched several of the sailors go tromping past, and they kept shooting him looks. Rua trailed after them in the air, invisible to everyone but Lopen and Cord, who, like her father, could see all spren.

“You all strange,” she admitted. Each word was hesitant, but her Alethi was progressing well.

“So long as I’m the strangest,” Lopen said. “It’s, sure, one of my more endearing traits.”

“You are . . . very strange.”

“Excellent.”

“Very much strange.”

“Says the woman who likes to munch on weeds,” Lopen said. “That’s not food, misra, it’s what food eats.” He frowned as several more sailors passed by, and a couple made strange Thaylen gestures toward him. “See that! They cheered when we came on board. Now they’ve gotten all weird.”

Things had been better after the stop in Hexi to sell that grain, and Lopen approved of the jerky. But now, as they were reaching the halfway point in their journey, everything had gotten odd. There was a strange tone to every interaction, and he couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.

He glanced up as Huio streaked in overhead, then lowered himself down to the deck. He delivered a letter to Cord—from her parents, most likely—and tucked a few others into the inner pocket of his uniform coat for Rysn, who had asked him to visit a nearby island and receive letters for the day.

“Thank you,” Cord said to Huio, lifting up the letter. “Is happiness to hold him.”

“Welcome,” Huio said. “Was easy. Not problem.”

Watching them interact in Alethi was amusing. Why were there so many languages, and why didn’t everyone just learn Herdazian? It was a great language. It had names for all the different kinds of cousins.

“Huio,” Lopen said in Alethi, so as to not leave Cord out, “has the crew been treating you strangely?”

“No,” he said. “Um, no sure?”

“Not sure?” Lopen said.

“Yes. Not sure.” He set down his satchel, which carried spanreeds and other equipment. He reached in and brought out the small box of aluminum plates and foils that Rushu had sent with him, to use in some experiments trying to communicate back to her on the ship. “You know this?” Huio asked of them.

“Aluminum,” Lopen said, still floating above the deck a few feet. “Yeah, it’s weird stuff. Can block a Shardblade, Rua tells me, if it’s thick enough. They get it from Soulcasting, though only a few can make it, so it’s pretty rare.”

“Can get from trade,” Cord said. “In Peaks. We trade.”

“Trade?” Huio said. “Who trade?”

“People in spren world,” Cord said.

Huio cocked his head, rubbing his chin.

“He is strange metal,” Cord said. “Does strange things to spren.”

“Strange,” Huio agreed. He packed up the materials in his satchel and went wandering off. Hopefully he’d deliver them to Rushu, rather than playing with them. Huio sometimes got himself into trouble that way.

“Your people, Cord,” Lopen said, turning in the air like he was lounging on a sofa. “They have water up in those peaks. How? It’s cold, right?”

“Cold away from town,” she said. “Warm near town.”

“Huh. That sounds interesting.”

“He is.” She smiled. “I love him, our land. Didn’t want leave. Had leave with Mother. To find Father.”

“You could return, if you wanted,” Lopen said. “Wouldn’t take much to have a Windrunner fly you.”

“Yes,” she said. “But now, out here, he is dangerous. Good dangerous. I not wish to go. Too love of home, yes? But now that I see him, I cannot return. Not with danger here, for people. Danger that will go my home.” She turned from her mashing and looked across the ocean. “I was scared of places not home. And now . . . I find things that make scared are also things that make interesting. I like dangerous things. I did not know this.”

Lopen nodded. What an interesting way to see the world. Mostly he enjoyed listening—he liked the way Cord’s accent made a cadence of her words, and the way she drew out some vowel sounds. Plus she was tall, and tall women were best. He’d been very curious to find she was only a few years younger than he was. He hadn’t expected that.