However, he was smiling. “I would like nothing more than to be put out of this job, Rysn,” he said softly. Then hesitated. “This is an important discovery for so many people. You should make certain to transfer it quickly via spanreed. So it is not lost, in case something happens to this expedition.”

“Wise,” Rysn said, glancing toward the dimming bonfire. The night was growing late. They’d soon need to get on the ship for the night. There was no storm today, and they’d be safer—in these foreign lands—out on the ocean than they would be trying to camp on the beach. “In fact, Ardent Rushu, you should probably inform others now. Don’t sit upon this news.”

Rysn gave the order to return to the Wandersail, and everyone started packing up. Rushu did as asked, while the Lopen explained to the sailors what had happened.

Nikli knelt beside her chair. “Brightness,” he said. “It’s not my place, I realize, to interfere in the doings of lighteyes. But . . .”

“Go ahead,” Rysn said.

“Do you mind telling me what that Horneater said to you? Earlier?”

“We talked about spren, and about her gods. Why?”

“The other night,” he whispered, “I overheard her saying something suspicious. She really wanted the expedition to continue. She’s too eager. Something feels wrong, like . . . I don’t know, Brightness. Like we’re heading into some kind of trap.”

“I think your suspicion is misplaced, Nikli,” Rysn said.

“Maybe, maybe,” he said, bobbing his head. “But earlier, did she warn you toward caution? Or did she encourage you forward?”

“She encouraged me forward with caution,” Rysn said. “In that, she’s no different from the Alethi queen, or Queen Navani, or even Queen Fen. All want us to succeed.”

“Yet they keep secrets, lie to us,” Nikli said. “I know I’m nobody important, Brightness. But if I were to come to you with proof of the Horneater’s ill will toward us, would it help you see that something is wrong here?”

“I suppose it would,” Rysn said, frowning. But why would Nikli be so worried? Though . . . Cord had used invisible spren only she could see as proof that Rysn should continue. And Navani had kept part of the truth from Rysn. About one thing, certainly. Perhaps about others?

But it made no sense. Cord was with the Radiants, and they trusted her. Why would Navani ask Rysn to go on this mission, then try to undermine it? Unless they were more divided than they seemed.

Or unless . . .

Her suspicion was piqued. “Thank you, Nikli,” she said. “You were wise to bring this to me.”

“I worry they’re playing us for fools, Brightness,” he whispered. “I don’t like being manipulated to do Radiant work. Perhaps we should turn back?”

“Get me your proof first,” Rysn said. “And for now, don’t tell anyone what you’ve told me.”

10

Rysn pulled herself along the port rail, and her chair—hovering in place a foot and a half off the deck—glided smoothly in response. She made it to the prow, then unlocked the mechanism that Rushu and Huio had installed on her seat. It was based on a spinning serving dish, and let the top of her seat rotate, while the bottom portion—with the gemstones—stayed in place.

Rysn spun around so she faced the other direction, then pulled herself back toward where she’d started. Because there was no real resistance once she began, it wasn’t difficult work. But she did hold tightly to the rail, as she couldn’t help imagining some situation where the ship turned and she somehow—despite the wall in the way—ended up hovering out over the ocean.

She soon reached where Nikli sat, the vibrant white tattoos that covered his face gleaming as he smiled. “That joy on your face, Brightness,” he said, his voice lightly accented. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it on a person before.”

She grinned and turned her seat again, but this time locked it with her back to the rolling ocean so she could observe the working sailors. As the ship rocked on the waves, her chair threatened to slide to the side, and she had to reach out to Nikli to steady herself.

The mechanism needed some refinement—some way to attach her seat to the rail when she stopped. Still, she could barely contain her enthusiasm. Rushu had rigged a weight to the mast, connected via conjoined rubies, so Rysn could raise herself up to the height of the quarterdeck if she wanted. She couldn’t lower her chair back down, unfortunately, without help to lift the counterweight—but for now she enjoyed more individual mobility than she’d ever had since her accident.

It felt wonderful. So good, in fact, that she turned and began pulling herself in the other direction again. And as she did so, she noticed the sailors watching her. Was it because of the oddity of her floating chair? Or because she risked interrupting their workflow, moving among them as she did? Though one of them nodded as she passed. And then another raised his fist toward her.

They’re . . . rooting me on, she realized. In that moment she finally felt a kinship with the crew. A bond of understanding. What kind of person sought work on a sailing vessel? The type who longed for freedom—who wasn’t content to sit where they were told, but instead wanted to see something new. A person who wanted to chase the horizon.

Perhaps she was imagining too much, but whatever their reasons, another raised a fist as he passed. The gesture seemed to propel her as she crossed the deck. As she swiveled and made her way back yet again, she noticed Cord stepping out onto the main deck.

It was time. Rysn nodded to Nikli, and he slipped off belowdecks. Rysn was about to have her suspicions confirmed; she tried not to think about how much it would hurt.

Cord took up a position near the prow. Ignoring her arms—which were beginning to ache from the difficulty of stopping and starting—Rysn turned and pulled herself that direction, eventually coming to a hovering rest beside the Horneater woman.

Rysn’s chair put her a little higher than she was accustomed to sitting. If this worked, would she someday be able to hover in conversations at eye level with everyone else, even when they were all standing? A way to avoid feeling like a child among adults?

Cord was staring to the northwest. Over the last few days, they’d come within sight of Aimia—a large, windswept island roughly the size of Thaylenah. Rysn had received some additional information from Vstim—everything they knew about the scouring so many centuries ago—and it confirmed what Nikli had told her. The cold temperature of the surrounding waters and the general exposure to storms left Aimia barren. It was basically uninhabited to this day.

The smaller island they now thought was Akinah lay farther up along the coast, though it was unnamed on maps. Until recently, most scholars had assumed it to be one of the many islands clustered around Aimia that were now barren, nothing but crem and dust. And frequent localized storms in this region—along with treacherous rock formations just under the water’s surface—historically made this region unpopular for sailors to explore.

Rysn could make out clouds on the horizon, their first indication that the ship was nearing its destination—the site of the strange weather pattern that they believed hid Akinah. Cord stared out at those clouds, holding to the rail, her long red hair streaming behind her in the wind.