Chapter Text
The gibbous moon rose over a merchant ship off the coast of the Greater Peninsula. The pilot stood at the helm, half drowsing. Since the Starfish's departure from Attolia, the weather had been fair: breezy, but not rough, with no sign of rain. Despite the moon, the stars shone brighter than they ever did on land.
Titus had navigated these waters many times, and he drowsed only because he was confident the crew of the Starfish was perfectly safe. With the unrest in Sounis finally at an end—and no other wars on the horizon—the danger of pirates had receded. And with the wind at its back, the Starfish would be able to carry its load of wrought silver and Eddisian linen straight across the sea to the markets of the Greater Peninsula, likely in good time and with no interruption.
A handful of other sailors were also on watch. Most of them perched in the rigging some distance above Titus' head. Those men were more alert than the pilot, keeping an eye on the wide field of dark water far ahead of the ship. Below, the rest of the crew was asleep.
The only two paying passengers were still awake. They had both paid separately—and in advance—for private quarters. Despite this, neither spent much time alone. The two of them spent every evening together, crammed into one or the other of their two tiny cabins.
Tonight, they were in Kamet's room, sitting on the bed. The curved walls of the ship creaked around them, and the swinging lamp sent shadows flitting around the room.
Kamet closed his eyes, very briefly. The flickering light was probably giving him a headache, but he opened his eyes again without mentioning it.
"How much did the King tell you about where I am going?"
Costis shrugged.
"Not very much. The King told me he needed eyes on the other side of our border with Roa, to watch for any sign of the Mede army. But—"
Costis hesitated, feeling a little silly for stating something so obvious:
"We are sailing west, not northeast."
"Completely the wrong direction," Kamet agreed. "Thank the gods we both know our way around a map."
They smiled at each other.
"We really are going to Roa, eventually," said Kamet, after a moment. "The misdirection was Relius' idea."
Costis frowned, digesting that. No matter what route they took after their ship landed, Relius' "misdirection" would add weeks to their journey. And why was the retired Secretary of the Archives advising Kamet about his travel plans?
"That surprises you?" asked Kamet.
"No, not exactly," said Costis. He chose his next words carefully. "Your caution doesn't surprise me. Gods forbid—I know how much danger you would be in if you were captured. But from the Mede's point of view, surely the damage is done?"
What that damage was, exactly, Costis didn't know.
There had been plenty of palace gossip, before Costis went home to his family—more than he could stomach. Costis had disappointed a number of people who had assumed he would tell them things about Kamet, in exchange for unsolicited news about Kamet being summoned to meeting after meeting with the King and his various ministers.
Maybe that was all there was to it, after all. Kamet obviously knew more about Mede politics than any Attolian. Whatever information he shared in those meetings was probably priceless. But Costis still wondered if there was something more—something the rumors hadn't captured.
He had almost asked the King about it, but something had held him back.
"Relius told me there is still a price on my head," said Kamet, looking at him thoughtfully—as if he guessed some of Costis' unspoken thoughts.
"He thought it would confuse Melheret if I took a longer route. But I agree that the Emperor is unlikely to hunt me with the same urgency as when we fled Medea, when he thought he could still catch me in time."
His words became more clipped, masking some emotion Costis couldn't identify.
"None of that will make a difference to my master. But Nahuseresh is in disgrace, and his estate is hemorrhaging money, so I don't think he can afford to look for me at the moment."
Kamet's gaze was still directed at Costis, but only vaguely—like he was really seeing something else.
"It must be strange," said Costis, hesitantly. "To think him dead for so many weeks, and suddenly find out he is alive again."
Kamet's mouth twisted.
"Yes."
Costis watched him, waiting. But Kamet stayed silent. He blinked again, fighting the headache.
Eventually, Costis said, "Once we are in Roa, the King told me he wants me to survey the countryside. Not just to make a map of the roads and towns, and useful lookout points, but to send information home about what kind of soil there is, and what kinds of crops grow on the farms."
Kamet glanced at him sharply.
"Is he planning his own invasion?"
As far as Costis knew, the border between Roa and Attolia had never been in dispute. Few people lived near there, in any case. It was one of many regions that had been hit hard by plague, a generation ago.
"I don't know," said Costis—unwilling to accept Kamet's suspicion, but not quite able to dismiss it. "He didn’t say."
"Mm," said Kamet, dismissively. "Gen often doesn't."
What Kamet had just suggested about the King's plans wasn't funny, but Costis bit back a laugh. Gen. People back home who had never even met Kamet had taken to calling him Kamet Kingnamer—yet here he was, referring to Attolis by his nickname.
Costis was about to twit him about it when Kamet said, abruptly,
"I wish Gen—the King—had told me that you didn't hate me. Or at least where you were."
He met Costis' eyes, and they looked at each other for a long moment.
They hadn't really talked much, since their reunion a few days ago. Not about anything important. It had been so easy to slip back into their old pattern of companionable silence.
"I wish that, too," said Costis. "I’m sorry, Kamet. I should have told you. When I left the palace I was not thinking clearly. I thought you did not want to see me, and I didn't want to—"
He let his voice trail off. He hadn't wanted to force Kamet to see him. He hadn't wanted to take Kamet's choice away from him.
"I didn't want to bother you," he said, instead.
Kamet looked away from him, picking at a thread on the bedspread.
"I could have asked someone," Kamet admitted, in a low voice. "But I was so afraid of the answer. I'm glad we were both wrong."
They were facing each other, sitting on opposite ends of Kamet's mattress. The cabin was cramped—just the narrow bunk, with Kamet's luggage stored under it, and barely enough extra room to turn around in.
Costis wondered if Kamet would mind, if he reached across the bed and touched his hand.
"There's something else," said Kamet.
He got off the bed and knelt on the narrow strip of floor, rummaging a little in his luggage. After a moment he straightened back up and handed Costis a parcel of neatly wrapped oilcloth.
"It's not just about misdirection. There's another reason we are going the long way around. "
Costis unfolded the oilcloth curiously. Inside were half a dozen letters, folded and sealed.
"Careful," said Kamet—as if he thought Costis might crumple them, or drop them.
Costis turned the letters over in his hands. They looked like the official dispatches Ornon had sometimes received, when Costis was unofficially part of his retinue in Medea. None of the letters were addressed to anyone, at least not on the outside, but each had been folded with a slightly different pattern. Someone who knew the pattern might be able to tell them apart.
Numbly—carefully—Costis wrapped the letters back up in the cloth and handed the bundle back to Kamet.
"You will deliver these?"
"Yes," said Kamet. "As a favor to Relius. The letters are to…some friends of his, who live along the route we are taking."
"I see," said Costis, slowly.
He thoughts turned back to the King. It had been so good to see him again. Costis knew he should not be surprised that Eugenides, who was so good at managing many plans to work out at the same time, had managed this, too.
He should be happy to learn that Kamet's feelings had changed so much that he would agree to work for Attolia.
But Costis found himself swallowing back disappointment. He had wanted to believe that all of this—Kamet's long journey, and the last-minute reconciliation with Costis—had been the King's way of apologizing.
He knew better, but he had wanted it anyway.
Kamet watched him warily, but didn't say anything. Finally, he stowed the parcel back in his luggage and sat back down on the bed.
"There is one more thing," said Kamet, looking down at his own hands, and not at Costis. "Your King thinks the danger I am in might increase, after all. Because of something I told him."
Costis waited patiently, until Kamet looked up and met his eyes.
"Are you going to tell me?" asked Costis.
Kamet looked back down at his hands.
"I have found myself growing more and more superstitious, since I left Ianna-Ir," he admitted. "I don't want to tell you yet, because I don't know if anything came of it, and I do not want to take credit for something that still might not happen. But if that upsets you—"
He folded and unfolded his hands in his lap.
"I don't like keeping secrets from you, Costis. I am sorry that I ever did."
Maybe it was the swinging oil lamp, throwing shadows on his face. Maybe it was his hair, cut neatly but not as severely as it used to be, framing his face and not quite falling into his eyes.
In all the time they had traveled together before—even when Costis had thought Kamet's guard was down completely—Kamet had never quite looked like this.
He had watched Kamet walk halfway across the Mede Empire, and the whole time Kamet had played him like a fish on a line. That still hurt. But it wasn't the point. The point was not whether Costis had forgiven him, or whether he understood why Kamet had done it—he had, and he did. The point was that he knew Kamet could take care of himself.
Yet he suddenly looked so fragile.
I could hurt him, he thought.
Not physically. But he could choose to be unkind.
He thought, with sickening clarity, that Kamet might let him. Costis could hold Kamet's guilt about lying over his head—not only now, about this, but perhaps for a long time.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Tell me later, if you want."
Kamet smiled, still not quite looking at him. He shifted, so he was closer to Costis on the bed. His fingers brushed against Costis' hand. They sat like that, not saying anything, until it was time to go to bed.
Then Costis went back to his own cabin.
***
Alone in his own cabin, Costis tried to sleep. The bunk was built into the wall, and it wasn't quite long enough to be comfortable. Even when Costis bent his knees to fit, the bottoms of his feet still brushed against the end of the bunk.
His thoughts strayed to Kamet, falling asleep on the other side of the wall. He wondered if Kamet ever thought about their first voyage, up the Ianna in a riverboat. They had both been so awkward. It was a miracle they had ever become friends.
Less willingly, Costis thought about their last voyage, when they had shared the first mate's cabin. That cabin hadn't been big enough either. Kamet had lain down on the floor, assuming—as he always did—that Costis would take the bed.
But Costis had realized by then how little Kamet had slept, the whole time they were at Godekker's. And Kamet had just saved his life twice in a row. He had refused to let Kamet sleep on the floor.
Kamet's surprise had shamed him.
In the end, Kamet—too exhausted to argue—had gone to sleep on the first mate's narrow bunk. Costis had lain down on the floor. Costis' throat had felt like sandpaper, and his joints had still ached with his illness. He had lain awake on the bare floorboards, thinking about the way Kamet had touched his hand when he came out of the well. Thinking about what a terrible nursemaid Kamet was, spilling cold broth all over him at Godekker's house, when Costis was still too sick to eat. Thinking about how gently he had wiped the broth off Costis' neck.
After they confirmed the King's seal in Sukir, the second mate had given up his cabin, too. That had been the end of sharing anything. Kamet had avoided Costis after that, and Costis had been too stupid to realize why.
All of that was behind them now, or it ought to be. They were friends again.
They were better friends now. Kamet wasn't lying to him anymore. But Costis missed the certainty that he had felt, lying on that cold cabin floor. He had been afraid of what might happen next, but he had known, as surely as he knew anything, that Kamet loved him.
Now he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.
Finally he fell asleep.