It was a hard thing to see in a parent. For Corayne, it was a familiar sight.

She reached her mother’s side too soon. Part of her wanted to jump right off the dock and into the water. Instead she steadied herself.

Meliz turned to look at her daughter sidelong. Her face was smooth, her skin golden, bronzed by the sun. “I’ll be back in a few months, just like you said. With enough coin and treasure to keep us for a hundred years.”

“We have that now,” Corayne bit out.

She knew the count of gold buried in the cottage garden, sitting in the vaults of a capital bank, and scattered elsewhere throughout the Long Sea. Coin from her mother’s plunder, coin from her father’s shame. Money was not what sent the Tempestborn to the water, not anymore.

“There’s no end to what you want, to what you do. You enjoy the life you’ve chosen, and you won’t give it up for anyone. Not even for me.”

It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact.

Meliz clenched her jaw. “That doesn’t mean it’s a life I want for you.”

“You don’t get to decide where I end up, or what I want,” Corayne said. All her lists, all her reasons evaporated, leaving behind a single truth. She heaved a breath. “You know I’m not the same as you.” You don’t have the spine. “And you’re right, but not the way you think. In my heart, in my blood—there’s something in me that can’t sit still.” Spindleblood, Corblood. Whether I want it or not. “You know what that is.”

Her mother’s eyes flashed and she blew out a long, frustrated sigh. “Now you want to talk about your father?” she scoffed, throwing up her hands.

Her mother was not the same. There was no Spindleblood in her veins. She could not understand. But she was a restless kind too. She knew what it was to ache for change and distance, to look forward and never behind.

“It’s a few months only. I promise you that,” Meliz finally said, and a door slammed shut inside Corayne. A bridge collapsed. A rainstorm broke. A thread unwound.

And another doorway yawned open.

“Farewell,” Corayne forced through gritted teeth, tears stinging her eyes.

Meliz already had her in hand, pulling her daughter tight to her chest. Into the cage of her arms. “Farewell, my girl,” she said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Keep your feet on the shore and your face to the sea.”

Corayne inhaled deeply, taking one last gasp of her mother. “How fare the winds?” she whispered into her coat.

Her mother breathed the smallest sigh. “Fine, for they carry me home.”

The Tempestborn disappeared over the horizon, her sails eaten by the sun. Corayne continued to watch, one hand raised to shade her eyes. Heat rose with the day, and a bead of sweat rolled down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her long cloak. She worried her lip between her teeth.

“Kastio,” she said sharply.

At her side, the old sailor turned his head. “Eh?”

She gestured to the city streets winding up the hill. Already Lemarta clamored with noise. “I hear Doma Martia has just received a few good barrels of Tyri red.”

“Seems a bit early for sampling Martia’s wine,” Kastio replied. “Even for me.”

The coin was cold in her hand, winking silver between her fingers. Enough to buy many strong glasses. Corayne held the penny out to her guardian.

“You must tell me how it is.”

Kastio glared at the money but put out his hand all the same. “This is a bribe.”

She smiled weakly. “Just a few hours, please. I need to be alone.”

Once, the old man had been an officer in the Siscarian navy, an oarsman before that, and a ship’s boy long ago, though Corayne could hardly picture him without gray hair and wrinkles. She remembered his stories. Great battles on the sea, the wars with Galland and Tyriot. How bright the stars seemed in the middle of the water. How endless the world felt when the land fell away. All things she wanted and more.

He studied her for a long moment, enough to make Corayne nervous. No matter how old or drunk he might be, Kastio was no fool. He was charged to guard her for a reason.

“She was wrong not to take you, Corrie,” he murmured, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

Corayne only stared as he walked off with his toddling gait. She tracked him through the blossoming crowd at the dock edge, then winding his way up to the Sea Queen and Martia’s wine cellar. Only when he disappeared around a corner did she exhale, surveying the port.

No ship that will take me, no captain who will cross my mule- stubborn mother. The dock planks passed beneath her feet, echoing with heavy footsteps. The cloak felt heavy around her shoulders, far out of season. Perfect for travel.

She leaves me no choice but one.

The wood planks turned to stone as she stepped off the docks onto the long plaza lining the wharf. Corayne raised her eyes to search, scanning the familiar faces of Lemarta as they went about their lives. Her heartbeat rose in her chest, beating a wild rhythm.

Corayne an-Amarat liked plans. And her first had sailed away without so much as a backward glance. Luckily, she had another.

The sudden voice at her ear was lovely, a soft hiss.

“Three days,” a woman whispered.

Corayne did not flinch, turning to face Sorasa Sarn. Behind her, in a shadowed alcove at the edge of the square, she caught a flash of gold and green.

“Three days,” Corayne replied.

The assassin was not hooded today. For the first time, Corayne looked on her fully. She ran her eyes over Sorasa’s lean frame, agile even beneath her light, sand-colored cloak. The Amhara could not be older than thirty, with jet-black hair and skin like glowing topaz, golden and rich. Though she was clothed from neck to wrist, Corayne noted the tattoos she could see—the lines on her fingers, the snake behind her ear, the unmistakable wing of an eagle and sting of a scorpion peeking out at her neck. Each was an artistry, a masterwork of ink, a testament to her skill and her Amhara training. They drew her eye more than Sorasa’s dagger or sword.

Sorasa sniffed. “There’ll be time for examination later, Spindlerot. We don’t want to keep the immortal annoyance waiting, do we?” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. In the alcove, Dom shifted his broad form.

“Certainly not,” Corayne said. “Are you going to call me Spindlerot the entire time or just today?”