The Carnelian Way

10.3

Again, Rina walked down a dark and narrow stairwell. Again, the world closed about her like a funnel-web spider, wrapping its legs around its prey, pulling them into a damp and dingy world.

Mage lamps lit this level, filling it with their green glow, their footfalls echoing around them. The first room to their left was filled with rows of empty hammocks, some with brown hemp bags under them—where the chosen stayed, Rina presumed. Pausing a moment, she peered inside and gulped. Three portholes lined the hull wall, and sea-green luminescence filtered through the glass, casting ripples of light and shadow across the walls. Tiny brass handles perched at the edge of each window.

The glass must be thick, to hold against the water. No doubt the Carnelian Way used to keep them in place.

A syren could tap on it, though. Sing through it. Break the spell, and seduce one of the room's inhabitants to twist one of those seemingly innocent handles, and ...

She inhaled, quick and shallow, turned on her heel and hurried after Sara.

They proceeded through the long corridor, and it felt like they made their way to the ship's heart. Rina imagined the walls beating and pulsating in the gloaming, like they were in a living, breathing, eating thing. The air congealed into something she could barely swallow. The spectre of a syren trailed them, making itself known by the shadows that danced through the lantern light, skirting the streaks of yellow and the flashes of black that crowded her vision.

"Sara," she said, at last, holding to the edge of a doorframe.

Sara stopped, dark brows drawn in concern.

"I just need a moment to myself." Her words came in a pant. She felt weak and small and wanted to melt into the gloom.

Sara's smooth forehead creased, but she nodded, and said, "If you must. Breathe deep and continue the exercises I taught you. I'll check in on the others and be back for you in a few minutes."

Rina could only manage to give a return nod, nails digging into the wood as she held herself. After Sara turned a corner, Rina let herself crumble to the floor. Her back rested against the frame, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, folding her arms around them. It took all her willpower to focus on her breath, slowing it down and imagining Mai's reassuring presence.

Eventually, her heart slowed, and the streaks of light lessened. Her mind flexed enough to reason. Shadows from the ever-moving sea were no more signs of syren than moving grass was of a stalking varg.

Minds make monsters out of the moonlight, Rina.

The words of her mother made her skip a breath. That phrase was one of Rina's cherished memories, forgotten for years. With it came the phantom touch of her mother's long, work-calloused fingers stroking through her hair, and those startling yellow eyes as she was soothed from a nightmare. A recurring dream. One that had haunted her childhood. Of a dark figure scaling a hill of ash and bones toward a pile of scorched indigo cloth beneath a crumbling fortress.

Taking one last deep breath, Rina pushed up from the ground. "Minds make monsters out of the moonlight," she reminded herself.

"Hello? Nab, is that you?"

Rina froze and ducked into the room, tucking herself behind the corner.

The voice was female and close. A series of footsteps followed it, growing closer, then, "Nab, there you are. Where have you been? I've been waiting, and now I'm late for the Emperor."

Mai. No, she couldn't mean him. It wasn't possible. They sailed far out to sea. The last Rina had looked, the shore was as fine a line as the stroke of a fallen eyelash balanced upon a cheek. She knew the Magisterium could communicate between cities, with crystals keyed to different locations. What she couldn't fathom was how they might do this on a moving vessel.