She had hardly slept. The sound of water shushing under the hull should have been soothing, a reminder of her days of Schooling aboard the Black Traveler, but the sound was wrong somehow, jarring. And as for Parno’s breathing, every familiar sigh filled her with reproach. Finally, as soon as there was light enough in the sky, she’d let herself out of their cabin and found a spot where she would be out of the way of the crew on watch but there’d be light enough to read. Dhulyn wrinkled her nose. A sharp, almost spicy smell overlaid the familiar and expected odors of brine, ozone, oiled decks, and bodies too long washed in salt water. She massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers. Perhaps it was the strange smell causing her headache. And perhaps pigs would become Racha birds. She’d found a coil of rope to sit on, her back against the high rail, in a sheltered spot not far from the man at the wheel, though out of his line of sight. Her sword was hooked to her belt, and her best throwing dagger hung in its thin harness under her vest, between her shoulder blades.
