She said her farewells a good week before boarding. Her father picked her up to lift her onto the horse, and then stopped, holding her close. She could feel his breath against her hair. “I would tell you to be brave,” he whispered, “but I know how hard it is.” His arms tightened around her. She understood why he was sending her away – he had told her, after all, since he wasn’t one to lie to her – but yes, it was hard. “Instead I will ask you to give this hug,” his embrace tightened again, “to Daned.”

“I will, Papa,” she whispered back, and then let him set her on the saddle behind the grey-haired woman. “I will safeguard her,” the woman said, touching the insignia of Hamal on her cloak. On the ground, her father nodded, not speaking again. Maeva turned her head to watch him and the three who stood with him, until she could see them no longer. Then she buried her face in the folds of the cloak, sobbing.

They set sail from Hatham in the morning, the curve of the ship pushing back from the docks as the bards played. She had already been on the Freeman for two days by then, slipped on board at night, wrapped in the cloak of one of Hamal’s orphans (there were so many in Torei), a new student of the Archmater. She had not been allowed on deck, for there were too many in Torei who might recognize her face. But Captain Delmar had told her where she might go, to peek out a porthole towards the docks. Even if she couldn’t make out the words, still she was able to hear the cadence of her father’s voice as he spoke, and see him standing tall on the dais. And when the bards sang, they sang – as he had promised her, so she would know he thought of her – her favorite, “Arilea’s Dance.”

Two days out from Hatham, Retta Pierce and Captain Delmar let her above-decks, into the sun. The crew of the Freeman was hand-picked, none of them long-term Hatham residents or close to her father’s household, and so no one who would know her face. Delmar towered over them all – at least until he stooped down, or even sat, so that he could talk with her, to distract her from her sea-sickness. “Look,” he told her, pointing over the railing onto the water.

Maeva squinted against the setting sun glittering on the surface, until she saw it – fins slicing through the water, blue backs curving. And then, a flicker of greenish skin, perhaps a toss of long hair. “Is that –“

“I think so,” Delmar said, voice rumbling. One arm circled her as she climbed higher on the railing and leaned over, just in case. “Neridi kin, those who live in the water rather than on it.”

“Do you have any in Farolan?” His tales of his faraway home had distracted her, kept her thoughts away from the one she had left behind.

“Nay, girl, the Northern Seas are too cold for their like. They are a warm-water folk. But Einmar has her children who ride the northern waves…” She closed her eyes and smiled at the spray on her face, only half paying attention to what he said. It was a long tale, one that carried them past sunset and into darkness.

Between the two of them, Retta Pierce and Delmar kept her entertained, kept her thoughts on something other than her father, of the dangers surrounding him. They sailed around the Cape of Helve without docking (“The ship will stop there on its return,” Delmar told her) and continued west, following the coastline, sailing through the night.

She was asleep in the hammock below-decks when the ship foundered on the reef, turned too soon towards land, lured by the false lighthouse. Afterwards, she would remember little of it, just the terrible sound of wood rending, the lurching of the ship, Retta Pierce throwing the door of their cabin open and reaching for her. Captain Delmar’s tall form against the night sky as he struggled to right the ship, his strong arms lifting her to toss her down to Retta in the lifeboat. Wet and cold, and then seeming help from ashore, the relief of the survivors – until she saw the mark on the inside of one man’s left wrist.

It was too late then. She did not even have the chance to call a warning to Retta Pierce, or to Captain Delmar. A knife to her own throat, and the Archmater hesitated and was taken. Not Delmar – he charged forward, arms swinging and tossing aside the attackers. No use. It was too late already. He fell first to one knee, pierced by arrows, then sprawled on the wet sand, blood spreading around him.

Worse still, what he became the next day, called again by the cleric –

“I failed to keep my promise,” Retta Pierce would whisper to her later, while hanging from the manacles their captors had mounted to the walls of the sea caves. Maeva huddled at her feet, with no tears left. “I pray to Hamal to forgive me my failures,” she prayed, eyes closed. “May his arms enfold us, may his grace comfort us, …”

She did not stop, even when Junpart and Surema returned to the caves, talking fearfully about the false lighthouse, far down the curve of the beach, being extinguished suddenly in the middle of the night. Eyes still closed, Retta Pierce just smiled tiredly. “May the thunder of his voice leave our enemies shaken, may his fire consume them for their treachery, may his wrath avenge us…” She did not stop even when Junpart struck her, even when he took out his sword and ran her through.

Surema pulled Maeva away, stroking her hair, and singing a lullaby into her ears to ease her into sleep.