“Follow me.” Ravesley escorts us deeper into the belly of the boat, to a section of the hold where crates are piled high. He pushes a few aside, and I see they’re shallower than the others, masking a slightly raised section of the hold. There, under some rushes, is the handle to a hatch.
It’s not exactly roomy, but we do all fit.
“See you soon,” Ravesley’s gravelly voice mutters as he closes the hatch on top of us, plunging us into darkness.
“Eryx, would you mind?” Leon murmurs.
A whisper of light appears, enough to show me the vague shape of the fae’s faces. I look down to see Eryx holding a small flame in his hand. It’s impressive for an incendi to be able to conjure fire from nothing, but this makes me uneasy.
“Is that wise?” I ask. “It smells like they’ve stored alcohol down here—and plenty of it spilled.”
“Don’t worry, he can’t conjure much more than that,” Stratton says smugly, then yelps. I see Eryx withdrawing his lit palm from Stratton’s hand, his eyes sparkling with more joy than I’ve ever seen on his grumpy face.
“Quiet,” Leon orders, and we fall silent. I listen to our breathing and the creaking of the boat for what feels like an age until scraping and banging noises rattle through the hull, and I assume we’re docking. A few minutes later, Hyllus whispers into the darkness.
“They’re coming aboard,” he says, and I know he must be using his superior hearing.
“Are they suspicious?” Leon murmurs back.
“The inspector sounds like he thinks Ravesley’s papers are real, but he’s a stickler for protocol, and at Deerfell, all boats over a certain size are checked.” He pauses for a beat, then continues. “They’re coming downstairs.”
A ripple of activity goes through the fae as they shift to better reach their weapons. This is why Ravesley’s crew were afraid and the soldiers weren’t: if the port security catches the smugglers, they have to run, but if the Deerfell inspectors find us, the fae will simply kill them.
I don’t want that to happen, but it may be out of my hands. I wait, watching the cracks of light filtering in around the hatch with a knot in my stomach. By now, I can hear the footsteps overhead, clunking against the floorboards. They get closer until they sound right above the hatch itself.
In the faint light, I feel more than I see Leon turn and tap Eryx on the shoulder. The flame in his hand extinguishes, and I assume Leon was just warning him to hide the light, but then, as if they’re taking it as their cue, the footsteps above us abruptly begin to retreat.
“They’re leaving,” Hyllus whispers. “Good job, Eryx.”
The older fae makes a faint noise of indifference, but I think he’s pleased with the praise.
“What did you do?” I ask, still keeping my voice quiet, just in case.
“Eryx’s sensic power makes people feel like they’ve forgotten something,” Phaia explains.
“You can take away their memories?” I ask. I’m a bit horrified at the implications.
“No,” Eryx says abruptly, as if the idea offends him. “It’s not like that.”
“He just makes peoplethinkthey’ve forgotten something, but they can’t remember what,” Alastor clarifies. “You know that feeling when you walk into a room and can’t for the life of you recall why you came in? That’s what he does. It tends to make people turn around and rush off to try and figure out what they’ve forgotten to do.”
The hull of the boat creaks around us.
“We’re preparing to cast off again,” says Hyllus.
“Good,” Damia groans. “I’m getting a neck cramp hunching over in here.”
Scraping noises overhead hail the return of Ravesley, and he lifts the hatch with a sour expression on his face.
“Bloody port manager,” he grunts. “He wanted to stop and yap at us more than look at the boat.”
“I’m getting some fresh air,” Damia says as we climb out of the hidden compartment. Feeling claustrophobic myself, I follow Damia up to the deck. When I get there, she’s leaning against the side, looking out onto the dark waters.
The sun isn’t up yet and won’t be for another few hours at least. I try to pick out houses along the riverbank, searching for pinpricks of light, but I think most people are still asleep too. Some of the smugglers work around us, tying up ropes and loading the new cargo that’s come on board below deck.
“You shouldn’t get your hopes up, you know,” the dark-haired fae says. Her eyes are still on the water, so it takes a moment to realize she’s speaking to me.
“I’m sorry?”
