Does anyone want to die alone?

Tears sprang to her eyes and Nadia wiped them away angrily as she marched through the halls toward her cabin. Had Declan thought of that sentiment before he demolished her city? Before he took his army and rampaged through her temple, destroyed her sacred relics, trampled all over her life? Before he ensured that her friends and those whom she considered family--before everyone she knew and loved died, plenty of them alone?

Lost in her furious daze, she didn't realize that she had made a wrong turn until she stopped in front of her cabin door and heard noises. This wasn't her cabin, not the stateroom that she had chosen at the other end of the ship. Portholes, rather than sconces, provided a source of light that streamed in from the moon. The scent of a woodsy, masculine cologne rather than the fresh salt air filled her lungs. Heaving a sigh, Nadia leaned against the wall to get her bearings and catch her breath.

Then she groaned at the thought of having to walk all the way to the other wing of the ship when Nolan's voice reached her ears. "I was so worried about you. I've missed you, love."

Then, a feminine noise, a giggle, a breath, a sigh. Some words she couldn't quite make out as rustling noises of bedsheets took over. Did he... Was... She paused, pressing her fingertips to her temples as she felt the beginnings of a headache come on. What was it that Nolan had said to her? He had said there was a girl whom he'd wanted to marry, whom he needed money to marry.

So who was this girl whom he was worried about, who was in his cabin? It could not be a whore--men so rarely fell in love with prostitutes no matter how pretty they were, and certainly, she would have heard about another woman's presence on the ship. Or not. Unless she had been too distracted by guilt to notice. That simply would not do. Caution, not numbness, was necessary now.

Tapping her fingers on her chin, she stared at the carved gilt patterns on the door: seafoam and sirens and shells, so intricately detailed that they almost seemed moments from coming to life. Had Nolan lied to her about his marriage prospects? Did it really matter? Men lied all the time. Every other year there was some poor priestess in the temple who broke her vow of celibacy for a man who swore up and down he would marry her, only to abandon her when she was with child. Men lied and stole and betrayed to get what they wanted. Why should Nolan be any different?

No more noises except deep breathing emanated from beneath the door, and with a look of disdain, Nadia turned on her heel and walked back toward the cabin. Her mind was too tired to come up with complicated theories or to involve itself in political or romantic intrigue. When she got back to the cabin she had claimed as her own, all she wanted to do was collapse on the bed and sleep for a few decades, perhaps. Until this nightmare was over. Until she forgot the world, abandoned the truth, and never left a land of dreams.

But the nightmares chased her from waking to sleeping. In her dreams, she met Declan yet again. He was bending over her, his hand pressed to his throat, and she was lying horizontally--but it was not a bed that she lay on. Her body was cloaked in a colour and fabric she had never worn before, because of the great expense it took to dye--gold silk. Nadia shifted, trying to get comfortable, as she realized two disturbing things: first, Declan was crying. Second, she was lying in a coffin.

He was murmuring something over and over; like a litany, like a prayer, like a chant. His words were indistinguishable, but the heartbreak and anguish and desperation that weighed down his tone, that sat in his wet eyes and hollow cheeks, were painstakingly obvious. When Nadia rolled over, he was gone. The dream vanished like smoke, and she finally, for the first time in days, was able to relax into a deep sleep. Words and snippets of images ran through her mind like water, washing in and out in waves, but she ignored them all, forsaking reality for fantasy.

When she woke up, Nadia felt surprisingly well-rested. In the night, cold sweats had wracked her body until she'd realized that she was unaccustomed to sleeping under such a heavy counterpane. In her groggy state, she had decided that either a layer of clothing or the duvet had to be abandoned and she had chosen the clothing. Now she wore only a simple cream-coloured linen shift, which lay soft against her skin and warmed with the first rays of dawn.

Barefoot, Nadia padded toward the window, staring out the small porthole. What she was searching for, she didn't know what. A sign that her old life was not too distant from her, perhaps? But Milona was already far on the horizon, and all that surrounded them now was a deep blue sea. Waves lapped at the sides of the ship, the repetitive sound almost soothing. It would have been comforting if she were capable of being soothed.

But ever since Declan had stormed into her life, her home, and completely demolished it, she had been completely incapable of being comforted. She felt... numb. Hopeless. There was nothing in her but questions. Had he broken her curse? Had he made it come true, fulfilled some prophecy that would lead only to destruction as the matrons had always said? Every part of her was clamouring for attention, every fragment of her mind trying to understand the situation she was in.

Nadia had been brought up with rules and structure and schedules, in a society that valued those things. Freedom was like a strange gift that had landed in her lap, and one that she was too scared to unwrap for fear it might explode in her face. She liked it, so far, but if she was quite honest, she liked security better. Chewing on her lower lip out of habit--a habit that the matrons had always warned her against, for fear that she would draw blood--she pressed her hands against the railing as a particularly tumultuous wave nearly knocked her off-balance.

"Good morning, priestess," an unfamiliar voice came with a knock at the door. She spun around, pulling on a robe over her shift and fiddling with its tie as she marched toward the door. "I mean--Miss Sancta."

"Good morning. And who might you be?" Nadia asked the petite girl who stood on the other end of the doorway, looking hesitant to enter. She wore her chestnut brown hair in two pigtails and a simple sheath dress that made her appear more juvenile than she was. A splash of freckles was splayed across her nose and cheeks.

"I am Rowena," the other girl answered. She looked to be a bit younger than Nadia, perhaps sixteen or so. She extended a hand to shake and Nadia did so hesitantly, still unaccustomed to the sensation of touching another human being. "Rowena Mills."

"How is it that you know my name, Miss Mills?" Nadia asked, trying to keep the sharp defensiveness out of her tone.

"His Highness--Prince Declan--sent me to check on you and ask if... if there was anything you needed," Rowena said when she caught sight of the expression that flickered across Rowena's face. She must have appeared wary because Rowena quickly followed up her statement with another, more reassuring, one as she turned her gaze downward, toward her clasped hands. "I... I came here to serve as a lady's maid, you see. I thought... Well, Mr. Nolan made me believe that he would get married very soon, so I believed I would have the opportunity to serve his wife. But no wife has materialized, you see, so I have nothing to do."

"I do not need a maid," Nadia said firmly but gently. This rambling little girl, though not much younger than she was, seemed small and fragile, like a bird with a broken wing. Like someone to be protected. Rowena looked disappointed, from what little of her face Nadia could see. "But... I could use a friend."

And she could certainly make use of a spy.

-

After a breakfast with Rowena that included lightly buttered toast, porridge, dried fruit, spiced sausage, and other, more lavish victuals than she had ever consumed at the temple, Nadia had decided to explore the ship with her new friend. Besides the usual amenities, the ship contained a library, a small theatre--did it host many travelling theatre troupes?--and a bathhouse. The thought of a body of water on a ship seemed laughable, but it did make sense. Nobody wanted to be trapped on a ship for several months at a time with several rank and unshaven men who had no concern or way of caring for their personal hygiene. Nadia herself was already wishing she had clothes different from the ones she had worn for the past few days.

"So, tell me about yourself," Rowena was saying as they sat in the library at a small table in the corner. Nadia's thoughts churned with questions, though they were more innocent and less painful now. How did they preserve the books from saltwater damage? Wouldn't humidity cause the pages to swell up? "Where did you grow up? What is it like to live in Milona?"

Nadia smiled in spite of herself. "You haven't left Astroia much, have you?"

"I grew up in a small town off the Astroian coast, a fishing town. My father is a fisherman and I only made it to the capitol because my cousin brought me with her," Rowena said with a blush. "She recently married a nobleman, you see."

The other girl seemed like a kindred soul if there had ever been one. Nadia said, "I grew up by the ocean, as well. My mother took me to the temple when I was four, but I've always loved the beach."

"Really?" Rowena's eyes lit up and they launched into a conversation like old friends.

Nadia could almost forget the circumstances they were in—the circumstances she was in—even as the younger girl's enthusiasm and bubbliness reminded her of Mari. Though Rowena inspired more of a protective instinct, the thought made a lump form in her throat.

"So, how did you meet the prince?" Nadia asked with what was hopefully a guileless smile. She would be the first to admit that she lacked any sort of training or experience in political intrigue, but she felt a touch better-suited than a girl from a backwater fishing town. Even if a frisson of guilt rose in her chest at the thought of taking advantage of Rowena.

"Well, my cousin, Amalia, married a nobleman, a duke who happens to be the prince's second cousin. They finagled an introduction for me at their wedding and that is how we met," Rowena said, tucking a bronze curl behind one ear. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm simply wondering why Declan would send you to be my ladies' maid when, first of all, I'm not a lady, and second of all, your cousin is a duchess," Nadia said. They were real concerns, after all, so she wasn't exactly lying. "Shouldn't you be the one getting a maid, yourself?"

Rowena seemed shy all of a sudden, looking down at her lap where her small hands were primly folded. "I... I came across... my family had some hard times, you see. I would prefer not to talk about it."

Now Nadia really did feel guilty. She knew what it was like to have a hidden source of shame. How could she then push others to bring their own secrets to the light? "Oh, of course! I understand."

They chatted about lighter subjects until Rowena's stomach grumbled, breaking the levity.

"Shall we go have lunch?" Nadia suggested with a nod in the vague direction of the younger girl's midsection.

Rowena blushed. "That would be lovely."