Page 14 of Drift: Willa & Koy

“Well, that is certainly something to keep in mind. Though, if you get a drydock you might not be able to handle all the ships that’ll show up in that harbor.”

I finally looked to Koy, not bothering to smooth over my smug expression.

He looked more annoyed than ever now. “So, you’re headed to Sowan next?” He changed the subject.

“That’s right.”

“Is theWellworthysetting up a trade route, or…?”

“Not exactly.”

“Something secret, then?” Koy pressed.

The men behind us began to sing a sloppy tavern song and I nudged Koy’s knee with mine. The edge was coming back into his voice and if Coen hadn’t already noticed, he would.

“Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid.” Coen propped himself up on his elbows, folding his hands in front of his chin. “I’ve been tasked with righting my wrongs. I lost something of my father’s, and now I’m expected to get it back.”

“What is it? Maybe we can help,” I said, watching Speck make his way again to the rambunctious table behind us. This time, he had two bottles of rye raised in the air. The men started clapping when they saw him.

“It’s not jewels or a ship or anything like that. It’s a person. Two people, actually.”

I leaned in closer, unsure if I’d heard him right through the singing voices at my back. “People?”

Coen met my eyes. “A silversmith. A man about my age with black hair and scars that cover his hands and arms. He’s with a girl.”

There was a chill in the air suddenly. I made a point of knowing who dropped anchor on these docks, and I hadn’t seen anyone like that come through Jeval. But if he was talking about someone whose own soul was a debt, the way West’s had been with Saint, then he wouldn’t find any help from me. Or Koy. We didn’t get involved in the business of traders.

When we said nothing, Coen laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t think they would have come through here. But worth a try.”

It was only then I noticed that Koy hadn’t touched his rye. He still sat unmoving, his scrutinizing gaze roaming over Coen as if he was searching for something there.

“I’ve been banished from Bastian until I find them, and that’s not looking like a feasible task. So, who knows, you might be seeing more of me.” Coen winked.

“You’re just going to float port to port?” I asked.

Coen shrugged. “Why not?”

That was a good question. Coen had his own personal envoy taking him around the Narrows and beyond so that he could drink and find brief companionship in tavern inns under the guise of making things right with his father. If I had to guess, I’d say he wasn’t looking all that hard for the people he was supposed to find.

“She’s got what she deserved, I’ll tell you that much!” a man from the other table shouted, bring the song to a stop.

I turned to see one of theIris’s new deckhands staring into his empty glass. The others went on with their conversation, but I couldn’t take my eyes from him as he mumbled on.

“She thought I didn’t see, but that handkerchief she carries is stained with blood.” The man beside him blinked sleepily, clearly too drunk to even hear what the deckhand was saying. “No, the great Emilia Marley isn’t long for this world. Mark my words. She’ll be rotting by the end of next month.”

I froze, hand tightening on my glass as I stared at the floor. A chill crept over me, a trail of pinpricks dotting my skin.

Emilia Marley was a crofter. Not just any crofter—therye crofter in Sowan. The head of the rye guild and the mastermind behind the trade that had built an entire economy for the Narrows.

I tried to think. TheIrishad just come from Sowan. Did this man know Emilia? And what exactly was he saying? That she was…dying?

I shifted in my seat, trying to listen. But if the man was still talking, it was drowned out by another song that had struck up among the crew.

My eyes shifted to Koy, who had finally lifted his glass to his mouth. By all appearances, he hadn’t heard what I had. But when I looked across the table to Coen, he was rigid, his gaze pinned on the table behind me.

Had he heard the name?

It wasn’t the kind of harmless rumor that made its way through the taverns of the Narrows. This was something else. If what the man was saying was true, it had enormous consequences. Emilia had built an entire industry on the production of rye, giving the Narrows legs to stand on against the trade of the Unnamed Sea. She had also committed the lion’s share of her inventory to one contract—Saint.