The first day had been almost pleasant. Light clouds kept the sun from baking them, steady wind filling the patched Black Ballad's sails.

  Dain spent most of it hanging over the rail, looking green.

  "This is bloody—" He paused to retch. "—absolutely terrible, this is!"

  Prattle, hung upside down from the rigging, mimicked the retching sound perfectly.

  "I hate you," Dain managed.

  "I hate you," Prattle repeated, in Dain's voice, head tilted with what looked like genuine curiosity about why this was upsetting.

  Kith appeared with a piece of canvas in her mouth then put it down next to Dain. "Here. Sit on the deck, watch the horizon. It'll help."

  "Will it? Really, yeah?"

  "Probably not, but you'll look less pathetic doing it."

  Cocky relaxed nearby, feathers sleek. The first real rest he'd had in days. No pacing, no spiraling, just the gentle rock of the ship and open water ahead. They were finally going home. Though what they’d find when they got there? He wasn’t thinking about that at the moment.

  "Ready to kick Jorvan out of Eldmere?" Kith asked, settling beside him.

  "Yeah." Cocky's voice was quiet but steady. "Ready as I’ll ever be."

  "Good. Because when we get there, we're going to need you in top shape."

  "I know." Cocky looked out at the water. "I'm ready."

  ***

  By evening, Dain had recovered enough to sit upright without looking completely green. One of the crew had shared a trick with him to help him feel less seasick. He wasn’t sure if it really worked or just in his head. But he didn’t really care.

  The crew gathered on deck for the watch change.

  Dain looked up at Merren with genuine excitement. "Oi, Captain! I've heard stories about your performances, yeah? At festivals and that. Will you play something? I'd proper love to hear the famous Thorn the Bard actually perform!"

  "What's this Cap'n?" one of the crew said. “We never heard of any performances. You a bard? Really? Learn some’n new ev’ry day.”

  Merren's eyes darted around, he felt like a fly in a spider’s web. "Ah, well, you see, the thing about that is... my instrument. My primary instrument. The one I typically use for performances of this nature. It's currently... indisposed."

  "Indisposed?" Kith's tone was flat, unimpressed.

  "Yes, yes, very unfortunate situation involving a... well, you see, there was an incident. With tentacles. Sea creature of some sort—very aggressive, absolutely tremendous grip—and in the chaos of that particular encounter, my instrument was... let's say it's being... recalibrated. Yes. Recalibrated. Takes time, these things. Very delicate work. Can't rush it. Musical integrity and all that."

  "Tentacles." Kith stared at him. "Your instrument was attacked by tentacles."

  "Indeed! Terrible business. The trauma to the wood alone—"

  "Don't you have other instruments?"

  "Ah! Yes! Of course! Several, in fact. But you see, they're all calibrated for different... circumstances. And the current circumstances, what with the wind direction and the particular salinity of the water and the phase of the moon—which is very important, musically speaking—it's just not the right... alignment. You understand?"

  Kith opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked."

  Dain was clearly trying not to laugh. "Mate, you don't owe us anything."

  Merren looked profoundly relieved. "Quite right. Very understanding of you. Most refreshing indeed."

  Kith muttered under her breath, "Tentacles. Un-freaking-believable."

  "Plus I've got this splinter," Merren said, examining his thumb with great concern. "Quite nasty. Best not risk it."

  "Right. A splinter would do it," Kith's tone was flat. "Well, as long as you can get us to Eldmere without the tentacles getting in the way, I guess that’s the best we can hope for."

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  Merren's grin was pure confidence. "Love, I've outrun the King's Navy with a hold full of contraband. Getting a few passengers to Eldmere. Child’s play."

  "How long does it actually take to get there?" Dain asked.

  "Ah! Well, depends on the winds, the currents, the time of year—" Merren gestured vaguely. "Could be three days, could be five. Very unpredictable, the sea. That's why they call it the Drowned Coast, you know. Very dramatic name. Lots of history there."

  "Right. Unpredictable." Dain nodded, then paused. "Wait, they call it the Drowned Coast?"

  "Tremendously dramatic," Merren continued cheerfully. "But don't worry! I've sailed it dozens of times. Possibly hundreds. Lost count, really. Point is, I'm still here, aren't I?"

  "That's... not as reassuring as you think it is," Kith muttered.

  Seren had been watching this exchange like someone observing a particularly entertaining shipwreck—fascinating, inevitable, and somehow still surprising.

  ***

  The next day the breeze continued strong and steady. The sails snapped full and The Black Ballad leapt forward, cutting through the waves.

  Dain was enjoying having his appetite back—except ship's biscuit and some dried meat wasn’t necessarily all that enjoyable. He bit off a piece of the hardtack looking at the horizon.

  One of the crew spotted Merren at the helm, “Cap’n, how's about a tune, on account that we never heard you play anything before?”

  Merren looked slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, well, the thing about my work is... it's very much... contextual, you understand. The circumstances of performance require a certain... je ne sais quoi and presently—"

  “Yeah, I’d like to hear you play something.” Kith added.

  "Ah, well, you see, the thing about that is—and this is important, musically speaking—the lunar phase. Very critical for proper resonance. Tonight we're in what's called a waning gibbous, which creates a sort of... dissonance. Interferes with the instruments. Terrible for the ears. Wouldn't want to subject anyone to that."

  "The moon affects instruments?" Kith's tone was flat.

  "Oh tremendously! Especially at sea. The tides pull on the water, the water pulls on the air, the air affects the sound waves, and before you know it—" Merren gestured expansively, "—complete acoustic disaster. Stands to reason. Probably."

  Prattle, from his perch on a barrel, mimicked Merren's voice: "Complete acoustic disaster. Stands to reason. Probably." And flapped his wings.

  Several crew members snorted.

  Merren shot the jackdaw a look. "Thank you, Prattle. Very helpful."

  "Very helpful," Prattle echoed in a completely different voice—one of the crew from earlier.

  Dain said nothing, just watched with that thoughtful expression. Processing.

  Prattle leaned toward Seren, beak gaping for a bite. She yanked her arm back, glared at him, then crossed her arms against the mast. "So you can't play because of the moon?"

  Prattle flew to Merren and perched on his forearm.

  "Precisely! I'm glad someone understands—"

  "Tremendously inconvenient, these lunar phases." Kith's tone was flat.

  "I say! Was lookin' forward to a tune, I was." The crew member agreed mournfully.

  Dain said nothing, just watched with that thoughtful expression. Processing.

  So this is what he does, Seren realised. He talks until no one remembers what they asked.

  Merren's grin didn't falter. "Well, I can tell you about the time I smuggled King Rhodri’s mistress out of the Palace before her husband—tournament champion, undefeated in what, seventeen duels? Eighteen? Lost count really, point being he was very good with a sword and spectacularly bad at sharing, if you understand my meaning—found out. Now THAT'S a story..."

  And he was off, spinning a tale about smuggling mistresses and careful diplomacy. Kings and merchants and narrow escapes, but notably—not a single mention of performing. Just talking, negotiating, knowing the right people.

  Prattle rode Merren's arm like a ship in rough seas, tilting with every theatrical wave and gesture.

  ***

  The third day brought stronger winds and bigger swells. The Black Ballad leapt forward, rocking with the waves.

  Seren stood near the bow with Ink, both unbothered by the pitching deck. She moved with the ship’s rhythm like she’d been born to it.

  “Step with the wave,” she told Ink.

  Ink stumbled once. Corrected. Her tail wagged.

  Prattle swooped straight toward Seren's face. She flinched. He veered aside at the last second, landing on a coil of rope nearby.

  "Step with the wave," he said in Seren's voice.

  Seren's jaw tightened. "What's your bird's problem?"

  "Do you have to?" Prattle mimicked, still in her voice.

  "Prattle, NO—" came Merren's voice from across the deck.

  Too late. Prattle launched into a perfect imitation of yesterday's conversation:

  "Your dinghy sank—" Seren's voice.

  "You're right—" Merren's voice, subdued.

  "At this point I don't even know if we can trust you to get us to Eldmere—" Back to Seren.

  Seren looked at Merren. "Does he do this to everyone?"

  "He doesn't mean it," Dain called over.

  "He knows exactly what he's doing," Seren said.

  Merren spread his hands. "Ah, well, you see—there was this boy. In Vyrden. Or was it Caladwyth? No, definitely Vyrden. Used to throw rocks at him every time we docked. Terrible aim, mind you, but Prattle took it personally. You look—similar I s’pose. And once a jackdaw decides you're the enemy, well—" He gestured vaguely at the bird. "Very long memories, jackdaws. Remarkably unforgiving."

  Prattle hopped closer to Ink, who watched him with professional interest. He mimicked a bark. Not perfect—slightly off-pitch—but recognizable.

  Ink's ears went flat and she lifted her lip to show her canine. She looked at Seren as if to say Can I eat him?

  "Not yet," Seren muttered.

  Prattle, sensing he'd pushed far enough, flew back to Dain's shoulder and stayed quiet.

  For about five minutes.