Princess Elodi's Arc

Chapter 37 of 55

Three days at sea, and Elodi still felt useless. The crew moved with purpose while she stood in the way. She went below to check the griffin, kept in the hold since its crash. The tan feathers had lost their shine. She fed it fish caught fresh that morning, and the great beak snapped the offering down. It was the only work she knew how to do well. "I could use some fresh hands," said a voice. Captain Blackwell leaned against a pillar. She was the one who owed Elodi's father a life debt, the only person who knew the way to his sister. Her short dark hair framed a face that gave nothing away. She watched Elodi the way she watched the sea, measuring it. Elodi wiped her fingers on her gown. "I know nothing of ships. Nothing of the work your crew does. I would only be in your way." Blackwell laughed, short and rough. "Nor did I, once. My father taught me every rope on this deck." She pushed off the pillar. "There are a hundred things you could do to be useful. You only need to pick one and learn it." Elodi followed her up into the light. The deck heaved under her boots. Sailors hauled lines, coiled rope, scrubbed planks. Blackwell pointed at each task and named it. Then she stopped at a heap of frayed rope by the mast. "Start here," Blackwell said. "Splice these. A broken line in a storm can kill a man." She knelt, took two frayed ends, and wove them together with quick fingers. "Watch. Then do." Elodi knelt beside her. Her first try fell apart. The strands slipped loose in her hands. She tried again, and again, until her fingers ached and bled at the tips. Blackwell did not coddle her. She only pointed at each mistake and waited. By afternoon Elodi held up a splice that held. She pulled it hard. It did not give. A sailor passing behind her grunted and nodded. It was the first time any of the crew had looked at her without pity. Blackwell tested the splice herself, tugging until the rope groaned. "That would hold in weather," she said. "You have hands after all." Elodi looked at the coil of rope she had mended, then at the long deck around her. She was no longer only a passenger being carried to her father. She had done one real thing on this ship, and she could do more. "Give me another," she said. Blackwell studied her a moment. Then she dropped a second frayed line in Elodi's lap. "Good. Because tomorrow you climb. A splicer who cannot reach the high lines is half a hand." She turned toward the wheel. "And the high rigging is where the sea decides who stays aboard and who does not."