“You’ve said nothing of numbers. We’re not a large fleet. Flanking the Valorians means splitting our fleet in half. Have you ever been in a sea battle?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you don’t mean that one in this bay the night of the Firstwinter Rebellion.”

Arin was silent.

“That was in a bay,” Xash sneered. “A pretty little cradle with gentle winds for rocking babies to sleep. It’s easy to maneuver here. We are talking about a battle on the open sea. You are talking about weakening our fleet by cutting it in half.”

“I don’t think the Valorian fleet will be large.”

“You don’t think.”

“It doesn’t need to be, not to attack a city whose population has been drugged into lethargy. A city,” Arin said pointedly, “that the emperor believes has no allies.”

“I like a surprise attack. I like the thought of pinning the Valorians between us. But your plan only works if the emperor hasn’t sent a fleet that vastly outnumbers us, and can easily sink each of our flanks. It only works if the emperor truly doesn’t know that Dacra”—Xash’s voice betrayed his disapproval—“has allied with you. The Valorian emperor would love to crush such an alliance with an overwhelming show of naval force. If he knows we’re here, he might very well send the entire Valorian fleet.”

“Then a battle along the strait is better. Unless you’d rather they attack us here in the bay.”

“I rule this fleet. I have the experience. You’re barely more than a boy. A foreign boy.”

When Arin spoke again, it wasn’t with his own words. His god told him what to say. “When your queen assigned you to sail your fleet to Herran, whom did she name with the ultimate command of it? You or me?”

Xash’s face went hard with fury. Arin’s god grinned inside him.

“We set sail now,” Arin said.

The waters east of Ithrya Island were a sheer green. But Arin, from where his ship lay in wait for the Valorian fleet, could see how the currents pushing out of the strait made a broad, almost purple rope in the sea.

He felt like that: like a dark, curling force was working through him. It flooded to the tips of his fingers and warmed him. It spread his ribs wide with each breath.

When the first Valorian ship flew out of the strait, Arin was filled with a malicious joy.

And it was easy. The Valorians hadn’t expected them, clearly had no idea of the alliance. The size of the enemy fleet matched theirs. The slenderness of the strait made the Valorian ships sail out into Herran’s sea by twos. Easy to pick off. The eastern fleet drove at them from either side.

Cannonballs punched the hulls. The gundecks fogged the air with black smoke. It smelled like a million burnt matches.

Arin boarded his first Valorian ship. He seemed to watch all this as if from outside himself: the way his sword cut a Valorian sailor apart, and then another, and on until his blade was oiled red. Blood sprayed him across the mouth. Arin didn’t taste it. Didn’t feel the way his dagger hand plunged into someone’s gut. Didn’t wince when an enemy sword crossed his guard and sliced his bicep.

Arin’s god slapped him across the face.

Pay attention, death demanded.

Arin did, and after that, no one could touch him.

When it was done, and Valorian wrecks were taking on water and the rest of the enemy ships had been seized, Arin could see straight again. He blinked against the lowering sun, its light an orange syrup that glazed the fallen bodies and gave the blood an odd color.

Arin stood on the deck of a captured Valorian ship. His breath heaved and hurt in his chest. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

The enemy captain was dragged before Xash.

“No,” Arin said. “Bring him to me.”

Xash’s eyes were bright with anger. But the Dacrans did what Arin asked, and Xash let them.

“Write a message to your emperor,” Arin said to the Valorian captain. “Tell him what he’s lost. Tell him he’ll pay if he tries again. Use your personal seal. Send the message and I’ll let you live.”

“How noble,” Xash said, contemptuous.

The Valorian said nothing. He was white-lipped. Yet again Arin marveled at how the Valorian reputation for bravery and honor so often fell short of the truth.

The man wrote his message.

Are you really a boy, like Xash says? the god asked Arin. You’ve been mine for twenty years. I raised you.

The Valorian signed the scrap of paper.

Cared for you.

The message was rolled, sealed, and pushed into a tiny leather tube.