27
The strange ship cut silently through the darkness, the only sound that of muttered conversation between the sailors in their foreign tongue as they moved about their tasks. Daemi stood on the bridge, wrapped in her cloak, furiously ignoring the chill of the night air. Frankle was already asleep, the workers having guided him to a chamber of his own in the hull, bowing and waving obsequiously as they did so in a manner he had found quite unnerving. Heather was at the bow, leaning as far over the rail as she could to try to make sense of whatever magic was powering their movement.
There was no wind. The sails stayed furled against the masts, yet still the ship moved quite quickly, gauging by the push of the air against Daemi’s cheeks. There was no other way to judge, no landmarks to be
