But the blow never comes and when I openfirst one eye, and then the other, I find he’s turned away and islooking out one of the portals. “You could have saved her,” he saysto a bird that’s hopping on the railing outside.

I know he’s right because he was there—he saweverything. I saw it too, but I just can’t quite…if I couldonly…

Remember.

It’s as if the word is spoken in my head, asoothing voice that sang gentle lullabies to me when I’d wake up inthe throes of a nightmare. Now my nightmares are about her, sowho’s going to sing to me?

Remember.

I can’t. I can’t.

Blood, frothing and churning. Theimage burns in my mind and I slam my eyes shut again, trying todispel the bubbles, red with…no! No more.

My mother’s body, sinking beneath thesurface, jerking as the sharp-tooths tear her to shreds.

Remember. No, dammit, I don’t want to!I don’t want to see you die again and again, never living, never ahappy ending where I save you, where I become the man I’m meant tobe now, pull you up, up, up, stronger than ten men, stronger than aStormer’s horse, stronger than the raw pull of the ocean, embracingyou and never letting go. Not ever again.

When I open my eyes my father is staring atme curiously, and I wonder why. His gaze drops to my fists and Ifollow it. My hands are clenched, splotched with red and whiteamongst the little freckles that are always there because of thesun and my fair complexion.

“Yesss,” my father murmurs, drawing the wordout like the hiss of snake. “Yes, anger is good, but only if it’scontrolled. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

I relax my hands and am surprised that theyache when I stretch them out. Specks of fresh blood dot my palmwhere my too-long fingernails cut into my flesh. I slide thembehind me and out of sight.

“What now?” I say, keeping my voice asimpassive as possible. One of his lessons comes back to me,finally. To show emotion is to be emotional. And emotions arefor women and the weak. If men are to be cold-hearted vapidcreatures, then that’s what I’ll become. I’ll do anything to provemyself. But isn’t anger an emotion?

I don’t have time to dwell on the questionbecause the Admiral smiles, strides to the bed and sits on it,patting the bedcover beside him. Surprised at his sudden change inmood, I hesitate, but then join him, keeping a healthy gap betweenus. Although his expression has softened, there’s none of mymother’s tenderness in the hard lines of his face.

“Son,” he says. “I know things have beenhard, strained even, between us. But I want you to succeed. I wantyou to become the man I know you’re capable of. You’re my son,after all.” He pauses and I search his eyes for the joke, for aninsult, but there’s only truth in them.

“Then why are you sending me on the Mayhem?”I ask.

He smiles. “You should know me well enough bynow,” he says cryptically.

And I should know. And I do know. From themoment I learned which ship I’d be assigned to, I knew exactly why.I just didn’t want to admit it.

(Because I’m scared.)

“A test,” I say.

He doesn’t reply, but doesn’t deny it either.He sighs, and for the first time in my life my father looks tired.What I thought a moment ago were his hard lines, look more like agelines now, deep canyons in his flesh cut from rivers of wearinessand grief and disappointment.

“What do I have to do?”

—to make you proud.

—to earn your forgiveness.

—to prove myself.

He puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Yourtask is to turn the Mayhem into a ship we can all be proud of, aship where the best sailors in the fleet will beg to be stationed,to serve. Captain Montgomery is a…strange man, but a good captain.He needs your help, as do I.”

I shouldn’t believe him (because it feelslike punishment), but I do, because I want it to be an opportunity.That’s all I want. A chance to make things right. A chance toforget the past, live in the present, and look forward to thefuture.

“Aye, Admiral,” I say, standing, a flattenedhand raised in salute. “What advice will you give me?”

He raises an eyebrow and I can see Isurprised him. A boy rushes into action and failure. A man asksquestions on the way to success. Another of his lessons tumblesthrough the void.

“Two things,” he says, waving away my salutewith a casual gesture. I drop my hand to my side. “One. Earn therespect of your seamen by being one of them and above them.”

I frown. “But how can you be both?” Iask.

He wipes my question away with another waveof his hand. It’s part of the test, I realize. Making sense of hisadvice. Learning from experience.

“Two. Beware the bilge rats,” he says, and myface reddens because at first I think it’s a joke, a dig at myfailure from before. But his face is deadly serious. “They’re notlike us. They’ll do anything to bring you down, to make you as lowas they are. Don’t trust them. They are tools to be used, nothingmore.”

With that, he stands, ushers me to the door,and I leave his chambers for maybe the last time, off to seek myfate.

~~~

Small wooden boats carry us to the shore,borne on the backs of midshipmen with heavy oars. Choppy wavesbounce us around, occasionally bandying together to propel usforward from behind.

Cain sits beside me, staring out at the longline of white-sailed ships standing sentinel, as if they’reguarding the entrance to the ocean. Down the line—way down theline—stands a ship with yellowing weather-stained sails, frayed andfull of holes. The eyesore of the fleet: The Sailors’ Mayhem.

My test.

Cain reaches down and lets the water rushover his hand. Instinctively I reach to grab his arm and pull itaway. Because of the sharp-tooths. Sticking a hand in the wateraround here is a good way to lose it. But I stop, because I’m beingstupid. Normal procedure has been followed. Fish guts and carcasseswould have been emptied in our wake, giving the deadly predatorssomething to keep themselves occupied with—and the spear guns wouldhave scared off the rest. They’ll come back, of course, becausethey always do, but for now we’re safe.

Cain looks at me strangely, but lifts hishand, now dripping with saltwater, flicks his fingers in my face.“Hey!” I say, but I’m not angry, and I splash him back,smiling.

Having informed me of my orders and offeredhis advice, my father will remain on the ship, as Admirals’ do. Idon’t mind his absence—it relieves some of the pressure building inmy chest.

Hobbs glares at us from the other end of theboat. I wish he was absent, too.

“Don’t mind him,” Cain says. “I heard hehasn’t spent the night with a woman in months.” He laughs loudlyand I join him, although I don’t exactly understand what’s funnyabout it. Hobbs can’t have heard what Cain said, but he extends agesture in response anyway, which only makes us laugh harder.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” Isay to Cain, and even to my own ears my voice sounds high andboyish. Right away I wish I could unsay it.

Cain’s smile fades and he slaps me on theback. “Soon enough there will be another fight to fight against theStormers, and we’ll see each other then.”

“Aye,” I say, growling the way I’ve practicedsince I was only as tall as my father’s knees.

~~~

We say our goodbyes. My friends, Jobe and Benand Thom, wish me luck and say they’ll join me as men soon. Then wecan all fight the Stormers together. The thought sendsexcited-nervous ripples through my skin, but I just pull them intohardy half-hugs and it’s a promise.

Cain loops an arm over my shoulder and walksme away from the beached boats and the water, up a slope to agrassy patch. My legs wobble slightly with each step, because theland is solid, unmoving, a stark contrast to the ebbs and flows ofthe ship’s deck. “You can spend as much time up here as you need toprepare,” he says. “We set sail when you’re ready.” I nod.