BY THE END OF THE WEEK, I KNEW the mainmast from the foremast, the mainsail from the topsail, port from starboard, fore from aft, and the main deck from the quarterdeck. It reminded me of Forwind Abbey in the sense that everything had its place, though the names were different. Instead of kitchen, refectory, dormitory, cellarium, and reredorter, on a ship they were called the galley, mess, forecastle, hold, and head.

Jaro and his twelve-year-old daughter, a scrawny, perpetually active ship’s girl named Aver, provided endless lectures on seafaring, including how to judge if the sails were balanced, how to navigate using an astrolabe, how to tie a multitude of knots, how to mend a sail or a rope, and how to protect a section of rope from chafing. If it had anything to do with a rope, Jaro knew about it. Sometimes, when he droned on too long, I wished he knew a bit less.

Jaro was delighted when he realized I already knew the basics of Sudesian. He included language lessons in each activity, teaching me Sudesian as he instructed Aver in Tempesian. Every word was repeated in both languages, and I was free to ask what words meant and encouraged to speak. He was a patient teacher, though he couldn’t resist laughing at my more hilarious mistakes.

Every day, Kai conducted an inspection with the boatswain, a stern-faced woman named Eylinn. The crew snapped to attention, fixing anything that was out of place. It was clear they respected their commanders. Eylinn only spoke Sudesian, but she always nodded civilly to me.

After a couple of weeks, I concluded that time passed differently at sea.

Some hours moved slowly, inching along in dreadful monotony, like when I was helping with some mundane task such as peeling potatoes in the galley. That’s when thoughts of Arcus would intrude, and longing would roar through my blood like a marauding invader, leaving me breathless and sick to my stomach. I tortured myself with memories: how giddy I’d felt when he’d danced with me at the ball, our searing kiss in the ice garden, the moment when he’d told me I’d melted his heart. All the times I’d thieved looks at him from some inconspicuous corner when he was occupied with the business of being king. And then, in sharp contrast, the agony of our last conversation would play itself over and over in my head in bits and pieces, moments of pain sticking in my mind like needles.

I wondered if he thought of me, or if he’d managed to obliterate me from his mind. When my homesickness was at its worst, I almost wished I could do the same.

On the other hand, some hours passed quickly, like in the evening when the weather was fair and the sailors had time to indulge themselves with music played on pipe or fiddle, with the rest of the crew adding lyrics to the tune. Some were jaunty, high-spirited reels that made me want to leap to my feet and dance, and others were mournful ballads that made my eyes fill with tears, even if I couldn’t understand all the words. It was cathartic to cry, and though I tried to be inconspicuous, others were matter-of-fact when they broke down, as if tears were an accepted part of life. Sudesians were clearly more comfortable losing control in front of others.

Normally Kai didn’t participate in these evenings. As captain, he kept himself aloof from his crew. But one night, about two weeks into the journey, he came to sit in the circle of lantern light on deck.

Jaro nodded at him. “A tale for us, Captain?” To me, Jaro added, “He tells a good story.”

“What would you like to hear?” Kai asked with a smile.

After a brief and friendly argument among those present, with Aver weighing in most vocally, they settled on the story of Neb and the birth of her children, the wind gods. Kai wrapped his arms loosely around his bent legs and cleared his throat. Even though my Sudesian vocabulary was limited, I knew the old myths well enough to fill in the gaps.

“In the jagged and untamed youth of the world,” Kai began, his voice as deep and rich as honeyed cakes, “when Neb first opened her eyes, she found a blank land and a vast darkness overhead. Having nothing but herself, she pulled the teeth from her mouth and threw them into the dark one by one. They hovered there, becoming stars, even as new teeth grew.

“The smooth earth didn’t please her, so she pulled out a strand of hair and threw it to the ground. A tree grew in its place. Then she pounded the land with her fists until it splintered into mountains and valleys. She sat in the shadow of a mountain to rest, and her tired sigh became the air that stirs the leaves.” He exhaled and gestured to show the breath turning to air.

“But the spirits of the land that had slept under the surface were angry at being pummeled thus. One rock spirit rose up from the center of the earth, and he threw handfuls of stones at Neb. Though he raged, she saw in his eyes that the rocks covering his skin gave him pain, so she struck him on the shoulders, arms, and back until the stony armor fell from him, littering the world with boulders and pebbles. Neb put a hand to his shoulder… .”

I jumped a little as Kai laid a hand on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers inadvertently tickling the sensitive skin where shoulder meets neck. As he was merely adding actions to the story, I sat placidly instead of shrugging him off.

“She reveled in the feel of vulnerable flesh, like her own,” he continued, not looking at me, though I sensed his attention. “The rock spirit thanked her and said he’d been trapped in the earth for so long, he no longer knew his name. Neb named him Tempus, for he was the beginning and the end of time for her.”

Kai squeezed my shoulder lightly before his hand slid away.

“And for a time, they were happy. Neb’s belly grew round and her child was brighter than the stars. But Sun was an adventurous child, and one day she wandered too close to the edge of the world. She fell into the sky, tumbling out of reach, hovering eternally to shine her light on the land.”

The ship rolled over a swell and the lanterns swung, then righted themselves.

“Sun would not come home no matter how Neb pleaded, and Neb could not fetch her daughter, who had become too bright and hot to touch. So Neb cried for the first time, her tears forming oceans, while Tempus’s tears were molten rock, pouring into the center of the earth and spewing through cracks in the ocean bed to form new lands. In her grief, Neb pulled out her eyelashes, and where they scattered, plants and small animals came to life.

“Neb and Tempus retreated from each other,” Kai continued, “she into the mountains and he below the rocky earth. But Neb was already carrying their second child, and her birthing cries drew her husband from his hiding place. Tempus held his newborn child and named him Eurus, giving him the name of the East, where the babe’s lost sister rose into the sky every morning.

“Neb took leaves and branches and wove them into dolls as toys for her son. But in his boredom, he pulled them apart, and Neb had to keep making new ones. So instead, she gave him a fan made of palm leaves and Eurus used it to create the east wind.”

Eerily, a breeze lifted the lax sails at that moment. Aver gasped and then laughed. Kai grinned at her.

“You see? Eurus himself enjoys our tale.”

Jaro frowned and Kai chuckled. “Or perhaps it is Sud who tickles our sails as she waits for her turn in the story. Tempus and Neb had a third child, and they called her Cirrus. She was gentle and kind, and her laugh made the first music. The proud parents sat for hours pulling fruit from trees to feed her and watching their daughter wander over hills and valleys, delighting in everything she touched. She made the land more fertile wherever she stepped.

“But in their joy, they forgot about their second child. Eurus saw that their love for Cirrus was greater than their love for him. So he set a trap for his younger sister.

“‘Follow me to the top of the northern mountain,’ said Eurus, ‘where our lost sister, Sun, tints the sky pink every night before sleep.’ So Cirrus, eager to see the sister she had never known, followed her brother to the summit. When she reached out to try to touch Sun, Eurus used the palm frond to make a gust of wind. Cirrus lost her footing on the loose rocks and fell toward the ground far, far below.

“But it was all right,” Kai reassured Aver, “because Sun saw her sister falling and bent her light in the north, making many colors dance across the sky as a warning to their parents. Tempus and Neb looked up to see their young daughter falling and threw her a palm frond. Cirrus caught the fan and used it to make a west wind that lifted her back to the top of the mountain.

“When they realized what Eurus had tried to do, Tempus and Neb were furious. Tempus picked up his son and threw him as far as he could until Eurus fell to the rocky shores of an island.”

Another gust of wind filled the sails harshly, as if a giant hand had punched them.

Jaro frowned and shook his head, but Kai continued his tale. “Eurus lived there for a timeless time, all alone, and when—”

“He deserved to be alone,” Aver said, her face pinched in a scowl. “After what he tried to do to his sister.”

“Indeed,” said Kai. “He deserved to suffer for that.”

Again, the wind swirled for a few seconds but then died completely. We all looked up to see the sails slack for the first time in weeks.

“It’s bad luck to invoke the name of the east wind while at sea,” Jaro whispered.

“You don’t really believe that,” I said, but I found myself nearly whispering, too. As if some unseen hostile ear might catch the words. After all, according to the legends, the god of the east wind was the creator of the Minax, and I certainly believed in its existence.

Jaro scrambled to his feet. “If the wind gods withhold their gift, we’ll remain here, becalmed and helpless. It’s no way for a sailor to die, starving at sea with—”

“That’s enough, Jaro,” said Kai, affectionate but firm. “We’ll finish the tale another night.”

Aver whined and pleaded for more, but he stayed firm. “Another night.”

Aside from a few squalls, the weather was hospitable for the rest of the journey. When I emerged on deck one morning, about four weeks after sailing from Tevros, the islands had grown closer on our port side. A dark, rocky shoreline loomed ahead.

“Land?” I asked, leaning eagerly over the rail.

“The Strait of Acodens,” said Jaro in his native tongue. My comprehension of Sudesian had become quite passable over the previous weeks. “This is where Fireblood masters guard the passage night and day, although Frostblood sailors never venture in this far—too many rocks and shifting sandbars for their big ships.”

Tall, jagged cliffs blotted out the horizon. As we drew closer, the texture became clear: craggy and pockmarked, as if a bunch of rotted teeth had been jammed into the stone. A narrow ribbon of sea was threaded between two peaks, which leaned toward each other as they soared toward the sky. Outposts were set on ledges high above sea level. Figures in orange tunics moved into view. One of them called out, “Identify yourselves!” Kai gave his name and was greeted with friendly shouts.

It took a few minutes to navigate between the crags looming on either side. Sea spray arced over the deck as it roiled in the narrow gap. Any mistake in steering would result in a breach in our hull. It felt like the entire crew held their breath for the duration.

Once we’d passed through, the tension eased. It was clear from the grins on the crewmembers’ faces that we were in the home stretch.

I leaned over the port railing and sucked in a lungful of humid air. The weather flaunted a welcome, sunny heat that made me want to stay on deck all day. It was the first time I’d felt truly warm outdoors. As we sailed south, I could feel the giddy power of the sun thrumming through my blood.

Over the next two days, the space between islands thinned, until we were hemmed in on both sides. Kai had the crew measuring the sea depth at regular intervals.

Then finally, late one day, there was a triumphant cry from Aver sighting the Isle of Sere, the capital. When she cried out the Sudesian word for home, it was one of the most joyous sounds I’d ever heard.

Home. The thought punctured something deep in my chest. I was in the land of my mother and my grandmother. I had longed to see it, even more than I’d ever admitted to myself. And I was here. I had made it.

The crew climbed into the rigging or pressed against the rails, whooping excitedly. A large island took shape, its wide bay backed by emerald hills, and behind that, the haze of several peaks topped with fluffy clouds that seemed to make the sky bluer. The bay was studded with white-sailed vessels bobbing in the turquoise water, mostly small boats, but some larger ships. Excited shouts from shore brought answering waves and smiles from the crew. It suddenly sank in that none of those waves or shouts were for me.

But even so, a kick of delight sizzled through my veins as I took in the sandy shoreline, the intensely green hills, the puff of smoke from a volcano that rose with haughty superiority above the other mountains. Everything looked so lush and jewel-bright, completely different from Tempesia and somehow more than anything I’d ever imagined.

If only Arcus were here to see it with me.