Free Sound by Alexandra Duncan Page A

crowd.
    â€œSmooth,” Rubio mutters.
    â€œI didn’t ask for your help,” I snap back. I don’t know why everything is coming out angry when all I feel is hurt, those million little scratches adding up to a deeper wound.
    â€œHeaven forbid anyone should try to help the great Memsahib Guiteau.” He swirls what’s left of his sherry around in the bottom of his glass and throws it back in one gulp.
    â€œI told you.” I grit my teeth. “Stop calling me—”
    Suddenly the officers’ laughter fizzles out behind us, and silence slices through the room. Something acrid curdles the air. Rubio’s mouth opens, his gaze fixed on something behind me. I turn. Cassia stands on the threshold, stinking of smoke and dressed in the same soot-stained clothes she wore when she carried Milah from the smoldering ship. I hadn’t taken much notice of them before, in all the chaos. She wears a dark gray quilted jacket and a kilt with knife-sharp pleats over black trousers and boots. Her hair fans out in wild curls, her freckles have almost disappeared in the dangerous red flush creeping up from her neck, and the look in her eyes says that if she could, she would burn this whole room, this whole ship, and everyone in it, to cinders.

Chapter 5
    A man with Cassia’s same honey hair—the lanky one who was first out of their burning vessel—waits behind her, in clean blue scrubs from the medical ward.
    â€œMr. Kaldero.” Commander Dhar emerges from the knot of officers near the bar. She smiles in welcome “Ms. Kaldero. We’re so glad you’ve accepted our invitation.”
    â€œThank you.” The man takes her proffered hand. “Please, call me Ezar.”
    â€œIt’s captain.” Cassia corrects him with a harsh look. “Captain Kaldero. Not Ezar.”
    â€œFor now.” Ezar offers an apologetic smile. “Only until our father’s well again.”
    â€œOf course,” our commander agrees without missing a beat.
    All the other officers and guests exchange the same pitying look. Captain of what?
    â€œWon’t you please have a seat?” Commander Dhar gestures to the dining table. “Now we’re all here, we can begin.”
    Cassia drops into the nearest chair and scowls down the table while the rest of us find our seats. The officer to her left shifts his chair ever so slightly away from her. There’s no escaping the odor that follows her, even on my side of the table, but apparently we’re all going to follow the commander’s lead and ignore it. Cassia stares at each of us in turn, as if daring us to comment on the state of her clothes. Her brows lift slightly when she comes to me—suddenly more hurt than angry—and then batten down again.
    I swallow down the knot in my throat. How must this scene look to her, all of us laughing and drinking while the dakait fly her brother farther and farther into the Deep? She frowns down at the porcelain plate in front of her. My insides churn. Here I am moping around, feeling sorry for myself about the head of telemetry mistaking me for a foreigner, when she’s the one who’s truly lost something.
    Look at me, I think. Please, look at me. If she would only look my way, she could at least see the apology in my eyes. I’m not part of this. I didn’t ask to be here. But she doesn’t.
    The food comes in waves, served by the officers’ stewards. Crispy paratha bread stuffed with spiced potatoes. Chickpea-encrusted pakoras, sweet, minty yogurt raita, green chutneys, mango chutneys, and platters of saffron-scented rice. Fried paneer cheese, for the vegetarians among us, and lamb vindaloo for the rest. Then stewed tamarinds and cardamom-laced kulfi, sweet and cold. The rest of our shipmates are eating plain chickpea chole or lentil stew with naan in the mess halls tonight, but part of me wishes I was there instead. I can hardly bring myself to raise a