Eyes closed to keep out the salty water, Scarlet sank, letting the scrap anchor she held to drag her several fathoms farther than she’d ever dove in her youth. Her other hand gripped a bit of rope looped around the larger rope anchoring the vessel above. She used the anchor line as a guy wire on her way up and down.

As she sank, she allowed her mind to remember all sorts of things she once thought forgotten. It helped to keep her relaxed, her breathing slow. The bottom of the harbor she dove in with her father sat at a depth much shallower than Bandara Bay, the final resting place of the mistress’s ship.

Before her father had allowed her to dive in the deepest parts, she dove in the shoals and shallows, working herself up to dive deeper over the course of several years. Her father discovered his daughter had a natural talent to dive and nurtured it. He still had his regular fisherman’s trade but took her out to dive when he could. She soon touched depths further below than any other diver in the wharf, able to pluck from the sea bottom shells and clams untouched and unreachable by any human hand.

She didn’t have years to inure her body to the depths necessary to reach the burned ship. Only weeks. Yet diving to great distances below the water required patience. It couldn’t be rushed. She’d seen more experienced divers lose consciousness and die while pushing themselves. Though some of this had been due to pushing the length of time spent without air, not the depth.

Scarlet would need to extend her range for both.

The iron dangling two fathoms beneath her feet hit something causing its rope to go slack. She pinched together the rope loop, causing it to cinch against the larger anchor line and slow her down. Scarlet fell another fathom before coming to a stop.

In complete silence, she dangled, the small currents of the deep pushing her back and forth like a growth of seaweed. She counted to thirty before the pressure in her chest threatened to burst. Hand over hand she pulled herself back toward the surface. Diving at night made it difficult to judge how close she was. She trusted her intuition and body to know her depth. As before she fought the urge to rise too quickly, another mistake that killed divers.

Her fingers felt the air first. She slowed, letting her lungs adapt to the lower pressure water before trying to fill them with air. Her head broke the surface. She took several small and shallow breaths as she bobbed in the water.

The face of the boat’s owner, looked down at her, shaking his head and breathing a sigh of relief. She hadn’t wanted to trust anyone for help. She had no choice. The mistress’s ship had sunk in a part of the harbor far enough from shore so no one there could recognize the clients going aboard...or hear the screams of the girls if any were brave enough to try.

When Scarlet had fled the vessel, it’d taken her hours to reach the shore with help. Alone, she’d never make it there and have energy to dive. An older fisherman agreed to let her his small dinghy and his seventeen-year-old son to sail it for her. The father had been reluctant at first to give her use of either. When she procured gold for both the boy and the boat, he had no further objection.

While pacing and waiting for Carmine and Cerise to return, Scarlet had buried a portion of the gold apart from the main haul. At the time, she’d told herself it was contingency gold. Another thought voicing itself in her head had told her to bury the gold and use it later to flee alone.

After changing into the blue dress and burning the thief’s clothes, she packed the chests and gold atop Cherry, securing the body of Carmine over those and walked the horse back toward the city. Though it’d been daylight, none bothered her, scurrying by after a cursory glance at her and the dead body of the girl.

She found a small religious house and paid for a burial plot and a wooden box for Carmine. After seeing the dirt dumped on her grave, Scarlet left to find an inn.

She’d chosen a fairly affluent one, dumping an entire bag of coin into the hands of the doubtful innkeeper. Seeing the shiny pieces of currency, he grinned and showed her to her room, demanding she tell him personally if she found the accommodations unsuitable or wanted for anything.

She tested the innkeeper’s word and asked for the location of a local artisan for an object she needed built. The innkeeper asked questions about the specifics of the object and told her he’d send for the man she needed, not allowing a lady like herself to set foot in that district.

True to his word, an artisan arrived, knew exactly what she needed and returned a day later with the box with a glass bottom. She used it to find the sunken ship, the only time she used the fisherman’s son and boat during the day. At first, she was going to keep quiet about what she looked for. The bay too large to scan the entirety of it, she asked the boy if he knew the location of the ship that had burned to bits. He sailed her to nearly the exact location, telling her the location of other ships that had the misfortune to sink in the bay for one reason or another. After that day, she and the boy went out at night to the approximate location. Day or night would matter little since hardly any light reached the ship due to its depth and the murkiness of the bay. She barely distinguished its dark mass from the darkness around it, doing so by the unnatural shape of the ship compared to the sea bottom. Perhaps when she was ready to try and salvage the vessel she’d dive during the day. Little light would be better than none.

Progress had been slow. This night had been a minor triumph.

Gripping the gunwale with both hands, she pulled herself up and onto the side of the boat. The boy leaned in the opposite direction to counter the ship’s rocking under her weight. She grunted, managing only to get her ribs passed the side. She paused and took several deep breaths. The boy waited, a watchful eye on her. She held up a hand to assure him she was fine.

She wasn’t fine. She tried throwing a leg over the side. Her knee slammed into the wood. As she slid back toward the water, the boy caught her by the arm. Too tired and out of breath to tell him she didn’t need his help – at least, that’s the excuse she used in her mind to not tell him – she nodded to him, allowing him to help drag her into the dinghy. Before she flopped onto the burden boards, he threw a coarse blanket about her shivering and naked form.

Resting her head against the rib, she stretched out, her feet touching the rising on the other side. Her chest rose and fell with the rising and falling of the boat as the wind and waves rocked it. Eyes closed, she listened to the water lap against the wooden planks and felt the warm breeze blow across her face. Sleep would come easy. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Though her eyes remained shut, she felt the boy watching her.

“I’m fine, Rayand,” said Scarlet.

The boy sighed.

She looked at him, giving him a half smile. “Really. I’m just tired.”

He nodded and glanced toward the horizon. “Shall we make for port?”

She shook her head. “One more time. The anchor hit bottom. I’m almost there.”

He nodded again and studied her some more.

She couldn’t bear this manner of scrutiny. “Speak. Ask your question.”

“Ma’am, you told me not to ask questions, and I shan’t. It’s not me business what ye purposes be diving. That doesn’t mean I’m not afeared for ye.”

Scarlet grinned, closing her eyes again. “That’s...very kind of you.” She decided against telling him she thought his sentiments sweet. The boy had been doing the job of a man and had been treating her like a lady. Men were never sweet.

He shrugged. “It’d look mighty improper if I returned with a dead lady or none at all. What would people think of me if I took a lady out to sea only to let her die? What would all the young women think of me?”

Scarlet chuckled softly. “Is that why you’re concerned about me dying? You’re worried about what others will think of you?”

Now it was the boy’s turn to grin. “Of course not, ma’am. But ye don’t seem like the manner of lady who wants someone else concerned about her life.”

Scarlet said nothing to this, his observation striking her harder than she expected. Feeling an irritation in her chest, she sat up and began coughing. Rayand ladled water from a small barrel into a wooden cup and held it out for her.

She shook her head at it. “I’m fine. That’s your water. You have the harder job.”

“I don’t want ye dying on me, ma’am. Not because I care about ye, mind you, but because my reputation demands I keep yeh alive.”

She sniffed a laugh and took the cup, draining it in one large draft. She returned the cup and said, “Yes. You are right. What would all the beautiful lasses think if a handsome fellow like yourself was known to transport live girls out to sea and return with dead ones.”

He grinned, pointing to the water barrel. She nodded, and he refilled the cup for her.

“Actually, there’s only one lass who really matters,” he said. “I’ve been as secret as ye like, but...”

“But she’s a woman,” said Scarlet. “So naturally she knows your business.”

Rayand nodded. “She saw us the first day out when we found yer ship, thought I might be courtin’ yeh.”

Scarlet laughed. “Courting me by nearly drowning me. If only every girl could be so lucky.”

Another coughing fit overtook her. She drank a little more water before telling Rayand she was ready for another dive.

Brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly together, he nodded and hauled up the scrap iron.

She couldn’t go as deep this time, dropping the anchor well before it hit the bottom. Upon reaching the surface, she breathed in water before the air and coughed. Her wheezes drew Rayand to grab her by the armpit. Having no strength to get into the boat on her own, she nodded. The strong fisherman’s son lifted her inside.

Without asking, he raised the sail and aimed the bow back to the port as she huddled inside the blanket, trying to compose herself. They sailed in silence, the return journey quicker due to the wind blowing inland.

Her head in a fog, she failed to notice the man following her as she made her way from the docks back to the inn. Exhausted, she found it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. Her toe struck an out-of-place cobblestone and she stumbled, stepping on the hem of her dress, tearing it.

She cursed and leaned against the side of a building to examine the damage and steady herself. The delay gave the man time to close the distance. Her threw her back against the wooden planks, pinning both her hands to the wall.

“Where is it?” said the captain, seething.

“You must be very brave accosting me all by yourself,” said Scarlet. She hoped to entice him to drop one of her hands and squeeze her throat, giving her a chance to reach Carmine’s dagger strapped to her thigh.

“I said two weeks.”

“I said four.”

“It’s been four.”

“I’m sure the mistress taught you to count better than that. It’s been just over three.”

“You better not be wasting my time.”

“You better not be mistreating those girls.”

He sneered. “I know you better than you think. You care nothing for them. You want my treasure for yourself.”

“Do not pretend to know anything about me, you bastard.”

“I know I’ve missed you. How about we have a go for old time’s sake?”

“You forget something. During the old times, we were on a ship where no one could hear me scream.”

He glanced to the sides, remembering their location. He glared at her. “Three days. I’ll send someone so you can give a description of it. He’ll give you the girls’ location...if that’s what you really care about.”

He sprinted away, as if fearful she would still scream. He didn’t know she didn’t have strength left in her lungs to cry out.

Her mind on the captain and his threat, she entered her room not noticing a familiar odor.

“The lady in scarlet escaped the ship,” said a dark figure from the window, silhouetted by the dawn breaking.

She spun to face the intruder, her scream getting caught in her throat. She coughed instead. When she regained control, she said, “Welcome, Skamsen.”

After checking outside, he stepped to the floor and approached her, backing her up against a wall. Her room in near darkness, she struggled to make out his expression. His face now a breath from hers, she saw the grave look in his eyes.

“It was unwise of you send out another Mark. To ask for me by name was reckless beyond reason. Now Sarvotstra knows you live,” said Skamsen, his voice just above a whisper.

“I had to take the chance. Besides, how else was I going to see you again?”

“Why? To put a knife in me?”

“I could put one in you now.”

“Are you referring to the dagger strapped between your thighs?”

She tried to hide her surprise. She grinned coyly, “You’ve been watching me, have you?”

“For just over a week, I have. And I’m not the only one.”

Skamsen remained close, his smell strong in her nostrils. “I know,” she said, “though I don’t know how many.”

“Two. Three if you count the other. Was that the Mark?”

She was about to ask who, then remembered to whom she spoke. She nodded. “That was the captain.”

As he studied her face, his gaze penetrating, she began coughing again. “Skamsen, I am tired and not feeling well.” He stood unmoved. She added, “Please.”

“I am not stopping you,” he said, though he still stood resolute.

She ducked away from him. He didn’t stop her, though his watchful gaze remained ever on her as she prepared for bed. Out of habit she tried to relieve herself in the chamber pot but found she had nothing to empty into it. Washed and dressed in a fresh night shift, she flopped onto the cool sheets, drowsiness overtaking her. Before sleep took her, she caught a glimpse of Skamsen as he sat in a chair where he could watch both her and door. She couldn’t help grin. She slept better than she had in years.

When she awoke, light poured into the room casting medium shadows she thought were going the wrong way for morning. Skamsen still sat in the same place still watching her.

A tray of food sat on her bedside table, the midday meal untouched and cold, no steam rising from the bowl of soup.

“How long have I been asleep?” she said.

“Nine hours,” said Skamsen.

She groaned, placing a hand on her brow. “Why do I feel like I’ve only slept two?”

“You are giving more to the sea than it is giving back to you.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Not probably. Why did you send for me?”

Her eyes narrowed as the captain’s face entered her mind. Her lips quivered. “The captain. He...”

“Don’t think me a cretin. I understand your ire against the captain. His death will come soon enough. Why me?”

Scarlet swung her feet to the floor, taking deep breaths as she sat upright. “You’re the only man I dare to trust.”

“You seem to be doing just fine with that fisherman’s boy Rayand.”

Scarlet glanced at Skamsen, again swallowing her question. She needed to stop being surprised how Skamsen knew all about her life. Scarlet grabbed the chamber pot and went to the opposite side of the bed. Nine hours of sleep and barely any liquid came out.

She set the bedpan in the hallway outside the door and sat back on the bed, the effort to walk across the room fatiguing her. “It’s not my life I’m trusting you with, Skamsen. It’s those girls’.”

“Which girls?”

She eyed him askance, surprised that for once he didn’t know something. “The ones from the ship.”

Skamsen leaned forward an inch. “The ship? What’s happened to them? Did you abandon them? Did you not set them free before you set the ship ablaze?”

“The odious thing about you is the manner in which you set yourself above all us dirty whores and untouchables. Yet at the same time, if I’m to judge you for being so damned righteous and judgmental, then I had better be a far better person than you.” This took effort to say. She coughed as she said the last few words. She grabbed the chalice from the food tray and gulped down the warm wine. She inhaled deeply. “Except I’m not, Skamsen. True, I took the girls with me. But every hour I was with them, I thought of taking the gold and leaving them behind. Not just because I’m a selfish person, but because who am I to have this responsibility? I’m not capable. And I proved this by falling in love with the girls and subsequently losing them. The captain has them now. He wants the Eye of Bhuta in exchange.”

“The Eye? He had it. That’s impossible.”

Scarlet nodded. “His mistress did. It’s somewhere hidden in her cabin now covered by ash and nearly twenty fathoms of sea.”

“Twenty? You’ll never make it.”

“Do you know what the Eye looks like?”

Skamsen shook his head. “I’ve only heard of it.”

“Then I have no choice but to try.”

“You’ll die trying.”

“Wouldn’t that be easier?” Their eyes met. They both knew. And now, they both knew that the other knew.

“I must see the job through, lady in scarlet. The Mark will die.”

She nodded. “I know. But I need your help first.”

Rising from the bed, she shuffled over to him and sat on the floor near his feet, resting her hands on his knees, her own legs bent and to her side, her shoulder against the seat of the chair. She placed her hands on his knees and rested her head atop them. Skamsen tried to push back into the chair. “What is this, more posturing?” he said. “I’ve seen this before from you.”

“No you haven’t. Not this. This is me begging, truly pleading with you. This is me desperate yet acknowledging that my life and the lives of those girls are in your hands. Do with me and them as thou wilt, Skamsen. I’ll not resist your decision. I haven’t the strength left.”

Skamsen lifted her hands and head and set them gently on the chair as he stood and moved away from her. “This is some of the worst bit of supplicating I’ve ever witnessed. Your first attempt while on the ship – the first ship we were together on – was much better.”

She smiled at him, her chin resting on the back of her palms, her dark red hair falling easily about her shoulders, its color in stark contrast to her white shift. “Do I detest you so much? Am I so repulsive that you can’t bear my touch?”

“This has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You feel something about me? Tell me, what do you feel?”

Skamsen shook his head. She chuckled softly.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall help you.”

Scarlet rested her face on the chair, looking sideways at him. “I thank you.”

“By the way, I don’t like this side of you,” he said, gesturing toward her, his palm tracing circles in the air. “This demure and innocent and sultry side...I don’t like it. I know why you’re using it. It’s effective. But I don’t like it. It might work on most men, but most men won’t know it was a ploy. I know, yet it’s still having an effect. It’s not playing fair with a man like me.”

“Fair? I’m sure you’re somewhat joking, but fair? What in my life has been fair? You think you understand suffering because you’ve lost someone dear to you? In my world, I can’t compete physically with men like you. And apparently, you’re no match for my feminine wiles. Fair has nothing to do with it. You have your swords and knives and other hidden weapons, and I have mine.”

“As long as we both know we have them and are using them.”

“I admit it. The questions is: whose weapons are deadlier? Yours or mine?”

“Yours. By far.”

“Why, Skamsen, I do declare,” said Scarlet. “You are falling for me.”

“Just because I haven’t slit your throat, doesn’t mean I’m falling for you.”

“Yes, it does. You and I are extremes. We can’t be in the middle. You are an assassin. You’re either deadly or you’re not. And a deadly assassin, is either evil or not. There’s no middle ground. You are deadly, yet you aren’t evil. And that’s one reason I hate you.”

Scarlet rose from the chair. She took an unsteady step and stumbled. Faster than a deadly snake striking, he caught her and helped her back to the bed.

She sighed. “And, women, Skamsen, are either whores or they’re not. We’re either dirty or we’re clean. There’s no in-between. I’m dirty. Incredibly so. Perhaps irredeemably so. And yet you spared my life. Years ago, I thought it out of pity or cowardice. I hated you for that, thinking you the truly evil one, not me. I was wrong. On the mistress’s ship I learned what true evil is. And then I hated you for not being evil.

“While hating you and my life, you arrived and set me free. I despised you because you were right. You turned my rebuke back on me. You didn’t challenge me to free those girls to win a bet. You trusted me to ensure their safety. You saw in me what no man except my father ever saw in me. He loved me because I was his daughter. You have no reason to offer me love. Yet even now, you are struggling. Since you are a good man and also a deadly assassin, you are trying to find a way to complete your task while also loving me.”

Skamsen turned his back to her. “You give me far too much credit,” he said. “Though it’s been a few years, I continue to harbor anger and resentment toward you for what you’ve done. Not hate. But certainly not love.”

“Anger and resentment are emotions. Love isn’t. Neither is hate. They are a way of life. I thought I hated the captain. I don’t. He needs to die because it is just.”

“And what about you?” said Skamsen, speaking over his shoulder. “You were willing to sacrifice...”

“I know what I’ve done,” said Scarlet, her voice rising in strength and volume. “You don’t think I’m aware that because of me an innocent child is dead? What woman in her right mind would ever feel justified in sacrificing an innocent child for her own life! Yet it is only the child I feel remorse for, not the mother. It should’ve been me in the marriage bed, not that whore. I should have been the lord’s lady. Not the dirty harlot who died beside him.”

Skamsen spun and was at her throat. He didn’t squeeze.

Scarlet smiled sadly. “Do you see? You refuse to bestow on me your hatred. I deserve it. I need you to hate me as I hate myself. You are an extreme. Since you cannot act in hatred, then you must act in love. And if you do, then give me this, Skamsen. Allow me this. Perhaps the gods will have mercy on me when I’m gone from this world. I’m asking that you...”

“I know what you’re asking of me,” he said, his hand leaving her neck to rest on the pillow.

“To make matters worse, I’m dying. Because here’s the awful truth, Skamsen. If I wasn’t sick, I wouldn’t give a care for those girls. Never before in my life have I been concerned about anyone but me. Why would I start now?”

Skamsen ran his hand across her brow, his palm cold against her flush cheeks.

He said, “None of us are today who we were yesterday. For yesterday, you were Snow.”

Her mouth worked the question again, this time a grunt escaping her lips. Of course he knew. She hadn’t heard that name since her father had called her that the day he said goodbye for the final time.

“Today you are Scarlet,” said Skamsen. “Who will you be tomorrow?”