When the Sea is Rising Red by Cat Hellisen

cross-legged in front of the little portable stove, stirring a blackened pan. A war-scarred brindled terrier with bowlegs and a wide, blunt face is lying spread out on a tattered scrap of blanket near the stove. There’s no sign of Esta, or the mysterious Dash. Lilya has fastened heavy canvas bags over the windows in an attempt to stop the wind from tearing up the room, and they billow like sails.
    “So we’re keeping her then?” Lilya asks without turning to look at us. “Just as long as you’re the one to break it to His Flashness.”
    Nala grins. “She’s a good enough little worker. The Breadloaf took her on, so there’ll be coin in the bowl. Dash won’t mind, if she brings in a steady wage.”
    The only answer Lilya has for her is a grumpy snort.
    “Here, you lump,” Nala says, and hauls a bone from her bag. The terrier perks up one jaunty ear and whines lazily. Nala tosses the bone with a laugh, and the terrier snaps it up before it hits the ground. “Still fast on your feet, Kirren, old boy.” She scratches the dog’s head.
    A sudden clatter of boots on the stairs has us all on our feet. I’m shaking inside, although I try to hold myself together. If this is Dash, then my reckoning has come. Anja sent me . I hold the name on my tongue and wait.
    Instead of Dash, a sharp familiar face appears at the head of the stairs.
    “Esta,” says Lilya. “Any news?”
    “Ship came in.” She doesn’t smile. Gripped tightly in one hand is a small paper box.
    The Silver Dancer is safe, thank goodness. Loss of an entire ship eats in even to our fortunes, and we are one of the wealthiest Houses in Pelimburg.
    “Half the men washed over,” she continues, and the pit of my stomach draws tighter. I feel guilty, as if somehow I am responsible for these unknown men and their deaths. Owen will pay their families for the loss. It’s more than some Houses do.
    “And Rin?” asks Nala, although the answer is writ plain on the little girl’s face. My stomach twists more, and now I can’t tell if this is hunger or guilt or the lack of scriv or all of them tangled up in my insides like fishing line.
    “Come now,” Lilya says, stepping away from the food. “Hand those over, Esta, my love.” She motions at the small rectangle in Esta’s hand. “There’ll be no setting this house on fire.”
    Esta throws the box down. It has a small print of a red sphynx on the front. Matches. “Going out,” she says, and turns away from us.
    “Where?”
    Esta stares back at Lilya.
    “We can go look for your brother.” Nala draws a little closer to the half-selkie. “Kirren’s got a good nose. We can give him one of Rin’s shirts to sniff at, and then we can all go down to the shore and look—”
    “For what?” Esta screams. “His body?”
    An uncomfortable silence settles through the house. Esta turns and walks back down the stairs. No one makes any move to stop her.
    “Would that Verrel were here,” says Lilya. “He’s the only one of us who can talk to her and—her and … Rin.” She turns her attention back to the meal, stirring the pan. “Hope he comes home soon.”
    Nala takes a chipped ceramic bowl from a wooden crate that serves as a cupboard, and I follow her and do the same. “He’s as bad as Dash for coming and going,” Nala says softly.
    “I’ll go look for Verrel later,” Lilya says. “Tell him that Esta’s down walking the strand, looking for Rin’s body.”
    Nala says nothing, and we three eat in silence. The food, a solid, salty, fatty lump, hits my empty stomach. I’ve never tasted anything better. I forget about the boy called Rin, a faceless person whom I have never met, who means nothing to me. With a precision I normally feel only when I use scriv, I push my tangled-up feelings into a little ball and seal them away.
    Afterward, I scrub my one pair of stockings and my dress clean in a small pot of cold water and hang them to dry. I’m so tired I can barely stand, and I sway as I wring