Sins of the Sea

by Laila Winters

  His crew inched forward at the notion, and Fynn could not ignore the blatant hope on their faces. Even Arden’s expression was pleading, a line of rope coiled and tossed over her shoulder. She pointed at the shore in silent demand, and Fynn sighed dramatically. “Oh, all right,” he announced. “We can stay for the night. But only tonight. There are places out there waiting to be explored.”

  Cheers erupted from the deck, and Amael marched over the planks and scooped Sol up into his arms. “Thank the Gods we have you,” he said, spinning her around until she laughed and beat her hands against his chest. “Fynn’s such a softie with you here.”

  “Hey,” Fynn warned. “Watch it, or I’ll have you mopping the deck for the next month.”

  Amael beamed. “You wouldn’t—”

  “Captain!” Milo cried, flailing over the ship’s rail and pointing at the dock below. “We have a problem—”

  The deckhand was sent hurtling across the planks, sliding over the ship’s deck until he collided with the adjacent banister. Fynn moved towards him, his eyes wide as Milo’s name became trapped on the tip of his tongue. But the heavy, unmistakable thumps of a bounty hunter boarding Fynn’s ship rooted his feet in place, and it was Jax who rushed to Milo’s aid, patting his brother’s cheek and rousing him back into consciousness.

  Thymis must truly be at odds with him if Fynn’s luck had come to this, if the ship that Sol had nearly splintered through was that of a pissed off bounty hunter.

  He grabbed the Princess’ arm and yanked her behind him. Amael flanked his left, Riel his right, their hands reaching for their weapons. Fynn’s heart thundered in his chest, but it was not fear that gripped the Captain in a vice. “What the Hell are you doing on my ship?” he demanded. “Lowering my plank wasn’t your personal invitation to come aboard.”

  To Hell with not picking a fight today.

  But the bounty hunter that boarded the Refuge, Fynn had seen him before, and not just from the deck of his own ship right before he’d taken the helm from Sol. In Arrowbrook, in the alley where he’d first kissed her, this hunter had tried to take her from him. He’d smiled so grotesquely at Fynn that he’d glimpsed the golden caps covering his teeth.

  Dinah, Fynn remembered. This man’s name was Dinah.

  Sol must have remembered him, too, because she gripped Fynn’s arm as he stretched his hand back towards her.

  Dinah tracked the movement, studying Sol with an appreciative eye before disregarding her entirely. Her hair, Fynn realized. He did not recognize her without her long, coppery braid. Relief swelled in his chest despite the three other bounty hunters who trampled up his ship’s gangplank.

  “I hear you have a bounty to collect,” Dinah said to Fynn. “I hear it’s a big one.”

  He yielded a single step back as Draven stepped in front of Fynn. The direwolf bared his teeth and snarled. Across the deck, Indyr hunched low in front of Gracia. He growled, a sound so grating and deep that Fynn shuddered. His spiked tail slapped across the planks in warning. Perhaps he and the beast weren’t on the greatest of terms, Fynn still apprehensive of anything with wings and teeth, but he would kiss each of Indyr’s clawed feet if the dragon helped him protect Sol.

  “If you’re referring to the girl you saw me with in Arrowbrook,” Fynn replied dryly. “She no longer travels with us. We left her in Jadoa.”

  Dinah grinned at him, a smile that split his scarred cheeks and furred his hooded brow. “Aye, the Princess of Sonamire,” he mused. “Such a pretty thing, and worth so much in gold. What a shame you didn’t keep her for yourself.”

  Sol gripped Fynn’s arm and dug her nails into his skin.

  “Yes,” Fynn agreed. “What a shame. Now, if you don’t mind, my ship is feeling a bit crowded, and my crew and I have places to be.”

  Fynn moved, preparing himself to blast them all away. But three of the four hunters on his ship, Dinah included, lifted their grime-covered hands. Flames kindled in their palms, and Fynn held his breath as a gust of wind tore over the planks. It was not a wind he had conjured.

  A Wind-Wielder, then, one of the several he’d glimpsed on their deck, to accompany their Fire.

  “Not so fast, lad.” Dinah juggled a fireball between his fingers, tossing the flames back and forth as if this were no more than a game to him. “I didn’t say I was here for the Princess, though she’d make a mighty fine prize, too.” His eyes flashed to Sol, and he smirked.

  Fynn shoved her further behind him, and Amael dropped half a step back, angling himself between Sol and the hunters. “If you aren’t here for Sol Rosebone, then you have no business on my ship.”

  Dinah’s laugh skittered along Fynn’s bones. “Oh, I certainly do. Because you see, Fynnian Grayclaw, I let you slip away once.” He flashed his teeth, the blackened roots and flashing caps of gold. “I won’t make that same mistake twice.”

  The words were like arrows to his chest, each more painful than the last. The final shaft pierced through his heart at the declaration of his name. Only one man had ever put a bounty on Fynnian Grayclaw, had ever offered a reward for his capture. Thane was still waiting for him in Dyn after all these years, still waiting for the day that Fynn was no longer a threat to his throne.

  “No,” Fynn breathed. Riel stepped closer, his Quartermaster gripping his shoulder so tightly that his skin was sure to bruise. “You’ve got the wrong—”

  “Prince Thane sent me personally,” Dinah drawled. The color leached from Fynn’s face. “He told me all your secrets, said that you’d deny who you were and use the name Ezra to throw me off.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a crumpled piece of parchment. He unfolded the water-logged paper, flipping it around to show Fynn the image that was drawn there.

  An image not of Sol Rosebone of Sonamire, but a terrible rendering of Fynnian Grayclaw, the missing Prince of Dyn.

  “Snagged this from a man in Valestorm,” Dinah mused. “An older fellow who said he’d done business with a man called Ezra. His memory was shit, so pardon the artistry. He wasn’t too keen on cooperating. But that ship you landlocked near the shore, their Captain was hired by Thane, too. And he remembered you perfectly.”

  Fynn felt faint, like his knees would buckle and send him crashing to the planks. “No.”

  Riel’s sword flashed in the sunlight as she drew it from her scabbard. “Fuck your bounty,” she snarled. “You aren’t taking my brother anywhere.”

  Dinah scoffed as he looked at her. “Shut your mouth,” he said dismissively. “Or I’ll turn you all over to the Crown for harboring a wanted fugitive.”

  Fynn felt Amael’s eyes slide to him, hungry for answers he would no doubt demand from him later. “You want our Captain,” he said. “You’ll have to go through us.”

  Amael launched his dagger across the deck, the blade aimed for the center of Dinah’s chest. But a blast of wind from Dinah’s Wind-Wielder had the knife dropping uselessly to the ground, scattering out of Amael’s reach.

  The bounty hunter sneered, tossing his fireball into the air. It flew dangerously close to the sails, high enough that Fynn saw the shadows of flames flickering against the billowing white fabric. Dinah would burn this ship. Would burn the Refuge before Fynn and his crew could put out the flames. Even with his own Wielders, they would never tame a fire before the damage was done.

  Sol shoved herself between Fynn and Amael, her eyes swallowed whole by a rage that Fynn had never seen in her. She squared her shoulders, and Fynn knew that she still had the knife he had given her. It was tucked into her boot. But the Princess took a step towards Fynn’s cabin, towards the Dragon’s Heart that lie waiting within.

  The ship rocked beneath their feet as she moved, plumes of water shooting skyward. She did not need the Dragon’s Heart for that, to drown Dinah and wash away his crew with all of Nedros to bear witness. But it was far more enemies than the Princess of Sonamire needed, and she wanted vengeance for Fynn, for what Dinah was trying to take away from her. Her Magic alone was not good enough. />
  Fynn grabbed her wrist and stopped her from going for the Dragon’s Heart. “Don’t,” he demanded quietly. Sol looked up at him and glared. “You’ll never make it, and you don’t know how to use it yet.”

  Sol gripped his hand until his fingers hurt, but she stayed still beside him. The ship and the Emerald settled.

  “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” Dinah mused. Fynn knew which method he preferred. “You fight me, and I’ll make you watch as I burn this ship and your crew to ash. You come quietly, and I let them live.” He crossed one arm over his chest, holding the other upright like a torch. “The choice is yours, Majesty.”

  Amael balled his hands into fists and said, “He’s not going anywhere.”

  Riel bent at the knees and held her sword out in front of her. She flexed her grip on the pommel. “Burn us,” she goaded. “And we’ll—”

  Dinah’s Wind-Wielder closed his eyes, and Fynn knew what he’d do long before his friends fell to their knees. He tried to stop it, tried to thrust out a gust of his own wind, but the bounty hunter pierced right through it. Sol collapsed beside him, clawing at her throat as she gasped for the air that was forcibly ripped from her lungs. Amael and Riel dropped, too, the Quartermaster screaming until no sound came from her mouth.

  Fynn panicked and kneeled in front of Sol, her pale lips beginning to turn blue. He held her face between his palms, rallying his Magic and trying to force air down her throat. Sol coughed, sputtering as the two winds battled for dominance in her lungs, one pushing out while the other tried to shove down. Fynn had no choice but to release his Magic lest it aid in smothering her entirely.

  “Stop,” he whispered. He glanced at Riel, her eyes wide and bloodshot. She met the Captain’s gaze, and could read him like an open book. Fear and understanding flashed across the Quartermaster’s face. She fervently shook her head, braids splaying, and slid her fingers across the planks. “Stop,” Fynn said again, louder. He rose to his tallest height. Riel gripped his ankle and pulled at him in desperate warning, but Fynn did not pay heed to her. “Let them go, and I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” Sol rasped, joining Riel in grabbing at Fynn’s feet. “Don’t.”

  Fynn closed his eyes, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Please,” he begged. “Let them go.”

  Dinah smirked victoriously. “You heard the Prince,” he taunted. “Let his friends breathe.”

  The Wind-Wielder, far stronger than Fynn, scoffed as he released his hold on their air.

  Sol gasped as breath filled her lungs, Amael heaving alongside her as Draven nudged himself between them. He touched his nose to Sol’s cheek, whining nervously until she patted his head. “I’m all right.”

  Riel was the quickest to recover, having dealt with Fynn ripping away her air as children. She rose onto her feet, grabbing Fynn’s arm and wrenching him around to face her. “No,” she panted. “Don’t you dare do this.”

  “There’s too many of them,” Fynn said. He glanced pointedly at their ship. A crew of Wielders waited impatiently on the deck. Wind-Wielders, Fire-Wielders, even a Water-Wielder smirked from against the banister, the Emerald rising to meet his open palms. Fynn could not fight them all. “They’ll kill you all if I don’t. I can’t—I won’t—let that happen.”

  She shook her head, and for the first time since Vasil had been hung by his neck, tears rolled down Riel’s cheeks. She gripped Fynn’s wrist and did not dare let him go. “Not you too,” she whimpered. “I can’t lose you too.”

  Vasil, her father’s crew, they had all left because of Fynn.

  He trembled as he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s go, Majesty,” Dinah called. “Caidem and Prince Thane are waiting for you.”

  Sol scrambled to her feet. Riel stepped aside as she threw herself into Fynn’s waiting arms, likely praying that the Princess could talk some sense into him. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded, pressing her face into Fynn’s shoulder. He felt her tears soak through the fabric of his tunic. “I can—I can drown them. I don’t need to use the scale for that.”

  Fynn shook his head as he buried himself into Sol’s hair. “Their Wind-Wielders would suffocate you before you could,” he said. “You can’t use your Magic if you can’t breathe, and I can’t take them all. Their Wielders are stronger than I am.”

  “Let me try,” Sol insisted. “Please, just let me try. I can go for the Heart.”

  “No,” he said sharply. “You’ll never make it to the cabin.”

  Sol whimpered into his chest. “You can’t go with them, Fynn.”

  “I have to,” he murmured in resignation. “It’s the only way to save you.”

  “I don’t care about me,” Sol snapped at him. “If you return to Dyn, they’ll kill you.”

  “Probably,” Fynn agreed. “But these hunters will kill my family if I don’t. They’ll kill you. That’s a far worse fate than death for me.”

  And they would—Fynn knew they would. And he could not let that happen.

  He pried himself away to look at her. Fynn held Sol’s face between his hands, and he did not care about the tears that streamed down Sol’s cheeks. Her bottom lip began to quiver, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in a breath through her nose.

  “Please,” she cried, glancing at the Captain’s cabin. “Let me try.”

  Fynn pressed a kiss to her brow, his lips lingering longer than necessary. “I love you,” he said. He tasted salt on his tongue, and he did not care if they saw him cry, too. If it gave the hunters something to mock him for later. “I have since I met you in Valestorm. I’m sorry I waited until now to say it.”

  A sob tore from Sol’s chest. “I love you too,” she said. “Please.”

  Fynn’s heart cracked at the admission, at the very words he never thought he would hear from her. He had heard them once a long time ago, when Nedra had betrayed him for a bag of gold that he would gladly have given her if she’d asked. Fynn had not thought that he could love again, had sworn off such foolish vulnerability. But the Princess of Sonamire had timidly knocked on his walls, had silently begged to be let in. Fynn had opened the door without question.

  Dinah sneered at such confessions, but Fynn did not care about that, either. “Touching,” he crooned. “Now let’s go. I don’t have all day. Perhaps you need some encouragement to move faster?”

  The Wind-Wielder stirred a frigid draft, and Fynn pressed his lips against Sol’s. He needed no encouragement to save her. “I’m sorry,” he said, then nudged the Princess towards Amael. His boatswain squared his shoulders. “She’ll tell you everything,” he said. “Look after her.”

  Amael dipped his chin and wrapped his arm around Sol’s waist, anchoring her in place beside him. “I swear it.”

  Turning to Riel, Fynn’s voice finally cracked. “This ship is yours, as it always should have been. Stay away from Irica and keep this lot out of trouble.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, gripping her elbows as she shuffled uselessly on her feet. “You don’t have to do this,” Riel said. “We can fight them. We can run.”

  “No,” Fynn croaked. “We can’t. We both knew they’d find me eventually, and if we fight them now, we’ll only lose. They have more Wielders, and they’re stronger.”

  Riel’s swallowed sob was audible. “They’ll kill you.”

  “I know.”

  Dinah stomped across the deck. He grabbed a fistful of Fynn’s hair before he could turn and face him. He grunted, staggering back as Dinah dragged him towards the gangplank.

  “No!” Sol cried, but Draven leapt into her path before she could barrel after Fynn, before she could race for the Dragon’s Heart. Amael slid his arms around her waist, hoisting Sol back and restraining her against his chest. “Let go of me! We can’t just let them take him!”

  “He’s doing it so we can live,” Amael hissed at her. He pinned Sol’s arms to her sides. “I have my orders, now knock it off and stop fighting me.”

 
; And she was indeed fighting him, clawing at his arms until Fynn was certain he saw blood.

  “Let’s go,” Dinah huffed. He yanked on Fynn’s hair. “What part of ‘I don’t have all day’ didn’t you understand? Be grateful I let you say goodbye.”

  Fynn gritted his teeth as pain lanced through his skull. “I’m not resisting,” he snarled. “Let go of me.”

  Dinah shoved him towards the gangplank. “Walk,” he demanded. “Now.”

  Fynn blocked them all out, made himself go numb as he swung his leg over the ship’s banister. He could not handle Sol’s screaming. He could not handle the sobs that wracked Riel’s body, doubling her over until Gracia had rushed to her side. Fynn knew if he let himself listen, if he let himself look over his shoulder, he would not leave this ship. He would let Dinah burn it to ash and he would gladly go down with his family.

  But this was their only chance, the only solace Fynn had in returning to Dyn. They would live, and if that meant that Fynn would meet the same fate as Vasil, then Fynn would walk this plank. He would walk away from this fight. He could not win it, anyway.

  The Captain was not invincible.

  The narrow piece of wood bowed beneath his weight until Fynn reached the dock below. He waited, all four bounty hunters aboard the Refuge thudding down the straining plank behind him. Fynn stumbled as Dinah roughly shoved him forward. “Move,” he spat. “Next ship over is your home away from home for the next three months.”

  “I’m going,” Fynn said dryly. “Did Thane tell you to manhandle me, too?”

  “Not quite.”

  Dinah’s hand disappeared from Fynn’s shoulder, and it was the crackling of flames that had him doing what he swore he would not do. He looked back, spun on his heels so quickly that he lost his footing and lurched forward. He turned just in time to see the Refuge go up in flames.

  “No!” He cried, fleeing for his ship as the masts were engulfed in fire.

  He heard their screams, heard Riel barking orders for Luca and Sol to put out the flames with their water. Hands clamped down on Fynn’s arms, pinning him to the boardwalk before he could reach the Refuge.