by Jim C. Hines
Talia’s eyes widened. “You bluffed her?”
“The Phillipa is the fastest ship in Lorindar. We need that speed.” Danielle stomped her feet, shaking slush from the soles of her boots. Guilt and shame warred with that need, and once again, need won out. “I secured her help the only way I could.”
With that, she called to one of the hawks that hunted from the cliffs. The hawk swooped down to land atop the carriage, black talons gouging the wood. Danielle carefully tied a message to the hawk’s leg with a silver ribbon. She had prepared the note before they even left the palace. “Gerta will be on her way shortly. We leave as soon as the Phillipa is ready.”
CHAPTER 8
Talia sat on the starboard rail of the quarterdeck, one leg hooked through the rail for balance against the swaying of the ship. Danielle stood at the bow, illuminated by the brass lantern hanging from the foremast. Steam rose from the tin mug clutched in her hands. The overly strong tea was Snow’s own recipe, a blend designed to ease Danielle’s seasickness. But the tea could only do so much, and the white-capped waves below promised another miserable night for the princess.
A pair of dark shapes surfaced in the water ahead. She tensed, even as she recognized them as two of the dolphins Danielle had been chatting with off and on since leaving Lorindar two days ago. Talia’s cape was making her jumpy.
The assassin known as the Lady of the Red Hood had once used this cape to hide herself from detection, defying even Snow’s magic mirror. Talia hoped it would do the same now, but the wolfskin sewn into the cape had other effects on the wearer, shortening her temper and making her yearn for something-anything-to hunt and chase.
Talia hopped from the rail and crossed the deck to listen as Danielle questioned the dolphins. Her communication with the animals went in only one direction, so she spent much of her time trying to understand the dolphins’ reports. One of the dolphins darted away a short distance, then returned. The wind swallowed Danielle’s question, but the dolphin jumped from the water, chittering loudly before diving beneath the waves.
Danielle’s gaze followed them east. “We’re gaining on them.”
Talia swallowed her next question. If Danielle knew how far they were behind Snow, she would have said.
Had Bea been on board, the Phillipa would have already caught up with Snow’s stolen ship. When the fairy queen gave this vessel to Beatrice years ago, much of its magic had been bound to her. But even without her, the Phillipa was one of the fastest vessels in the water. It was simply a matter of waiting.
Talia hated waiting. The cape added the wolf’s impatience to her own, making her even more aware of every interminable moment.
Danielle was silent, lost in her own thoughts, so Talia strode toward Hephyra at the wheel. Stub, the ship’s cat, perched on her shoulders. Stub was a scraggly-looking thing with only three legs, but he was as comfortable on the Phillipa as his mistress.
Hephyra reached up to scratch Stub’s chin with one hand. “The last time I sailed for your princess, she nearly sank my ship,” she said by way of greeting.
“Since when do dryads worry about ‘nearly’?” Talia waited a beat, then added, “Since when do dryads worry about anything, for that matter?”
“True enough.” Hephyra’s sharp laugh carried over the noise of the crew. She turned to survey the ship, and her gaze lingered on Gerta. Gerta had scampered up the foremast with one of the crew. She sat on the yard, one hand clinging to a line, laughing as the ship bobbed and swayed.
Talia winced as Gerta pulled herself to her feet, but she acted as steady as any sailor. Her red hair streamed behind her like a banner. The wind flapped her jacket and pressed her shirt to her skin.
“Your friend has sailed before, I take it?” asked Hephyra.
“Gerta never even saw the ocean until two days ago.” Though who could say what skills Snow might have given her. Gerta could speak and read, knew magic, and in most ways behaved like a woman of twenty years instead of a creation less than a week old.
“She takes to it well. Much as you did.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, Hephyra stepped close enough for Talia to feel the heat of the dryad’s body. “And what of you, Talia? I could use a woman of your skills to help keep the crew in line. With Beatrice gone…”
It wasn’t the first time Hephyra had made such an offer. Talia had never been able to figure out whether she was serious. “I’ve seen you fight. You don’t need me.”
“There are other kinds of needs.” Hephyra looked past her to Danielle. “What holds you to Lorindar, now that your queen is gone?”
Talia pulled the red cape tighter against the wind. “Lorindar is my home. The only one I have.”
“And I’m sure your feelings for Snow have nothing to do with it.”
Talia’s face warmed, drawing a chuckle from Hephyra.
“She’s quite smitten with you, you know.”
“What?” The word emerged louder than Talia had intended. “Snow never-”
“Not Snow. I felt it the moment she stepped on board. Almost magical, her hunger for you.”
Gerta. Talia shook her head. “That’s impossible. She’s not-” She caught herself. They hadn’t told Hephyra the full details about Gerta’s origins. “She doesn’t even know me.”
“Sometimes that’s a good thing. Adds mystery.”
Talia said nothing.
“Ah, Talia. Men have killed for the chance to share my bed, but you turn me down. Young Gerta pines for you, and you hardly give her a second glance.” Hephyra sighed. “You’re like a beggar who shows up at a banquet hoping for jellied swan. You ignore the feast laid out around you, starving to death while you wait for that swan to arrive.”
“I’m not starving,” Talia said, too sharply.
“Of course not. You spent a month dining on your friend Faziya, didn’t you?”
Talia’s face grew hot, and Hephyra laughed.
“I know everything that happens on my ship, remember? Including how you and your friend spent your time on the voyage back from Arathea.”
“Faziya stayed for six weeks, not a month,” Talia said softly. They had both known it wouldn’t last. Faziya’s home was in Arathea, the one place Talia couldn’t go.
“And you took advantage of the time you had.” Hephyra clapped her shoulder. “Nothing shameful there. You were happy. You both were. Why not allow yourself to be happy again?”
“It’s not that simple.” Gerta wasn’t even human… not that she expected such minor details to bother Hephyra. “Gerta… she’s younger than she appears.”
“Looks ripe enough to me.”
Talia punched her on the shoulder, then winced. Even with the added strength and power of the wolfskin, it was like punching a tree.
Hephyra’s expression turned uncharacteristically gentle. “How long do you plan to wait for her?”
“Talia!” Danielle hurried over, saving her from having to respond. “We’re ready.”
Hephyra clucked her tongue. “I still say you’re crazy.”
Talia wasn’t sure whether the dryad was referring to their plan to rescue Jakob or Talia’s feelings toward Snow. Either way, she was hard-pressed to argue.
“It’s about time.” Talia unlaced her boots, tugged them free, and tossed them aside. Her weapons she handed over to Danielle, all save a pair of daggers and her zaraq whip.
“That cape is going to weigh you down,” said Gerta. Talia hadn’t even noticed her climbing down to join them.
Talia jerked a thumb at Danielle. “That’s why her friends will be doing the actual swimming.”
Hephyra ordered the lanterns extinguished, all save one which hung from the mainmast. Talia could see no sign of Snow’s ship on the horizon, but if Danielle’s dolphins said they were close… “I hope your overgrown fish know what they’re doing.”
“They’ll get you to Snow’s ship, and they’ll follow behind until you emerge with Jakob.”
Talia tied her hair back. “They know I have to br
eathe, right?”
“I’ll remind them,” Danielle promised.
“That water is freezing,” Gerta said.
Talia ran a hand over her cape. “The wolfskin should help.”
“It’s not enough.” Gerta hurried toward the mainmast. She climbed just high enough to reach the lantern. Stretching out with one hand, she traced several symbols onto the glass with her finger. Talia winced, but the heat didn’t appear to burn her.
Gerta ran back, her cheeks flushed. “Push back your cape.”
Talia raised an eyebrow, but complied. Gerta put her hand on Talia’s shoulder and traced the same symbols, whispering a spell in Allesandrian. Heat spread through Talia’s shirt, almost uncomfortable.
“I took the warmth from the lantern’s light,” Gerta explained, her hand lingering on Talia’s arm. She glanced at Talia, flushed, and jerked her hand away. “The heat is diffused, so your shirt won’t catch fire. Hopefully.”
“That would make it harder to sneak onto Snow’s ship,” Talia said dryly. Seeing the worry on Gerta’s face, she added, “Thank you.”
Gerta brightened. “It’s not much, but it should help. Be careful.”
“Why start now?” Talia made her way to the foredeck. Danielle’s two dolphins swam alongside the Phillipa. She climbed onto the rail and swung her legs around to the outside. Waves broke against the ship, the spray chilling her bare feet. Holding her breath, she braced her legs and kicked off.
It was like diving into a wall of ice. Air burst from her lungs. Her cape yanked at her neck as she kicked for the surface.
She found herself staring into the glassy black eye of a dolphin. “I don’t suppose you come with a saddle?”
The dolphin tilted backward until it was swimming upright with only the head protruding through the waves, almost as if it were standing.
“Could be worse,” Talia muttered. “Last time, she called sharks.”
The dolphin’s skin was smooth, almost silken, yet it wasn’t slippery. It reminded her of fine, well-oiled leather. She grabbed the dorsal fin with one hand and reached for a flipper with the other.
She barely had time to hold her breath as the dolphin’s body curved and flexed, and then they were shooting through the water like they had been launched from a cannon. The dolphin surfaced a short time later, just before Talia ran out of air. She glanced behind to see the Phillipa already shrunken to the size of a toy. The dolphin’s power was equal to any horse, and Talia stopped worrying about anything save breathing and holding on.
The heat of Gerta’s magic enveloped Talia, pushing back the water’s chill. Her hands and feet were numb, but her core was warm. Spray washed over her as the dolphin surfaced again. She could hear it sucking air through the blowhole on the top of its head. The second dolphin swam a short distance to her left, their movements almost perfectly synchronized.
Her hands were starting to cramp by the time she spied Snow’s ship in the distance. The moonlight showed only a black outline sailing east. As they neared, Talia began to make out the details of the stolen ship. Snow had taken the Lynn’s Luck, a square-rigged, three-masted vessel. She sailed in darkness, her lamps cold.
Anticipation warmed Talia’s blood as they swam closer. She studied the Lynn’s Luck, gauging the best way to sneak on board. A small boat hung from the stern, offering one option. She could also try to reach the anchors near the bow.
“The stern,” she decided, giving the dolphin’s dorsal fin a gentle tug. The boat shouldn’t make much noise, and hopefully most of the crew would be looking ahead, not behind. She brought one bare foot up onto the dolphin’s back, behind the dorsal fin. She braced herself there, legs taut and ready to spring as the dolphin swam closer.
Talia’s breath hissed. The boat was still too high, and she had no way to climb the hull. Nothing that wouldn’t draw attention, at any rate.
The dolphin ducked beneath the waves. Talia bit back a yelp as the water swallowed her. She clung to the fin as they swam deeper, then somersaulted underwater. The movement nearly flung Talia loose. The dolphin’s body flexed hard, shooting them upward. Talia realized what was happening an instant before they broke the surface and launched into the air.
Any closer and she would have smashed her head against the boat. She reached out, catching the edge of the boat as the dolphin dropped back into the sea. The boat swayed, knocking once against the Lynn’s Luck ’s hull before Talia could steady herself. She waited, but nobody came to investigate.
Talia pulled herself up and grabbed the closest of the ropes securing the boat to the ship. She never could have done it without the added strength of the wolfskin. She climbed higher, doing her best to avoid the windows built into the ship’s stern. She listened again, then pulled herself up to the rail and onto the Lynn’s Luck.
She crouched low and slid a dagger from its sheath. A single crewman stood on the yard overhead, working with no light save the moon. Talia crept toward the pin-rail at the base of the mizzenmast.
Other shadows crawled through the sheets or worked the main deck. The Lynn’s Luck could have been a ghost ship for all the noise they made. Not a single man spoke.
Talia sniffed the air, hoping to pick up Jakob’s scent. Wrapping herself in the wolfskin would strengthen the wolf’s senses further, but the transformation was far from subtle. Better to remain human for now. She sniffed again, but smelled only wet canvas, oiled wood, and the salt of the sea.
Talia moved to the edge of the deck and peered down. A stocky man stood at the wheel. But where was Snow? Did demons need to sleep?
Knowing Snow, she would have retreated from the cold, choosing the most luxurious cabin for herself. That meant one of the cabins at the back of the ship, almost directly below where Talia now stood. There was a good chance Jakob would be with her.
She counted at least twenty crewmen. A snarl began to build, deep within her chest. She could move through the ship, killing them one by one before they even realized she was on board.
Talia gritted her teeth. Those were the wolf’s urges, not her own. These were victims, not villains, no more responsible for their actions than Prince Armand had been when he insulted Danielle.
Talia had wanted to pummel him, too.
She needed a distraction, something to lure Snow from her cabin long enough for Talia to sneak in and find the prince. Talia switched her knife to her left hand and slid a belaying pin from the rail. She hefted it once, testing the balance, then sat back to watch the man working the foreyard. He moved out from the mast, adjusting the sails.
Talia gauged the wind, then threw. The wooden pin flew the length of the ship, striking the man on the shoulder. He toppled forward, dropping soundlessly into the ocean.
Talia crouched behind the mast. Had this been a normal ship, the man would have cried out, and half the crew would now be working to rescue him. Instead, the crew carried on, oblivious. But if he had been poisoned with a sliver of Snow’s mirror, she should have sensed his fall.
The cabin door below opened, and Snow hurried across the deck. Now the crew moved to save their companion, responding to unspoken orders as they trimmed the sails and tossed a line over the port rail.
Talia lowered herself to the main deck and slipped into the cabin. A single lamp burned on the small desk bolted to the floor. The cot was made, blankets folded neatly at the base. Either Snow had made up her bed, or else she hadn’t slept recently. Knowing Snow, Talia guessed the latter.
It took little time to search the cabin. There was no sign of Jakob. Talia returned to the door and peeked through the crack. Even with the cape enhancing her senses, it took a moment to pick Snow out in the darkness. She and the other crewmen stood with their backs to Talia, peering into the water.
Talia snuck out and strode toward the nearest hatch. She barely touched the ladder as she jumped down into the main hold. A ship like this was unlikely to have a proper brig. Where else would Snow have put Jakob? Assuming the prince was still alive.
; No, Talia refused to believe that. Demon or not, Snow wouldn’t kill Jakob.
Two covered lanterns cast weak light through this deck, illuminating heavy beams and wooden walls to partition off the cargo. Barrels and crates were lashed to the walls, but the hold was mostly empty.
She sniffed the air. Down here, away from the waves, she could just make out the sweaty, frightened scent of Prince Jakob.
Movement in the shadows froze her in place. Shadows she had mistaken for cargo rose and stepped toward her. Talia counted six men. They appeared to have been sleeping on the bare decks, without blankets or hammocks. She glanced around and spied two more coming up behind her.
“Jakob?” She kept her voice low, in a likely futile attempt to avoid alerting the men above deck. She pulled a knife with her left hand and readied her whip with her right. The zaraq whip was an assassin’s weapon, a thin line with a lead weight at the end. She twitched the whip, readying the weight and a short length of line.
“Aunt Tala?”
Talia spun, snapping the whip out at one of the men behind her. The weight struck the center of his forehead. He staggered, and Talia leaped close, looping the whip around his neck. She pulled hard, sending him headfirst into one of his companion. “Can you get to me?”
The rattle of chains answered her question. Talia kicked both of her downed foes, making sure they stayed down, then yanked her whip free. She stepped sideways, putting one of the support pillars at her back.
There were tricks to fighting a group. Normally Talia would have singled out the most dangerous of her opponents, hoping to demoralize the rest. But as they approached, the lantern illuminated identical expressions of hate and anger, as though she were a plague to be eradicated from this world. And Jakob was chained somewhere beyond them.
Talia pushed off from the pillar, reversing her grip on her knife and slamming the butt into the exposed elbow of the man on the left. She heard bone crack, but the man didn’t even cry out. He swung his other fist. Talia twisted, taking the punch as a glancing blow to the cheek. She continued to spin, trying to keep him between herself and the others.