by Jim C. Hines
“Yes,” said Danielle.
Hephyra rubbed her wrist. The last time Danielle had seen the dryad, a golden tattoo had circled her wrist, a sign of her bond to Queen Beatrice. Today, Hephyra’s skin was bare. “The fairy queen gave my ship to Beatrice. With her gone, you’ve no hold over me or the Phillipa , and no right to keep me here.”
Danielle held her ground. “I need you to take us on one final voyage. To Allesandria.”
“And back,” Talia added. “No stranding us across the sea.”
Hephyra snorted. “Good to see you again, Talia.” To Danielle, she said, “This is about your witch friend, isn’t it? The one who sailed from here like a hellstorm earlier today.”
“You saw her?” Talia asked.
“She took a merchant vessel. Not one of those gutheavy cargo ships, but an escort, fast and armed.” Hephyra jabbed a finger at the sea. “She stood at the bow, hair and cloak flapping in the wind. Even I could feel the magic she wove as she raced from the docks. She passed through the chains at the harbor mouth like they were mist. I’d have done the same, had I her powers.”
Danielle’s throat knotted. “Was Jakob with her?”
“I couldn’t say. Sorry, Princess. Best of luck finding the little sapling, though. I liked him.”
“I saved your ship, almost two years ago,” Danielle reminded her. “You owe me.”
Hephyra snorted. “You made no bargain with me. I appreciate what you did for the Phillipa, don’t get me wrong. But it was your quest that put us in danger to begin with. Yours and Beatrice’s. I owe you nothing, and my answer is no.”
“I told you,” Talia whispered.
“I know.” Danielle had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. “I didn’t ask you for your help, Captain. The fairy queen gave your ship to Beatrice Whiteshore as a gift.”
“And Beatrice is dead,” Hephyra spun on her heel and began walking back to the Phillipa.
Danielle raised her voice. “The queen left a will.”
Hephyra stopped.
“A short document,” Danielle went on. “One which lays out her wishes for those few belongings she claimed as her own. Including the Phillipa.”
Hephyra touched her wrist. “I’m free. You can’t—”
“I’ve spoken to Trittibar.” Danielle kept her face cold. “Your ship, and by extension yourself, belonged to Beatrice Whiteshore. By fairy law, she has every right to pass you to her heir.” She held her ground as Hephyra stormed closer.
“Now you’ve done it,” Talia muttered as she shifted, moving into position to better defend Danielle.
“So I’m to belong to the prince now, is that it?” Hephyra’s shout drew stares from the closest ships.
“To me,” said Danielle.
Hephyra blinked. “You can’t get within ten paces of a ship without turning green as spring grass. Why would she leave the Phillipa to you?”
“Maybe because she knew I would need your help one last time. Or maybe because she knew I’d be willing to free you once this journey ended.” Danielle moved closer. “Give me your word as a fairy to help us save Snow and Jakob. Carry us until they’re safely returned to Lorindar, and you will be free.”
“And if they’re beyond saving?” Hephyra asked.
“Three months.” Danielle refused to feel shame for the tears that slipped down her cheeks. “If we’re unable to save them in that time, I’ll free you to do as you wish.”
“Allesandria isn’t that far. One month.”
“Two,” Danielle countered.
“So be it. My word to serve you for two months, or until Snow and Jakob are safely returned to Lorindar.” Hephyra spat. “You’ve changed. The seasick princess I remember wasn’t one for enslaving innocent fey.”
Danielle allowed herself a small smile. “This must be some new use of the word ‘innocent’ with which I’m unfamiliar.”
“Ha! True enough.” Hephyra gave a slight bow. “You bargain like a fairy, Highness. Cold and ruthless.” She spun away and began shouting orders to the Phillipa’s crew.
Neither Danielle nor Talia spoke until Hephyra was back on board. The dryad’s hearing was sharp as an owl’s.
“A fairy bargain indeed,” Talia said softly. “I don’t think she meant it as a compliment.”
“She’s more right than you know.”
Talia was already moving to unload the carriage. “How so?”
“Hephyra is a living, thinking creature. Do you really believe Beatrice would have passed her to me like some trinket?”
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, laugh
ing 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 breathe, 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 dol
phin’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?