Page 113 of The Space Between Stars

She shrieked—flailed to kick him, damage him, maim him. The effort only agonized her. Gelhard stepped away. Her father whimpered again. That noise turned her to stone.

Wasn’t anyone going to stop this? There were maybe two dozen tied, Drogus, Cam, and Zeb among them. Which meant fifty others had allowed this to happen willingly. But where were they? And where in Chaos’s bush was Mitek? Mitek would rescue her. He shratten owed her enough.

As if in answer to her question, a skirmish sounded behind her and Timbre wrestled Mitek onto the main deck and to his knees. Mitek was crying. Sniveling. Whimpering more than any of the rest. Her hope evaporated.

Gelhard placed a hand on the center mast, just above her father’s shoulder, in a gesture that was almost tender. “Captain Keane, this crew has determined that you are no longer fit to lead.” He grabbed Fankalo’s hip and heaved, spinning her around like a bottle on its edge. “For six years, this child has poisoned your mind. Roaming into Tera’thian occupied waters to abduct the Shadewalker has many of us at a tipping point.” That was kretch. Who knew how long Gelhard had been planning to seize command? “But I guess ‘Creation’s gift’ can’t predict everything.”

Fankalo’s body burned with fury. Her Luck had been trying to warn her about this. She’d confused it for bad news about Calver. Gelhard had waited for her to be vulnerable to make this move. Fates help her, if she made it out of this, no one would ever see her vulnerable again.

Gelhard shifted to face the line of restrained men on their knees. “Now I want you to watch as the rest of your projects betray you.”

Projects. Fankalo understood then. Every bound crewman was one her father had personally saved. Those most loyal to him.

“If you find yourself among the bound, you still have a chance to live. You may choose to die by Captain Keane’s side with Fate’s brat, or you may choose to sail, serving me as your captain.”

Gelhard removed a dagger from his sheath and approached the first crewman, a swabbie named Menlan, held in place by traitors. “What say you?”

Menlan’s sunken eyes darted towards her father. He licked at his lips. “I choose to serve you, Captain,” he gasped, like he was trying to hold back vomit.

Gelhard nodded and moved to the next man, Jerand, their carpenter.

“I choose to serve you, Captain,” Jerand parroted, before Gelhard even had the chance to ask the question.

Bile rose into Fankalo’s throat. She could hardly hear past the hammering in her ears as Gelhard approached Gai, a galley hand.

Gai looked Gelhard in the eyes and shook his head. “I,” he said, his breathing labored, “will die beside Captain Keane.”

In the space of a blink, the dagger slashed across his throat. The spray seemed too red beneath the moonlight to be real. Gai crumpled to the deck with a gurgle. Gelhard, unflinching, stepped over him and up to Mitek, who had given up on thrashing against Timbre. The front of Mitek’s sirwal darkened.

Fankalo closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see her coward of a best friend betray her at knifepoint. She hoped he did.

She’d make sure he did. “Mitek, serve him!” she screamed. At least this way she could tell herself he did it at her bidding. At least this way his corpse wouldn’t be the last thing she looked at.

Another slap stung her face. She couldn’t even tell where it came from. Gelhard was still in front of Mitek. His tears and snot mingled into one on his chin.

“Serve him!” she shrieked again. The only power she had left was ensuring her mistakes didn’t slice open Mitek’s stupid, stupid veins.

A hand groped at her face, prying her eyes open. It was Timbre. Timbre, whom she and Mitek had once thrown into the ocean as a part of an ongoing joke. It didn’t seem funny now.

“Wise words, for once,” Gelhard whispered, staring at Mitek, who was too much of a blubbering mess to string any words together, let alone a dedication of service.

But Mitek’s muscles stiffened. His eyes rose to meet Fankalo’s before darting to the traitor. “Fuck. You. Gelhard.”

The three most beautiful and idiotic words she’d ever heard. A sob escaped her throat as she tried to wrestle herself away. A worm could no more wrestle itself from a hook. Her skin prickled as her Luck muddied around her, a harbinger of the massacre to come.

Without warning, the curved scythe of a dowaga sprouted from Timbre’s chest. Rib, tissue, and organ parted in its wake. The steel halted just inches from Fankalo’s throat. Her breath caught in her chest.

Timbre released her, howling, before the sound was extinguished by another slash. Blood rained across Fankalo’s cheeks, into her eyes, her mouth. Her shrieks melded with those of the men around her.

The wide whites of Timbre’s eyes glowed in the moonlight. Calver, still shackled, wrists bloodied and bruised from what should have been an impossible escape, pulled his weapon free of the body and rounded on Gelhard. Gelhard stumbled, raising his dagger in pitiful defense. Calver maneuvered around the paltry blade with astonishing speed, severing Gelhard’s forearm and then slashing the dowaga across his abdomen.

Pandemonium broke out. The crew of the Rogue’s Rapture did everything in their power to put space between themselves and the Shadewalker. Those without bindings fired tankas at him. Each bit was deflected in a dance of deadly precision. Declar, Bren, and Timbre fell. His blade slipped through them, a silver fish darting through water. She’d never seen movement like that before.

Her trance broke when Calver poised himself over Zeb, flat on the deck with his hands still tied. The old shipwatch turned towards the deck to shelter his face.

“Stop!” Fankalo screamed.

The monster froze, shoulder twitching, like he had a tick. A rumble echoed in his chest, and he moved like he might strike again.