Page 82 of The Unkindest Tide

Tybalt was there, back on two legs, to hold down Torin’s feet. I flashed him a smile and moved to finish tying the man up before he could get to his feet or cause us any further trouble.

“Filth!” Torin shouted, voice rough and ragged from the damage to his throat. “Unhand me this instant! Release me, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Pete leaned over him, expression curious and predatory at the same time, like some deep sea creature trying to decide whether it wanted to play or plunder. Torin went very, very still. It was possibly the smartest thing I’d seen him do since the moment we’d met.

“Hi,” said Pete, in a companionable tone. “My name’s Captain Pete. I’m in charge of this place. Everything around you belongs to me. I hear you’ve been a bad, bad boy. Want to talk about it?”

She smiled.

Torin screamed.

TWENTY-ONE

I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED that Pete’s receiving room was located in the main room of the lighthouse. It was the core of the fiefdom, the single stable structure around which everything else had been constructed. The anchor, in other words. It only made sense that as the anchor, it should be the focal point of the knowe.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Having solid ground beneath my feet again was a silent reminder of how very far we were from home, and how much farther I’d have to go in order to return to the comforting and the familiar. I stood at the center of the open space in front of Pete’s chair—which was less a “throne” and more “a large, ornate, excessively gilded prop that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Disney World”—and tried not to squirm.

It wasn’t easy. There were things about the situation that helped, like my being back in my own fully blood-free clothes, including my leather jacket, and my allies being in eyeshot, even if they weren’t all standing with me. Tybalt and Quentin flanked me. The Luidaeg and Patrick stood nearby, the one looking faintly bored, the other stone-faced and silent. Everyone else was at the edge of the crowd, watching. Waiting to see what was going to happen next.

And it was quite a crowd. What seemed like everyone in the entire Duchy of Ships had turned up, summoned by some silent signal to gather on all sides. There were people in the rafters and perching on the windowsills. Poppy and her Aes Sidhe friend were sitting together on one of the higher perches, their wings half-open, so that they became almost tangled. It was an interesting form of intimacy, and one I’d have to think about more later.

Pete herself was nowhere to be seen, having peeled off shortly before we took up our places in front of the dais. I shifted from one foot to the other, trying not to look at either Torin or the empty space where Pete should have been.

Torin was looking somewhat the worse for wear. His former guards had been given the task of standing guard over him, and whatever Pete had said when she ordered them to do it, they were taking her seriously. They had untied his feet, but his hands were still firmly bound behind his back. His gills were still red and raw. Even if he transformed back into his fishier form, I somehow doubted he was going to be swimming easy for a while.

Something wet touched my foot. I glanced down. A runnel of water was snaking its way across the perfectly level floor, moving like something with purpose and intent. I danced to the side, almost stepping in another runnel. It was joined by another, and another, until tiny streams were pouring in from all directions, pooling together at the base of the dais.

They flowed into a small pond, shimmering silver as it accumulated. Then, as if gravity held no relevance at all, the pond flowed up the dais steps, joining with still more runnels that had come down the walls and through the open windows. I glanced to the side. The Luidaeg was smirking, seeming tolerant and . . . amused?

If she thought this was funny, it was probably nothing to be too alarmed about. Probably. She found some pretty upsetting things funny, but she liked Quentin, and she was very firm on the idea that she’d eventually be the one to kill me. It was going to be okay. It was.

The water on the dais pulsed once, twice, and finally twisted upward into a column. I realized what was happening just before it started sculpting itself into the vague outline of a woman, naked and statuesque and gorgeous, from her broad hips and swelling bosom to the sturdy pillars of her thighs. The water surged upward and then burst, cascading down over the form of Captain Pete—of Amphitrite—in a final mighty wave.

Because this wasn’t the pirate queen, no, not at all; this was no figure from a storybook or play. This was one of the Firstborn, standing revealed with no illusions, no constraints. Her dress, such as it was, was a sheet of dark and living water, wrapped around her like a lover and slithering as sinuously as an eel, giving us glimpses of scaled, shark-belly skin, enough to tempt, enough to terrify. Her hair was braided with black pearls and small white beads that I suspected were bone, and her throat was exposed, revealing the gills I’d suspected she hid behind her hair.

There was a soft thudding sound as two of Torin’s former guards lost consciousness and tumbled to the floor. Amphitrite smirked and settled in her chair. At least the way she moved hadn’t changed. She still swaggered, still sauntered, still walked through the world like it owed her several favors and she had come to collect. What she wasn’t doing anymore was making any effort whatsoever to dull down the sheer volume of her presence. She had weight in the world. The world was damn well going to acknowledge it.

“Each of you is a guest in my home, a passenger on my ship, sailing on a starless sea,” she said. Her voice was low, even intimate, but it spread to fill every corner of the room, like ink curling through clear water. Her legs shimmered beneath their watery gown, feet unfurling into fins as her lower body transformed into sinuous twinned tails. “Some of you, however, have been rather impolite. Not behavior befitting a guest.”

Her gaze swung to Torin, making it clear to whom she was referring. He cringed but didn’t step away. I would have been impressed by that, if he hadn’t been standing in the middle of a field of heavily armed guards. Trying to run would have been a good way to wind up with a perforated kidney.

“Care to explain?” she asked, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the gentle curves of sinew and scale that had been her knees. “I like it when my hospitality is respected. It makes me feel respected.”

“I . . . I . . .” stammered Torin.

“Yes, you,” she agreed. She looked toward Patrick, and then back to Torin. “Unless a closer member of your family than myself wishes to speak for you, you’ll do all your speaking on your own behalf.”

“People think of my wife as the cruel one, because she wears her edges on the outside,” said Patrick. “I’m supposed to be the gentling influence on her anger. I’m not feeling very gentle right now. Maybe Dianda would speak for her brother, but I have nothing to say for my brother-in-law. He’s the man who tried to break my family. Let him drown.”

“Hmm,” said Amphitrite, attention not wavering. “You haven’t been making many fans here, have you, great-great-grandson? Now’s the time when you tell me why you did what you did, and what you were hoping to accomplish. Maybe you’ll woo me with your words. Maybe I’ll understand why you chose to smash your ship against these shores.”

“The sea witch is moving against you,” blurted Torin.

Amphitrite’s eyebrows rose. “Really?” She turned to the Luidaeg. “Really?”

“If I am, I’m not aware of it,” said the Luidaeg. “I got out of the backstabbing and betrayals business when I lost the ability to lie. It’s hard to plot against people when they know you’ll tell them the truth if they just ask.”

“Hmm.” Amphitrite settled in her seat, eyes once more fixed on Torin. “How, then, is the sea witch moving against me? Be specific. I don’t have all night.”