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Still it coiled and pulsed, until only Dom’s face could be seen, his teeth working in what could only be agony. A mortal would already have broken, and Dom was close to breaking.
Andry ran, his sword flashing, the point level with the thickest part of the serpent. He aimed true, missing Dom’s body by inches as he plunged the sword to the hilt, through hard muscle and scale. On the other side, Sigil did the same, her ax working with blinding speed.
The coils loosened a little, the serpent bellowing, its blood pouring over the galley, the deck blacker than the night sky. Andry felt it, hot and gushing, as it spurted around his hands. He didn’t relinquish his grip, grunting as he worked the sword, trying to twist it, inflicting as much damage as possible.
The serpent lost its other eye to Sorasa’s dagger, its wail pitiful and keen. Dom snarled as the tight spirals of the monster fell away. Andry shoved at the scales, pushing them off the immortal, his arms caked in fresh blood.
“Thank you,” he heard the prince murmur, one hand pawing at his shoulder. Sorasa leapt to his side, coaxing the Elder to sit back on the deck.
Blind and torn apart, the serpent curled and shuddered, wailing a death song on the deck of the trader. The surviving sailors jeered, prodding it toward the broken rail. It flinched and slid, slower by the second.
“Get it off the ship,” Corayne called over the noise of the dying monster and the roaring wind. “Before it drags us down with it.”
Charlie braced his back against the meat of the beast, brave enough to push the still-breathing serpent. “A little help, please?” he snapped at the crew.
Together with Sigil, they eased the doomed creature into the sea. As soon as the serpent hit the waves, the wind guttered and died, the sail falling loose.
Andry collapsed to his knees, exhausted and stunned. The blood was still there, staining his clothes up to his waist. He took little notice, his breath coming in short gasps.
“Thank you,” Dom said again, breathless, lying back against the deck.
As soon as he was down, Sorasa stalked to the mast. The assassin loosed Corayne with a few cuts from her dagger. Corayne lunged forward, sliding to Andry’s shoulder, her hands shaking as she looked him over.
“I’m fine,” he murmured, sounding anything but.
Still willfully tied, Valtik cocked her head, leering around at the survivors. “Did anyone manage to grab a tooth?” she said, as if asking for a second mug of ale. “The fang of a serpent is poisoned in truth.”
No one had the strength or will to respond.
28
THE HIGHEST BIDDER
Corayne
Smashed rails on either side of the galley. Lost cargo. A dead captain, along with a dozen members of the crew. All in all, not so bad for a battle with a sea serpent.
Corayne assessed the damage with a keen eye before settling in with the ship’s navigator, who was now the de facto captain. The stout little man reminded her of Kastio. Together they charted a course to take advantage of the Strait’s winds and currents. Her fingers danced over the parchment maps spread out like a carpet. The sun glowed warm; the air was clean and full of salt. This was where she belonged.
Once again, Dom found himself among the injured, stripped to the waist, his torso a mess of black-and-blue bruises, patterned like scales. He made no sound as Sigil examined his chest, her fingers prodding for signs of internal bleeding. Sorasa loomed over the pair, a long welt down one side of her face from the serpent’s snapping tail. The Elder kept his mouth shut, but his annoyance was infinitely clear. Only a cup of tea from Andry’s kettle settled him somewhat, as the squire made his rounds, offering up the sweet-smelling brew to the sailors.
By the time night fell, they were ready with a watch crew, the ship swinging with lanterns. The darkness passed without incident, as did the following evening. Nothing else rose out of the deep, but everyone remained on edge, stealing glances at the waves.
No ship had ever been so relieved to spot the Crown Fleet of Ibal, the gallant warships spaced across the narrowest point of the Long Sea like teeth in a lion’s mouth. Their flags danced in the wind, royal blue and gold. The trader ran out its Larsian flag, a white bull on pale blue, and every sailor gave up a cheer or a wave.
Corayne did not share the sentiment. Instead she watched Charlie set the last touches to their papers of passage. The seals looked perfect: Tyriot aquamarine set with the warrior mermaid, her scales patterned in real gold ink. How Charlie had managed to draw up something so beautiful on the deck of a ship, Corayne could not say. She marveled at the diplomatic papers, letters to mark them as agents of a Tyri merchant company.
“Not my best work,” Charlie said, his teeth gritted as she peered over his shoulder. “It would be better to have some variety. You can pass for Ibalet or Ahmsarian, same as Sarn. But I didn’t have time to make a fresh seal.”
“These will do fine,” she answered. “What matters is the cut of our shoulders, not the cut of the seal.”
Never far away, Dom sidled up next to them, his focus on the horizon. His lips moved as he counted ships. “I am a prince of Iona,” he said, folding his arms. “Certainly that counts for something?”
Charlie had tact enough not to respond, in word or expression.
“The Crown Fleet is an impossible blockade to run without intricate planning or sheer luck,” Corayne answered.And while the crowns of the Ward might still marvel at Elders, the captain of a fleet ship would hardly care, let alone believe you exist at all.Her mother contended with the guardians of the Strait of the Ward every time she sailed west, and Corayne was careful to avoid complications. “Everyone who passes pays a toll of travel. Either your papers are good enough to warrant the usual price, or you have to scramble. Some captains can be bribed in a pinch, but there’s no telling which ship will meet you on the waves.”
They sailed on toward the fleet. One of the ships hung low in the water, heavier. Corayne felt her mother’s hunger flare in her chest. The fat, triple-masted galley squatted like a toad on a pond. It would be filled with coin and letters of promise, signed marks from well-known nobles, diplomats, or even royalty bound to pay the treasury at Qaliram. Meliz an-Amarat often fantasized about capturing a toll ship, but their voyages were heavily guarded. Too great a risk, even for such a prize.
