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I want to do the same, but Gwyn steps closer with the crossbow. “Don’t, Tessa.”
“Who is she?” I say again. “Gwyn,who is she?”
The girl disappears into the darkness—but a moment later, there’s a thump. The girl lets out a brief shriek, followed by a low sob of pain. Figures slide out of the shadows, and I recognize Sablo’s large form, pinning her more effectively than Marchon did.
She’s cursing a blue streak, and she spits at Gwyn when they come near.
Then she starts coughing. Her breathing turns to a wheeze, and her struggles against Sablo’s grip seem to turn more panicked.
“Let her go!” I cry. “She can’t breathe.”
He glances at Gwyn, who shrugs, and he loosens his grip fractionally.
The girl catches her breath, then swings her head back like she wants to crack him in the face with her skull. Sablo jerks back, then tightens his grip.
“My father should have cut off more than your tongue,” she says roughly. “I know what I’ll start with when I get the chance.”
My father.I can’t put this together fast enough. “Your father is Oren Crane,” I say.
“He is.” She bares her teeth. “I hope he hangs Rian from the bow of his ship until the gulls peck every bit of flesh from his bones.”
I look from her to Gwyn and back to Sablo and Marchon. “Rian is keeping Oren Crane’s daughter prisoner?”
“You don’t understand,” says Gwyn. “Walk, Tessa.”
I don’t know if I can. I’m still too stunned. This is so much bigger than hidden weapons or secret letters or anything Corrick might have imagined. I just don’t knowwhy. It’s so counter to everything I’ve learned about Rian in the last few days that I simply can’t make any of it seem reasonable in my mind.
My thoughts aren’t getting any clearer with that crossbow pointed at my chest.
Another voice speaks from the darkness. “Lower that weapon, Gwyn. We have your captain.”
Corrick. I almost sag with relief.
Gwyn doesn’t lower the weapon. If anything, she pulls closer to me, until I feel the point of the arrow against my skin. I feel every beat of my heart.
“Gwyn,” I whisper. “Please. I don’t understand.”
More figures step through the shadows. Corrick, trailed by Rocco—who’s all but shoving Rian ahead of him, a knife against the captain’s neck.
I expect a moment of negotiation. A discussion. An argument. Because clearly Corrick is using Rian as leverage.
But Gwyn takes that crossbow off me and aims at Corrick. I hear the click and the snap an instant before I realize what it means.
Rocco is quicker than I am. He lets go of the captain in time toshove Corrick out of the way, but that bolt hitssomething, because I hear the impact, the grunt of pain in the shadows. I don’t know who it struck.
Then Kilbourne is there, shoving me away from Marchon just before the sailor pulls a knife. Glass shatters, and the lantern goes dim, plunging us into near-total darkness. A body slams me into the wall, and I lose sense of which way is out. I want to run, but I don’t know where to go.
“Corrick,” I cry.
He doesn’t answer.
My mouth goes dry. I hear the sound of a blade piercing flesh. Male voices are shouting, crossbows are firing, and over the top of it all, that woman is screaming in rage. I can’t make sense of any of it. Panic keeps my heart racing at a rapid clip.
Out of nowhere, a fist connects with my shoulder, knocking me to the floorboards. A body lands on top of me, and I cry out. Just as quickly, I’m flipped onto my stomach, and my hands are jerked behind my back.
“Please,” I say. The woman’s shrieking is piercing my thoughts. “Please—I just wanted—”
“Enough,” a man growls. I think it’s Marchon.
