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“He told you,” I stated. Every spark of hope fled me with those three small words.
I could tell her the truth. I could tell her that Benedict had lied, but would she believe me? And even if she did, what would she do with that knowledge? She had no affection for Benedict. She could tear him down, expose him to the world, and then all my sacrifices would be for nothing.
A small part of me railed that Benedict deserved to face the truth. But I could not turn my back on Benedict now, not when we had been finally reunited, and whispers of a cure in Mere itched at the back of my mind. If I wantedit—fornow, I was not so sure.
Lost in my own reasoning, it took me a second to register Mary was speaking again.
“He told me many things,” she said simply. “But I know they’re lies. He’s the worst of men, Samuel Rosser. I know that now. And despite all that’s happened, despite yourfaults—andmine—Iknow now that you’re the very best.”
She met my gaze for one long, purposeful moment. Then she left me, jogging to rejoin her mother.
I stared after her, her words still ringing through my ears.
Fisher’s hand suddenly thumped into my back, pushing me back into movement. A piece beyond her, Benedict strode with one hand on his cutlass. He too watched me, close enough that I wondered if he had overheard Mary, but he did not speak.
“What was that about?” Fisher wanted to know.
I collected myself. “Nothing.”
“Did you speak with her last night?” My captain nodded to where Mary now walked with her mother and Demery. “Like I told you to?”
“No. She was with Mr. Grant,” I admitted, turning my attention back to the forest. The reminder cooled my elation but did not dispel it. “I decided not to interrupt.”
Fisher nodded in consideration. “He’ll survive?”
“It seems so. But if he does, he’ll beghiseau.” I stepped long over a knot of rocky roots and glanced back at Fisher, offering a hand to help her over the obstacle. She accepted it lightly and dropped down beside me.
I added, unnerved by the thought of another bond between Mary and the highwayman, “He will be like her.”
“And here you are, you a mere first officer, a petty Sooth who leashes monsters,” Fisher said in false lament, and for a moment, she was not my captain anymore. We were back in our cabin, she wearing my stolen socks and I glowering over a bowl of porridge. “Chin up, Mr. Rosser. Just because she’s friends with Mr. Grant does not mean there is anything more between them. Look at you and I.”
He’s the worst of men, Samuel Rosser. You’re the very best.
Hope wove back through me. I wanted to revel in it, to ponder it and rationalize it and decide my next steps, but Fisher’s words required a response.
“Are you saying we are friends?” I asked coyly.
Fisher shrugged and pushed a branch out of our way. “Perhaps.”
“Is it appropriate to be friends with one’s captain?” I asked, philosophical.
“No. I could not be friends with my first officer,” Fisher said, catching my eye. Her smile was gone now, replaced by calculation. “But I could be friends withHart’s new captain, if I was to, say, take a new ship.”
Stunned, I nearly stopped walking. “Pardon me?”
“We’re here!” Anne’s voice echoed through the forest overhead.
I burned to interrogate Fisher, but when I saw what lay before us, every thought in my mindquietened—eventhe ones of Mary.
Fisher, too, trailed into silence.
Three enormous ships lay within the Wold, toppled like a child’s forgotten toys. Their figureheads had rooted into three lording birches, decorated with curls of papery bark and round, dancing leaves. The ships themselves were layered with moss and blanketed in ivy, the latter of which choked masts and yards all the way up into the forest canopy.
The central ghisten tree was so large it had split down the middle, right across the prow. There, what looked like a doorway led into the blackness of its ship’s hold. But as we came closer, I saw that the way was too small for anyone to pass through.
Benedict, Fisher and I stopped beside Demery, Anne, Mary and Olsa. Widderow joined us, her corvid ghisting visible on her shoulder. The ghistings who had trailed us through the forest spread out to observe in an eerie, watchful half-moon.
Tane appeared. She slipped from Mary’s skin like a sigh and formed into a reflection of the woman herself, though her features were a little older, a little harder. She wore a simple dress, like Mary, and her long, loose hair moved in a non-existent wind as she strode towards the birch door.
