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“Oi! There they be.” A thick-necked man with bone rings in his ears pointed into the murk of clouds from the stern.
I didn’t fight the limp in my leg for the crew had seen it; I merely stepped with it to quicken my pace across the deck. The crewman handed over the black gold spyglass. One eye closed, I peered through until I found the shadow of the rowboat breaking through the waves.
I slammed the spyglass shut. “Pull them aboard. Move your asses, you wretches!”
Boots pounded over the damp wood. Heaves and grunts raised the heavy, bone grate over the lower deck. Half a dozen men slid down the ladder rungs through the hatch to meet them belowdecks.
Palms flat on the rail, I peered over the edge, and waited for the hidden door to heave open from the fattest bulge in the hull.
Ships of the sea folk were masterpieces, even the simplest fishing sloop was shaped from the ribcages of powerful whales or corpses of ancient sea snakes. The cracks and crevices were filled with sea oak, a soft wood that bent and gave with the violence of the tides and resisted damp for nigh a hundred turns before barnacles and rot needed to be careened away.
With a skeleton of bone and sea oak, ships carved through tides with speed, agility, and silence.
But the Ever Ship was a vessel made for gods.
A vessel powerful enough to sail through the Chasm without snapping a mast. The red sails were stitched with thick canvas, and petrified scales from deep-sea serpents were staked in the hull. Impenetrable.
The most convenient piece of the king’s ship was the stowaway door in the hull. It opened to take on our scores and rowboats without the delay of cranks and rigging. The door could open, swallow half a hull of water, then lock in place, spitting out the tide it took on as we sailed away.
Larsson rowed, and Celine held a lantern through the dark, guiding him into the hull. They were the two members of the crew who blended best with the earth fae. Celine with her green eyes instead of the pale or red of most sea fae, and Larsson with his lack of a sea voice. The magic of the Ever lived in the voices of its people. Some, like Larsson, had no ability of the sea.
Celine emerged from the hatch and tossed the hood from her head. I dug my fingernails into the meat of my palm until crescents carved into my flesh, all to keep from rushing across the ship to greet them.
Celine crossed the distance over the main deck in long strides. Her dark curls whipped about the frustrated grimace on her face.
“What?” I gritted through my teeth before she even reached me. Patience wore thin, and I only had so much to give in the first place.
“When you cease looking at me like you will tear out my eyes, I will tell you what we found.” Celine arched a brow. She was the only soul who could get away with speaking to me like that, yet she still had the brains to speak it under her breath.
My throat was thick, but I managed to speak without spitting the words. “What did you learn?”
“There are countless people here. The ship will be at risk of being overtaken by their warriors if we draw too close. We should take the skiffs to the docks on the north side of the isle. There seems to be a festival in full bloom, but with it is also an open trade market.” Celine let out a quick breath. “We’ll be able to dock there and enter as tradesman.”
If this day ever came, I’d always imagined screams and terror when the crimson sails broke through the mist. I wanted the earth fae to know their reckoning had come. I closed my eyes against the wind. What mattered more was finding my father’s mantle and winning it back from the Night Folk king.
It called to me, and I wasn’t leaving without it.
“Leave me at the helm, Erik,” Tait said, voice low. “I’ll keep her hidden.”
My cheek flinched. I didn’t look at my cousin, but I didn’t need to. He already knew the answer. I might not trust easily, but there was no denying Tait held a deep-rooted loyalty to the ship, to our kingdom.
Not to mention he was bound by blood, the way his father was bound to mine, to see to it the Ever King never met his destruction.
Without turning around, I waved a hand and said, “Ready the boats.”
* * *
The docks were one pace away. Already, Celine, Larsson, and a few more of the crew were shouting like freshly arrived traders. I was paralyzed.
“Erik.” Larsson cocked his head. “Find a way to blend in before you’re recognized.”
Recognized. Because I’d been here too many bleeding times. Battled these people. Felt their blades in my skin.
My jaw pulsed. This weight in my blood was nothing more than weak, pathetic fear. The crew was blood bound to serve the Ever Ship. Still, if my men saw me trembling like a boy about to piss in his trousers, no mistake, they’d find a way to mutiny.
“You’ve the right to be here.” It wasn’t Larsson. He’d melted into the crowd ten paces away. Celine had her hat pulled low on her brow, and she played the part of a boat hand tethering the already tethered skiff to the dock. “You have fought for this moment, now claim what is yours before they get another chance to take you.”
My eyes narrowed in a tight glare. Not out of anger for Celine. More that she was right, and I hated she needed to say it at all.
