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I peel off my drenched clothes yet again and glare at them. That’s two botched escape attempts—one from Lizzie’s mansion and one from the Crimson Hag. Maybe the clothes are cursed. Next time I run, I’ll wear something else.
Granted, nothing fits quite right from the clothing I’ve been given, but that’s a battle for another day. There is magic that can bolster sewing and stitching, but I never bothered learning it because I’m downright garbage at both. As Bunny always said, Stick to what you’re good at.
My inhale sticks in my throat. Gods, what am I doing? This was my best opportunity to escape and I barely made it a few hundred yards. Bowen saw me coming a mile away. I never stood a chance.
How in the gods’ name am I going to get free? I’ve wiggled out of some sticky situations over the years, but this is by far the stickiest. There has to be a way …
I flop onto my bed and, with only the most fleeting feeling of guilt, pull Bowen’s cloak around me. I have no business finding comfort in the reminder of my captor, and yet here I am.
Sleep takes me between one breath and the next, exhaustion sucking me down into the depths.
CHAPTER 13
Bowen
THE STORM PASSES RIGHT ON SCHEDULE. WE SPEND A full twenty-four hours docked, just long enough for interested crew members to avail themselves to the hospitality of Yaltia. The bar owner will be happy with their income from all the drinking, and I sent Kit to secure proper clothing for Evelyn.
Not that the witch makes another appearance in that time. I tell myself it’s a blessing that she’s not underfoot and causing trouble while we get ready to set sail. It doesn’t stop me from having to forcibly turn away from the door belowdecks over and over again as the storm decreases to a sprinkle of rain and a playful breeze, and then dies away completely a few hours later.
She doesn’t need me to check on her. She’s fine. There’s nowhere more protected from outside attack than the Crimson Hag, and my crew knows better than to do more than good-natured ribbing with each other. The same can’t be said for other Cwn Annwn ships, but …
I can control only this ship and this crew. I can’t worry about the others. If I try to battle every injustice in this world, I’ll end up in the sea, feeding the mermaids. Ezra taught me that it’s vital to pick your battles, and protect those you can because it’s impossible to protect everyone in an unfair world. Some times that lesson chafes more than others.
“I got what you asked for, Captain.”
I nod at Kit. Ne has a bag in nir hands, and it looks significantly fuller than I expected. I raise my brows. “Did you buy out the whole place?”
Ne grins. “Not at all. Yaltia gets plenty of traffic through, so they keep a good stock of things for our people to trade with.”
In a realm of constantly moving islands—and portals—stationary trading locations are worth their weight in gold. There are four permanent islands of some size in Threshold—Sarvi, Drash, Lyari, and Three Sisters. The latter is technically three islands, as their name would suggest, but they’re in such close proximity with each other that they gained a single name for all three.
Yaltia sits at a perfect intersection amid the routes between the permanent islands, which means a significant amount of traffic. Its position makes Yaltia an invaluable stop for supplies on some of the longer voyages.
I almost take the bag from Kit, but common sense gets ahold of me at the last moment. I have a ship to run and a crew to manage. As much as I want to lay eyes on Evelyn and see for myself that she’s recovered from the burst of magic that saved us, there are other things that require my focus.
Like the sea monster menacing Sarvi. According to the updated report that appeared on my desk last night, it’s killed several more people. Teenagers who were swimming on a beach that should have been safe. There’s no escaping the guilt that haunts me. We couldn’t have sailed through that storm, and yet our delay feels like a failure. People died because of it. Kids died because of it.
Additionally, the deaths seem to suggest it’s settling into a hunting territory, rather than attempting to go back to whatever realm it came from. Not that fleeing would save it. Once a monster garners enough attention, it requires the Cwn Annwn to go hunting outside of Threshold. Even if it never crossed into our territory. I’m sure my little witch will have something to say about that on the rare occasion it comes up.
“Take it to her, please.”
Kit raises nir eyebrows. “You sure you don’t want to hand deliver it yourself?”
I almost choke. Only years of Kit’s ribbing have given me the practice not to react. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”
“Necessary isn’t any fun, Captain.” Ne grins. “We all see how you look at her. How she looks at you. A gift from the handsome captain wouldn’t go amiss.”
I will not blush. I will not. “I am the captain of this ship and fraternizing with any of my crew would be highly inappropriate.” It’s a good thing Kit is human. Ne is without a lick of magic, so ne can’t see the memory of Evelyn’s mouth imprinted against mine from a mere twenty-four hours ago.
“You know that’s not actually a law, right?” Ne shakes nir head. “Live a little, Captain. We might be named for the Cwn Annwn, but none of us are immortal. Life’s too short to pass up what little joy it has to offer.” Ne turns and walks away before I can come up to a response to that, which is just as well.
The next few hours are a flurry of motion as we cast off and head north around the perimeter of the island. Then there’s only the open sea from horizon to horizon. Out here, I feel like I can finally breathe.
It’s an illusion.
Threshold is peppered with islands, both permanent and traveling. We’re never more than a few days from one of them. Not all are inhabited, or even contain fresh water, but they serve as a reminder that we’re never really free.
I pause. Where did that thought come from? If I didn’t know better, I’d track down my witch and accuse her of planting it right in my head. It’s a false accusation. She might be partially responsible for the strange thought, but it’s not magic at its source. It’s her incessant questions. Why do we do things the way we do? It’s her grief over the harm she caused a vicious beast intent on our deaths.
