BY THE TIME THE CHEERS erupt from the deck—which Spiros says means we’ve officially taken control of the other ship—I have Heron on one side and S?ren and his guards on my other. We didn’t have time for Heron to heal all of S?ren’s injuries, but the cosmetic ones have been taken care of, at least. The only outward sign that he is anything other than a guest on board is a limp he hides so well I wouldn’t notice if I weren’t looking for it. My dagger is sheathed at my hip, though it looks a bit silly strapped over my gray nightgown. It took some convincing for the guards to let S?ren out without chains, but my weight as queen helped push them. It isn’t a card I’ll be able to play forever, the Kaiser taught me that. A title is all well and good, but it doesn’t guarantee respect. Actions do.

“Would you like to fill me in on whatever you’re planning?” S?ren whispers to me as we walk up the stairs, Spiros, Heron, and the guards trailing a few steps behind.

I hesitate for only a second. “When Dragonsbane orders the Kalovaxians killed, you can’t say a word about it.”

Though the lighting belowdecks is dim, I can see S?ren go a shade paler. “Theo…,” he says. “I understand that this is war, but don’t ask me to watch it.”

“You need to prove that you’re on our side unequivocally if we’re going to get you out of the brig.” I glance behind us at the guards before turning back to S?ren and lowering my voice. “Please. Yana Crebesti.”

His eyes meet mine for just an instant before he drops his gaze and nods.

I take a deep, steadying breath before pushing open the door and stepping out onto the deck of the Smoke. It’s surprising the ship hasn’t tipped over, given how many people are gathered against the port side railing, peering over to where I can just make out the mast and collapsed red sails of the Kalovaxian ship.

S?ren struggles to see past the crowd—easier for him than me. After a moment, he lets out a curse under his breath.

“What is it?” I ask.

“The ship. It’s the Dragon’s Pride.”

The name means nothing to me, but S?ren is rattled.

“I trained on the Pride,” he explains. “So I could understand trade routes.”

“You’ll know some of the men,” I realize.

He nods, but doesn’t say more, his expression tense.

“That means that they’ll know you,” I point out. “It’ll be easier for you to get them to talk.”

And harder for you to watch them die.

Spiros and the other guards move in front of us, clearing a path to the gangway—a thick wooden plank leading from our ship to theirs. The sight of it makes my stomach clench and I imagine all the ways I could topple off it. Spiros crosses first, the plank rattling beneath his feet with each step he takes, though he hardly seems to notice it. He’s done this before, of course. So has S?ren—I’m the only one new at this.

“If it helps,” S?ren murmurs to me, “I’ve never seen anyone fall off a gangway unless someone pushed them.”

“Thank you,” I reply dryly, before taking my first step onto the rickety plank.

I’ve done harder things than this, I remind myself as I place one foot in front of the other. I remember escaping the palace, swimming against that icy current and climbing those jagged rocks, my palms and soles bleeding by the time I was through. I try not to think about the board shaking beneath me or how far of a drop it is if I fall, straight into churning dark water. I keep my mind empty until my feet find the solid ground of the Kalovaxian ship. My shaking hand finds Spiros’s and he helps me step down.

But as soon as my mind clears, I almost yearn for the quivering plank again, because suddenly I’m faced with dozens of Astreans and Kalovaxians, staring at me and S?ren, bewildered, alarmed, and expectant. None of them speaks, though. Instead, they glance between us and Dragonsbane, waiting to follow her lead. I find Blaise and Artemisia in the crowd, both staring at me with their mouths gaping open. Most of the crew are armed, their knives aimed at the pale throats of the Kalovaxians kneeling before them. I don’t have time to count them all, but I’d guess fifty Kalovaxians, many wounded, and a handful more Astreans. For once, we outnumber them.

“Theodosia.” Dragonsbane’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Her voice is a warning with an undercurrent of confusion, but it does not match the fury in her eyes. But that is a good thing—it means that angry as she might be to see S?ren out of the brig, she is trying to hide it. To show her emotions would be to lose face in front of her crew and the Kalovaxians, and she can’t have that. I can almost see her mind working: S?ren is out of the brig, yes, but there are enough armed crew members around him that he’s still effectively powerless. She has more to gain by letting this play out than by confronting me and setting us in opposition to each other. She knows that if it came to it, some of her crew would follow a queen over a captain—not many, not enough to put up a real rebellion, but still too many by her standards.

So she plays along. She stands on the raised bow of the ship, Eriel behind her. On his knees in front of her is an older, broad-shouldered Kalovaxian man who I assume to be the captain. If the length of his hair is any indication, it has been many years since he lost a battle. Now that he has, he’ll be losing more than just his hair. He knows this. While most of the men in his crew are looking around fearfully, his eyes are lowered and empty—a man who has already given up.

At least until S?ren crosses the gangway and comes to stand beside me.

“Min Prinz,” the man says, his gruff voice sharply accenting the Kalovaxian words. My Prinz.

“Captain Rutgard,” S?ren says, impassive. I sneak a sideways glance, only to find that his eyes are as emotionless as his voice. He might as well be speaking to a stranger, but he isn’t.

Dragonsbane clears her throat. Her eyes are daggers piercing S?ren. “You were meant to stay on the ship, darling,” she says in Astrean, and I realize she’s speaking to me and not S?ren, on account of how syrupy her voice has become. It’s the way a person speaks to a child or an invalid.

I curse my decision not to change out of my nightgown. What a sight I must be in this too-big gray shift, with my too-big boots and my hair loose and wild. I must look like some sort of specter, not like a queen at all. I fight the urge to cower and instead stand up straighter, lifting my chin and forcing my voice to stay level.

“Spiros assured me all was safe, and he was right,” I say, sticking to Astrean as well, since the Kalovaxians won’t understand. I pan my gaze slowly around the ship at the dozens of Kalovaxian men cowering on their knees before Astreans with blades held to their throats. It is not a sight I’m used to and I savor it. I begin to wind around the deck, with S?ren and his guards following a step behind, and I examine each Kalovaxian I pass. A boy of maybe fifteen looks up at me with fear plain in his eyes. I hold his gaze until he drops his.

“What news do they bring us from Astrea?” I ask, looking back up at Dragonsbane.

“None,” she admits, through clenched teeth. “Yet.”

“I thought they might be a bit more forthcoming to their Prinz,” I say, gesturing to S?ren beside me.

S?ren doesn’t understand what I’m saying either, but he recognizes his title, his forehead creasing.

“They’ll tell us what we want to know, eventually,” Dragonsbane says, waving a dismissive hand.

“Will they really?” I ask her. “I was under the impression that was not usually the case.”

Dragonsbane’s eyes find Spiros behind me, but before she can reprimand him, I continue. “S?ren is their Prinz; they’ll tell him the truth if he can convince them to turn against the Kaiser. Many of these men know him—or at least they know of his legendary skills in battle. They may be more loyal to him than to his father.”

I turn my attention to S?ren, keeping my Kalovaxian to a whisper. “We need news from Astrea and they won’t tell us anything, so she’s going to kill them.”

His expression flickers briefly before settling back into placidity. “It’s wise,” he manages. “It’s why no one has been able to describe her or the ship. It’s why no one knows who she is.”

“No one will be able to spread rumors of you rebelling against your father to a court where you still have allies either,” I add.

Understanding sparks in his expression.

“Get the information and we can spare a couple of them. Turn them into our own spies.”

He nods before facing Dragonsbane.

“Captain,” he says, stumbling over the Astrean word. It’s an admirable attempt, but it’s as far as he can go, so he switches to Kalovaxian. “If you would let me be of assistance, I can prove my loyalty.”