“All right,” he says after a moment. “Now you’re going to need to jump.”
I look down at the ship a few feet below and swallow.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Thora, it’s going to hurt,” he says. His voice is so reassuring that I almost don’t bristle at the name. “You’re going to need to keep your knees soft and roll from the impact so you don’t break anything. Can you do it?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure. It’s the only answer I can give.
“On the count of three. I’ll be right behind you. One. Two…”
I get ready, bending my knees.
“Three.”
I push away from the rock with my last remaining burst of energy.
For a blissful moment, it feels like flying, with nothing but air around me. But when the impact comes, it’s hard, and even though I do as Søren said and keep my body soft, I still hear a crack when I land, and pain floods my right side. My rib. I ignore it as best I can and roll away, making room for Søren to land as well.
His fall knocks the air out of him and he wheezes for a moment, struggling to catch his breath.
“Are you all right?” he asks, when he can speak.
“Broken rib, I think. But I’m fine, other than that.”
He nods, but his eyes are troubled. He struggles to his feet and starts untying the boat from the rocks.
“I’ll get us moving. Go down into the cabin and warm up. There are clothes in the chest at the end of the cot,” he says. Even though he’s limping and shaking, he still sounds like a commander. All business.
“Søren,” I say softly. My voice almost gets carried away on the wind, but he hears it and turns to look at me. He’s smiling, even after everything, ready to embark on a new adventure, ready to fight against the only family he has left. Ready to stand at my side no matter what.
If only it were that simple.
“It’s going to be fine,” he tells me, misreading my expression.
I shake my head before cupping my hands around my mouth.
“Attiz!” I call out, loud enough to hear over the wind. Now.
Before Søren has a chance to ask what’s happening, three black-cloaked figures pour out from the cabin and rush toward us. Blaise, Artemisia, and Heron.
Søren draws his sword, but he’s still weak from the swim and the climb, and shock slows his movements. Artemisia knocks it from his hand without any effort. Heron shoves him down onto his knees and drags his arms behind him, binding them with a length of rope.
I’m frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch. I put this into motion, I remind myself. It was the right thing to do. Still, seeing Søren hurt and unable to fight back breaks my heart.
“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you all,” Søren spits out, struggling against them.
I find my voice. “Søren,” I say again, and he drags his eyes to me.
It’s then that he realizes they aren’t hurting me. Blaise comes forward to wrap a blanket around my shoulders. Confusion flashes across Søren’s face but it’s quickly replaced by a coldness I recognize only too easily. I saw it a few hours ago on Crescentia’s face. He stops struggling, but his eyes stay hard.
“Take him below,” I say, surprised that my voice comes out level. Even my shivering has stopped. “Let him change into something dry. He won’t make a very good hostage if he’s dead.”
SØREN WAS RIGHT. WHEN WÅS starts going at full speed, nothing can touch her. For a moment, the Kaiser’s ships were dots trailing us, but we lose them quickly, and soon there is nothing behind us but water. Even Artemisia, who’s taken charge of the ship, is impressed with how she moves. I want to tell her that Søren built it with his own hands, but I doubt she would find that as endearing as I did. She would give me that look she specializes in, the one that says she still isn’t sure I’m trustworthy. I would hope I’ve more than proved it, but I don’t think I ever will with her.
I understand, though. Girls like us have learned what trust gets you.
Heron hasn’t learned that lesson yet. He sticks to my side, devoted, using his gift to mend my rib and the other scrapes and cuts. He fixes Søren as well, though no one asks him to and Artemisia even chides him for it.
Søren is drugged immediately, Heron deftly pouring a vial of something down his throat and holding his nose until he swallows. He said it will keep him unconscious until we reach Dragonsbane. Her ship will have a proper brig, he said, with bars and locks and chains, that will be more effective in keeping him captive.
Even though the cabin of Wås is small, and Søren is slumped in the corner only a few feet from me now, I force myself not to look at him. Like this, in sleep, he looks like a child, and guilt swells in my chest until I can’t breathe.
It was necessary. It was the only way this could have ended. He had turned on his father, I truly believe that, but no one else will. And I can’t be any kind of queen if I side with my enemies over my people. Søren is my enemy, even if we both wish he weren’t. He has the blood of hundreds of innocents on his hands.
Though mine aren’t quite clean anymore either.
I can’t relax with him this close, even if I don’t look at him from my place curled up on the cot. His cot. It even smells like him—salt water and fresh-cut wood. My body aches with exhaustion, but my mind spins and I can’t find sleep—I’m not sure I want to. I don’t know what will await me in my dreams.
The door to the cabin creaks open and Blaise slips in, holding two mugs of steam-plumed tea.
He looks worse than I feel, violet half-moons underlining his eyes, standing out starkly against his dull, ashen skin. I wonder when the last time he slept was. Unbidden, I hear Erik’s voice in my mind, but I push it away. We are warm and safe and free and that is something to celebrate.
“I figured you would still be awake,” he says, maneuvering nimbly around Heron’s sleeping form and casting a suspicious glance at Søren’s unconscious one. He sits at the edge of my cot and sets his mug down on the small folding table next to it before passing me the second one. Before I take a sip, he stops me.
“I drugged it,” he says. “Not that badly,” he adds, jerking a head toward Søren. “But you should get some sleep, and I thought that was the only way you would.”
I nod my thanks and start to take a sip as he crouches down by Søren, checking his bonds. Before I can overthink it, I switch our mugs. When he turns back to me, his eyes dance over my features. He sees my guilt, but only part of it.