Light exploded, and a field of white filled my vision.

Someone screamed, and I prayed to the gods that someone was Taviano.

Jackie tightened his grip on me and howled a word in a language I didn’t recognize. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

The world spun, turned black, and disappeared.

BOOK THREE

RETURN OF THE QUEEN

Chapter 22

Reality returned in what felt like a blink, but my episode of incognizance must have lasted longer than that. The darkness cleared, and I found myself in a tiny, dim room lit only by sunlight streaming through a pair of round windows. No, not windows. Portholes. I sniffed, detecting odors of brine, fish, and starch. As I sat up, the room swayed and my vision swirled.

“Hey, girl, take it easy.” A woman wearing rumpled white trousers and a navy-blue jacket glanced over her shoulder. Hazy light crowned her short dark hair as she crouched in the narrow space between my berth and another one abutting the compartment’s opposite wall. She dipped a rag into a pail at her knee, squeezed it out, and dabbed the bare shoulder of the figure lying before her. Although I couldn’t see his face, I recognized her patient’s long white-gold hair and alabaster skin.

Ignoring my dizziness, I slid from my bunk and crouched beside the strange woman. She swabbed the open wound in Jackie’s shoulder, wiping away blood. “Since you’re awake, why don’t you help me?” She pointed at a bundle at her feet—a folded square of white cloth, a squat round tin, a packet of thread with a needle, and a pair of bent-nose pliers. “Hand me that needle and those pliers.”

Still dazed and muddled, I obeyed her orders without realizing at first that she’d spoken in clear, unaccented Inselgrish. She squinted, threading the needle as I knelt at Jackie’s head and pressed the washcloth against the bloody hole below his clavicle. “He said it was just a flesh wound.”

“Well, technically speaking, he was right.” Gritting her teeth, she motioned for me to move my rag. “Hold him still. He’s mostly unconscious, but this part will hurt bad enough to wake a dead man from his grave.”

I gripped Jackie’s shoulders as she prodded his wound. His back bowed, hips jutting. I pressed hard, forcing his shoulders down as a shrill moan escaped his gritted teeth. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell silent as she pulled her pliers free, bullet pinched between its jaws.

“You know how to stitch a wound?”

I swayed again as blood drained from my head, rushing to my feet. “Never.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lot of help you are.”

“If he bleeds to death, I wouldn’t shed a tear. I’m only here because he kidnapped me.” I stepped back, turning away as she poked the needle into his flesh. Likely unconscious, Jackie remained still and silent as she worked needle and thread through his skin, closing his wound. My stomach swirled, protesting the gore and the remnants of whatever Magic that still clung to me after Jackie brought me through time and space to this place.

I wondered how Jackie and I had gotten aboard this boat. And what had happened to Gideon? My heart thumped a heavy beat of despair, fearing the worst, but I checked my pocket and found the coin Brigette had given me. It was a token representing the possibility of reunion—if she wasn’t already somewhere far away, running away from her failures. I hadn’t trusted her completely, but I had hoped, and her disloyalty hurt. I clenched the coin in my fist and sent a silent prayer to my ancestors, begging for Gideon’s safety.

“Master Faercourt told me to expect a companion. Didn’t mention she’d be here against her will.” She snorted. “He doesn’t seem the type to have to force a woman—”

“What type is that?”

“Rich and handsome and full of Magic. Usually young men like him have to beat ’em off with a stick.”

“It’s not like that with Jackie and me. He doesn’t want me for...” I shuddered. “That.” Or perhaps he did, but his want for me was less physical than this woman likely presumed. I cleared my throat. “I don’t know what he’s said. I don’t know who you are or what he’s told you—”

“Clarice McKimmon.” She knotted her thread and cut the excess string with her pocketknife. “I’m captain of the Velox. Mr. Faercourt paid me an exceptional sum to sail him and a companion”—she tilted her head toward me— “from Isolas Bay to Braddock.”

“Inselgrau? We’re going to sail all the way to Inselgrau?”

“If the gods be merciful, we should make it there in a week or so.” She opened the squat little tin, scooped out a dab of pearly-white ointment, and smeared it over Jackie’s wound. I caught a whiff of witch hazel. My nursemaid, Gerda, was an herbs expert and had shared her knowledge with me when she could convince me to help her in her garden. The witch hazel would help stave off infection. As if Jackie couldn’t do the same with his own Magic, but I supposed his injury had left him too weak to heal himself. Again, I tried to muster some pity for him but failed.

“A week, trapped on board with you and”—my lip curled—“him.”

“You, me, him, two hands, and my first mate, Anscombe. My crew doesn’t talk much, tend to keep to themselves, so you’ll hardly know they’re here.” She stood and slapped a square of folded white cloth into my hand. “You get Faercourt bandaged up. Won’t do for him to get an infection in the middle of the ocean. If he dies, I don’t get paid. If I don’t get paid, you don’t get home.”

“You’re saying you’ll throw me overboard?”

“I’m saying it’s in your best interest to keep Faercourt alive.” She stepped outside our compartment into a narrow hallway and climbed a short set of stairs to the deck.

I left the door open, letting the breeze dilute the odor of sweat, blood, and unwashed body. Jackie’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. The black threads from Clarice’s suture job stood out starkly against his ashen skin, and I shuddered again. “My life might be easier if I cut your stitches and let you bleed out.”

I startled when his eyelids fluttered open, and his glassy gaze caught mine. “You’d never be that callous.” His voice was a raw whisper. “If I die, Inselgrau is lost to you.”

“That’s what you say.” I harrumphed and glanced around the room, searching for a pitcher or bucket of clean water, but found none, so I collected the dirty rags and bloody bucket and marched to the deck, calling for Clarice.

“I’m not your ladies’ maid, girl.” She stood near the bow of her small ship, hands on her hips, feet spread wide. The Velox was a narrow boat with one mast, a single deck, a square stern, and one huge paddle wheel. A giant man with deep-brown skin stood behind Clarice, eyeing me warily. The rest of her crew was nowhere to be seen.

“If you ever get tired of calling me girl, you can call me Evie. I don’t need you to serve me. Tell me where I can find drinking water, and I’ll get it myself.” I stepped to the deck railing and poured out the bucket Clarice had used to clean Jackie’s wound.

“There’s a cask in the galley.” She pointed toward the stairway I’d just come up. “Help yourself. And leave that bucket there at the rail. A crew member will collect it later.”

“Um, and how about a—” I cleared my throat. “The head?” I motioned to my salt-crusted clothes. My rope belt was still fastened around my waist, my knife securely snugged against my ribs. I was more than a little surprised Clarice hadn’t stripped me of my weapons. “I’d like to bathe.”

The captain rolled her eyes and jabbed her thumb toward the prow. “Head’s in the head, hence the name. It’s on the same level as your cabin, opposite end. No running water, but you can find a toilet, plenty of soap, and another cask of fresh water. I shouldn’t have to tell you to be prudent with it, should I?”

Shaking my head, I returned to the ship’s dark, dank interior and followed my nose, literally, trailing the strong scent of garlic into the ship’s galley. The garlic must have lingered from a previous meal, though. I found only a basket of lemons and a hard bread heel left out on the counter. My stomach growled, insisting it cared less about quality and more about quantity. I gnawed the bread heel as I ladled water into two pottery mugs that seemed clean enough.

Jackie had dozed off in my absence but awoke when I poked him.

“I couldn’t find anything to eat,” I said, “but at least I can do something about that dry throat.”

Despite my revulsion for him, I wouldn’t see him suffer. Besides, I needed him as much as he needed me, if the next phase of my plan was going to work. I cradled his shoulders and helped him sit up enough to sip his water without choking. When he’d drained his cup, he scrubbed his chin and slumped against his pillow. “Thank you.”

“Getaway plans work better if you don’t get shot during your escape, you know.” I unfolded the fabric Clarice had given me and wound it around Jackie’s shoulder and neck, covering his wound. His skin felt cool and clammy, but his pulse beat steadily in his throat.

“There were a few things I could account for,” he said. “The ones I couldn’t, I left in fate’s hands.”

“I wonder if fate wants you to survive or if this the beginning of your defeat.”

“I think it’s no coincidence that I’ve been placed at your mercy, Evelyn.”

“You said Inselgrau will be lost to me if you die.”

“Le Poing Fermé won’t negotiate with you if you fail to bring them the bargaining chip they asked for.”

“Who are you kidding? We both know there will be no negotiations. The second I step through Fallstaff’s gates, I might as well be stepping into chains.”

He squinted at me. “You’ll surrender so easily?”

“That’s for me to know and for Le Poing Fermé to find out.” I crawled onto my bunk, leaned against the wall, and sipped my water, washing down the coating of salt encrusted on my tongue.