“Anesh,” said Jasta, who hadn’t been following the conversation and didn’t seem to care. “Come, go, I don’t care. I’d rather not stand here on display. Bad for my reputation to be seen with black-eyed princes and royal guards and nobles playing dress-up.”
“I’m a privateer,” said Alucard, affronted.
Jasta only snorted and started toward the docks. Hastra hung back, his wide brown eyes still leveled expectantly on Kell.
“Oh, come on,” said Lila. “Every ship needs a pet.”
Kell threw up his hands. “Fine. He can stay.”
*
“Who were you?” demanded Alucard as they walked along the docks, passing ships of every size and color. The thought of Kell entering the tournament—his tournament—was madness. The thought that Alucard had had the chance to fight him—that maybe he had—was maddening.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Kell.
“Did we fight?” But how could they have? Alucard would have seen the silver thread, would have known—
“If we had,” said Kell pointedly, “I would have won.”
Annoyance flared through Alucard, but then he thought of Rhy, the tether between the two, and anger swallowed indignation.
“Do you have any idea how foolish that was? How dangerous for the prince?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” said Kell, “but the whole thing was Rhy’s idea.” That two-toned gaze cut his way. “I don’t suppose you tried to stop Lila?”
Alucard glanced over his shoulder. Bard brought up the rear of the party, Holland a pace ahead of her. The other Antari was looking at the ships the way Lila had looked at the horses, with a mixture of discomfort and disdain.
“What’s the matter,” she was saying, “can’t swim?”
Holland’s lips pursed. “It is a little harder with chains on.” His attention went back to the boats, and Alucard understood. He recognized the look in his eyes, a wariness bordering on fear.
“You’ve never been on a ship, have you?”
The man didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Lila let out a small, malicious laugh. As if she’d known half a thing about ships when Alucard first took her on.
“Here we are,” said Jasta, coming to a stop beside something that might—in certain places—qualify as a ship, the way some cottages might qualify as mansions. Jasta patted the boat’s side the way a rider might a horse’s flank. Its name ran in silver stenciling along the white hull. Is Hosna. The Ghost.
“She’s a bit small,” said the captain, “but whip fast.”
“A bit small,” echoed Lila dryly. The Ghost was half the length of the Night Spire, with three short sails and a Faroanesque hull, narrow and feather sharp. “It’s a skiff.”
“It’s a runner,” clarified Alucard. “They don’t hold much, but there are few things faster on the open sea. It won’t be a cozy ride, by any stretch, but we’ll reach the market quickly. Especially with three Antari keeping wind in our sails.”
Lila looked longingly at the ships to either side, towering vessels with dark wood and gleaming sails.
“What about that one?” she said, pointing to a proud ship two berths down.
Alucard shook his head. “It isn’t ours.”
“It could be.”
Jasta shot her a look, and Lila rolled her eyes. “Kidding,” she said, even though Alucard knew she wasn’t. “Besides,” she added, “wouldn’t want something too pretty. Pretty things tend to draw greedy eyes.”
“Speaking from experience, Bard?” he teased.
“Thank you, Jasta,” cut in Kell. “We’ll bring her back in one piece.”
“Oh, I’ll be making sure of it,” said the captain, striding up the boat’s narrow ramp.
“Jasta—”
“My vessel, my rules,” she said, arms akimbo. “I can get you wherever you’re going in half the time, and if you’re on some mission to save the kingdom, well, it is my kingdom, too. And I wouldn’t mind having the crown on my side next time I’m in troubled waters.”
“How do you know our motives are so honorable?” said Alucard. “We could just be fleeing.”
“You could be,” she said, and then, jabbing a finger at Kell, “but he isn’t.” With that she stomped onto the deck and they had little choice but to follow her aboard.
“Three Antari get on a boat,” singsonged Alucard, as if it were the beginning of a tavern joke. He had the added delight of seeing both Kell and Holland try to balance as the deck bobbed under the sudden weight. One looked uncomfortable, the other ill, and Alucard could have assured them that it wouldn’t be so bad once they were out at sea, but he wasn’t feeling generous.
“Hano!” called Jasta, and a young girl’s head appeared above a stack of crates, her black hair pulled into a messy bun.
“Casero!” She swung up onto the crate, legs dangling over the edge. “You’re back early.”
“I have some cargo,” said Jasta.
“Sha!” said Hano delightedly.
There was a thud and a muffled curse from somewhere on board, and a moment later an old man shuffled out from behind another crate, rubbing his head. His back was bent like a hook, his skin dark and his eyes a milky white.
“Solase,” he mumbled, and Alucard couldn’t tell if he was apologizing to them or to the crates he’d thudded into.
“That’s Ilo,” said Jasta, nodding at the blind man.
“Where’s the rest of your crew?” asked Kell, looking around.
“This is it,” said Jasta.
“You let a little girl and a blind man guard a ship full of stolen merchandise,” said Alucard.
Hano giggled and held up a purse. Alucard’s purse. A moment later Ilo held up a blade. It was Kell’s.
The magician flicked his fingers, and the blade snapped hilt first back into his hand, a display that earned him an approving clap from the girl. Alucard reclaimed his purse with a similar flourish and went so far as to let the leather retie itself onto his belt. Lila patted herself down, making sure she still had all her knives, and smiled in satisfaction.
“The map,” prompted Jasta. Alucard handed it over.
The captain unfurled the paper, clicking her tongue. “Going Waters, then,” she said. It was no surprise to anyone that Jasta, given her particular interests, was familiar with the market.
“What’s in these boxes?” asked Kell, resting a hand on one lid.
“A little of this, a little of that,” said the captain. “Nothing that will bite.”
Hastra and Lenos were already unwinding the ropes, the young guard cheerfully following the sailor’s lead.
“Why are you in chains?” asked Hano. Alucard hadn’t seen the girl hop down from her perch, but now she stood directly in front of Holland, hands on her hips in a mimic of Jasta’s own stance, her black bun coming roughly to the Antari’s ribs. “Did you do a bad thing?”
“Hano!” called Jasta, and the girl flitted away again without waiting for an answer. The boat came unmoored, rocking beneath them. Bard smiled, and Alucard felt his balance shift, and then return.
Holland, meanwhile, tipped his head back and drew a deep, steadying breath, eyes up to the sky as if that would keep him from being ill.
“Come on,” said Kell, taking the other Antari’s arm. “Let’s find the hold.”
“I don’t like that one,” said Alucard as Bard came to stand at his side.
“Which one?” she asked dryly, but she cut him a glance, and must have seen something in his face because she sobered. “What do you see when you look at Holland?”
Alucard drew in a breath, and blew it out in a cloud. “This is what magic looks like,” he said twirling his fingers through the plume. Instead of dispersing, the pale air twisted and coiled into thin ribbons of mist against the seamless stretch of night and sea.
“But Holland’s magic is …” He splayed his fingers, and the ribbons of fog splintered, frayed. “He isn’t weaker for it. If anything, his light is brighter than yours or Kell’s. But the light is uneven, unsteady, the lines all broken, re-formed, like bones that didn’t set. It’s …”
“Unnatural?” she guessed.
“Dangerous.”
“Splendid,” she said, folding her arms against the cold. A yawn escaped, like a silent snarl through clenched teeth.
“Get some rest,” he said.