“He’s not breathing,” Sturmhond said, “and I don’t feel a pulse.”
I forced myself to sit up. The sun was rising behind us, warming my back, gilding the lake and the edges of the trees. Tamar had her hands pressed to the sailor’s chest, using her power to draw the water from his lungs and drive life back into his heart. The minutes seemed to stretch as the sailor lay motionless on the sand. Then he gasped. His eyes fluttered open, and he spewed lake water over his shirt.
I heaved a sigh of relief. One less death on my conscience.
Another crewman was clutching his side, testing to see if he’d broken any ribs. Mal had a nasty gash across his forehead. But we were all there. We’d made it.
Sturmhond waded back into the water. He stood knee deep in it, contemplating the smooth surface of the lake, his greatcoat pooling out behind him. Other than a torn-up stretch of earth along the shore, there was no sign that the Hummingbird had ever been.
The uninjured Squaller turned on me. “What happened back there?” she spat. “Kovu was almost killed. We all were!”
“I don’t know,” I said, resting my head against my knees.
Mal drew his arm around me, but I didn’t want comfort. I wanted an explanation for what I’d seen.
“You don’t know?” she said incredulously.
“I don’t know,” I repeated, surprised at the surge of anger that came with the words. “I didn’t ask to be shoved into the Fold. I’m not the one who went looking for a fight with the volcra. Why don’t you ask your captain what happened?”
“She’s right,” Sturmhond said, trudging out of the water and up the shore toward us as he stripped off his ruined gloves. “I should have given her more warning, and I shouldn’t have gone after the nest.”
Somehow the fact that he was agreeing with me just made me angrier. Then Sturmhond removed his hat and goggles, and my rage disappeared, replaced by complete and utter bewilderment.
Mal was on his feet in an instant. “What the hell is this?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I sat paralyzed, my pain and exhaustion eclipsed by the bizarre sight before me. I didn’t know what I was looking at, but I was glad Mal saw it, too. After what had happened on the Fold, I didn’t trust myself.
Sturmhond sighed and ran a hand over his face—a stranger’s face.
His chin had lost its pronounced point. His nose was still slightly crooked, but nothing like the busted lump it had been. His hair was no longer ruddy brown but dark gold, neatly cut to military length, and those strange, muddy green eyes were now a clear, bright hazel. He looked completely different, but he was unmistakably Sturmhond.
And he’s handsome, I thought with a baffling jab of resentment.
Mal and I were the only ones staring. None of Sturmhond’s crew seemed remotely surprised.
“You have a Tailor,” I said.
Sturmhond winced.
“I am not a Tailor,” Tolya said angrily.
“No, Tolya, your gifts lie elsewhere,” Sturmhond said soothingly. “Mostly in the celebrated fields of killing and maiming.”
“Why would you do this?” I asked, still trying to adapt to the jarring experience of Sturmhond’s voice coming from a different person’s mouth.
“It was essential that the Darkling not recognize me. He hasn’t seen me since I was fourteen, but it wasn’t something I wanted to chance.”
“Who are you?” Mal asked furiously.
“That’s a complicated question.”
“Actually, it’s pretty straightforward,” I said, springing to my feet. “But it does require telling the truth. Something you seem thoroughly incapable of.”
“Oh, I can do it,” Sturmhond said, shaking water from one of his boots. “I’m just not very good at it.”
“Sturmhond,” Mal snarled, advancing on him. “You have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself, or Tolya’s going to have to make you a whole new face.”
Then Tamar leapt to her feet. “Someone’s coming.”
We all quieted, listening. The sounds came from beyond the wood surrounding the lake: hoofbeats—lots of them, the snap and rustle of broken branches as men moved toward us through the trees.
Sturmhond groaned. “I knew we’d been sighted. We spent too long on the Fold.” He heaved a ragged sigh. “A wrecked ship and a crew that looks like a bunch of drowned possums. This is not what I had in mind.”
I wanted to know exactly what he did have in mind, but there was no time to ask.
The trees parted, and a group of mounted men charged onto the beach. Ten … twenty … thirty soldiers of the First Army. King’s men, heavily armed. Where had they all come from?
After the slaughter of the volcra and the crash, I didn’t think I had any fear left, but I was wrong. Panic shot through me as I remembered what Mal had said about deserting his post. Were we about to be arrested as traitors? My fingers twitched. I wasn’t going to be taken prisoner again.
“Easy, Summoner,” the privateer whispered. “Let me handle this.”