“Drop it,” he yelled. “Drop the sword!”
She watched him sheathe his own weapon as he ran, but—deciding to trust him—she cast hers away, hearing the metal thump against the wood of the docks.
The shouts and screams from behind them were getting louder.
Collier’s hand gripped hers. His fingers were hot and she clung to them tightly, feeling her stomach begin to bubble as she realized what he intended to do. They were going to jump off the pier.
“Are we—?”
She could not finish the words. He leaped off the edge of the wharf, pulling her with him, and she barely had time to gulp in a breath of air before they struck the chill waters and plummeted into the depths. Her gown felt like an anchor pulling her down through the churning waters. She felt Collier’s arm around her waist and he was swimming, pulling her after him. All was tumultuous and wet, but his grip was firm and strong as he clutched her to him and stroked toward the ship. She kicked in rhythm with him, giddy with the thrill of their escape.
A lurching feeling.
Somehow, he was clinging to a rope and the men aboard the ship were hoisting them up. His arm still pinned her safely to his chest as they were dragged free from the waters.
Maia huddled under a wool blanket and sipped from a mug of warm broth, her hair dripping water into her eyes. She sat on a stool in the captain’s chamber, which was well furnished and tidy. A single bed was crammed against one wall, stuffed with a pallet and warm fur blankets. There was a window at the rear of the ship, but the curtains were drawn and a lantern swinging from a hook provided the only light.
Collier, who was wrapped up in a blanket himself, conversed with the captain in the open doorway.
“Are they blocking the harbor gate?” Collier asked.
“No, my lord. There is so much confusion on the wharf still. The Dochte Mandar cannot get past the crowd to warn them. My lad in the crow’s nest says there are three ships in front of us, but they are not halting anyone from leaving the river.”
“Excellent,” Collier said with a smile. “Watch the armada when we pass it, and let me know if any ships follow us. We are bound for Naess, are we not, my lady?”
“Yes,” Maia said, shivering.
“Well done, Stavanger. See my treasurer when we are done. A thousand marks, as I promised you.”
“You are quite welcome, my lord,” the captain said with a grin. His weathered face was covered in splits and crags and his head was topped with a thick ruff of graying hair. “I am quite comfortable in my second’s quarters. These are yours as long as you need them. Welcome aboard the Argiver, my lady. My queen. My apologies for the rough conditions, but this is a trading ship.” He smiled at her and ducked out of the room.
The boat swayed as it picked up speed. The current of the river sent it toward the sea, but first they would need to get past the harbor gate and its massive towers.
Collier shut the door and bolted it. He turned and gave her an enigmatic look. She saw the angry welt on his chest, still bleeding.
“You are hurt,” she said, rising from the bed. “Let me help you.”
“I have a healer on board,” he said. “But if you insist.”
“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the bed, and then rummaging through the captain’s things until she found some linen napkins. She fetched some woad from her pack and quickly made some paste from it. Collier lay down on the bed, one arm behind his head, and gazed at her curiously. He looked very comfortable and self-confident. She found her fingers trembling.
“Let me see it,” she said, scooting the stool over to the bedside. He undid the lacing of his vest and then opened the buttons of his ruined shirt. The new slash would leave a scar to join the others on his skin from dozens of little nicks and cuts. She had the sudden desire to ask how he had come by them, but the kystrel gleamed in the lantern light and caught her eye. She felt it draw at her mind—the force of it making her dizzy.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Yes, quite well,” she replied, struggling to control her thoughts.
“You looked at the medallion and swooned.”
“I am a little dizzy, that is all.” She blinked quickly. There was a shadowstain on his chest—just a small one, with the familiar whorl pattern. “You used the kystrel during the fight.”
“Of course I did,” he said. “The odds were uneven enough. But the man at the end—the Paeizian—he had one as well. He tried to shove his way into my thoughts and fill me with fear. I was not about to let him win, particularly not that way.”
Maia dabbed some of the woad against the wound. He winced, but did not flinch.
“That was brave of you,” she said softly. “Facing so many.”