“Sorinda?” he asks.
Still nothing.
“What are you doing? Let go of them. I need to put the prisoners below.”
Instead, the undead do not move, for I am giving them one order while Threydan is giving them another. They can do nothing more than hold absolutely still until one of us wins.
I turn to Threydan, King of the Undersea, terror of these lands for a thousand years.
“What am I doing?” I repeat his words back to him. “I thought you said you knew me. You should know exactly what I’m doing.”
Were I still human, sweat would dot my brow from the struggle Threydan and I are pursuing. It feels like an arm wrestle, but with the mind. Each of us trying to get the better of the other one.
Threydan clenches his teeth from the strain of it. “You’re adjusting. Give yourself a moment to acclimate to immortality. Let me handle things right now.”
“Do you know what happens to men who try to tell me what to do?” I ask him.
Threydan raises my rapier, which he still holds from stabbing Kearan. He advances toward me. “Let them go!” he bellows. “I’d hate to restrain you, but I will if I must, dearest.”
“Sorinda!” A tiny shout rings from above, and I look up at the crow’s nest just in time to see little Roslyn drop my old rapier, the one I gifted to her. It lands point first into the wood not far from me.
I dart for it, and Threydan races after me, hot on my heels. My fingers clench around the hilt, and I pull the blade from the deck in one smooth motion. Threydan halts at the end of my sword point.
“This is ridiculous,” he says. “What are you hoping to accomplish?”
It’s a fair question. I have no idea where this is about to lead. I just know I have to act now. While I still have a little bit of myself left in me.
“I was told to rescue this crew. That includes saving it from the likes of you.”
“Told to? You don’t have to take orders from mortals! You are a god compared to them now.”
“I’m sick of hearing your voice.”
I take a stab at him.
He smacks my sword away with his own, the movement clunky, as though he were a bit out of practice, which I’m sure he is.
I attack a second time. He blocks it quicker this time. Smoother.
Then, as I prepare to attack a third time, he narrows his gaze at me and doesn’t even bother to parry. My blade slides into his flesh. Threydan stares at me; I stare at him. He takes a step backward, drawing himself off the sword length. His skin slides back together, and the blood clears.
“Again, what are you hoping to accomplish?” he asks. “I can’t be killed, and neither can you.”
“Then I suppose we’ll find out who tires first.”
Threydan leaps backward as I slash at him, and now he’s smiling. “If you wanted to see what your new body could do, all you had to do was ask.”
He thrusts forward with his own strike, and I divert the attack before scratching at his shoulder. A line of red appears for only seconds before the body heals itself once again. Threydan holds himself up higher.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he says, “but as I recall, I was actually quite good at it.”
And then he moves. Really moves this time.
Before I can blink, he’s under my guard, and his sword is embedded in my gut. It is the oddest sensation. I can feel the sword against my innards. The steel caresses my intestines and severs my skin. Yet there is no pain. No fear. Because I am not in danger.
That knowledge is heady.
Threydan withdraws his sword, and I watch as my skin heals itself. I could get used to that. No pain. But I cling to the reminder that I didn’t want this. It was forced upon me by this man. He means to control me, and I cannot allow it.
I leap at Threydan, slashing right and left. He dodges both, but he can’t go far. The undead only leave a small ten-by-ten-foot section of deck surrounding the mainmast for us to occupy, my crew still held within their grasps.
With his next attack, our swords meet in the middle, and Threydan uses his full weight to shove me backward. I collide with wet dead bodies, but they might as well be a brick wall for how much give they have. Threydan’s will still pushes against mine in an attempt to control them.
I bounce off the undead and hit the floor. Normally, I’d ache from the bruising I’d take after such a fall, but of course, there is nothing.
I’ve had many lifetimes’ worth of pain, and I can’t deny that there’s a part of me that thrills at never having to experience it again.
But when I look up, I find Kearan staring down at me from where he’s pinned in place. He’s a reminder that I haven’t had a lifetime’s worth of love yet. His eyes say everything. They encourage me, show me that I hold meaning for him, show me that I have his trust and confidence.
A deep pressure streaks across my face, and my vision goes dark. I blink my eyes furiously as liquid fills them.
“Stop looking at him,” Threydan says, and I realize that he just slashed me across my open eyes. When the blood finally clears and my vision returns, Threydan is standing before me. “You’re with me now. Don’t forget it. I made you this way. I’m what’s healing you. You’re mine.” He holds out a hand to me, thinking to help me to my feet, and I swipe at it with my rapier.
Three of his fingers fall to the deck in a heap of blood. Threydan sighs as he turns the empty sockets toward his face for examination. No sooner has he done so than fresh fingers sprout in their proper places.
He wiggles his new digits in my direction.
I rise slowly, rubbing at my eyes, even though there’s no need. It is a reflex more than anything else.
“Done yet?” Threydan asks.
“I’ve barely started.”
I launch myself at him.
Time ceases to be measured by seconds and minutes. It is counted by drops of blood and slashes of the sword. By the tiring of muscles. The encouragement and gasps from my crew.
We carry on for the better part of an hour.
Threydan is not in as good of physical condition as I am, having slept for a thousand years, but the panaceum sustains us both far longer than mortal muscles should allow.
My advantages have counted for naught.
I’ve sliced the arteries in both his legs. He’s lost an ear, the tip of his nose, and more fingers—each of which grew back shortly after they were separated from the rest of his body. It doesn’t matter what I do or how I cut him. That beating artifact in his heart keeps us both alive.
But tire, we eventually do.
We both collapse to the ground, arms like liquid, legs like rocks. The undead don’t move an inch, not while we both try to take control of them. Threydan has not stopped his mental assault once and neither have I.
“Shall we call it a tie?” Threydan asks, his voice slowed considerably from the exertion.
“No. This is only a respite.”
He manages to laugh. “And how long will you keep fighting?”
“Forever. That’s how long I’ll protect those I’m sworn to defend.”