I raise a brow at her, achieving what I hope is a slightly stern look.
She bites the inside of her cheek, but waits to twist the key.
I look behind her at Wallov, who is trying to keep from laughing.
“Seven,” I say.
“Done,” she says, flicking her wrist. An excited smile nearly splits her face in half.
A gunshot explodes through the mostly quiet brig. Every head turns toward the entrance where Tylon has appeared, a furious scowl spread across his face.
A cloud of smoke overtakes his features for a moment.
My eyes drift down to where he has his pistol extended in front of him.
I follow its line of progress to where Roslyn stands.
Blood spurts wildly from her head.
And she falls.
A wailing scream fills the sudden quiet. I think I might be the source, but I realize a moment later it’s Wallov.
My eyes rivet to Tylon, and I say the only words that make sense when the impossible lies before me. “You’re mine.”
“No, he isn’t.” Wallov has the door to his cell open before anyone else can move. He launches himself at Tylon, who was only halfway through unsheathing his sword. More pirates barge into the brig behind Tylon. The girls start billowing out of the unlocked cell, following Wallov’s lead.
My eyes return to my fallen crewman. To little Roslyn, who hasn’t moved since she fell. Despite the yelling and grunting, I can’t focus on anything else.
Eventually I find my voice. “Toss the keys!”
I don’t know who I’m speaking to. I don’t know if anyone can hear me through the cacophony of battle cries.
But someone must have, because the keys clank against one of the bars to my cell and slide to the floor. I snatch them up and maneuver around to unlock my own cell. Before I can fit the key in, one of Tylon’s men whips his cutlass at me. I pull both arms and keys back through the bars just in time, and the sword clangs against the metal, sending sparks to the ground. He eyes me, daring me to make a move, content to stand there until I get close enough for him to reach.
A sword point rips through the front of his stomach. A labored sigh escapes him as he stares down at the metal. Sorinda doesn’t wait for him to drop before yanking her cutlass back through his gut and moving on to the next target.
A new sense of urgency overtakes me as a pool of blood forms near Roslyn.
I unlock my cell, toss the keys to Riden, and run to her, but Mandsy reaches her first, ripping off a section of her trousers to staunch the bleeding.
But I know how hard it is to survive a head wound. And for one so small.
Trembling fingers reach for her pulse.
It’s still there. How is it still there?
“It skimmed her head, Captain,” Mandsy says. “Knocked her out. There’s a lot of blood, but I could see her skull intact underneath. If I can just get the bleeding under control—”
“Do what you can. I’m going after Tylon.”
I throw myself into the fray, tossing enemy pirates around like they’re rocks. I have metal bars at my disposal, so I ram heads into them in my search for Tylon. I finally catch sight of Wallov through the chaos. He’s got Tylon by the shoulders, and he slams his head into the ground over and over. I don’t know how long Tylon has been dead, but Wallov doesn’t seem to notice anything at all.
I rush to him and pin his arms to his sides.
“Wallov, she’s alive. Calm down.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but then instead of trying to go for Tylon, he’s trying to get away from me. To go to Roslyn. I release him.
We outnumber the men on the ship. After depositing us in the brig, the majority of Tylon’s men must have left to join the fight against the sirens. Those who remain go down quickly. We don’t spare a single one.
By the time I reach Wallov and Roslyn, Mandsy has her kit. She stitches the head wound and wraps it. Then she moves on to Niridia.
Two of us hold her down while Mandsy digs the ball out of her leg.
“Pity you lot drank all the rum,” Kearan says. “She could use it.”
“I don’t want rum!” she screams. “I want my sword, I’m going to—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her.
Mandsy wrenches the pliers deeper into Niridia’s flesh. My first mate screams before blacking out.
“Got it!” Mandsy says. She begins cleaning and wrapping the wound. I sit back on my heels, grateful at least that Niridia isn’t in pain anymore.
Now that we’ve finished taking care of those who are still alive, we tend to the dead. As I watch Reona’s and Deros’s bodies drift out to sea by lantern light, I vow that I will see justice done for the senseless way in which they died.
They didn’t go down fighting, protecting what they held dear. They were caged. Like animals.
My gaze drifts up from the water. To the Dragon’s Skull.
“I’m coming for you,” I whisper.
*
Back belowdecks, I survey what’s left of my crew, take in all the faces and injuries. “We have two options now,” I say to the group. “We can run or we can fight. I’m leaning toward option number two.”
“As am I,” Mandsy says, still wet with Roslyn’s and Niridia’s blood.
“I will kill all of them,” Wallov says, clutching a slowly healing Roslyn toward his breast.
“No, Wallov,” I say. “You will stay here and look after the wounded.” With Niridia injured, Mandsy needs to fill the role as my second. “The rest of us will board the Dragon’s Skull. Are there any objections?”
When I hear none, I tell them the plan.
*
Dead men are heavier than live ones.
We strip them of clothing that isn’t too bloodied, then haul the corpses into one of the cells, piling them unceremoniously on top of one another. It’s quicker than dumping them into the ocean.
There isn’t enough clothing to go around, but we make do with what we have. The girls cover up their corsets with men’s shirts. They stuff their hair under tricornes. From their bunks, they tear up sheets and stuff them into their leggings to make themselves look bigger, more masculine. Some even ask my permission to raid my cosmetics to draw facial hair under their noses and mouths. It won’t do anything to mask them up close, but from a distance, it could work.
Tylon’s body is the only one outside of the cell. I suspect no one is fond of the idea of touching him, even in death. But Riden moves toward him as if to put him with the others.
“No.” I halt him. “We will need his carcass.”
*
Dawn hasn’t yet made its approach. The stars in the sky reflect off the ocean below, trapping us in a world dotted with lights. The rowboats cut swaths through the water, rippling the illusion of peace.
We don’t carry lanterns with us across the space between the Ava-lee and the Dragon’s Skull. We need the absence of light to mask us. If we’re to pass as men, we need to be as concealed as possible.
Though we don’t call attention to ourselves, we also aren’t trying to hide. We’re there, floating in the dark. Easily spotted if someone should shine a light on us. Yet concealed until then.
Riden sits next to me in the rowboat. He rests his hand atop my knee, squeezes, and removes it.