“This will work,” I tell him.
“I know. I’m reassuring you, not myself.”
If we can reach the Dragon’s Skull quietly and take out everyone on the ship, we can come out on top. The rest of the fleet will not unleash their cannons on the pirate king’s ship. And once I can explain how I can get to the treasure, they won’t care that their king is dead. They will rally to my side. That is the way of the pirate. I just need to kill my father first.
I’ve thought about it many times. Killing my father. When he’d hurt me. When I discovered he’d locked up my mother. When he threatened my crew. Now I try to picture it, my cutlass sliding between his ribs to plant itself in his heart. The gasp that would float on his breath. The sightless look in his eyes.
I have killed hundreds of men. Why does my stomach sicken to think of killing this one? He is just a man. An admittedly powerful one, but still just a man.
But I have never killed my own flesh and blood. Why does it feel different? Should it feel different? Can I do what needs to be done in the end?
I must.
A light aboard the Dragon’s Skull hovers at the edge of the ship, raises high into the air, shines on us.
We’ve been spotted.
It’s time for these disguises to do their job.
Tylon’s body is propped up against the front of the rowboat, his face pointing toward the men aboard the Dragon’s Skull. Since half the back of his skull is gone, we have to keep him pointed straight ahead. I sit next to him, discreetly keeping his body upright. His glassy eyes are open, but thankfully the ship is too far for anyone to notice he doesn’t blink.
Now there are two lanterns, but no alarm sounds.
We act calm, casual. A few of the girls offer gruff waves. Sorinda shields her eyes from the light and doesn’t have to fake her irritable scowl.
Three lanterns gather together, watching our ship approach.
They lower us a rope ladder. They must have recognized Tylon.
Not a word is spoken on our end or theirs as we hoist ourselves up the side of the ship. Through a porthole, I can see almost a hundred men sleeping in their bunks, undisturbed by our approach.
This will work.
I’m the first one over the lip of the ship. I size up the three men on watch. They don’t say a word as they take in my disguise. I must pass the test, because they still don’t attempt to speak. One of them hands his lantern to one of the others and pulls out a parchment and paper. He scribbles onto it while the rest of the girls join me aboard the ship.
When the pirate has finished, he shows me the paper.
Is your captain injured?
They’re still blocking their ears as a precaution. They can’t hear a thing. Their only means of communication is through the written word.
Just as I’d hoped.
I reach forward as if to grab the parchment. Instead I cut off the man’s airway with a punch to the throat, then I reach for my cutlass to finish the job. Sorinda steps up beside me and rakes her rapier across another man’s neck. Mandsy takes out the third.
They drop, dead at our feet, without making a sound, not that anyone could hear if they did.
“Sorinda,” I say. “Find anyone else on watch above deck and dispose of them. Mandsy, lead the crew below and quietly take out the rest of the men on the ship. If you do not wake them, it should be as easy as butchering sheep. And keep your eyes open for the siren queen.”
Enwen shudders from a few feet away. My men do not have their ears covered. I still trust my mother’s promise.
“What about you?” Mandsy asks.
“I’m to face the pirate king.”
“Not alone.” Riden strides through the darkness and plants himself firmly next to me.
“I think this might be something I need to do alone.”
“You need not do anything alone again if you don’t want to.”
It almost hurts to look into those golden-brown eyes. I know what he means by those words. He’ll be by my side always, as long as I want him there.
It’s so very tempting, but—“No. I need you below. We are vastly outnumbered. All hands need to take out those most loyal to the pirate king if we’re to survive this. And stealth will be needed if I’m to sneak up on the king while he sleeps. One person in the room is best.”
He nods, almost imperceptibly, but it is a nod, nonetheless. I kiss him for it, hating that I have to pull away so soon.
But what if it’s the last time?
I pull him to me again. I don’t care if it wastes time.
His arms come around me, crushing me, as if he means to permanently weld us together. His lips are frantic against mine, and they taste like salt. I wonder if he shed a few tears for Roslyn’s injury when I wasn’t looking.
Knowing that somehow makes me love him even more.
I pull back, even though it hurts, and turn to what’s left of my crew. “I expect to see you all again soon.”
“Whether in this life or the next,” Sorinda says.
Chapter 22
THE DRAGON’S SKULL IS over three times the size of the Ava-lee. While my ship was designed for stealth, my father’s was made for the complete opposite. Kalligan wants his victims to see him coming. He wants to invoke fear, to start attacking sailors’ minds long before he reaches them.
His flag bears a dragon skull with its jaws open wide, readying to breathe fire on its enemies. Men on the sea have learned to fear that flag.
My father no doubt thinks of himself as the dragon—the biggest and most powerful creature of all. Dragons, however, are myths. My father is very real.
He is the dragon I must slay.
Everything about the ship is a message to those on board. As I take the steps up the companionway, I can’t help but stare at the skulls skewered through the pegs in the railing. Each of them is a man my father killed. Not a single peg on this ship is empty. The ropes are spotted with red, whether paint or actual blood, I couldn’t say.
When I take the final step, a strangled cry interrupts the quiet, and a body falls from above. Sorinda must have killed another one of the night watches—someone up in the rigging. It’s unlike Sorinda to allow her kills to be so loud, but everyone makes mistakes. Thank the stars no one aboard can hear.
I freeze with my hand on the door to my father’s rooms. The reality of what I’m about to do hits me again.
Patricide.
No. Not that. Kalligan is a father in blood alone. What he’s done—to me and my mother—that does not earn him such a title. He is only a name. Kalligan. A nobody.
There are different kinds of fathers, Riden once said. I ignored his words then. I didn’t want to hear them. Kalligan was all I’d ever known. I didn’t realize things could be different.
Or did I?
The image of little Roslyn’s blood-streaked hair washes over me, a flare of pain and anger spreading through my otherwise numb limbs. I’ve seen Wallov with Roslyn hundreds of times. His kindness and compassion. His support and friendship. Yet his gentle discipline and direction.
I never realized that was what I should have had.