As the ship begins to move, the crew takes position at the edges of the railing, peering into the water.
There’s a silence, as though everyone is holding their breaths, waiting to see if we’ve made it. I manage to walk myself to the side of the ship and look into the water below.
Nothing but a smooth surface.
And then I hear screaming belowdecks.
Chapter 23
I LEAP FOR THE stairs leading belowdecks before I remember I’m injured. Maybe I pass off my scream of pain as a battle cry. Luckily, Kearan beats me to the stairs, so he doesn’t see the way I lean against one of the walls when I make it to the bottom. The way I have to pause to catch my breath. To process what has happened.
I killed all those Drifta belowdecks after first boarding the ship.
Threydan has risen them again.
He must be close.
The undead are swiping at mothers holding children, charging at the elderly, pinning men in place. Each has Threydan’s bright blue gaze. I lock eyes with one, holding that glowing stare, and I swear I see those eyes move down to the belt keeping my insides together.
I take out that undead first.
He doesn’t even move as I get within range with my rapier, slicing him to ribbons. He stares at my face, then down to the belt again. I realize then that blood is seeping out from under my makeshift tourniquet.
I’m going to lose energy fast, so I have to be quick.
I slice through muscle and tendon, rendering the undead useless. There’s only a handful of them in this room, and I can’t imagine what Threydan plans to do with so few. Perhaps slow us down, even if it’s just a little.
Kearan is right beside me, fighting off his own undead. Many of my girls have followed us, and they join the fight without question, making me proud.
And then the floor moves, and I’m jerked off my feet.
I realize a moment later that the floor didn’t move. Rather it stopped moving. The undead lowered the anchor.
Oh no.
The fall jostles my belt, and I can’t move for a moment, so I just yell weakly, “Capstan!”
A combined group of Drifta, my girls, and the crew of the Wanderer all rush for the stern of the ship, where the mechanism that controls the anchor is housed.
“Are you okay?” It’s Kearan’s voice, but I don’t seem to have the energy to move my head in his direction.
“I’m fine,” I say from the floor. My torso throbs unbearably, and I try to calm my breathing.
And then a shadow is thrown over my form as Kearan kneels before me.
“What is that?” he asks, his voice almost too low for me to hear. He points toward where the blood is escaping from my body.
“Stab wound,” I answer.
His large hands hover over the belt, but he dares not touch me. “How bad is it?”
“Goes in one side and comes out the other.”
“And you’re still fighting?”
“I’m not dead yet.”
“Of all the stubborn—” He adjusts the belt, cinching it tight over the wound once more and ignoring my scream of pain. Kearan hauls me into his arms, and I gasp as the wound is jostled again. “Iskirra! Captain down! Iskirra!”
His voice has turned desperate, haunted. I don’t like the sound of it.
“I’m okay. We just need to get the anchor up and then we can flee. We can still make it. Put all our efforts into getting the ship running again.”
“Save your breath,” he says to me as he takes the stairs at a near run.
“Just help me stand. I can keep going.”
He glares at me. Glares. Like I’ve said something incredibly stupid. “You’ve given enough. Now let your crew take care of you.”
“I’m the captain, and I order you to put me down.”
“You’re injured, Captain. That means I take orders from Dimella now. Iskirra!”
“Enemy behind us!” comes a shout from a little voice high up in the crow’s nest. Roslyn has clearly taken the liberty of keeping a lookout for us.
Kearan turns toward the stern with me in his arms. There’s a churning in the water now, as though the undead are gathering together, and they’re moving closer.
“Get the ship moving again!” I try to shout, but the words don’t come out as strongly as I intend. “He’s coming.”
Kearan swears.
More than half the crew has gone below to help fight against the dead, yet—“Why is it taking so long?” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
Dimella must hear Roslyn’s call, because she races up top to get a look at the oncoming enemy for herself. She sees Kearan holding me.
“Captain down,” he says to her. “You’re in charge now, and we need a healer immediately.”
“I can still captain this ship,” I argue.
“You can’t even stand,” he bites back.
“Because you won’t put me down!” I want to stick him with a knife, but I haven’t the energy to reach for one right now.
“I’ll get Iskirra,” Dimella says, returning to the hatch.
“Find out what the holdup is!” I shout after her.
Kearan looks about the ship desperately, as though the next course of action will come to him if he can just find it. All around us are the terrified faces of the Drifta civilians. Members of my crew are dispersed between them, watching the water, waiting for the fight approaching. Captain Warran remains at the helm, ready for the moment we get the anchor up again.
“You could put me down and help everyone below,” I suggest.
“That’s not going to happen. There’s too many people down there as it is.”
He finds the nearest crate and perches atop it, keeping me close. Now that he’s not holding so much of my weight, he uses one hand to cup the side of my face.
“Don’t be scared. You’re going to be okay,” he says.
“Dying isn’t so scary. It’s living that’s hard.”
“But you’re going to do it. You’re too tough to die.”
I look up into his face, and only then do I see the fear in his eyes. I’m not the one who is most scared right now.
I place a hand against the one he has pressed to my face. “Don’t be afraid.”
“But I am. I haven’t had enough time with you. You can’t go yet.”
“Will you promise me something?” I don’t think the end is too far off for me. My wound doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
“Anything.”
“When—if I die, don’t turn back to the bottle. You can’t—”
He moves his thumb to cover my lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t want to forget a single moment that I shared with you. Not your smiles or your viciousness or that deadly aim you possess with those knives. But that doesn’t matter because you’re not going anywhere.”
“Just remember,” I say. “You’re too good to throw your life away by not really living it. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it. I’m sorry I pushed you away again and again. I’m sorry we didn’t have any time to really be together.”
“We were together in the ways that mattered,” he counters.
“Fighting?”
“Fighting. Talking. Working together. That’s all I ever wanted. Just to be near you.”