Soon, we start to fly.
Gliding across the barren ice land, the ships race onward as they catch the sweet spot of speed. Using the strength of the running beasts pulling like wolves on a sleigh, the ships use it to their advantage, whips cracking, until we’re going so fast that all the ships need is the slick ground to carry their velocity.
All three snow pirate ships careen across the expanse of white as sleet continues to fall, whipping at our faces in the wind. The smooth wooden bottoms slide like an unstoppable force, snow spraying up against the sides like cresting waves.
Even with the wind tearing through my hair and the rain soaking my dress, I stay standing, stay gripping the railing, stay staring at Sail’s body ahead.
And that anger, that first spark of it that lit when my ribbons uncurled to shove Mist, it comes coiling up again.
The shocked sadness of Sail’s death was cold. But this, this is hot and red—as red as the band across Captain Fane’s face.
My eyes settle on him, on where he stands at the bow as he shouts orders and directions below. The black feather in his hat is bent back with the open rush of the air, and there’s a glint at his waist, at the knife tucked there.
It’s that knife that I focus on, that I stare at as I let go of the railing at last, my fingers cramping, still missing one glove from where the captain tore it off to touch me.
I don’t care that it’s full night, carrying weighted shadows that suppress my soul. I don’t care that the clouds unleashed a torrent. I don’t care that I’m one woman against a ship load of men. I don’t care that I’m vulnerable, that I’m walking toward the captain alone.
Because Sail was my friend.
And this is not okay.
My ribbons trail behind me as my steps grow surer, my spine straighter. A mantra plays in my mind as I remember Sail’s last comforting gaze.
This is not okay, this is not okay.
No one stops me as I walk forward, no one even looks my way. I’m so inconsequential to them—all of the saddles left on the deck are. A fact made obvious since we’ve been left unguarded. Left to huddle and cower on the deck.
But I won’t do that. Not with Sail strung up like that. I suppose a person has limits, and this is mine.
It’s easy, so easy to make it across the ship. To pass by without anyone bothering to even look my way. It’s the arrogance of men, to think so little of women. And it’ll be their downfall too.
Past hooks of weapons, past coils of rope, past pirates hauling loot, I veer around it all. Until I make it all the way to the bow. Right behind the captain.
All twenty-four of my ribbons move like tentacles. All down my spinal cord, growing in perfect symmetry out of my skin, the inch-wide satin strips rise up on either side of my spine, from the bottom of my neck, to the dimples above my butt.
Their long lengths are like snakes ready to strike. Not at the captain, but to Sail, to the ropes that bind him to the pole.
Some of the saddles in the middle of the ship see me and cast nervous looks around, some of them inch forward to get a better look through the wind-driven rain.
I stand at the base of the wooden post, looking up, directing, moving each ribbon with determined intent. Even as they get sodden and heavy with rain, they deftly tug out knots. When that’s not enough, their edges harden, no longer soft like satin, but sharp—as sharp as the edge of a blade. Golden silk battles against corded twine, ripping and yanking, slicing into the strands like they’re nothing.
“Oy!”
I ignore the shout that snags the attention of the pirates, ignore them as they finally see me, see what I’m doing. My ribbons keep shredding, keep tugging.
When the first pirate gets to me and snags my arm, a ribbon is already there to intercept him. It lashes out, slices into his arm, cutting through his thick furs like they’re as thin as a petal.
A muffled yelp of surprise escapes him as he stumbles back and lets go of me to put a hand over his wound, but I pay him no mind. My eyes are still up, my attention ensnared on Sail’s body.
Down. I want to get him down.
My ribbons work viciously, directed with barely a thought, fueled by anger as red as a fire claw’s flames, despite the fact that they’re soaked-through and heavy.
One after another, the bindings fall away from Sail’s body, until someone grabs me from behind and spins me around.
I come face-to-face with Captain Fane, his brown eyes searing, his face uncovered. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls.
His hands grip my arms so tightly that he pinches my skin despite the layers of my sleeves covering me. I shove at him, but the slaps of my hands do nothing against him. He barely even notices it, because he’s too busy looking behind me, looking up.