But then, like some sort of divine miracle, my ribbons start to glow.
It’s dim, like the softest beam of light below a pond of water, but it’s there. It’s the same glow of silken warmth that woke me up in the carriage after the attack.
A gasp escapes me as the four silky strands seem to come alive with a second wave of strength I didn’t know they were capable of. The lengths whip out, releasing the sheet and grabbing straight onto the captain’s torso, wrapping around with a metallic clink.
They pull with such force that I cry out in pain, my spine feeling like it’s about to snap.
But with their massive strength, Captain Fane begins to tip. And that slight movement is all we need to make him topple.
Rissa lets out a surprised yelp and falls forward as the statue goes tipping toward the open window. With a crash, his shins hit the lip of the window frame, but gravity has him in her clutches now and she’s not letting go.
My ribbons unravel in a flash, and the captain falls, like a massive tree cut at its trunk. He spins in his descent, and I lean over, watching as he plummets to the ground, the sheets around his neck flapping as he goes.
He hits the ground hard, sending up a spray of snow, like a body diving into water.
Rissa and I both blink down, staring silently, as we realize that we actually succeeded.
I cast a quick glance around, but luckily, the other pirate ships aren’t behind us, and the dawn is still meek enough that the landscape is barely lit.
Our breaths are jagged as we continue to look out the window, staring at where he’s landed cock-up in the snow.
Rissa’s lips curl up in satisfaction. “A fitting end, I think.”
I give a tired snort.
Even though all my body wants to do is collapse on the floor, I force myself to go over to the desk and grab the handle of the coin trunk. It’s heavier than I can lift, and my aching body barks in protest, but Rissa hurries over to help me, and we both chuck that out the window too.
We watch as it lands a few feet away from the captain, snowfall already spreading over them like confetti.
“Explain to me why we just tossed out all that gold?”
“Motive,” I say distractedly, my voice weary.
Snow is piling up on the floor, so I do my best to sweep most of it out before I yank the windows closed again. My only hope is that they’ll believe my story, that the ships will move before anyone sees.
I give one last look at the gleaming captain below. He’s cursed to forever have shock in his eyes and pants around his ankles. He’s also richer than he ever dreamed, but too dead to appreciate it. For a man solely motivated by coin and pleasure, that thought makes me immensely satisfied.
I turn away from the window with an exhausted sigh, barely able to hold my back straight. My ribbons hang limp and feeble behind me, no glow left in their golden lengths.
But we did it. It actually worked.
“Alright?” Rissa asks me.
I shrug in return. That was only half the battle, and we barely managed it.
All I can do now is hope that the snow keeps falling, that my lie is believed, that the ships move on, and that the gleaming truth stays hidden beneath a mound of smothering snow.
But even if we manage all of that, our lives are still in danger.
I might have ended the captain of the Red Raids, but we’re going from being the captives of greedy pirates to being the captives of bloodthirsty soldiers.
I don’t know which is worse.
But I’m about to find out.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A knock sounds on the captain’s door, making me nearly jump out of my shoes.
“Cap’n, they’re coming back!” one of the pirate’s voice hollers through the door.
Rissa’s eyes go wide in worry as she mouths, What do we do?
Spurred into action, I point to the bed, and Rissa and I waste no time rushing over to it. “Lie down,” I whisper to her.
She quickly complies, and I toss the captain’s discarded belt to her. “Secure your wrist to the bedpost.”
She gives me a look. “Really?”
“Just trust me. And mess up your dress.”
She gives a huff, but with her free hand, she does as I say, making her bodice sag, her skirt hiked up and disheveled.
I put myself on the floor next to the bed and as gently as I can, coax one of my ribbons to wrap around my wrist before attaching it to the post. Every curl they make aches like a strained muscle or bruised bone, but I know this needs to look somewhat believable.
With my free hand, I undo the buttons of the captain’s feathered overcoat, not exposing myself fully, but leaving a gap so they can see the torn bodice beneath. I hike up my thick skirts to rest against my upper thigh too, hoping that enough skin will distract them from questioning anything too much.