She might have been able to beat me. Curse me again. But she might not have been able to. Even if the odds were only one in five that she’d lose, you didn’t live long by frequently taking one-in-five chances that you’ll die. And Riina had lived a very, very long time.
A short time later, we all stood on the deck of the Crow’s Song, looking up at a twinkling speck of light as it vanished in the sky. The tower was gone, taking the Sorceress with it.
I have that effect on people. Stay around too long, and you’ll inevitably envy those who have never met me.
Behind us, the Dougs started to whoop and cheer. Fort rolled out something wonderful to drink, which he’d been saving for such an occasion. Ann decided their cannons needed names, much to Laggart’s lamentation. Salay put her hand to her pocket—and the letter from her father—and suffered it all for now. She even let herself enjoy the celebration.
Tress stepped up to me, holding Charlie. Who was still a rat. “Is there…nothing you can do?” she asked. “No way to break the curse?” Both of them looked to me with hope in their eyes.
“I can’t undo the curse,” I said. “Not at my current skill with the arts. No one can.”
“Oh,” Charlie said.
“But perhaps,” I said, inspecting the runes I could make out surrounding him, “I can change the parameters a little…”
EPILOGUE
Five months later, a ship arrived at the Rock that was not a rock. That ship bumped the docks as it slowed, on account of its new apprentice helmsman being inexperienced. Salay’s father looked chagrined, but Salay merely smiled and gave him a few pointers.
The ship was not the Crow’s Song. The crew had decided that a fresh start would help them in their new lives, and besides, the captain had wanted a few extra cabins. So after receiving their pardons, they’d sold the old ship and bought a new one. With a brand-new name.
The captain soon emerged onto the deck of the Two Cups sporting a long captain’s jacket and a hat with a plume. She made a few hand signs toward the helm—some of the ones Fort had been teaching the crew. Turns out, it’s handy for multiple reasons to be able to communicate with signs on a ship: you can talk to sailors on the rigging or give a direction to the helm without needing to yell over the sounds of the spores or wind. In this case, she congratulated the apprentice helmsman on his first steer into port. Bumps notwithstanding.
After that, Tress walked to the rail and took a sip from her cup. One with a butterfly, which had obviously been glued back together after being shattered into many pieces. The captain didn’t mind the breaks. Cups with chips, or dings, or even cracks had stories. She particularly liked the one this cup told.
The dockmaster and dock inspector arrived, and Salay soon presented them with quite the royal writ detailing the important nature of this vessel. Single-handedly stopping the Sorceress had earned Tress and the crew a tad more than a pardon. Plus there was the matter of their exclusive ability to trade through the Crimson and Midnight Seas, opening new opportunities with once-distant seas. Every person on that ship would, within a few years, become fantastically wealthy. （I knew them when they were all just Dougs.）
The king had of course insisted that he’d always intended for this to happen—that he’d believed in Charlie, and his chosen bride, from the beginning. If that sounds like hypocrisy to you, well, we prefer to call it politics.
While the dockmaster and inspector were rereading the writ, Charlie finally emerged on deck.
Fully human again.
The curse had said he needed to bring the person he loved most to the Sorceress’s home, to be cursed, in exchange for his freedom. My modifications allowed him instead to bring the person he loved to her home, to be versed, in exchange for his freedom. A good, sensible, non-slant rhyme.
Tress had left their cabin at his request so he could transform in private. Now he strode out, holding the poem he’d written for her, a stupid grin on his face.
She loved that one.
Also, the only thing he was wearing was a tiny pirate hat. As he stepped up beside her, she leaned in. “Love,” she whispered, “clothing. Humans wear clothing.”
He looked down. “That is going to take getting used to,” he said. “Um…excuse me.”
Yes, they stayed together. The two of them had both been changed by their journeys—but in complementary ways. Tress remained captain and expert sprouter, while Charlie turned out to be an extremely capable valet and a passable ship’s storyteller and musician, a well-versed man indeed.