He saw the strain in my face. He leaned forward, smelling of salt and coffee and latent magic. If I had slipped into the Other then, I would have seen it all around him—the soft, reddish hue of a Magni. But where the average Magni might exert a gentle influence over those around them, manifesting in charm or charisma, Benedict’s was sullied. Broken. Twisted.
Benedict’s magic turned the mind itself, transforming lies to truth and poisoning himself further in the process. He was trying to turn my own thoughts, right now.
And it was all my fault. His degradation, his condition. I had seen it before it came to pass, but unlike Fisher’s death, I had not had the courage to thwart Benedict’s unraveling. Or my own.
“You are ill, Benedict,” I said softly. “You will only make it worse. Do not let… do not let what she did to us destroy you.”
“Mother did not make us,” Benedict bit out, breaking my gaze and glaring off over the sea. “You and I are Black Tide Sons. They took advantage of her.”
I started to correct him, but bit my tongue.
My brother scoured my face for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.
“How is your head, big brother?” he asked with more snideness than concern. “How are the visions?”
My throat clogged. I started walking, continuing our turn of the deck.
He caught up in two strides. “Well?”
“I manage,” I returned.
“What do you see now?” Benedict ducked past me as we descended the forecastle stairs. He glanced back as he began to saunter across the waist of the ship, throwing out his arms. “Tell me my future.”
Benedict’s words were laced with magic. They snatched at me, threatening to plunge me into the already pressing Other.
I dug my fingernails into my palms. Fresh pain made my eyes spark but it kept me rooted.
“I do not look into your future.” I stopped walking. “You know that.”
Not since that day.
He fell back in at my side as I started up the stairs to the quarterdeck. “Fine. Then tell me—and I ask this with genuine, familial concern—how are you?”
Familial concern meant something quite different to him than it did me, but I took what I could get. “Well. I am Slader’s second. We have been commissioned to hunt down Silvanus Lirr.”
“Second!” Benedict clapped me on the back, startling me. “Good for you.”
I shot him a sideways glare.
“As to Lirr, there is a challenge. Slippery bastard.” He glanced over at Defiance. “I am jealous, I admit. Captain Ellas will be too… This cruising about, shaking our shields at the Mereish has got her terribly restless. Who would have expected we would meet like this, you the pirate hunter, practically a brigand yourself, and I the respected Navyman?”
“Yes, who would have thought?” I repeated bitterly.
“Let us trade places.” Benedict grinned at me, bringing us to a stop at the stern of the ship. “Like when we were boys.”
My patience broke. Of all the things for him to suggest.
“Like when you got a child on my captain’s wife?” I hissed. “Pretending to be me?”
He ignored me, smiling up into the cold wind. I recognized the glint in his eyes, and I did not like it at all. It was the one he got before he slipped down into a place where the Navy’s rules and regulations could not protect him.
“I will paint the decks red with pirate blood,” Benedict said, tasting each word, “and you can go back to the Navy. You would love that, I know. And I could… Ah, all I could do if—”
I turned and punched him in the stomach. Nearby sailors shouted, but no one intervened.
Benedict doubled over, wheezing and gasping. He sat down hard on his backside and squinted up at me, his arms clasped over his stomach. But the glint in his eyes was gone.
“Did I deserve that?” he croaked.
I rolled my aching shoulder. “You did.”
“All right.” He took a second to catch his breath, then climbed to his feet, one hand still pressed over his stomach. At the same time, I heard the quarterdeck door open.
Our captains reappeared. Benedict recovered himself with practiced stiffness and we descended the stairs as our captains said their goodbyes and Ellas returned to the rail, where she would descend to their waiting longboat. Benedict surreptitiously adjusted his hat, looking a little ill but otherwise giving no sign of what I had done.
Behind us, the sailors resumed their work, wide-eyed and muttering.
“Good day, then, Captain Slader,” Ellas said and beckoned to Benedict. “Mr. Rosser?”
Benedict looked at me. He remained pale but smiled a flawless, melancholy smile for the sake of watching eyes and pulled me into a fraternal embrace. I endured the gesture stiffly, my shoulder aching, and my instincts both yearning to hug him back and punch him again.
Then he was gone. The longboat rowed back to Defiance, and Slader beckoned me.
“Your brother seemed well,” he commented.
“He is,” I replied tonelessly. “May I ask what Captain Ellas wanted?”
“A private matter,” Slader said, though there was no rebuke in his voice. “But we’ve a good ally in Defiance—in Ellas and your brother. The Winter Sea is unforgiving, and our quarry dangerous. Perhaps there will come a day when we need such allies, Mr. Rosser.”
MERE—The title Mere encompasses both the chief island of the Mereish peoples, south of Aeadine and east of the Cape, as well as the various other islands within their control: the Mereish North Isles and the Mereish South Isles, though rule of the latter has degraded in recent centuries and now resides primarily in the hands of pirates. The Mereish are well known for dabbling in strange magics, the secrets and traditions of which they guard with religious fervor. They possess one of the greatest naval forces upon the Winter Sea and are close allies with the Cape, leading these more peaceful neighbors into frequent war with Aeadine. See also MEREISH, MEREISH NORTHERN ISLES, MEREISH SOUTHERN ISLES, MEREISH-CAPESH ALLIANCE.
—FROM THE WORDBOOK ALPHABETICA: A NEW
WORDBOOK OF THE AEADINES
TWENTY-ONE
Pirates in Name
MARY
Two days after I calmed the storm and spoke with Harpy, I sat by the window in Demery’s cabin, quietly humming as I hemmed Rosser’s cloak for my smaller frame. I felt laughably domestic, plying stitches into fine wool on a pirate ship, but the sun was warm, the glass cool, and the roll of the ship more familiar with each day. Even Grant was absent, freed from his duties so long as I remained in the cabin.
I slipped another stitch into place and examined my work in the sunlight. I still felt a hint of guilt when I looked at the stolen garment, but pragmatism was there to console me. The cloak was mine now, and I might as well make use of it.
I’d gained skill in singing since the storm. Until that night I’d considered using my power a matter of will, of straining against the current weather and compelling it to obey. Now, I understood it was more nuanced than that—a matter of honesty, emotion and need. My song, in the end, was simply how the weather understood me.
As if in mockery of my reflections, an unruly gust whistled through the window. I hastily shifted my chair away from the draft, blinking and frowning. This, here, was my greatest challenge. As soon as my mind wandered or my emotions strayed, the wind resumed its natural course.