Pain turned his vision white.
Kay gasped, and rolled, spinning up onto his feet, one hand clutching his blade and the other pressed to his bloody shoulder. But before he could dodge again, put any space between him and the wall of a man, he was thrown back into the mast, not by wind, but flesh, the Veskan’s hand closing around his throat like steel, like stone. He hacked at the man’s wrist, but the blade glanced off an armored cuff until a gust of air whipped the weapon from his grip. There was another blade, in his boot, but before he could reach it, the Veskan hauled him up until he was no longer standing on the deck, his boots skimming uselessly as the hand crushed his windpipe, the other still clenching the massive sword.
The man drew back, ready to bury the blade in his chest, and Kay did the only thing his mind could conjure to save him from certain death.
He reached out and wrapped his bloody hand around the Veskan’s forearm, and said, in a gasping breath, “As Staro.”
The man’s eyes went wide. The magic rolled over his skin, and through his bones, turning every inch of him from flesh and blood to stone. His fingers loosened at the last instant, and Kay dropped to the deck, gasping, but free.
For an instant, power rippled through him, as welcome as a warm hearth in winter.
And then, all he felt was pain.
IX
Lila Bard had taken to playing a game.
Every time she fought, she gave herself a challenge.
Tonight, she’d think, I will only use fire.
Tonight, I will only use ice.
Tonight, I will let them strike first.
Tonight, I will fight as if I have no magic, as if I am back in London, my London, and I have nothing to lose but my life.
The man with the hatchet was dead, but she was having a fine time with the ice-wielding woman, watching her conjure shards, a shield, letting her leave a sheen of frost on Lila’s skin, letting her freeze the deck, letting her think she had a chance. It felt good, to fight. Like stretching stiff limbs.
Until Kay screamed.
Kay, who would always be Kell in her mind, no matter which coat he was wearing, or how he slicked his hair, or how he’d learned to fight. Kell was the one screaming now, and the sound tore through her like a dull blade, the kind that took its time to kill you, and left a ragged tear in its wake. Lila knew what that sound meant. She wasted no more time, but spun behind the Veskan and slit her throat. The woman fell, and the frost began to melt from Lila’s coat as she strode across the deck, past Tav—who was dispatching one of the men who’d had the misfortune of coming-to in the midst of the fight—to Kell.
The largest of the Veskans stood in the moonlight, his massive sword drawn back, but both he and the blade were now made of solid stone.
Beyond the statue, Kell was on his knees, head bowed. His hood had fallen back, his chest heaving as he dragged in ragged breaths, sweat sliding down his face beneath the mask.
Lila leaned against the statue of the man. “Well,” she said, tapping a bloody knife against the stone. “So much for leaving them alive.”
Kell’s breathing steadied. Slowly, jaw clenched, he rose to his feet. Behind his mask, she knew, his eyes would be glassy with pain. But all she could see was black. He looked around, as if wondering what to do about the mess, but Lila had an idea. She brought her hands to the stone figure, and pushed. It was massive, but the wind leaned with her, and the stone leaned, too, and the statue fell, crashing straight through the wooden deck, and the hold below, cracking open the ship’s hull like cannon shot.
The other boats had all lost interest as soon as they realized the fight wouldn’t spill onto their ships, so there was no one on the docks but Stross to see the three shadows disembark, or free the ropes that bound the Crow to its berth. They watched as the boat drifted backward, the one sail Tav hadn’t cut catching a sudden, carefully directed breeze.
It had already begun to take on water.
Wouldn’t be long until it sank.
“Well,” said Tav cheerfully. “I for one am far too sober.”
Stross cleared his throat. “I could use a drink. Captain?”
Lila shrugged. They would be gone by daybreak, and Verose sat waiting like an untouched mark. She wanted to search its pockets, skim her fingers down its coat, see if it had anything worth taking. And she could do with a drink. “Why not?”
Kell’s voice, when he spoke, was little more than a murmur. “I fear I’m not good company right now.”
Lila cocked a brow. “Who said you were invited?”
He made a sound that died short of a laugh. He was clearly still in pain, and trying to hide it, but he couldn’t. Not from her. To Lila, Kell had always been a pane of glass tilted toward her just so, so that where others saw only colors and streaks, she saw the truth of it. Of him.