Crown of Renewal(174)

“What you do not know, you cannot be made to tell,” Dorrin said.

“You’ll never make it to shore,” he said. “I just wish I knew how someone found out you were on this ship.”

“Someone in Bannerlíth,” Dorrin said. “Or … The thing stolen from my family was a magical item. Perhaps it guides him.” She was sure of that.

The other ships drew nearer. Now Dorrin could see the black and green design on the sails of both: a sea-monster, with arms, claws, a serpent body, and a fish’s tail. She went back to her cabin, put on her mail, belted on the sword, and pulled the box out from under the bunk. She at least would fight. She felt the ship slow … heard flapping as the sails came down. When she came on deck, sailors were in a row across the deck, armed with wooden staves and cutlasses, watching her, and the captain was leaning over the railing of the upper deck. She looked up; two sailors in the top basket had crossbows aimed at her.

“Here’s what it is,” he said. “You admit you—or what you’ve got in that box—or both—are what they want. Those are all Immer’s ships. I paid the fees—nothing held back, and they know that. If we make it easy, they’ll take you and won’t harm my ship or my crew. If you want to fight them, do it somewhere else, not on my ship. If you were willing to be cast off in a rowboat, you should be willing to do that.”

“And if I’m not?”

“If you think you can take down my crew, that’s near four hands altogether, including the cook behind you now with a carving knife, you’re welcome to try, and we’ll hand you over to them bound and bloody and probably dying.”

Dorrin glanced back. The cook grinned at her, not a friendly grin.

Free me. Open the box.

She let the box slide out of her arm and set it on the deck, then bent to the clasp.

“Stop!” the captain said. “Don’t open it. I’m not letting you throw it overboard or loose whatever magery is inside. Just stand there until they come, and then get off my ship.”

“Later,” she said quietly to the crown. It did not reply.

The ship rocked gently in the waves as the other ships came nearer. All were galleys, one of them rowed by men in green and black uniforms and the others by crews of what looked like brigands, but with green and black badges to match the pennants flapping from the mastheads. Two slid alongside, one on either side; the others waited at a little distance. One hailed the captain; its crews wore the uniforms.

“You have a passenger.”

“Aye, so I do. Standing there on deck.”

“We take.”

“Go ahead.” The captain nodded to his crew, and two of them tossed a bundle of netting over the side.

Men with cutlasses and crossbows swarmed aboard from both sides; one of those in green and black wore a helmet with a green plume. Blessing’s crew retreated to the bow, offering no resistance.

“You didn’t say at Ka-Immer,” the man with the helmet said to the captain.

The captain shrugged. “Nobody asked.”

The man looked at Dorrin. “Put sword down.”

“No,” Dorrin said.

“Or we kill.” He half drew his own sword.

Dorrin shrugged. “If you kill me, you will not be able to move the box.”

He laughed and said something she did not understand. Two of the men in black and green came toward her and took hold of the box. They tugged; it did not move. Tugged harder … still no movement. They looked at her, then at their commander.

“You cannot move it without me,” Dorrin said. She murmured nonsense, hoping they would take it for a command, and touched the box with her boot. It rose in the air and settled into her arm. Their eyes widened.

“You bring, then,” their commander said.

From the foredeck of the galley, Dorrin looked up at Blessing. Sails lifted; the ship moved through the water, away from the galley. The other galleys were already rowing back toward Whiteskull.

“You come,” said the man with the helmet. Half the oarsmen were back at their benches, working their oars to turn the galley around; the rest, weapons still in hand, formed a guard around Dorrin as she moved aft between the rowers. She had no idea what would happen, though she suspected it would end with her death when they reached shore.

When the black-haired man hobbled out of the aft cabin and faced her, she did not recognize him until the man with the helmet addressed him as “my lord Duke.” The Alured she remembered—young, handsome, arrogant, and oddly appealing—had aged and now looked desperately ill, his face lined with pain, fever patching his cheeks an unnatural red, his lips pale as if he had lost blood. One leg was bandaged, the bandages stained as if the wound drained. Yet the determination he had always shown was still there. And a glint of blue showed at his throat, where his hand clutched at his shirt. He stared at her then spoke to his commander.