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His ears prickled, a familiar voice weaving down from the deck above them.

“They knew the risks,” she muttered, her voice blunt and cold.

Someone else answered. “We can wait for them another moment. You remember Corranport—”

Her reply was venomous. “In Corranport they burned a granary, not half the Gallish navy. We need to go. Now.”

There was a thud as someone banged a fist on the rail of the ship. “The palace is on fire too, it will buy us time, no one’s looking at the docks while the Queen’s own castle burns. They can’t order the port closed—”

“Now,” the woman snarled.

A long sigh answered, then a rattling breath.

“Yes, Captain.”

Boots scuffed on the deck and orders were whispered, oars creaking as the crew adjusted their grips. Overhead, sailors balanced in the rigging, ready to drop sail the second the ship hit open water.

Sorasa jumped quietly from the dock, landing softly in the rope net lashed alongside the hull above the waterline. Dom followed, the pair of them holding tight to the ship, their breath low and even, their figures obscured by the darkness and the smoke settling over the city.

The docks teemed, crowded and noisy, but a shout rang out across the fray. On the deck of the ship, voices answered, one loudest of all.

“Move,” the captain bellowed, running to the rail.

Dom shrank back against the ropes, Sorasa right beside him, the two of them clinging to the ship like barnacles on the belly of a whale.

On the docks, the crowd surged, parting in two as if cut down the middle. Two men charged through, aiming for the galley. One was a massive Jydi brawler throwing people aside, his bare arms tattooed in whorlsand knots. The other was lean and small, black-skinned, far more agile, with a wide grin on his face. He laughed as they rumbled up the gangway, the plank pulling up a second behind them.

And then the ship was moving, the ropes cast off, the oars rising and falling, the fetid water of the Ascal canals breaking against the hull.

Their ship was not the only one to sense the danger. Quick-minded captains forced their own boats out into the canal, rope lines tangling in their wake. All down the port, the sailors of Wayfarer did their best to flee before more disaster befell the docks.

Dom did not dare to hope, his jaw so tight he thought his teeth might shatter. Sorasa’s own heart pounded in his head, her fear all but poisoning the air. Neither seemed to breathe, their arms clawed into the ropes, the spray of the water hissing over them with every pull of the oars.

The air grew hotter as they sailed for freedom, the blaze that was Fleethaven lighting up the black sky. Dom heard the shouts of sailors in the water and guards on the dock, orders barked while cries for help filled the air. In spite of himself, he felt pity for the men of Galland, enemies though they were. It wasn’t their fault they served a queen and her demon.

Then the Lion’s Teeth loomed, both towers filled with soldiers. Dom could see their silhouettes in the windows and on the ramparts, all of them in disarray. The black chain hung from either side of the canal, disappearing into the water, the thick links menacing as a coiled snake.

Dom strained his ears, waiting for the chain to move, waiting for their doom. He could almost feel it, the shackles around his wrists again, the collar around his neck. The darkness of the prison cells, inescapable and endless.

A rush of air hissed from his mouth as the towers passed over the ship, menacing and monstrous.

And then—the towers fell behind them, already fading behind the wall of smoke.

On the deck, the crew of theTempestbornwhooped a cheer, their pace increasing as the purple sails unfurled to catch the wind rolling them into the Long Sea.

Captain Meliz an-Amarat cheered loudest of all, her figure silhouetted against the flames.

Her cry sent a chill down Dom’s spine.

She sounds like Corayne, he thought, shivering.

Then the splash of a wave hit the ship hard, the water colder than the river canals. It felt like a slap, washing over Dom and Sorasa. He put out a hand instinctively, pressing her against the ropes. Her scowl burned through the fading light, wet hair plastered to her face. But Sorasa said nothing, letting Dom hold her steady.

Dom gave a shake of his head, his stomach already rolling with the current as it caught the galley. He clenched his teeth against the familiar nausea. Already he dreaded whatever voyage lay ahead.

When the waves abated enough, Sorasa climbed, using the lattice of ropes to haul herself up the side and onto the deck. Dom followed with ease, half-soaked. Both landed with a splatter, looking like drowned creatures of the deep.

They were met with a veteran pirate crew, a dozen blades drawn and waiting. Their faces glowed in the light of a few lanterns, the weak flames washing them all orange. Beneath the aggression and bravado, Dom read the fear in their faces.