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“Good.”

Now where did Roslyn go off to? I need someone who isn’t confusing as hell to be around.

I RISEINTHEwee hours of dawn, having gone to bed supremely early. I gather snow into a pot and set it by one of the fires. Once it’s melted, I wash myself as best I can with a rag and don fresh clothes. I stay close to the flames, watching them flicker. I may not feel the heat or cold, but I have no interest in letting my wet hair freeze to my skin again. I keep my damp locks positioned near the fire while I wait for everyone else to wake.

I need to have a plan ready for them. My return, as well as the presence of the missing crew we were sent to find, has bolstered their spirits. But my victories feel … cheapened.

For it wasn’t me who found Alosa’s crew. Threydan did with his undead. He only handed them over to me because he wants something from me. It was a show of good faith. Something that he can retract at any moment with his hordes of undead. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in the process of growing his numbers by causing fights with the Drifta. What else has he to occupy himself with in that lonely stone house? Thoughts of revenge do not keep a body idle. They demand movement. Preparation. I well know this.

We need to leave before we’re even more outnumbered. Otherwise, we won’t last until Alosa arrives. Not without me agreeing to Threydan’s terms. And if Alosa arrives, some of her pirates will surely die and join the undead before we manage to put Threydan back to sleep. Her voice alone will not be enough. She is but half siren. We need a full siren to keep him asleep for a significant amount of time. She will have to call on aid from her mother, and who knows how long that will take?

I cannot allow us to wait. It is not enough to constantly move camp and do nothing. Besides, we cannot stay hidden long. Not with hundreds of undead able to scour the wilderness without need of food or rest. Threydan will catch me.

Yet what other choice do we have? We have no ship. A large crew. Angry Drifta. Untiring undead. And one immortal man with powers over life and death.

I feel so small. So … insufficient.

And then I remember—

At the barest sound of movement behind me, I turn, expecting the worst.

And it is the worst. Kearan stomps into camp. He makes it clear to the fire I’m occupying before he notices me. Normally, I swear he senses me, but he is clearly distracted right now.

“Were you out all night?” I ask him.

“Aye.”

“Where’s Enwen?”

“He turned in with everyone else. I wanted time alone.”

I flip my braids to the right, letting the underside catch the heat of the fire better. “Now you will be unfit for today’s activities.”

“And what would those be?”

I lower my voice so any listening undead cannot hear.

“Stealing a ship.”

“The Drifta’s galleon? The one that sank us? You mean to take it?”

“Aye. We’ve now enough crew to man it. If necessary, I will of course stay behind so everyone can escape. But if it’s possible for us all to get away together, I would prefer that.”

“We won’t leave without our captain.”

“You will if I command it.”

“Aye,” he says, his voice growing husky. “I will, and when I get everyone to safety, I’ll come right back for you. Even if I have to do it in a rowboat all by myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I am utterly serious.”

“You’re fatigued, Kearan. You best get some sleep while you can.”

“I have never been more awake.”

“Well—good, then. We will need all hands for the task ahead.”