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I’m glad for the banter. It lessens my nerves and helps me see my task more clearly. I’m doing this for all of them. If we pull this off, we’ll have completed the task set out for us—despite all the complications that have come up along the way.

“It will be hard to move about the ship when I’m sopping wet,” I say, thinking of this for the first time.

“You could always undress and carry your clothes above you in the water.”

“That won’t exactly help in the area of stealth now, will it? Besides, it would slow me down.”

“Aye, but I’d have a nice image to reminisce on as I returned to the crew.”

My mouth drops open, and Kearan flashes his teeth in a smile.

“We’re fighting for our survival, and you want to be flirty now?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t had the chance to before now, and we might die.”

Truer words were never spoken. “Don’t expect me to reciprocate. I don’t know how to flirt.”

“Yes, you do. You just don’t do it with words.” He eyes my side, where he knows I have at least a couple of knives tucked away.

“You’re a strange man.”

“Aye.”

There’s no more delaying what I have to do next. No matter how much I may want to stand right here and take the time to actually enjoy being around him. Now that I know I am allowed to. Because he doesn’t hate me for what I did.

“Watch for my signal,” I say.

“We will. Give ’em hell.”

“You can count on it.”

And without another word, I dive into the water.

It is so strange to feel the water but not the temperature. It is unnatural to breathe when I know I should not be able to. I feel a momentary panic at being underwater like this again. A feeling of being trapped and surrounded by the unknown.

There could still be dangers about, but it’s easier to fight when I know I’m not just doing it for me. I’ve got thirty-eight people on this island counting on me for their survival. It is a humbling feeling. It focuses me, keeps my eyes straight ahead, straining to make out anything dangerous in the water. I don’t stray too far from shore. Where the water is more shallow, fewer creatures can be hiding. And I can’t get turned about that way.

Light cuts through the surface of the water, but it doesn’t travel far. That’s why this plan will work. The enemy won’t see me through the water.

It takes me fifteen minutes to make the swim to the ship. When I catch the darkness of the hull underwater, I slow my approach, looking for the best place to breach the surface. The closer the better.

How does Alosa do this? I try to remind myself that she has perfect vision underwater, whereas I don’t. She’s half siren; I’m not. Still, I feel entirely out of my element below the water. But on land with a knife in my hand, I am the most dangerous of predators.

I pop my head above the surface just far enough to have my eyes out of the water. The side of the ship is massive. I don’t think I’ve ever been on so large a vessel. That bone-white wood has been patched over time and time again, and I wonder if this is the original ship that Threydan’s crew sailed over on, updated and rebuilt as time went on.

There’s no rope ladder extending down the side of the ship. Any handholds I might make use of are too spread apart for me to get all the way up the side. I swim for the fore of the ship. The bowsprit extends like a knifepoint some forty or fifty feet above the water. That’s not going to be helpful.

But the figurehead extends straight down into the water, and I’m able to get a handhold, then a foothold. Whatever the figure used to be, it has long faded with time. Not sure what the paint or wood once depicted. Something humanoid, I think.

Whatever it is, I thank the stars that it’s still intact enough for me to climb.

My muscles strain as I pull my legs out of the water. My wet clothes are unbelievably heavy and noisy, water dripping into the ocean as I climb. I move slowly, listening for any movement through the gunport above me. When I don’t hear so much as a rustle of clothing, I find another handhold and pull myself up another arm’s-length. Pause. Repeat.

When I’m just below the gunport, I carefully peer over the top of the opening. There’s very little light within the enemy’s ship, and the tunnel the ship is docked in certainly isn’t helping matters. I take that as a good sign, since I would hope that no one is bumbling around belowdecks without light to guide their way.

As I try to get a leg up, my foot slips, and I nearly plummet back into the ocean. I take a deep breath before trying again, finally pulling myself into the gunport and collapsing on the floor.

I do nothing but breathe for a full minute as I try to collect myself.