Page 50 of The Ever King

Bloodsinger worked with the whole of his body to control the tension of the helm. His voice was strained but furious as he barked orders for his crew to make ready. For what, I didn’t know.

“Hold tight, earth fae!” Celine’s high voice rose over the cries of the crew.

I didn’t look behind, didn’t question, and tightened my hold onto the railing. The ship skidded through the waves, twisting until it carved through the sea at a new angle. In the next breath, a deafening crack rattled through the storm when the jagged hull of the Ever Ship slammed into the weaker rails of the enemy’s vessel.

The bony spikes rammed into the wood sides, skewering the second ship. There was no pause, no waiting, before the crewmen used the rigging and leapt from one deck to the next.

A hand curled around the back of my head. Erik, eyes dark with rage, pulled my brow to his. “Get below.Now.”

“Sewell is injured,” I snapped. “I wasn’t going to let him bleed out, you bastard.”

For the first time, Erik noticed the supplies in my hands. He offered me a pointed look, then bared his teeth briefly. “Go, and seal that damn hatch behind you.”

Without another word, the king wrapped a rope twice around his wrist, and swung over the torrential sea to meet his enemy.

There was a pinch of worry that tightened in my belly, like an annoyance, a bit of unsettled meat. No reason to fret over Erik Bloodsinger’s wellbeing. Truth be told, it’d be better if the gods took him to the Otherworld.

I spun on my heel, burying the disquiet, and raced down the steps belowdecks.

CHAPTER18

The Songbird

“Sewell.” I managed to keep steady in the doorway without floundering about. My father always called it gaining sea legs. Even on our longships, when the tides awoke, it took a fair bit of balance to keep from spilling over the rails.

I lifted the supplies like a boon from battle, a triumphant grin on my face when I found the man still breathing.

“Tricky, little fox,” he said weakly.

I knelt beside him, inspecting the wound. Shallow, as he said, but hells, there was a lot of blood. I placed a gentle hand on the hilt. “I think we’ll be safe to pull out the blade without you bleeding out, but it’s not going to be pleasant.”

“Pull it straight, little fox.” He winked in one of his bouts of clarity.

“No pressure.” I chuckled nervously and padded some of the linens around the blade, ready to catch the blood that would come. Hand around the hilt, I grinned. “I’m starting to think you know—” I yanked the blade free. Sewell howled his pain, but blew out rough breaths when I stuffed the wound with linens. “Exactly what you’re saying.”

“Think what you think, little fox,” was all he said before the door clanged against the wall.

“Don’t touch him!” Celine shrieked. Blood was twisted in her braids, matting her hair together in clumps, rain dripped down her cheeks, but she seemed more disturbed at the sight of Sewell on the ground. She crossed the space in three sure strides, and rammed her elbow into my ribs, knocking me aside. “What did you do?”

Frustration gripped me like a vise. I swiped a lock of hair from my brow and shoved her back, returning my hand to the bloody linens on Sewell’s side. “What I did was help after he fell on a knife with all that damn rocking.”

I’d planned to reprimand her more, toss a few insults at their carelessness perhaps, but clamped my words off when I caught sight of the tremble in Celine’s chin.

Mere moments ago, the woman had false, shaved teeth in her mouth, now at the sight of a little flesh wound she was . . .weeping?

“Thunder fish,” Sewell said, beaming at Celine. “Save your rain.”

Celine swallowed. “I’m not raining. Maybe a little since I’m so damn mad at your stupid ass. What were you thinking going and getting stabbed? I ought to cut you off, old man.”

“Cut him off?” A flare of protectiveness jumped to my chest.

“Yes, cut him off.” Celine studied me with a bit of irritation. “Who do you think supplies the man with his favorite sour currants?”

Sewell smacked his lips and let his eyes roll back in his head. Even Celine snickered.

I set to work, wrapping one of the long linens around Sewell’s waist while Celine helped secure the binding in a tight knot over his belly.

“He’ll need stitching,” I said.