Page 52 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

Britt screamed as the wind and sea swept her away. She had nothing to hold onto as she skimmed an increasingly tempestuous ocean, westbound. After ten seconds of heart pounding nausea, she made herself hold her bowl-like cocoon of swirling water that held her weight.

Pedr glared into the approaching storm as they separated, out of view within a minute. She clutched the firm but moving sides, curled her knees into her chest, and focused.

Wyverns.

Dead ahead.

Denerfen, wings tucked to his body to avoid falling in the sea, lay on her breastbone and beneath her dress. He peered out, eyes alight with joy. The smell of smoke filled her nostrils so briefly she might have imagined it.

“How are you enjoying this?” she shouted over the whipping winds.

He squeaked.

They raced toward the merchant ship of the line at a breakneck speed, highlighted by the stormy miasma. A sense of impending doom followed her every breath. The whole plan might fail. If Pedr was reluctant to send her, the consequences must be terrible, but not catastrophic.

She might die, but it would be grand.

The sea bobbed her along like a cork. Fat raindrops lashed her face as she soared higher, over the top of building waves on her own wave-like cocoon. She stared, wide eyed, as the ship approached.

“Too fast!” she exclaimed.

The empty deck, pitching in yet another wave, barreled closer with breathless ferocity. Three seconds and she’d crash, smashing her to smithereens. The sea bore her forward regardless, utterly invisible.

“Stop!”

Britt grabbed Denerfen, tucked her elbows in, knees up, head down, and braced herself.

The shell vanished.

She hit the deck.

Her teeth jarred as she tumbled side over side. After four hard thuds on her aching shoulders, her momentum arrested. She leaned into her spine on the last landing, stopping a final topple before she crushed Denefen’s wings.

He chirruped weakly.

Arms splayed, she lay on the deck. Rain thrummed into her face from overhead.

Several moments passed before her thoughts cleared.

Britt shoved upright. Rain shimmered like watery velvet on the deck.

Each tipsy roll of the vessel gave another groan.

All sails were pulled in, as if the crew had surrendered.

The ghostly outlines of high timbers loomed, clotted with ropes.

No shouts, no calls. Only the empty air of a ship at the mercy of a sea master.

With a tap on Denerfen, who popped out of her neckline with another delighted squall, Britt stole across the top. She fell three times, sliding on her backside until she almost smashed into a mast.

Denerfen cried in her ear.

“I know!” she shouted. “I’m trying to find a hatch!”

They had less than thirty minutes before their return and she couldn’t waste a moment.

Denerfen fluttered off her shoulder, hovering not far away.

In the sluicing rain, Britt somehow noticed a small square in the deck.

Too small to be a cargo hatch, it might lead to the staff quarters.

Though those were normally near the quarterdeck at the stern.

If they had locked it from the other side, then yanking that heavy wooden square open would be another matter entirely.

She muttered under her breath, “I hope you’re worth it, wyverns.”

Britt yanked on the access. To her surprise, it elevated a finger’s width. Not locked! What luck? Grunting, she attempted to lift it further, but struggled with the weight of the wet wood. If it slammed shut, someone would hear.

“Den!” she hissed. “Help! I need to reposition my fingers to the middle. This corner is too awkward. I need my legs beneath me.”

Denerfen dropped off her shoulder, wedged himself in between, and squawked once. He didn’t protest as she gently let it rest enough to allow her to shimmy to the middle of the trapdoor, press her feet into the deck, and crank it higher.

He soared inside.

Britt followed, leading with her feet before it slammed shut on her head. It lowered quickly, but she caught it with her forearm. Finding a firm step just below the bottom of the trapdoor, she slipped beneath, gently closed the door, and paused to hold her breath.

Utter darkness met them. The eerie calm set her teeth on edge. Only the rustle of Denerfen’s wings as he explored could be heard. He could see in the dark, which might be helpful. Too bad he couldn’t talk.

She ventured down the ladder, listening to the low creaks. No light, either. She couldn’t tell if she stood on an open floor or inside a hallway. Based on the width of Denerfen’s flight, and how far he glided away, it was more than a hall.

A strange smell seeped into the air. Not quite mildew or mold, but not far off. Not unusual in a wooden ship, but there was something else vaguely familiar. Smoky, almost. Earthy. Like . . .

“Den, do I smell a wyvern?”

A burst of sound from Denerfen’s direction confirmed. He wouldn’t have made any indication other than an agreement.

“Where do I go?” she whisper-shouted.

Rustles and movement replied. Another mouth noise guided her to the right. Something stringy and firm rustled beneath her bare feet. She bent down, running her fingers over it. Straw, based on the texture.

Did this merchant ship transport animals? Certainly wasn’t unheard of.

As she advanced closer to Denerfen, a sloshing sound indicated covered buckets somewhere. Every now and then a clink and a clang issued, as if tools knocked together, though that didn’t quite make sense.

Britt ventured forward, moving steadily toward Denerfen’s occasional noises. He sent them here and there, reserving his energy, but guiding her. The loamy smell intensified.

Definitely wyvern.

But . . . how?

The hiss of her dragul, followed by the undeniable sounds of approaching boots, made her heart drop into her stomach.

Denerfen had time to wheel to safety before a door blew open. Light flooded the room, falling directly on her body. Before Britt could react to the shadow, it lunged. She dodged an arm, ducked a flying swing, and scuttled out of the path of a charging sailor.

He bellowed, “Stowaway!” as Denerfen swooped into his eyes, claws bared. Blood sprayed as the sailor’s shout turned to a shriek.

“My eyes!”

Invisible in the darkness, Denerfen returned to her side.

Britt crept around the howling man, who flailed in the dark with both hands pressed to his face.

He squealed like an injured pig. Running feet pounded overhead.

A hatch in the ground flung open only fifteen steps away. Denerfen’s teeth grazed her neck.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet!”

“Oi!” Someone shouted, illuminated from below. “What’s wrong? Why are you hollering?”

A second hatch opened. “What is it? You’re making a racket.”

Britt snatched Denerfen, raced for the wall where the sailor had entered, and threw herself through the doorway. She kicked the door shut as another sailor bellowed, “Stowaway!” With a tap of her hand, a board thudded down.

Locked.

“Good call, Den,” she breathed. “Thanks.”

Wasting no time, she hurried into the dark. The ground vanished beneath her right foot. Throwing out a hand, she caught herself before tumbling head-over-heels down a deserted staircase. Her foot found solid ground.

Stairs. How . . . unexpected. More voices joined the first. Right. She only had a few minutes.

Stumbling, she hurried into the depths, feeling smooth walls, crooning praise to her dragul while he flew ahead, leading the way.

Once the floor evened out—had she descended two stories or one?

—Britt halted. A silence that shouldn’t exist met her ears.

Not in a heaving ship at the mercy of a storm-tossed sea, particularly one filled with shouting sailors.

Only smooth, glassy silence.

Britt cursed herself for not bringing a light source. Pedr must have some arcane object that illuminated, though she’d never seen one on his ship. Occasionally, he made worms glow when he lit a specific lamp, but he used them rarely.

Denerfen rustled around her head, sniffing the air.

“We have twenty more minutes,” she whispered to fill the void, “don’t you think?”

He chirruped.

Britt crept along the wall with her right hand. To her left, the wall opened like a starless sky. The same smell lay thick here. A wyvern, for sure. They might have found it. But how was it so quiet? So steady? Was it arcane?

“Wyvern?”

The question rippled, as if she'd tentatively set it down to see what would happen. From not far away, a soft hiss slid through the air. Denerfen perked up with an answering chirrup. A louder chirp replied.

The wyverns could chirp?

Heart in her throat, Britt angled toward the sound. “Wyvern?”

Rustling, leathery wings beckoned her deeper into the darkness.

She thought she heard splintering boards, muffled shouts.

Something arcane must quieten this space.

If the ship truly was a merchant ship, or part of a shipping armada, the owner might have arcane that kept noise to a minimum, so that animals remained calm in their hold.

Quicksilver flashed in the darkness, so fast she might have imagined it. Britt froze.

Denerfen chirped a test sound. A low growl replied in a rumbling bass.

The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up.

Her only hope lay in one fragile, tenuous thread: this unexpected connection between dragul and wyvern.

Something must exist between the species, because Denerfen showed no fear of the wyvern.

He hadn’t, either, on the night the wyvern swept by.

What did it mean?

Anything?

“Go,” she whispered to Denerfen.

His wings beat a steady, quiet rhythm as he soared into the dark. She paused another fifteen seconds, allowing him to explore, perhaps disarm the wyvern. Every beat of her heart exploded like cannon fire.

“Wyvern,” she whispered, “we mean you no harm. My dragul and I have come to figure out what’s going on, but now . . .”

She trailed off.