Page 8 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

Alys had caused. Fontaine and his crew might make it to freedom.

A huge form glided beneath the water. The leviathan reared up from under the waves, and wrapped its long sinuous body around

the Diabolique . The buccaneer sloop resembled a collection of fragile twigs as the huge beast surrounded the hull with broad scaly coils.

Screams echoed from the Diabolique . Pirates leapt from the top deck, only to be gulped up by the leviathan’s cavernous mouth.

There was a long loud groan, followed by the cracking of thick timbers. The sloop snapped into thousands of pieces. Its masts and decks sank beneath the water. The terrified shrieks of men attempting to swim to safety disappeared as they were swallowed whole.

Wooden splinters bobbing on the waves were all that remained of Fontaine’s vessel.

Three minutes. An entire ship and its crew, destroyed in less time than it took to drink a tankard of ale.

The leviathan swam toward the Jupiter .

Closing her eyes, Alys urged the water to push her along. Almost no magic rose up within her, wrung dry from all the energy

she’d used. Yet she gathered enough power from even the tiniest filaments of her body to give her a small amount of help as

she rowed.

She neared the Sea Witch . It had undergone changes in the year since they’d stolen her from the dock in Norham, with more guns, more crew, a new name,

and it was home now.

The company gathered at the gunwale. A rope was thrown over rail, and with her limbs trembling from physical exertion and

magic use, she climbed it, leaving the longboat bobbing on the waves. Many hands reached down to assist her up.

She climbed onto the deck of the Sea Witch to see many familiar faces, and others who had become part of their pirate company over the course of the year. Whatever

roles they were forced to play on land, on this ship, they could be whomever they wanted, and they dressed accordingly. Some

wore loose trousers and shirts, others favored a mixture of bodices and breeches, a handful wore skirts, and all of them were

armed with weapons of every variety. Cutlasses, clubs, knives, pistols, and potions. A few had cut their hair short, and others

wore their locks long and loose.

Her crew was comprised of many colors and sizes and ages and countries of origin, and they each had voted her into the role

of captain.

“The Diabolique ,” Alys gasped.

“We saw it,” Stasia, her second-in-command, said grimly. Black-haired, sharp dark eyes lined with kohl, she was dressed in

an embroidered bodice and the loose vraka pantaloons of her Aegean homeland. “Looked like a roaring party ashore.”

“That was before the British Navy showed up.” Alys curled and uncurled her hands, which had cramped on the oars. Though her body was weakened

from using so much magic, she was still standing. “Little George gave many gifts at his wake, including a clue to—”

“Who the hell is that ?” Susannah pointed toward the gunwale behind Alys.

Spinning, Alys gaped as a pair of man’s hands gripped the railing. She darted to pry them loose from the gunwale, but she

was too late.

Sodden, gasping, the naval sailing master hauled himself over the railing to stare at her with triumph in his eyes.

“Got you,” he panted.

No sooner had the words left Ben’s mouth than he found himself at the point of a dozen cutlasses, with nearly as many pistols

aimed at his head and heart. Glowing, jewel-hued spells appeared above the fingers of many of the crew and the air held the

mineral scent of magic.

Oh, hell.

As if awaiting inspection, he straightened his dripping coat.

“Hold.” Narrowing her eyes, Alys Tanner slowly approached him. Her cheeks were pale, her features drawn, making her freckles

stand out like drops of blood. “Don’t kill him. Yet.”

“Appreciate your forbearance.” He fought to calm his ragged breathing.

“I said yet .” She stopped and tilted her head. “Only a dolphin could swim to my ship so quickly. Unless you have magic of your own.”

“I clung to the side of the longboat—you rowed us both here.”

A tiny smile tipped the corner of her lips. “Whoever you are, navy man, you’re fucking persistent.”

Such foul language shouldn’t have been shocking. He’d been at sea for most of his life and had encountered every sort of person

of all genders in his naval service, especially those who didn’t adhere to society’s rules. But he jolted to hear Alys Tanner

curse.

“Benjamin Priestley.” He bowed. “Sailing master for the HMS Jupiter .”

“The Jupiter is now nearly a mile behind us, and too impaired to pursue.” She gazed over his shoulder, and he followed her attention to

see the dark smudge of the British naval ship growing smaller by the moment. “A far distance between you and a friendly face,

Sailing Master Priestley.”

Damn . The leviathan couldn’t give chase, either, since the spell that kept it imprisoned to the navy’s bidding meant it could

not attack without a Royal Navy ship—and mage—nearby.

“Throw him overboard,” someone shouted.

“Shoot him and then throw him overboard,” another female voice chimed in.

Anyone who claimed women were less bloodthirsty than men needed to spend ten seconds aboard the Sea Witch .

He darted forward and snatched a pistol from one of the crew’s hands. Shouts rose up, outraged female voices, but before any

of them could act, he raised the pistol.

And fired it into the air.

He grunted as a trio of women launched themselves at him, throwing him to the deck. His head hit the planks with a thud, and

his hands were quickly pinned down. A band of glowing red energy pressed against his throat. Strangled noises escaped from

him as he fought for air.

“Impossible to state how hugely stupid that was, Sailing Master.” Alys Tanner loomed over him, her hands on her hips as she shook her head.

“The deck could be splattered with your blood right now, and for what? You signaled your ship so they know you’re here, but they’re busy mopping up the remains of the Diabolique .

Even if the ship hadn’t unleashed their leviathan, they’re too damaged to be of any assistance to you. ”

“Damaged thanks to you,” he managed to rasp.

“I don’t regret what I’ve done.”

“Neither do I.” He pressed his lips together to stop himself from blurting anything more. Provoking her wasn’t going to keep

him alive.

She clicked her tongue, as if disappointed in him. Then she stood back. “Let him up but hold him fast.”

The energy around his throat vanished but many strong hands gripped him tightly as he struggled to his feet and faced over

a score of hostile faces. Damn, he was alone on this pirate ship. Alys Tanner could have him flayed and disemboweled, then thrown overboard, and no one would ever

find his remains.

She frowned as she stared at him, her attention lingering on the backs of his hands, and then moving to the part of his neck

that wasn’t covered by his neckcloth.

He couldn’t tug his cuffs down, or pull the linen at his throat up higher. She’d seen his markings now, and there wasn’t anything

he could do about them until the seawater on his skin dried. Then, and only then, would the ink-dark patterns on his skin

fade.

At the question in her gaze, Ben tipped up his chin. He didn’t owe this pirate an explanation.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you know of Little George Partridge? Answer quick,” she added, curling and uncurling her fingers

around the glittering beginnings of a spell, “or I’ll find new means of loosening your tongue.”

“Why would I know anything of Partridge?”

“On account of the fact that you serve aboard the Jupiter , which is Admiral Strickland’s ship, and Little George was colluding with Strickland in creating the magic used to force

the leviathan into serving the navy.”

Ben jolted. “ What? ”

Alys Tanner smirked. “This act of innocence doesn’t become you, Sailing Master.” When Ben remained silent, she continued,

“A letter was read at the tavern on St. Gertrude, a letter from Partridge himself, asserting that he and Strickland had worked

together to fashion the magic that binds the sea creature.”

“Doubtless, the captain knew what he was doing. A leviathan is one more weapon in the arsenal.”

There was no need to tell her about his revulsion at enslaving the sea creature. It was a weakness she could exploit.

“Yet Little George wasn’t entirely a fool,” the witch continued. “He knew the Royal Navy would stick a knife in his back.

Little George made provisions for that. A fail-safe to break the spell holding the leviathan captive. And it’s hidden somewhere

in these waters.”

Ben kept his expression impassive even as astonishment rocked through him.

“Tell me what you know, navy man,” she demanded. When he hesitated, she drew her cutlass and pressed its point into his chest.

“I’m as ignorant as a piece of flotsam,” he answered.

“He is not,” said one of the pirate crew, a woman with a Mediterranean accent and dark- lined eyes. “I have heard him spoken

of, this Benjamin Priestley. Born and raised in the Caribbean, and he knows this territory, land and sea, better than anyone.

They say he is the best navigator in the Royal Navy.”

“I have a reputation?”

The Mediterranean woman snorted. “You will develop one for false modesty.”

“We’ve need of you, Sailing Master,” Alys Tanner said.

“You sail the Caribbean, too,” he answered. “And you possess your own navigator.”

“We do,” the captain said. The tip of her blade dug into his waistcoat, through his shirt, and nicked his skin beneath. “You’re

ensuring we don’t have need of you. Which makes it hard for me to stay my hand.”

The paleness in her cheeks had lessened. This close, he could see that the color of her freckles had shifted. They had been

blood red, but now they were tawny.

He straightened. “I cannot and will not help you.”

Her eyes—the irises contained a mixture of green and light brown—widened.

“Do it, navy man,” one of the buccaneers holding him snarled, giving him a shake. Despite his size, he still rattled from

her force. The woman was strong, stronger than many men.

“Thank you, but no,” he answered.

Idly, Alys Tanner noted, “Torturing you to tell us whatever you know is an option.”

“Except,” he said as evenly as he could, “the accounts given by people who’ve lived through your pirate attacks say that you’re

no enthusiast of torture.”

“These aren’t typical circumstances.”

“Cut off one of his bollocks,” someone in the crew shouted. “That’ll make him sing like a siren.”

If Ben’s hands had been free, he would have used them to cover his groin. As though reading his thoughts, the captain snickered.

“Kill him now,” the Mediterranean woman urged. “Use the spell of extinguishing.”

“No spell needed when steel will do.” Captain Tanner moved her cutlass up and pressed the blade against his neck. He tried

not to swallow hard, lest he accidentally slit his own throat.

She stared at him for a long time. This might be his last moments alive, his final sight the face of the witch pirate captain as she studied him the way he would study a navigational chart.

He could change his mind and plead for his life.

But he would never help a pirate. If he was to leave this earthly existence, he’d do so with as much pride as he could muster. Father died courageously, and Ben would

sail the same course.

“Take him to the brig,” she finally said.

He stared at her. She stared back.

Their gazes broke apart when the members of the company that held him dragged him away, while others kept their swords and

guns pointed at him. Another pirate kept a spell dancing on her fingers, ready to be deployed. Right before he ducked to climb

down the companionway, he looked back to see Alys Tanner standing at the gunwale, gripping the handle of her cutlass, looking

toward the black horizon.

There was no comfort in the captain’s reputation for leaving people alive. His life was hers now, to command or extinguish,

and he had little faith that she saved any of her mercy for him.