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brITT

U nable to stand the hints of dawn dancing through Henrik’s cozy cottage, the thought of not getting on a ship bound for Malcolm, or what it might mean if she couldn’t get away to find her brother in time, Britt rose before full light.

Tesserdress grew weaker by the hour. She squeaked with protest whenever Denerfen moved too much. Aching muscles? A dragul-like fever? Or the breakdown of a sad heart?

“Hang in there.” Britt stroked the delicate tip of Tesserdress’ sweet nose. “I’ll find you a ship, my darling.”

Henrik understood the ramifications to Stenberg if Tesserdress wasn’t reunited with Malcolm soon, but he didn’t understand the ramifications to her . To dragul-kind. To Malcolm. Henrik may not have cared if it hadn’t directly impacted his island. That meant saving Tesserdress lay firmly in her lap.

This time, she had a lot more information. Henrik told her where Malcolm would be, which was why she came in the first place. She could make this happen without his help. Britt Helsing wasn’t about to rest her fate in the hands of a soldat. Henrik made his alliances clear last night.

Britt had her own.

She left a message, packed her bag, braided her hair, flipped a wide-brimmed hat on her head, and scooped the draguls into her palms. Tesserdress slept in Britt’s left pocket, Denerfen on her right. Separating them wasn’t ideal, but she had little recourse with Tess so uncomfortable.

Ten minutes later, under the persuasion of a bluebell sky, Britt waved to Old Man with a broad smile and grocery basket on her arm. With any luck, she appeared to be the picture of a Stenberg woman. Up with the burgeoning sunlight, grinning under a hat, and ready for her morning vittles.

Old Man lifted the gate for her to glide through, and lifted a steaming mug in a bleary-eyed greeting.

Market stalls stirred. Islanders groaned. A few vendors straggled out from beneath their tables, rubbing the heel of their hand into their eyes. Sunlight kissed the top of the bamboo market, waking the world with a buzzing energy. Britt passed all of them, basket empty.

She had a ship to find.

* * *

The ship clinging to the edge of Stenberg wasn’t sea worthy by a grand margin, but it was better than a skiff or row boat. Broad enough to fit a small crew, a below-deck area, and enough sails to make good time.

Britt shielded her eyes with a hand.

“How much?” she asked.

Captain Lars surveyed her, then smiled. Gold flecked his teeth. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

“Not that ,” she said coldly. “I can pay in silver.”

The lecherous smile dropped.

“Eh?”

“Pure silver. I’ll throw in Kapurnickkian potions, too.”

Scoffing, he said, “I don’t believe you.”

She withdrew a vial from the pocket where Denerfen rode—and not very happily, at that. He nipped her thigh every now and then, in case she forgot his steep displeasure. Glimmering chunks of silver floated in the vial. A burned crest from the Guld Islands off of Kapurnick burned into the cork stopper.

Captain Lars’ expression morphed. “Aye,” he sang. “How very interesting.” Lars propped a leg up on the side of his ship, folded his arms, and pressed them onto his knee. His tongue ran over his teeth as he surveyed her and the silver.

“You’re running away?” he asked.

“No.”

“Kapurnickkian?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“The Unseen island. Do you know it?”

His gaze tapered. She shuffled to the side, adjusting into his shadow. She could barely read his eyes around the glare haloing out. Undoubtedly, he stood on a higher position, right in front of the sun, on purpose.

“Unseen island? Makes this whole situation doubly interesting.” His teeth tapped in deeper thought. “Who are you springing free from the Unseen island?”

“A friend.”

“Why was he taken prisoner?”

“How do you know he was?”

Lars scoffed. “I’m not an idiot. Stenberg is the only place that goes near that island, what with the ikons. Captains are always dropping off prisoners.”

With great irritation, she snapped, “I need to go immediately. Can you find it?”

His nose wrinkled. “Ability? Yes. Desire. None.”

Britt ignored that. Anyone could be bought for a price.

“His Glory has called for a cleansing.” Lars motioned toward the Temple with a flick of his wrist. “That makes leaving difficult. Not impossible, but it has to be worthy.”

“I know.”

His brow rose. “Course you know,” he cried, “or else you wouldn’t have come to me, love. No one comes to Lars unless they have to.”

“You’re not from Stenberg.”

“I’m not.”

“Where are you from?”

“Narpurra, but not the main island. Upprior.”

Britt fought to keep her expression neutral. Yes, such swarthy hostility from an Uppriorian made sense. Lawless rebels, the lot of them. They declared their independence from Narpurra twenty years ago, and held no real governing body on their small spit of land except whatever mob boss had the most power at the moment. A real hotspot for the pirating type.

Which could definitely work in her favor.

His Glory couldn’t hold his cleansing power to all islanders, but the port authority banished ships from the Stenberg port all the time. Failure to comply with His Glory’s commands was a fast track to banishment. For islands that relied on exports and imports, troubled relationships with an island like Stenberg could be a real problem. Like Kapurnick, Stenberg held too much power.

“I desire to leave immediately,” she said, because his damning silence had grown a bit too long. If he thought too much about it and the ramifications, he might renege. “I understand that tonight will be better for stealth, and leaving during the day is too much to ask.”

“Demmed straight it is.”

Exacting a promise from him was her goal. When it came to islanders, once given, a vow was fulfilled. All that many islanders owned was their self respect and a sandy beach. Even pirates from Upprior.

“Will you do it?”

His quizzical expression narrowed to slashes for eyes. “Tonight, you said?”

“When the port authority is asleep,” she added, growing into the idea. “If he receives a present of his favorite brandy and has a reason to drink more heavily than usual, I think it would be easy enough to slip out of port.”

“And when my ship is gone in the morning,” he countered with a lecherous smile, “who is going to stop said port authority from exempting me next time? Can’t afford to be banned from Stenberg.”

“He’ll be too drunk to notice.”

“Will he?”

“I swear by it.” She tipped her head back toward the main wharf, several minutes walk away. “You’re out of the way. He might check once or twice, but the cleansing doesn’t have much longer to go. There are so many boats here now . . .”

She shrugged.

Speculation gleamed. Leaving the island wasn’t as dangerous as approaching during a cleansing, but still risky.

After a pregnant pause, Britt stepped away. She dripped with disdain.

“Forgive me, Captain Lars. I didn’t consider you the fearful type, certainly not with your reputation. I’ll be off to find a different ship.”

She spun. For several hasty steps and desperate heartbeats, she thought he’d let her go.

A gruff call followed.

“Wait.”

Britt steeled herself as she whirled around. The different vantage point cast him into greater visibility. He didn’t appear as mangy and old from here. His timeworn voice and skin gave a sense of exhaustion. If she peeled away rough years of experience, he might not be much younger than General Helsing.

Lars tipped his head toward her hand.

“Two vials of silver and I’ll take you tonight—if you swear the port authority will truly be drunk.”

Britt pitched him the vial. He snatched it. “One now,” she said, “and the second on delivery at the Unseen island. Vials three and four when you sail us to Kapurnick.”

He leered, the silver vial vanishing.

“We are agreed.”

She said in a voice of steel, “Before I return to the market to trade for brandy, which I’ll make a present of to the port authority, I’m sending a note with the next mail frigate. My brother Pedr will know exactly where I’m going, your name and likeness, and my plans. If any harm comes to me during our voyage, you'll drown in the depths of the sea and your ship burned, under an ivory flag, and your bones fed to the sharks.”

He had the presence of mind to pause. His head canted to the side.

“Ivory flag, you said?”

She nodded, an eyebrow cocked.

“That is . . .”

“The flag of Burning Beard, the pirate.”

Captain Lars blanched. “You know him?”

“He’s my brother.”

“The one you’re rescuing?”

“No. I have more than one, and I assure you that neither would take kindly to something happening to me. If you can get me to the Unseen island, then to Kapurnick, the reward will be well worth it.”

His smile tightened with regret as he spat out, “I’ll see you this evening.”

* * *

The urge to say to Henrik, “See? Doesn’t have to be that hard to find a rebellious ship captain!” whisked her away from the wharf.

Bloody mess of a soldat.

Her ire fizzled as she left the wharf behind her, striding up the steep, cobblestone streets and toward the market, seeking a bottle of fine brandy. Denerfen stayed in her pocket for now. He’d be safer there while she worked through the marketplace. She’d have to pay for the liquor with her Stenberg healing potions, which made her stomach hurt thinking about it.

No matter.

It would be worth it.

Once near the Archives, she’d steer to the left and wind her way through the market, losing herself in the stalls for a few hours. At this point, there would be no returning to Henrik’s cottage until after she saved Tesserdress, if at all, which is why she left a note. Her stomach tightened at the thought.

Of course she’d return.

Why wouldn’t she?

Only a few dozen reasons, all of them trumped by the heavy feeling in her gut that told her she didn’t want to leave. Not like this.

He left her little recourse.

The physical exertion warmed her, and the sparkling sunshine cut hope into her bleak outlook. Regardless of what Henrik chose last night—and how could she expect him to choose any differently?—she had a plan.

A way out.

The cost she offered Captain Lars was exorbitant, and they both knew it. General Helsing would pay the promised silver when they arrived at Kapurnick, but they’d have to dig from the deepest wells.

Later. She’d think of that later. There was no cost limit to spare Tesserdress’ life, or the draguls. By extension, the greater and Lesser Isles, as well as Malcolm’s life. In comparison, four vials of silver wasn’t much.

While cogitating over these things, a body strode up to her right side.

Another on her left.

She barely had time to look at one before the other grasped her arm, just above the elbow. His fingers squeezed to the point of pain. Her eyes jerked to the one on the right, holding her in a grip that pinched between thick fingers. The half-shaved head of a soldat, but not one she recognized from the Old Pub. She hadn’t seen all of them, of course, but this one had no apparent familiarity, with his flared nose and thick jaw.

“Miss Helsing.”

The man on the left, a soldat by his blank expression, cold eyes, and long hair braided on top, held her other arm. “With us,” he demanded.

Breath in her throat, they steered her toward the Archives.