Page 40

HENRIK

W ater slapped the hull of the rowboat.

It squeaked around, sloshing, splashing. The cool droplets were a welcome antithesis to the heat of the day. Henrik navigated the vessel with two oars, grateful to tug, pull, work. It soothed the building angst, created by nightmares of hot tar that woke him in the middle of the night. When his dreams jerked him awake, Britt’s hand always held his in silent comfort. Her touch soothed enough to fall back asleep.

“Don’t worry about my ship,” Pedr had said as Henrik lowered into the rowboat ten minutes prior. Britt stood next to Pedr, Denerfen perched on a shoulder. “They can’t see us. Also, don’t worry about finding us. Just row out from the island. I’ll pull you to me.”

Henrik didn’t bother asking how. Arcane teemed and sploshed off this boat, which was both infused, sealed, and brimming with it. He didn’t have a single idea how Pedr managed to tug and pull ocean currents or what it meant. Knew only that he didn’t dare touch anything. He was learning that, with Pedr, one never knew.

So Henrik rowed, grateful for the rigorous workload easing his pent-up agitation that two weeks on the sea built.

Twenty minutes later, the rowboat hit bottom on the edge of Calsica, the lawless island home for pirates just outside main Stenberg. Somewhere out here, ship captain Ossian should await. Henrik stabilized the rowboat, but needn’t have bothered. One body, then a smaller, more slender second body, stole out of the shadows and to the prow. Hoods pulled over their heads, they settled inside the rowboat next to each other.

Timmer.

Agnes.

Two others appeared, one at a time. Then two more. A second rowboat, manned by Lars, pulled up to Henrik’s side. Eleven bodies entered the skiffs.

“Everyone here?” Henrik whispered.

Timmer affirmed with a nod. “Hungry, tired, cold, but here. We’ve been hiding since Oliver ambushed Einar and took him away. The rebellion we planned paused until we knew what happened. We barely escaped Stenberg. Without Agnes, we’d be fish chum.”

Henrik absorbed that with a nod. Amongst the waiting faces lurked Harald, too. The others Henrik couldn’t see, not yet. A miracle they’d all managed to survive. The two skiffs rowed back.

Vanished.

No one said a word as they worked toward Burning Beard’s ship, which appeared like a mirage as they drew closer. Pedr stood near the wheel, one leg propped on a stand, wind in his ginger hair as he stared out. Britt waited at the railing. As they approached, she threw a long netted rope overboard.

Henrik gripped it, held tight. Agnes stood, grasped the rope, and tore up the ladder with surprising speed. Timmer, following close behind, slapped Henrik on the shoulder and began after her.

Two large hands appeared at the top of the ship, grasped Agnes under the arm, and hauled her the rest of the way. She cried with relief, throwing herself into Einar’s awaiting arms and disappearing from sight.

Within an hour of arrival, Burning Beard’s ship dissipated quietly into the night.

* * *

While the other soldats that followed Captain Arvid reunited with Einar, who had fully recovered and wouldn’t release Agnes, Henrik stole along the ship and up to the helm. Pedr awaited.

Pedr sent him a sidelong glance. “Narpurra?”

“Narpurra. The other soldats will join Arvid. Timmer left a message with the remaining soldats alerting them to the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Captain Oliver and the other soldats. He told them first to give them a chance to find their way to Narpurra and join, if they want. Eventually, word will get through the ranks. Supposedly, Arvid has an inside person on the island that works close to His Glory. ”

“Think his Royal Turd already knows?”

Henrik’s lips twitched. “His Glory might know something is wrong with Oliver, but I doubt he’ll understand the particulars. We don’t have many drakes.”

Pedr snorted. “He knows. Just needs it confirmed.”

Henrik shrugged. The world tended to view His Glory as a deity; the literal son of the sea god. Henrik had growing doubts.

Pedr reached out to a line, touched it. Swirls of green light sped from his fingertips and higher, zipping through the twisting strand that ended at the sail. The sails moved. Pedr touched another knot of ropes. Amethyst zipped past, into the tops, and more shifting occurred.

“But you are not going to Narpurra,” Pedr stated, and there was no question.

“Not me.”

“To the mainland?”

Henrik hesitated, jaw tight. His thoughts swirled around Britt, Selma, Erik, his father, and all the ghosts that Oliver stirred up. The mainland hid answers. Possibly his mother. The daunting thought of going there was not fun. Neither was the vast, floating chasm of freedom.

Freedom.

The word didn’t make sense. What was he supposed to do with it? What now? He didn’t understand, so Henrik latched onto the one thing that made sense.

“Britt is determined to find Selma, so wherever your sister is going, that’s where you’ll find me.”