The only light in the cabin came from one small witch-orb that hung suspended behind Elisabeth. The She-Wolf sat in the chair that faced her bunk, one knee drawn up to her chest, and toyed with a knife while she watched Henry Mortimer sleep. The metal glinted in the near-darkness, and her eyes held a cat-sheen glow. The thought of killing him was loud in her mind. It was one way to heed the warning the spirits pushed at her at every opportunity. No way for him to betray her if he was dead. Trust between them was strained after the interrogation and reminder that he was the king’s man. She sighed and sheathed the blade, coming to the conclusion that this night was not meant to be his last. She needed him as a shield between herself and the Skeleton King. Killing him was always a possibility for later.

  Elisabeth continued to watch Henry sleep, her thoughts in a dark spiral. He twitched, his muscles spasming a handful of times. A dream was disturbing his rest, its intensity drawing him closer to wakefulness. A moment later, he gasped and sat up in the bunk, almost hitting his head on the curve of the ship’s hull.

  “Fuck,” he growled, breathing hard, hands gripping fistfuls of the crumpled, sweat-drenched blanket.

  “Least I’m not the only one with nightmares.” Elisabeth’s comment drew his still dream-haunted gaze. She felt the weight of it as it settled on her, the dim light of the witch-orb highlighting the blue in his eyes. She fed more power into the globe and the room brightened, allowing him to see her sitting across from him.

  “Were you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough.

  “I was keeping an eye on my patient,” she replied and shrugged. “Seemed like you needed a bit of care and attention.”

  He frowned, his hand moving to probe at his side, feeling his healed ribs and wincing. She knew from experience that the flesh would be tender, but the bones strong beneath.

  “I’m not sure I feel better after all that,” he observed.

  “You do. The muscles are strained from the way the spell pulled your ribs back together. Take a deep breath, you’ll see that it’s less painful than before. It’ll take a couple of days for the soft tissue to heal.” She watched him inhale and exhale without a flinch or hitch. He didn’t say anything, but swung his legs to the ground.

  “Where’re my boots?”

  “Here,” she nudged them with the foot that was not tucked up onto her chair. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with them off.” He pulled them on without comment. An ache sat inside Elisabeth’s chest at the distance in his demeanor. She didn’t understand what changed so quickly for him to behave this way.

  “It’s late to head back to the Jester.” It wasn’t an invitation to stay, and it wasn’t a question. The observation was as neutral as she was able to make it. The contradiction of her earlier desire to kill him, and her current hurt feelings that he didn’t want to spend the night in her cramped bunk with her was difficult to understand. Her emotions were in tumult. They had been since the night on Skull Island, the defeat cracked the shell around her feelings, and it was a struggle to stay in control. Resentment rose—against the Skeleton King, against Henry, against the world. She ground her teeth.

  “Liz.” She hadn’t noticed how closely he was watching her face, and the softness in his voice told her that her expression contained at least some of what she was feeling. Henry reached for her across the narrow space between the bunk and chair, his warm hand wrapping around hers where it draped over the knee that was still pulled to her chest.

  “What?” She snapped, pulling her other leg up, so both sat between them, and she disentangled her hand from his, tucking it behind her back and out of reach. She was uncomfortable with his attempt at gentleness.

  “Nothing’s changed between us. We’re still aligned, still allies. The way you commandeered me into having the bonewitch work on me ruffled my feathers a bit. And I’m exhausted from her ministrations. If it wasn’t for that, I’d be fucking you on that table without hesitation.”

  Elisabeth glared at him for a long moment. “You think I’m…lovesick?” The question was a barely audible hiss. She wasn’t willing to admit that his coldness had bothered her, and she definitely wasn’t going to lower her guard more than she had already done.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m angry.”

  “Why?”

  Elisabeth chewed on her lip. There was a truth buried beneath her ill temper that she wasn’t able to deny any longer, and it was something she was willing to confess. “I feel trapped.”

  She glanced at the unmoving bundle on the table. The mummified rodent was calm, and she assumed it was listening carefully, taking the information it gathered and somehow transferring it to the Skeleton King. She got up, pulled a charm from a pile that still sat on the table, crumbled it over the leather bag. With a push of magic, the spell came to life. The thing was sealed inside a dampening field, preventing it from hearing any more of the conversation between the two captains. Elisabeth hoped it wasn’t able to break through the charm, but there was no way to be sure. She had to trust that the exchange with Henry was private now that the web was cast over the mummy. She felt his eyes on her as she stood over the creature.

  “Because of the token.”

  “Aye. And the task. And our accord.” She turned back to face him and leaned against the table, arms crossed over her chest. “And your bargain with the Skeleton King.” She met his gaze and held it, putting every ounce of her barely suppressed rage into the look they exchanged. “I can’t trust you, Henry Mortimer.”

  Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy like the air before a storm. He stood, the movement slow and precise, his tiredness and the stiffness of his muscles after the healing robbing him of some of his grace. But he crossed the small space between them in two sure strides.

  “Our accord is meant to free you, free all of us. Are you sundering it?” The words were spoken softly, but she felt the anger beneath their calm surface. His reputation was clear on one point: Henry Mortimer did not take kindly to even the perception of betrayal. She knew that she needed to be careful with her answer, but his proximity was distracting, the scent of sea spray and lightning heavy in her nose. She felt her heart rate increase at his closeness, felt the slight flutter in her breath.

  “I’m not. Our accord stands.” She kept her voice steady, despite her agitation.

  Frown lines appeared between his brows. “But you don’t trust me?”

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  “I don’t. I can’t.” She shrugged.

  He stepped closer to her, pushing his legs between her knees, and tugged her arms loose. “How can I change that?” He asked the question against her lips. It was difficult to think with him so close to her, with his warmth spreading along the front of her body. She knew he was using her desire against her, that he was intending to cloud her judgement, and she hated him for it, while she reveled in his nearness. It was so much better than his earlier aloofness.

  “You’ll have to prove it. In the Shroud.” Her words were hushed.

  “I will. That’s a promise.” He kissed her then, and she allowed it, silently cursing her weakness as her body softened against his and her mouth opened to his probing tongue. He pulled away before she was ready to let him go, her desire stirred like a great beast inside her flesh. His calloused hands cupped her face and he held her gaze, the blue of his eyes glowing in the witch-light. “Our connection is real, Elisabeth Wolf, whether you believe in it or not.” He kept her there for a long moment, then pushed away. “Goodnight, Liz.” Henry walked out of the cabin without hesitation, leaving confusion and longing in his wake.

  Elisabeth cursed him and slammed the door behind him. She thought she heard him chuckling as he crossed the hold and made his way up to the deck. Let him find his own way back to the Jester. She didn’t need to arrange a boat for him. It was petty, but she didn’t care. With a frustrated sigh, she got undressed to get at least a few hours of sleep. When she curled into her bunk, the blankets smelled like him, and her body flushed at the scent. She sighed, and rolled to face the darkness of the hull.Hopefully, the reminder of him wouldn’t bring more unsettling dreams. The witch-orb faded as she slipped into sleep.

  ***

  Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump. Noise woke her, a sound like pounding like drums pulsing in her ears. Elisabeth woke disoriented, pulled into consciousness from a deep, dreamless void. It took her a few breaths to recognize the insistent knocking at her door for what it was.

  “Captain!” Moira’s shout cut through the fog clinging to her mind.

  “Aye, aye, I’m up,” she responded, pushing herself into a sitting position and assessing the room. The light coming through the small window was consistent with it being early afternoon. She’d slept through the morning. Cressia must have guarded the door until it was absolutely necessary to wake her, and she silently thanked the bodyguard. The bag with the mummified rat inside it was on the floor near the foot of the bunk. Elisabeth frowned at it. The binding spells were intact, but the thing’s magic was strong and it was fighting against the containment.

  The door opened with enough force to bounce off the wall. Dealing with the token would have to wait as Moira walked in, a harried expression on her face, cheeks flushed and hair wild.

  “We’re ready to place the mast.” The quartermaster announced. “Thought you’d want to be there.”

  “Aye.” Elisabeth got up and started pulling on clothing. “I’ll need a minute to deal with…that,” she said, gesturing at the squeaking bag. “Then I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll tell them to wait if that takes longer than a minute.” Moira eyed the thing warily, distaste clear in her pinched expression. After a moment, she shook herself, and left Elisabeth to her task without another word, or closing the door. The She-Wolf pulled her boots on, unhurried as she thought about possible solutions to the mummy’s presence on the ship. She watched the bag as she stood, noting the way its contents squirmed and shimmied, its movements meant to get it closer to its target: Elisabeth.

  A quick inspection told her that the sound dampening spell was frayed, its power shredded during the night. The binding was still in place, but needed re-inforcement since it was able to move around the room. She bent down and picked the bag up, checked the ties that held its top closed, and threw it back onto the table. It was a problem for later, she decided, and began to make her way to the deck. A few feet past her door, pain stopped her in her tracks. A sharp stabbing agony assaulted her gut. She gasped and she doubled over with the surprise of it. After a few deep, careful breaths, she straightened, and stumbled back to the cabin door. The pain lessened. She glared at the bag on the table, and took a few more steps toward it. The ache disappeared. The thing was the source of the attack.

  Elisabeth glowered, and pulled a touch of magic past her shields to inspect the token. Threads of magic glimmered between her and the bag, their colours shifting. It was strong work, and she wasn’t sure if it was breakable. The proximity spell forced her to take the mummy with her wherever she went to avoid suffering the consequences of leaving it behind. It was clever, and it was irritating.

  “Fuck.” She grabbed the bag off the table and shoved it into her coat pocket, frustrated with the turn of events, but unable to spare the time to unravel the spell. At least it couldn’t cause much trouble with the mast-raising, or glean too much unwanted information for the Skeleton King. To ease her paranoia, she placed a new dampening spell onto the mummy as she made her way through the hold. Containment was still the best approach.

  The deck was bustling with activity and the sun was bright overhead when Elisabeth stepped out of the hold. She squinted in the glare, searching for Moira in the busy movement of sailors. She spotted her near the quarterdeck with the shipwright. The two were in a heated discussion, both of them waving arms and pointing at the spot where a stump of wood sat in place of the broken mast. Elisabeth crossed the deck to join them.

  “Captain Wolf.” The shipwright bowed slightly in greeting.

  “Master Elm.” She nodded at the man. There were few true woodcrafters in the pirate world, and all of them took the names of trees when they completed their training and became masters.

  “With your permission, we will begin to raise your new mast.”

  “Please proceed.” Elisabeth knew it was a formality, but she granted his request with solemnity, and a deep respect for the tradition of his craft. She dismissed him with a bow, allowing him to walk across the deck. Elisabeth stayed where she was, moving to stand next to Moira, her hands tucked into her pockets and waited for the repair to begin. She’d never watched the raising of a mast before, not when it was done through magic, and she was curious to watch the shipwright work.

  As he walked toward the gathered apprentices, he gestured to them, stirring them into movement while the sailors gave them space and stopped their work. The shipwright and his assistants gathered in a circle around the wooden stump. Magic began to hum against Elisabeth’s skin. It was a power built around life and growth, tied heavily into forests and the trees that grew with roots deep in the earth. The energy focused and the stump began to grow, both into the deck of the ship, anchoring itself, and upwards. They shaped the wood as it formed, ensuring it was straight. It took a while for the first branches to form, and the shipwright guided the magic into the symmetrical shapes of a ship’s crosstress. Sweat ran down Elisabeth’s face in the heat of the afternoon sun, and she saw that the workers were soaking through their thin linen shirts.

  “Make sure there’s water ready for them when they finish,” Elisabeth instructed Moira quietly. “And a light meal. They’re burning through a lot of energy.”

  The process took the whole afternoon, and the crew needed a break a few hours into the raising. Elisabeth stayed in her spot, standing at ease and observing for the entire time—a sign of respect for the shipwright and his work. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when the new mast stood tall and proud, its crosstrees straight and plentiful. In the morning, the crew would trim the sails, making the Silence ready to sail the following day.

  “Thank you for your diligent work,” Elisabeth clasped hands with the shipwright.

  “Fair winds and following seas to you, Captain Wolf.” He smiled at her, squeezed her arm, and then walked away to the rail. Moira was overseeing the loading of two heavy chests into the shipwright’s longboat. Treasure to pay for the new mast. It was a costly thing to get this repair done without taking the ship into a drydock, but worth it for them to be underway in such a short time. Elisabeth’s gaze crossed the bay and found the Jester. There had been no word from Henry. Conflicted feelings tumbled inside her at his silence.

  “Cressia.”

  “Aye, captain.” The woman looked up from sharpening a knife in the shadow of the quarterdeck.

  “I’m going into town tonight.”

  “I’ll be ready.”