The words hit her like a punch to the gut. A moment before, she felt relieved to be back on her ship, and now she learned that she was on a vessel without friends or comfort. The group of sailors that surrounded her crouched, shaking form were now a threat. They weren’t her crew of women ready to support her, but a group of men whose motivations were unclear. She was soaking wet and in just her small clothes—vulnerable in a way she barely recognized. All she had was her innate power, the small charms inserted beneath her skin, and the sigils tattooed on her body. She was stripped bare in more than one way, and she hated it.

  Shivers ran through her body, gooseflesh raising on her exposed flesh. Her teeth chattered. A coat was draped over her trembling shoulders and back, the leather still holding heat from its previous occupant. By the smell of sea spray and lightning that wafted from it, she guessed it was Mortimer’s. Despite her state of disarray, her body betrayed her with another wave of desire.

  “Let’s get you up,” he spoke softly, and the show of concern grated on her nerves. A part of her wanted to lean into the softness of his words, rub against it like a stray cat tangling in a passerby’s legs. She silently cursed herself for that weakness and focused on the task at hand: standing. It sounded like an attainable goal, a small victory even, given the toll the repeated drownings had on her body. Elisabeth wrapped a tendril of magic around the strength charm that lay buried in the flesh of her arm, the scar hidden beneath a tattoo of a compass.

  When she felt its effects in a rush of sudden vigor, she slowly rose from her hands and knees to stand amidst a group of unfamiliar sailors. She didn’t push Mortimer away when he gripped her elbow to steady her, enjoying the warmth of his touch more than she liked. Weak, she hissed internally, judging herself for her desire as much as for the tremor that still suffused her limbs. Even with the talisman lending her strength, she wobbled, while she’d watched him stand in one fluid motion. She ground her teeth. The ship swayed around her, the features of the sailors blurred. She blinked a few times against both the brightness and the motion, took a few slow breaths, and focused her attention on what was in front of her as a way to regain her balance in the moment of dizziness.

  Henry stood only a few inches away, warmth radiating off his solid frame. She saw that his shirt was wet and droplets of water were splashed across his face. His long, brown hair clung to his shoulders. The ghost of a memory hovered in her mind—floating in cool water, strong arms wrapping around her body, almost unbearable heat suffusing her flesh in a line against her back. He’d pulled her from the sea himself. She felt another flush creep over her still cold skin, and looked past him at the crew of the Jester.

  “Mariss,” Henry called out the familiar name. “Take Captain Wolf to my quarters. And get our guest some clothing.” Elisabeth hoped that she hid her surprise, as she gave the assembled sailors a closer look, eyes searching the crowd for the luck-witch. She found Mariss standing a few feet away, grinning in her insouciant way, her white teeth stark against her dark skin.

  “Captain Wolf.” The other woman stepped forward and the two former shipmates clasped hands.

  “Mariss.” Questions chased each other through Elisabeth’s mind, but she kept them locked behind a tight smile. The Jester was the last place she expected to see any of the women who left the Silence after their decision to leave.

  “If you’ll follow me.” Mariss nodded toward the aft of the ship, and began to push through the crowd of milling pirates—all of them were eager to get a look at the She-Wolf. Elisabeth pulled more strength from the talisman in her arm, squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and walked with a hint of her usual swagger. Appearances mattered among pirates. She felt the stares of the men, and wished for her own clothes, for her trinket-laden coat, and for her sword, her gun. And she wanted to be crossing the deck of her own ship, with her own crew, and Cressia at her back. Without the bodyguard, she checked to see if she even had a shadow. Her dark outline trailed behind her, wrapped in Mortimer’s coat, but even with its bulk, somehow small.

  She didn’t speak while they made their way to the aft end of the ship, didn’t speak when they descended down a ladder into the dark of the crew deck, nor did she speak when they entered the captain’s quarters. In her silence, she observed the layout of the Jester. It differed slightly from her own ship—the captain’s quarters were accessed directly from the deck on the Silence, but every ship had its own layout, adjusted by its crew to fit their needs.

  Once they entered Mortimer’s cabin, she took a moment to study the room, hoping to glean insight into the man who affected her in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. His bunk hung suspended so it swayed softly with the movement of the ship. It was set at the back of the room, next to a large window. She was surprised at the window’s size and the extravagance of the glass needed for it. It was a luxury on a pirate vessel—every battle risked breaking the fragile panes. A trunk with clothing and weapons spilling out of it was on the left side of the space. Disorderly, but contained. On the right, a small map table held a scatter of papers, quill and ink. Compared to the unruly chest, the desk was neat and tidy. The door shut behind the two women with a quiet thud.

  Elisabeth rounded on Mariss, as soon as they were shut in. “What are you doing here?” The tone of command made the other woman straighten her back.

  “Seemed like a good crew to join.” The sailor shrugged.

  “You left the Silence because you didn’t want any part of that fight. Mortimer’s the one who planned it. And you know that. So out of all the crews on these seas you’re here?”

  Mariss sighed, and shook her head. Elisabeth felt a charm fall over them. Her ears popped—it was a silencing spell, meant to keep others from prying on a conversation. Of course, if someone was checking on them, they’d detect the shield, and know something was amiss. Clumsy, but it told Elisabeth to watch herself while on board.

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  With the spell in place, Mariss grinned again. “Moira and the assassin asked me to join. See what he’s about.”

  “You’re a spy.”

  The sailor laughed. “Aye! That’s what I am. The Silence is still my home. This is just…a mission.”

  “Learn anything worth knowing?” The scheme was unexpected, but if it provided them with an advantage, it was worth the ruse.

  “Not yet. Mortimer’s tight-lipped, and the crew disciplined. He’s been asking questions about you.”

  “And have you been answering them?”

  Mariss shrugged. “Some. Enough to stay in his good graces.”

  “I don’t like this arrangement.”

  “They said you wouldn’t. It’s why they didn’t tell you. No one thought you’d end up on this boat in the middle of the ocean.”

  Elisabeth glared at Mariss for a long moment. The quartermaster and royal assassin were going to have to answer for this situation as soon as Elisabeth returned to the Silence.

  “I was promised clothes,” she said, finally, ending the interrogation.

  Mariss ducked her head, and chuckled low. “Aye. I’ll be right back with those.” The charm fizzled around them, popping Elisabeth’s ears again, and Mariss left the room with her habitual grin on her face. Alone in Mortimer’s quarters, the She-Wolf looked around, this time with a more careful eye. She shrugged out of the coat, tossing it onto the chest with his other clothing. She scanned for spells or traps, and found none. The space smelled like him. A few short steps brought her to the desk. She glanced over the papers, but found nothing of interest. Charts and maps, annotated with a cipher, like any true seafaring man. It made her re-assess him. She never bothered with that portion of a life at sea, and left the charts and notes to the navigator. Did that mean he trusted his crew less? Or that he enjoyed keeping maps?

  The door opened behind her, and a slight shift in temperature warned her that it wasn’t Mariss returning. She looked over her shoulder to see Henry Mortimer standing in the doorway, trousers and a shirt draped over his left arm, like a page at court. He smiled at her and she flushed, looked back at the desk, a school-girl first discovering flirtation when the convent nuns weren’t looking. She laughed at her analogy—an outlandish thing. She’d never set foot inside a convent, and flirtation wasn’t part of her upbringing. Maybe one of the ghosts had whispered this story to her in a dream.

  “Something strike you as funny, Captain Wolf?” Mortimer asked, and stepped closer to her, bringing a now-familiar wave of heat with him. The man felt like a bonfire. A lick of magic curled through Elisabeth, and she heard a soft susurration like scales and music. Turning to face her unwanted ally, she saw a daze in his ice blue eyes. The siren’s ghost working mischief again. The creature really took a shine to Captain Mortimer. A lash of necromancy pushed the wraith’s lingering power aside. Henry shook his head, and she saw him pull back into the present, away from the siren’s spectral song. She didn’t give much thought to the fact that she was now the creature’s lure.

  “I’m laughing at the absurdity of fate,” she responded to his taunt. “How’d you find me? And where’s the Silence?”

  He didn’t answer her. Instead he took another step closer. They were almost touching. She tilted her head to look up at him, and met his cerulean stare with a glare she was barely able to sustain beneath the weight of his regard. Hunger slid through his eyes. Elisabeth licked her lips. The memory of their kiss after the siren’s death fluttered through her and she wanted nothing more than to press her chilled flesh against his heat. She was a ghost drawn to the spark of his life, a cold thing lurking at the edges of his fire. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned into the touch, and cursed herself for indulging the urge. A flicker of surprise moved over his face, and then he closed the distance between them. His lips found hers, his arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her body against his.

  The onslaught of sensations was overwhelming: a rush of fear that stiffened her spine, a wave of heat from his body that loosened her muscles, and a lick of warmth inside her that marked her desire and liquefied any resistance. A small voice screamed at her to stop and think, but she ignored it and allowed herself to sink into the fevered pool of sensuality. Without breaking the kiss, Henry pushed her backward toward the bunk, his hands roaming over her body, never flinching at the cold that permeated her flesh. The scraps of her clothing disappeared in an instant, and she allowed him to lift her onto the bed. A sound of rubbing scales and sibilant laughter haunted her, but she paid no heed to the siren’s spectre, and focused instead on the touch and taste of Henry Mortimer’s sun-kissed skin.

  ***

  Elisabeth woke to near-darkness, only the distant light of a few stars glittering through the window giving any illumination to her eyes. She lay curled against Henry, his body furnace-hot even in sleep, and positioned between her and the door. The Jester moved around them, the bed swaying gently as the ship cut through waves, ebbing and flowing with the swells. She wasn’t sure what had pulled her into wakefulness. Fragments of a dream chased themselves in her mind—even a cold heart can betray you, echoing through her thoughts. A shiver went through her at the warning.

  She rolled away from Henry, and let her gaze sweep over the sea. They were sailing through the night. She wondered where they were headed. Was he taking her to her ship? Or further away. Restless, she rolled back over, tugged a blanket over herself, and watched the steady rise and fall of Henry’s chest. The last time she’d indulged in sharing a bed with someone was with a swamp witch that kept the Silence circling Star Island for months. The call of the open sea drew her away, as it always did. And her cast-off lover didn’t take kindly to being abandoned. Elisabeth still bore the scar on her stomach from their last encounter. The curse the woman laid on her kept her bed-bound for a week. Romantic entanglements were always dangerous, but no warnings had chased her in dreams when she was in the swamp-witch’s arms.

  Exhaustion tugged at her, but the dream-whispers remained urgent in her ears. Tugging her back into wakefulness every time she dropped off into a doze. After the fifth time she rolled over, Henry woke, and groggily curled against her back, his arm tossed over her hip, a welcome anchor to the present. He nuzzled into her neck, and easily fell back into sleep. With his warmth and weight surrounding her, the vague dream-warning lost its urgency. All of her apprehensions, questions, and problems would still be there in the morning. She was sure of that much. For now, she was safe, and comfortable, and too tired to keep fighting sleep. Slowly, Henry’s steady breathing and the soft motion of the ship, lulled her back to sleep.