“Roger,” she said his name with just a hint of command in her tone. He didn’t respond, didn’t flinch or twitch at the sound, and his mumbling didn’t cease. Elisabeth sighed. Gentleness wasn’t in her nature, but she knew this situation called for kindness, and a softer touch than hers. He was already unstable, this made him fragile, she remonstrated with herself. Being forced to consume spellblock would rattle even the toughest practitioner, she knew that from experience. Somehow, she needed to find the balance between comforting him and protecting her ship from further damage. If he regained his powers and lost control, whether from madness or rage, the Silence might go up in an inferno.

  Steady, She-Wolf, she anchored her efforts in her own understanding of what the tonic did, and decided on her next step. With a slow, careful movement, she pulled a small fire charm from the pocket of her coat. She hesitated, rolling the yellow crystal between her fingers, but she saw no other way to reach him, not quickly anyway.

  Elisabeth pushed power into the trinket and hoped that it was a beacon to draw him back to the world and not a temptation to drag him into overusing the magic he wasn’t able to access. The yellow glow of the small flame that bobbed in her palm filled the room, and the temperature began to rise. It took a few minutes, but he stirred, fidgeting at first, and she saw him move his arm enough for him to be able to see the room. When he glimpsed the fireball, he sat up straight, gaze fixed on the bright orb.

  “Roger.” She tried his name again, a little louder this time, her tone harder. It was a demand for attention, now, not an appeal. “I heard you requested to speak with me.”

  “Captain Wolf,” he sing-songed, fingers spreading towards the flames. “Hot, hot hot,” he exclaimed, unable to touch the flames with his powers suppressed. “I did, I did ask to see you. They said you weren’t here. And then…they did something to me.” The last he whispered, eyes darting to the open door. “Do you know what they did? It’s horrible, so horrible.” He looked back at her, waiting for an answer, his fingers twitching around the blaze cupped in her hand.

  She debated lying to him, but saw no way to do it without making the situation worse. “They dosed you with spellblock tea.” She kept her voice neutral, calm.

  “Oh no, no no. You know. Did you tell them to do it?” He hid his face in his arms at the news, withdrawing back into the position she’d found him in when she opened the door. “I didn’t want to drink it again.” He sobbed. “It’s so awful.” The word again caught her attention—when had he been dosed before? She wondered if the circumstances were similar to her own brush with the damned tonic.

  “Roger. Look at me.” She waited for him to turn his head in her direction and shift his arm. “I wasn’t here. I didn’t give the order to make you drink the tea. I’m here now, Roger. And it won’t happen again.”

  “Do you promise?” He whispered without changing his posture.

  “I promise. And I’m the She-Wolf, no one will cross me,” she assured him.

  “I don’t want to be on this ship anymore.” He continued to look at her through the screen of his arms.

  “I agree. The Silence isn’t a good home for you.” She paused and hoped she looked thoughtful. “Captain Mortimer is here with the Jester. I’m sure that if I asked him for a favour, he’d allow you to join his crew.” Convincing Henry was a problem she’d face once she got Roger off the ship safely. She knew that the captain of the Jester wasn’t keen on the idea, but the fire witch was too valuable to lose. Especially with their destination—they would need his powers in Rowan’s Shroud if she got him through this incident. “Roger, look at me properly.” She waited for him to lower his arms and turn his head. “I need a promise from you, now.”

  “Anything, anything as long as I get to leave.”

  “I need you to give me your oath that you won’t try to burn my ship again.” He rocked back and forth, holding her gaze, clearly torn about giving his word. She suspected he didn’t have control, not right now. She appreciated that he seemed to know his limits, and that he hesitated at making a promise he might not be able to keep, despite his best effort.

  He bobbed his head after a few minutes. “Alright, yes. I won’t burn the ship. I’ll…I’ll do my best.”

  “Good, good.” She smiled at him. “Then we have an accord.”

  “Aye, an accord,” he agreed, properly nodding his head.

  “What do you say to getting off this ship? We’re at anchor in a bay, there’s a nice beach. And Captain Mortimer is hosting a feast for us tonight. All of that’s better than hiding in the dark here, isn’t it?” She coaxed, dangling the promise of fresh air and contact with the Jester crew in front of him like a carrot. She hoped he took the offer. He looked around at the storeroom, then back at the flame that still danced in her palm, and finally at her face, meeting her eyes with resolve in his gaze.

  “Yes. Yes! A bit of sea air and sunlight would do me good.” His face lit up for the first time since she opened the door to his makeshift cell.

  “I’m glad you agree. Let’s go.” Elisabeth extinguished the fireball, and slipped the yellow stone back into her pocket as she rose to her feet, then straightened her coat. She turned back to the prisoner. He still sat on the floor, chewing on his lip, his eyes darting from her to the room beyond. He was clearly nervous. She held out her hand, offering to help him up. It drew his focus and he looked at it for a long moment.

  “You really won’t make me drink more of that bitter tea?” He asked, shoulders hunched at just the thought of the spellblock tonic.

  “I won’t. You have my oath on that,” Elisabeth assured him. Roger nodded, and then reached out to clasp her proffered hand. She pulled him to his feet, grip tight around his cold and clammy fingers. She felt him shiver and saw gooseflesh rise on the skin of his arms. He wrapped his arms around himself, clearly trying to contain what little body heat he had with the gesture. When he stepped out of the room, he paused, seeing Moira, Cressia, and Mortimer waiting on the other side of the kitchen. Tension rolled off him in waves, and Elisabeth felt a hint of magic in the air around him. The spellblock was starting to wear off. Time was running out.

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  “They won’t hurt you,” Elisabeth assured, standing between him and the group.

  “She’s the one who made me drink the tea,” he said, pointing at the stout, one-armed quartermaster.

  “Aye. She did what was needed to protect the crew and the ship. And she takes her duty very seriously.” Elisabeth didn’t agree with the decision, but in front of the sailors, they were a united front. Later, in private, the two women were going to have a very different discussion from the one happening with an audience.

  “I wouldn’t have hurt anyone!” He protested.

  “I believe you, but decisions were made. I’m here now. And I apologize for what was done to you.” She took his arm to focus his attention back on her, rather than the woman he clearly still saw as a threat. She waved the others off with the hand he couldn’t see, and heard the scuff of boots on wood that told her they were making room for them. “Let’s get up to the deck. I have a longboat waiting to take us ashore. You’ll like it on the beach. It’s a warm day. The sun’ll take the chill off.” They turned to find an empty room, and the retreating backs of the three onlookers ahead of them in the hold. Without the distraction of their presence, she shepherded the rattled fire-witch through the ship, her hand on his arm was a steady pressure.

  The flesh under her grip was beginning to warm up, and the temperature around them rose—the spellblock was letting go, leaving his system, and allowing his magic to return to him. She sped up their pace as they reached the steps that led to the deck, ushering him to the stairs with a hand on his back. He reached the deck quickly, she almost felt his desire for sunlight and fresh air propelling him ahead. She caught up with him when he stopped to raise his face to the sun. A smile spread over his pallid, sweating face when the light and heat touched his skin.

  The delay made her anxious. Every minute he spent on the Silence brought him closer to fully regaining his power and potentially losing control. She needed to keep him moving, needed to get him to the beach. It was the safest spot for him if he wasn’t able to maintain his composure. Her gaze found the longboat waiting to their left, Lotte and Leni at the rail, ready to get them to shore. They met her stare with two twin nods.

  “Our boat is ready,” she prompted him, and put her hand back on his arm to draw his attention. “The sun’ll feel even better on the beach.” She guided him to the waiting vessel, alert for any change in his demeanor, or deluge of magic.

  “Lotte will help you,” she said when they reached the rail and Roger stumbled, his senses still addled from the tonic. The other woman stepped forward and supported him as he stepped over to the boat, her hands firm, but gentle. All of the witches on board held sympathy for a practitioner subjected to spellblock. Elisabeth followed, and then Leni. Between the three of them, they should be able to contain and disperse a flame-burst. The wind-witches could funnel any errant fire away on the breeze, twisting it to their purpose. While Elisabeth would confront the problem of subduing Roger. She hoped that it wasn’t necessary, hoped that she was able to bring him back from this ordeal.

  “Oh, that’s a nice beach,” he breathed as he settled into the boat and looked across the bay. Elisabeth watched as his gaze moved over the small sandy stretch, and then back out to sea to stare at the Jester. He considered it while the boat was lowered. “Is that my new home?” He asked once the two sailors began to row them toward the island. Hope rang in the slight quiver in his voice.

  “Aye.” Elisabeth confirmed. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” She caught a flicker of shadow at the rail—Cressia hadn’t joined them on the small boat, but a second vessel was preparing to leave, and Elisabeth knew the bodyguard would be on it. Elisabeth hoped the assassin’s skills weren’t needed. She wiped at the sweat that trickled down her face. It was getting hot in the proximity of the fire-witch.

  “I’ve missed the sea air,” Roger said, his eyes closed again as he took deep breaths, shoulders relaxing slightly. With the tension leaving him, the heat rose around him. Elisabeth kept a shielding charm ready, but allowed herself to also take a few cleansing breaths of the breeze that pushed them toward the beach alongside the steady oar-strokes of the two sailors. When a few flickers of fire swirled around Roger, Elisabeth crushed the trinket and let the shield settle over the boat. Carefully dampening the rising tide of magic. Heat-shimmer formed around him regardless, and Elisabeth signalled the two wind-witches to row faster.

  When they reached the surf, he eagerly jumped into the water, sending up a hiss and a cloud of steam. His physical condition improved as the spellblock wore off, but he still stumbled in the water, unaware that it evaporated in the boiling miasma that was beginning to surround him.

  “Damnit.” Elisabeth ground the word out between clenched teeth. The chances of losing him were increasing by the minute.“I think he’s going to go up. If he does, funnel the fire away from him. I’ll try to get him through it.”

  “Aye, captain,” Lotte and Leni acknowledged the order as one. They knew the value of a fire-witch. Roger was making his way along the beach, embers floating around him as he laughed at the blue sky.

  “Roger!” Elisabeth called after him. “Roger, you have to stay in control!” She followed in his footsteps, activating trinkets and charms as she went—shields and water talismans at her disposal as soon as she needed them. The only hope of saving him if he lost control lay in pulling the fire away from him to allow his body to absorb and transmute its own power.

  “It feels so good, captain. I feel warm for the first time in days. I feel my power rushing back to me. It’s in my veins! Ooohhhh.” Flames sprung around him, twisting themselves around his body like snakes.

  “Roger! Stop!” Elisabeth pushed the power of a binding charm into the word, but the spell shredded in the onslaught of his uncontrolled magic. Determined, she crushed two more and threw their strength at him. They held long enough for her to be able to see the fire-mage amidst the maelstrom of flames. The wind-witches stepped up next to their captain, and she felt their work in the way the breeze shifted, and the inferno began to flow away from Roger and into the sky until it dissipated in the stronger winds above the island. From the corner of her eye, Elisabeth saw Cressia circling around them, using the surf as protection from the heat.

  “You have to get control of yourself, or you’ll burn up, firestarter!” Elisabeth screamed over the roar of the blaze. Roger laughed, his gaze fixed on the flames as they twined around his arms, his hands, his fingers before the wind-witches snatched them away.

  “I finally feel warm!” He yelled, joy clear in his voice. Elisabeth cursed silently, and threw every bit of magic she had in her pockets and sewn into her coat at the inferno, hoping to quell it enough for the witch to regain control.

  “Roger! Rein it in! You’ll burn up!” She used magic to amplify the words. His veins shone gold with the amount of power he was channeling now that he was able to access it again. His gaze found hers and he held it. She watched the shift in his expression as reason returned. He nodded once, and the conflagration began to lessen.

  “I can’t control it,” he screamed when the inferno didn’t respond to his efforts. Elisabeth growled, dropped the shield on her necromancy, and reached towards the flames with the cold of the grave. The drop in temperature stabilized him. Lotte and Leni continued to pull the flames away from him. Elisabeth pushed one last time with every charm she had. The conflagration abruptly subsided, the combined effort of the four magic-users able to douse it. When the last of the flames slid into the sky above the beach, Roger collapsed into a heap, shattering the layer of glass that had formed as the sand beneath him melted. Elisabeth fell to her knees, exhaustion and relief draining her strength for the moment. They had accomplished the impossible. They had contained the firebomb and saved Roger.

  “That was too close,” Elisabeth breathed, and allowed herself to fall back into the sand.