Two large bonfires lit up Lobos Beach, and a large, full moon hung over the water in the bay, illuminating the two ships at anchor. The feast was ending, and the revelry was beginning. Mortimer, and his quartermaster were generous with their stores, providing meat, fruit, and hard bread to the beleaguered crew of the Silence. Both ships supplied kegs of ale and rum. The two crews intermingled, drinking and exchanging tales, and with the sun dipped below the horizon, music was starting up: fiddles and drums emerging, and the players converging.

  Elisabeth meandered through the groups of sailors, clapping shoulders and clasping arms, exchanging a few words with members of both crews. A feral beat started up, the drums calling to everyone, heads bobbing, hips swaying. Even Elisabeth felt it in her bones, she shrugged out of the weight of her coat, and let herself be caught up in the throbbing energy of the dancers and the deep thrum of the drums. She allowed Lotte and Leni to pull her along with the ribbons of people weaving between the two flames. The movement and the music were a release for the crews.

  Elisabeth twirled and jigged and whipped her hair in time with the drum beat. Sweat dripped between her breasts, and into her eyes. She danced until she was dizzy and breathless. With a laugh and wave, she disentangled herself from the two wind-witches. She retrieved her coat, still breathing hard, and found a jug of rum. The festivities were over for her, she craved a reprieve from the noise and the overpowering intensity of the two crews.

  At the beginning, it was a pleasant hum against her skin, but it was ant-bites now, painful pricks all over her body. She retreated into the jungle, and found a sturdy palm tree. She sat at its base, leaning against it she uncorked the jug of rum and took a long drink. In the shadow of the foliage, she knew she was barely visible from the beach, allowing her to let her guard down a little as she watched and listened to the continued merriment.

  The situation with Roger earlier in the day weighed on her mind—her eyes sought him out in the undulating bodies. He kept to himself, at the edge of the fires’ light, arms wrapped around his lanky body, not part of either crew, but eager to join. She was relieved that he was alive, and felt a twinge of guilt at what was done to him. The implications of her quartermaster’s decisions were a blow to the trust between captain and second in command. To secretly have spellblock on the Silence was a breach of their friendship.

  She saw Moira in the light of the fire, sitting in the sand, hand and hook flying in what looked like a heated discussion with the Jester’s quartermaster, a man whose name Elisabeth still failed to grasp, Jim maybe, or Joe. Where the captain of the Jester was charismatic and energetic, his presence memorable, his quartermaster was the opposite, the man left almost no impression, but she saw his influence everywhere now that she’d spent a few days on their ship. The subtle way that chores flowed and duties were assigned were clearly his doing, with a quiet word here, and a soft nudge there. The crew respected him, she knew. And there was something to be said for blending in and getting the job done without fanfare or bravado. She wondered what the two quartermasters were discussing, and then shrugged the thought away.

  Elisabeth took a long drink from the jug of rum she’d liberated before deciding to retreat to the solitude of the jungle. The feast was a way for the crews to release tension, but she didn’t feel the desire to join them. The task at hand was too big to lose sight of with a night of carousing and the lives lost in the Sargasso haunted her as she watched her diminished crew sing and dance. A few ghosts flickered among the revelers, the sacrificed sailors clinging to their companions for a little while longer. Watching the blue flashes, Elisabeth knew that none of them would linger long. They were here to bid farewell. She poured out a measure of rum on the ground in a toast to them, then took another long swallow of the harsh liquor.

  Cressia stepped out of the shadows to her right, silent as a jungle cat stalking its prey.

  “Captain Mortimer asks for your company aboard the Jester,” the assassin whispered, standing close enough to Elisabeth that she felt the warmth of the other woman’s flesh against her cool skin. A hint of judgement gave an edge to the message she delivered.

  “Do you think I failed them?” She asked the assassin instead of answering the request. Her thoughts still on the women who no longer sailed with them on the Silence, because they were five fathoms deep as a result of the curse that held them captive for too long.

  “No, captain. They were pirates. They knew the risks of life at sea,” Cressia assured her, voice still soft. “We all know the risks.”

  “Aye.” Elisabeth took one last drink from the jug of rum, then straightened her posture. “Stay here. Enjoy the feast. I’ll see you in the morning, old friend.” She clapped her hand on the other woman’s shoulder as she passed her, stepping carefully through the underbrush and back onto the beach. A longboat waited a short distance from the revelry, and as Elisabeth approached, she saw that only Henry stood near it, watching the bonfire and the two intermingling crews. He turned to her as she got closer, his profile catching the glow of the fire, highlighting his strong jaw, and making one of his blue eyes appear to glimmer.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he confessed.

  “And yet, here I am,” she answered. “No escort?”

  “I can row us out easily enough.” She walked past him into the surf, and heard him splashing along beside her a moment later. They both clambered into the longboat, grace not an option in the surging tide. It was foolish to go to his bed now that she was reunited with her ship, but his earlier words had struck a chord within her—she wanted one last, uncomplicated night curled next to his warmth. He rowed with confidence, his strokes long and even. The night tilted around her with each swell, the rum enhancing the sensation, and leaving her slightly nauseous. She laughed under her breath—captain of a ship and she was queasy in a longboat after drinking a bit of rum. With a shake of her head at her own folly, she activated a small healing charm and allowed it to pull the alcohol from her blood.

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  By the time the longboat bumped against the hull of the Jester, she was sober and clear-headed. She climbed the rope ladder without hesitation. The lone sailor left on watch shone his light in her direction and withdrew when his captain jumped onto the deck a moment later. Henry wrapped an arm around her waist and they made their way below to his quarters, neither captain speaking as they walked through the ship in the dark, trusting the bright moonlight and their memory to keep them from running into things.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, he pulled her against his body and she allowed it, enjoyed it. She twined her hands around his neck, fingers in his hair and let the heat of his kiss fill her, her desire for him hot and urgent now that they were alone. He pulled away long enough to pull her coat off, and then his lips were on hers again, his hands roaming over her body, tugging at fabric.

  He was slowly pushing them across the room towards the bed. When they stood next to it, and her whole body ached with her need for him, he stopped, and undressed her so she stood naked in the moonlit cabin. For a long moment, he didn’t touch her, only looked at her, and when she reached for him, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, he didn’t allow it. Instead, he spun her around, so she faced the windows, kicked her legs apart, and pushed her forward across the swaying bed. A small part of her objected to the position, but her desire was too strong, and she gave herself over to his dominance.

  ***

  The moon shone through the window, nearing the horizon, when they lay sated and warm in a pile of rumpled blankets. Henry’s body was a furnace, as usual, and Elisabeth’s flesh was already cooling again. Sleep tugged at her with its hungry fingers.

  “I’ll take the fire-witch off your hands,” the words were a groggy slur that she barely understood. It took her a moment to parse them.

  “Good,” she answered, trailing a hand down his chest. He gripped her hand in one of his, holding it tight for a moment, and then released her as he dropped into sleep. Elisabeth waited, and when his breathing evened, she rolled onto her side, her back nestled against his warmth, and gazed out at the shimmering light on the waves. The last of the moon’s luminance flickering across the bay. At least the problem of the fire-witch was settled. Roger was officially part of the Jester’s crew and no longer under her command. It was a relief to know that he wasn’t forced to remain on the Silence until they reached a safe harbor. With at least one problem solved, Elisabeth allowed herself to drift into sleep.

  ***

  “Captain.” Cressia’s voice pulled her from dreamless darkness. Elisabeth startled awake, and instinctively reached for a blade that wasn’t there, because she wasn’t in her own bed. Experience meant that the assassin’s hand was clasped firmly around her captain’s lower leg to wake her, out of reach of any knife the She-Wolf might pull when woken unexpectedly. It always took her a moment to differentiate friend from foe. She blinked a handful of times. The sky beyond the window was dark, but the room was filled with a blue glow—her entourage of ghosts undulated around the bed, crowding close to Cressia. Henry woke beside her before she could speak, a knife in his hand within seconds and pointed at the intruder.

  “It’s Cressia,” she whispered and pulled the blade from his grasp. “What’s wrong?” She asked the bodyguard, sitting up in the bed, blanket pooling in her lap.

  “You better get dressed. We have a problem.” An orange glow flared through the cabin for a moment and then disappeared. The ghosts shrieked, and disappeared in a whirl of cerulean. When their screams subsided and the ringing cleared from Elisabeth’s ears, an alarm sounded from the deck above them—the ship’s bell ringing wildly. A moment later, an answering alarum went up on the Silence.

  “What is it, Cress?” Elisabeth asked, throwing a witch-orb into the corner of the room without thought, and clambering over a protesting Henry to find her clothing. She pulled on garments, handing items back and forth with Mortimer, both captains rushing to prepare for whatever crisis waited for them.

  “Volcano eruption. The fire-witch sent me to get you. He wasn’t sure what to do at first, but he’s started…doing something. We need to get out of this bay, and fast.”

  “Fuck! Are the crews in place or still passed out on the beach?” Henry was shoving his feet into his boots.

  “Moira’s getting ours going. I don’t know where yours is, captain. With the bells going, I hope he’s getting the Jester ready,” Cressia answered, her tone impatient. Elisabeth shrugged into her coat and began to move toward the door.

  “Good. Henry, I need to get back to my ship,” she called over her shoulder at the man who followed close on her heels, once again displacing her bodyguard from her post.

  “Aye, aye. Take a longboat and Mariss to row you over if she’s onboard. I’ll get her back from you in Driftwood Bay.” His strong grip on her arm stopped her mid-stride. He stepped close to her, and leaned down to kiss her, quickly and deeply.

  “For luck,” he whispered against her lips, and then let her go, giving her a little shove to get them all moving again. Elisabeth didn’t hesitate.

  The two captains and former royal assassin ran through the ship, Around them, the Jester boiled with activity, sailors also running, most of them half-dressed, all of them groggy. Up on the deck, the turmoil was more pronounced—a few longboats still rowing in from the beach. They stopped at the rail, waiting for a boat to reach them, and Elisabeth saw Henry scanning the scurrying sailors for the whereabouts of his quartermaster and of Mariss. She paused to study the crew, and saw that some of them stumbled, still drunk.

  “Fuck.” They were doomed if they weren’t fast enough in rigging the ships to get them out of the bay.

  “Mariss!” Henry shouted next to her, cutting through her concentration. “Take Captain Wolf and her bodyguard back to the Silence!” Elisabeth found a cleansing charm sewn into the lapel of her coat, and activated it, forcing the magic through the struggling crew. By the time Mariss and the boat were ready, the men of the Jester appeared steady, and almost sober.

  “We’ll get you back to the Jester in Driftwood Bay,” she assured Mariss, as the woman passed them to climb down into the boat. Elisabeth paused as a fireball streaked across the sky and plummeted to the sea between the two ships. Another came careening toward them, and then its flame was extinguished, its rock center falling harmlessly into the bay. Elisabeth turned to see Roger in the bow of the ship. He looked grounded, the strength of his focus clear in the lines on his face. A rope of flame circled around him—he’d absorbed the energy of the volcano’s projectile in an impressive display of power. Elisabeth made note of the trick, and continued to climb over the rail and down the rope ladder to the waiting longboat.

  It was time to return to the Silence.