"Take this one," Effie said, indicating the smallest boat of the three with the fewest decorations. She bounced while whispering soothingly into her baby's ear. The sight brought both a pang and a peace to Brighty's chest. "Lay the blanket down first, and then wrap him in it. My father made them years ago to protect us in case of fire. It should keep the boat from burning."
Brighty did as instructed, first setting out the blanket and then unceremoniously dropping Rafe on top of it. The boat nearly capsized, water sloshing over the sides, and Brighty lunged to settle it. The last thing she needed was a swim in the canals to dive after him. There was no doubt in her mind Rafe would sink right to the bottom. When his limbs and wings were as drawn in as possible, she bundled the blanket around him, shielding his face and adjusting the folds until he looked like no more than covered cargo.
"Who is he?" Effie asked softly, her tone giving nothing away.
Turning around to face her one last time, Brighty settled by the oars. "A friend."
They stared at each other for a moment, time a fluid thing as their past and present merged, the years hanging between them while at the same time barely there. How many times had they been in this exact position? Murmuring goodbye with promises of "next time" and sweet kisses to last the days apart? There were no touches now, no lingering handholds, no longing glances, no declarations of tomorrow, but there was something between them—not the bright flame of young love, but affection, aged and more mature, just as they were.
"Thank you, Effie," Brighty finally whispered, her throat dry. "I won't forget this."
"Be safe, Thalyia."
It was done.
Keeping her baby to her chest, Effie disappeared behind the locked gate of the dock and Brighty started rowing down the canal, careful to keep her ears open for the sound of voices. The fire, it seemed, had caused enough of a distraction. The city had come alive, mages running to help contain the damage while the people whose houses were burning spat rage into the night. Boats drifted by, making her just another wandering soul in the dark. Her muscles screamed from all the paddling, yet with each passing moment her nerves settled. When she finally reached the ship, Brighty let out a high-pitched whistle. A second later, Archer's face appeared over the bow, his salt-and-pepper hair blowing in the breeze as humor twisted his features.
"Just the man I wanted to see," Brighty called, feeling herself again, this hulk of wood more a home to her than any she'd had before. "Rafe is hidden in this metal blanket, and I need you to bring him on board."
"Rafe?"
"Just do it. And toss me a rope."
The rope came first, followed by streaks of green ferro'kine magic. Brighty scrambled up with Rafe floating behind, until they were both deposited on deck. But the work didn't end there.
"Where is everyone?" she asked.
"Cook is below deck with Spout and Squirrel, all asleep last time I checked. Captain is in her rooms and Patch is with the rest in the city. Another ship of dragon hunters came in while you were gone, so the crew challenged them to a game of dice."
"Dice dice?"
Archer just grinned.
Brighty rolled her eyes. Of all the nights… "I'll take over watch. I need you to go round them up. We set sail immediately."
"You vying for my job?"
Brighty spun. "Captain!"
"I heard you through my window," the older woman said, still a voice of authority despite being barefoot in loose breeches. Her shirt billowed around her waist, the ties mostly undone. "What's going on? And don't tell me that's a dead body."
"Worse." Brighty swallowed. "It's Rafe."
"Rafe?" A frown twisted her lips, making the wrinkles around the edges seem deeper. Captain Rokaro knelt and threw the blanket aside, a snarl coming up her throat the moment she noticed his leathery wings. "The king?"
"The king."
They shared a look. Captain stood and pointed at Archer. "Go round up the others and tell them we set sail as soon as everyone's on board. No delays. No dillydallying. Last one on deck cleans the privy for a month."
Archer ran off without another word, and Captain turned toward her.
"I'll take his feet," Brighty said, moving toward Rafe.
"Not so fast."
She froze.
"I said we set sail as soon as everyone's on board, but I never said we're taking Rafe with us."
"Cap—"
"Give me one good reason," Captain said, no malice in her voice, just directness. "One good reason why I should defy the king I've spent most of my life working for, the king we've all sacrificed for, the king with the fate of our entire world on his shoulders."
Brighty met her icy eyes. "Because Rafe's one of us."
"And in any other circumstance, that would be enough. But not this one."
They stared, neither backing down. After a few tense seconds, Captain arched her brow. Brighty broke, tearing herself away with a curse. Her thoughts fled back to the warehouse and the fight, but most of all, to that moment between Rafe and the queen that she still couldn't quite erase—their wings spread and their eyes locked as flames and flurries lit the skies around them. They'd looked like…like…
"What if there's another reason?" she offered slowly, lifting her head.
"What?" Captain narrowed her eyes, studying Brighty. "Spit it out."
The idea was ludicrous.
To even think it—to even imagine it—
"What if…" Brighty took a deep breath, picturing Malek's stone-cold face as he offered her a choice all those years ago, no passion in his gaze and no pain, nothing but steel. Then she thought of Rafe, the fear and worry and caring in his eyes right before he took that idiotic leap off the main mast to single-handedly slay a dragon. Maybe she wanted to believe a king was someone who would risk everything to save a life rather than callously send one away. Maybe she simply yearned for a leader she actually wanted to follow. Or maybe, just maybe, it was true. "What if he's the King Born in Fire?"
"Are you drunk?"
"I know it sounds like I've had one dragon's breath too many, but what if it's true, Captain? I saw him with the queen tonight. They're connected somehow. Their spirits are tied. I know it, and I think King Malek knows it too. The way he looked at them—it was the look of a man whose world was falling out from under him. And if there's even a chance this might be true, don’t we need to take it? If not for ourselves, then for the world?"
Captain lifted her fingers to her temples, features pinching as though in pain. Then in one swift motion, she knelt and hooked her elbows beneath Rafe's shoulders. "Well, are you going to help me or not?"
Brighty grabbed his feet and tossed the metal blanket over her shoulder. "Where are we taking him?"
Captain glanced to her right toward the gangplank, then to her left toward the door. With a sigh, she said, "To his room. And by the time we get there, I want to know every detail of what happened tonight. Understood?"
Brighty grinned. "Aye, aye, Captain."
While they carried him below deck, she described Rafe's moment with the queen, his fight with the king, and his not-so-graceful fall from the skies. As Brighty's story ran out, silence descended—unreadable, impenetrable silence. Not saying a word, they settled Rafe on the bed, making sure his fiery wings were carefully wrapped in the mesh before stepping back into the hall. Brighty almost flinched when the door clicked shut, unable to stand the quiet. But Captain just lifted her palm to the wood grains, staring as though she could see through them to the man sleeping on the other side.