Fynn said nothing as Amael left him near the mizzenmast. In the year he had been on this ship, Amael had never so much as openly disagreed with him. He’d never been wary of his crewmates, either, and each of them had their own secrets.
“Don’t worry about him.” Riel slung her arm around Fynn’s waist and squeezed. He did not know where she’d come from, but he wasn’t surprised that his Quartermaster had sought him out, likely having only stayed away this long to avoid Amael’s frustration. “Dryuans equate lying with sin, you know that. But Amael will come to his senses, especially when he realizes that your wound was more serious than you let on.”
He dropped his head to Riel’s shoulder. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”
“You were bleeding all over my deck,” Riel pointed out. “Of course I noticed. I wanted to pummel you for not going straight to Luca.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t.”
Riel embraced him again and let the Captain go. “Arden will be fine. Luca has seen and healed much worse.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Remember that time you were speared—”
“Yes.” He waved her away. “Why do you think I’ve avoided Dryu until now?”
“For Amael’s sake,” Riel said. “Because you took a spear to the chest in his place and he’s never forgiven himself for it.”
“And now he’s pissed at me because the Princess is keeping secrets.”
The Quartermaster kissed his cheek. “He’s not pissed, Fynn. He thought they were friends and Sol didn’t trust him enough to tell him. He’s hurt. Give him time.”
“We don’t have time,” Fynn lamented. “We’ll reach the islands in a few days, and I need Amael to tell me how to win them over.”
“You’re charming,” Riel reminded him. “You can win them over on your own.”
“Nero was immune to my charm, hence the spear.”
“Perhaps you’re not his type.”
Fynn snorted. “I’m everyone’s type.”
Riel grinned as she looped her arm through his elbow. “There’s my favorite, egotistical little brother.”
“Confident, Riel. I’m confident. We’ve been over this.” Fynn led her across the deck, veering around puddles of blood. “Your ship was just attacked and Arden is near death down below. Why are you being this nice to me?”
The smile dropped from Riel’s face as she pulled him to a stop, her fingers gripping his arm. “Because what happened to Arden isn’t your fault, and I know you’ve found a way to blame yourself.”
“Isn’t it?” Fynn stared at the planks beneath his feet. Someone had scrubbed them clean, but the lingering traces of blood still remained, engrained into the wood in a permanent stain that would mark this battle with the bounty hunters. “I let Sol Rosebone onto this ship. You warned me what would happen if I let her stay, and I didn’t listen. Those hunters were only here because of her.”
“I know,” Riel said. “But if someone was willing to pay men like that to drag her back to Sonamire, maybe it’s a good thing she’s here. You and I both know what those brutes would have done to her the moment she was aboard their ship.”
Fynn winced. He did not want to consider it.
“She’s a pretty girl, Fynn, and assuming it was Avedis who sent those hunters, he knows it. He knows what they would have done to her and yet he sent them anyway.” Riel flipped her braid behind her shoulder. “I don’t know what the Princess is running from, but if her father’s lack of sentiment is any indication of what it was like for her back home, I can’t say I blame her for wanting to flee across the Emerald.”
Fynn arched an eyebrow. “So, you like her now?”
“I tolerate her now.”
He chuckled. “How kind of you.”
“She also saved your life, so for that, I suppose I owe her.”
The Captain rolled his eyes. “You’re a heathen.”
Riel’s grin was wicked. “You should check on her,” she said. “She hit the planks awfully hard when her Magic finally ran out. She damn near healed everyone on this deck.”
Fynn frowned as he turned back to look at Sol. She was beginning to stir, her fingers fumbling through Draven’s fur as she curled further into his side. Her lips were moving, and the direwolf nuzzled his nose against her cheek as if in answer to her words.
Fynn was still staring at them when the Refuge jolted beneath his feet. He stumbled into Riel as the prow of the bounty hunters’ ship cracked into the Refuge’s hull. Its serpentine bowsprit ground against the banister, scratching at the stained mahogany and carving out gouges in the wood.
Fynn’s Magic stirred, rallying as if to summon a breeze to launch the ship across the sea. “Do me a favor,” he said instead. Riel hummed her acknowledgment. “Round up a few deckhands and prepare them for a raid.”
Riel turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “You want to steal from the hunters?”
“Those bastards attacked my ship,” he reminded her. “And now I’m going to rob theirs for all it might be worth.”
The Quartermaster cracked her knuckles. “I love it when you’re spiteful.”
“Send for me when you’re ready to go. I’ll join you.”
He would not tell Riel that the prospect of killing another bounty hunter might aid in relieving his guilt. Fynn prayed there was another on board, just one, so that they might pay the price for what had been done to Arden.
Riel dipped her chin. “Aye, Captain.”
Fynn angled himself towards his cabin. “Do you think the Princess is up for a trip?”
“I think I’ll laugh myself to tears when she wets herself. Five gold coins says she trips and falls into the water.”
The corners of the Captain’s mouth twitched. “Eventually, we’ll have to stop betting on her,” he said. “But I think she might just surprise you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SOL
She did not like those first few moments when one was roused into consciousness, when her mind lingered between reality and her dreams and she could not differentiate between them.
The hand on her shoulder was real, a solid weight that gently shook her from her sleep. The rumbling beneath her cheek as Draven snarled through his teeth—that was real, too. But the fire-phoenix that raged above the ship, its sparkling wings like a feathered sunset lit aflame, was not.
Sol squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
“Rise and shine, love. I reckon you’ve slept long enough.”
Such a beautiful, lilting accent that the Captain of the Refuge spoke with. Sol had never heard anything quite like it, every hushed, elongated syllable rolling smoothly into the next. Like the beast that burned behind her eyelids, evaporating like mist in the midmorning sun as her consciousness slowly returned to her, Fynn’s voice couldn’t be real.
Sol nestled into the warmth of Draven’s fur. Exhaustion pulled at every inch of her, at every muscle and bone that was tight and brittle beneath her skin. No matter how lovely his voice, the richness of his tone, she would not adhere to the filth that spewed from his mouth.