“Would you do anything to protect your crew?”
Fynn’s eyes fluttered. “Anything,” he said. “They’re my family.”
“My brother told me you would,” Sol said quietly. “That’s why I didn’t tell you about my Magic. He said that a sensible Captain would kill me if he thought I was a threat to his crew.” She tightened her hold on the knife. “But that’s not an excuse—not a good one. I should have told you I was a Wielder, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, love. You had no reason to trust me.”
“I had no reason not to, either.”
The Captain shrugged. “I know now,” he said. “And that’s all that matters. Death is a plausible fear, and most other Captain’s would have thrown you overboard the moment they discovered what you were.”
“But not you.”
He grinned. “But not me.”
Footsteps thudded near the threshold. Fynn casually stepped in front of Sol, an instinctual movement of his body after years of protecting the ones he loved. He’d always been a buffer between Riel and her father when they fought, between Gracia and Luca when the twins were at each other’s throats. Sol was a stranger on this ship, but after the attack on the Refuge that morning, he did not know who might have discovered who she was, who might have a score to settle with the Princess’ father and were willing to use her as a punishment.
Riel propped herself up in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. “We’re ready to go,” she drawled. “I suppose our new Wielder will be joining us?”
Fynn angled himself towards Sol. “Now is your chance to change your mind.”
Sol worried at her bottom lip. “You’ll only tell me about the crystals if I come?”
The Quartermaster snorted. “That’s the bargain you made with him? Tell you about the crystals and you’ll join us?” Riel’s teeth were startlingly white in the dim cabin lighting. “If you wanted to know about the Captain’s fancy rocks, all you had to do is ask. He’s obsessed.”
“Crystals!” Fynn complained. “They’re crystals, you godsdamned heathen.”
Sol stifled a quiet laugh behind her fingers.
“He was looking for new pieces to add to his collection when he found you that day in Valestorm. Didn’t you ever wonder why that bag he gave you was so heavy? It was full of rocks.”
Fynn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remind me again why I keep you around?”
Her smile was horribly wicked. “To inform pretty girls that you’re more than just a charming little Captain.”
Fynn groaned and ushered Riel from the cabin, shooing her away with a brisk wave of his hand. “Get out,” he said, then turned to Sol and tapped the hilt of her blade. “Hide this in your boot and keep it concealed. Don’t take it out unless I tell you to.”
The Princess of Sonamire frowned. She fumbled the knife through the laces of her boot, taking extra care to tie the strings around the blade to ensure it wouldn’t slip loose. He did not tell her that in doing so, she’d rendered the weapon useless. She’d never free it quickly enough to use it.
But he’d promised that she would not have to, and Fynn was a man of his word.
Fynn waited until she stood up straight, until the knife was secure inside the Princess’ fur-lined boot, and looped his arm through her elbow. “We’ll have to use the gangplank to cross onto the other ship,” he informed Sol, leading her from the cabin. “Will you be all right?”
The color drained from her cheeks. “I’ll fall overboard.”
“I won’t let you.”
“Can’t we cross together?”
“No,” Fynn said. “But I can use my Magic to steady you. I’ve done it hundreds of times, and I’ve even saved Riel from plummeting head-first into the sea. I promise you, you’ll be all right.”
Sol drew a shuddering breath that Fynn felt deep in his own lungs. “I trust you.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It warms my heart to hear you say that.”
And it warmed his heart indeed, that traitorous thing inside his chest that beat in time with the wind.
Sol demanded that Draven stay in Fynn’s cabin to wait for her, and when the direwolf had finally resigned from stamping his paws and snarling in eerily human-like frustration, Fynn led her to the group of deckhands that Riel had assembled for this mission.
Milo and Jax were bickering quietly back and forth, the latter punching his brother in the arm over a quiet sneer beneath his breath. A girl called Tiphan was smiling with Riel near the gangplank, a quiver of arrows strapped over her back and her bow propped against the hull.
“Are we ready?” Fynn asked, patting Sol’s arm and gently shaking her loose.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Riel snipped. She grabbed the ship’s rail and swung herself up onto the gangplank with a familiarity that Fynn knew Sol must envy. Her shuffling feet only confirmed it. “You don’t mind if I go first, do you?”
“Cross to the deck and nothing more,” Fynn said. “You’ll wait for the rest of us.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Fynn took a breath as Riel spun on her heels, her braided hair a whip in the ocean breeze. Her boots pounded over the walkway, her arms flung wide as the wood bowed beneath her weight. Fynn wrapped his Magic around her middle, a gentle wind that gripped her waist to ensure she kept her balance. Fynn did not feel like swimming today, and there was no one else brazen enough to jump in after her should the Quartermaster plummet into the sea.
The others crossed without incident, and when he and Sol were the only two that remained, Fynn turned to the Princess and offered her a steady hand. If there were any part of her that hesitated, she certainly did not show it beyond squeezing his fingers until they ached.
Fynn nudged her towards the gangplank. “Step up.”
She took the railing in her empty hand. Sol stumbled as she hauled herself onto the walkway, her fingernails cutting sharply into Fynn’s skin as he steadied her. “One foot in front of the other,” he said calmly. “I promise, I won’t let you fall.”
The breath she took was filled with the Captain’s Magic, a soft gust of air that he prayed helped soothe her fear.
Sol placed one foot in front of the other. Left, right, pause. Left, right, pause. Her arms floundered at her sides, and if not for the wind that Fynn had wrapped around her middle, he was certain she’d have toppled sideways and plunged into the water below.
“You’re almost there,” Fynn encouraged. “Just a few more steps.”
Sol leapt onto the deck of the bounty hunters’ ship. She bent at the waist, her hands braced on her knees, and panted as if she’d swum the hundreds of miles back to Sonamire. Riel was grinning as she clapped her on the back, her lips moving with words that Fynn could not hear. He prayed to the Gods they were kind. Sol would never cross back over if Riel mocked her.
With the ease of a man who had done this for half his life, Fynn lifted himself up onto the gangplank. Balance had always come naturally to him, his Magic a permanent tether that never let him fall. His earliest memories were of walking along the narrow edge of a beautiful granite fountain, his mother smiling as she warned him not to fall into the water. He never had.