Page 36 of The Flame and the Forsaken

The most depressing realization washed over her: Obsidian Sky was done. Their best work was behind them now, not ahead. Whatever her fate, the others were on borrowed time. The stewards now knew their favorite brigands were willing to take bigger risks, and would stop at nothing to hunt them down, one by one.

Better they chase her forever, than the others, for even a minute.

“They’re gaining!” Erran bellowed.

Mariel shoved everything in her arms down the hatch, slammed it, and threw the bolt. The ship listed as they approached the currents most traders avoided. Everyone knew the White Sea took indiscriminately, and anyone who had ever gone too far out to sea had never returned.

She skated again, this time hitting the deck with her hands. Erran’s full focus was channeled into his handiwork, a maestro conducting his masterpiece, a seduction of ropes and rigging.

Mariel returned to the tiller and unlatched the lock, planting her feet as they reached the first onset of choppier waters. She craned her neck back to search for the skiff, but it seemed to hold the same distance.

“Tide’s going out, and it’s taking us along,” Erran called, but he didn’t sound happy, which perplexed her. The keel was at no risk from seabed collision in the low tidal pull, because as Erran had pointed out, her ship had a shallow draft. And without the wind, they’d need some assistance from nature, or he’d end up snapping his arms trying to manipulate the air.

“Aye, good!” The tiller rumbled under her hands from the force of their direction, turned to a northeast angle against the building current. Her gut burned with shame at how easily he’d assumed a captain’s role aboard her own ship, clearly assuming she’d never learned how to pilot theMistwitchat all. It singed deeper when she was forced to accept he was partly right. She’d piloted her a few times, sure, but in shallow waters, where she belonged. They were already farther from the shore than she’d ever been, skipper or passenger.

“Good? How far do you ken we’re going, Mariel?”

“Far enough to shake those thugs!”

“You gonna tell me who they are?”

“They’re guards.” Mariel’s boot slipped. She’d keep slipping as long as the leather was sodden. When it was safe to drop anchor, she’d dry her gear and dig out something new.

“No shite. Why are they afteryou?” His shoulders rippled under his still-soaked shirt as he pulled and leaned and gave and listed. She was mesmerized, watching him work. It was almost beautiful, if they weren’t sailing for their literal lives.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Her muscles locked as the current tried to force the rudder farther north. She gritted down and locked it back in place. Seawater rose to the east and crashed against the side of theMistwitch, peppering them with spray. A little higher and they’d have been swamped.

“How close?”

“What?”

“How close are they now?”

Mariel turned again and nearly whooped from joy. “They’re receding. Erran, they’ve stopped!”

“Because they know better.” He eased off the trimming and tied the halyards. “If we go any farther east, to open sea, we’ll capsize. No doubt of it. You have a map in this mess?”

“Of course I have a feckin’ map,” she replied, flicking a nod over her shoulder. “In the galley, one of the top cupboards.”

“You keep your map in the kitchen?” Erran was dubious, his expression edged with judgment. “Ken that means you’ve never found much use for it?”

“Oh, you can lose the smug look. Some skippers don’t need maps.” She tapped her chest. “Got ’em in here.”

“Allskippers need a map, and the best ones aren’t afraid to admit it,” Erran replied with a quick, condescending smile that was far more galling than his assumption of command. He approached, his arms crossed. “How fortunate you are to have me.”

Mariel snorted and averted her eyes.

“Aye, you could pout.” His lip hitched. “Or you could thank me.”

“Thankyou?” Mariel screeched.

“For saving your arse, for one.”

“I don’t even know why you’re here!”

He stared at her, open-mouthed, his head slowly passing back and forth. “I cannae even fathom how yer mind must work, baring down on me when yer the one who rode hours to meet a man conveniently wrapped up in the most significant business transaction my father has ever made, right after he mentioned it at breakfast, only to be chased into thefecking sea, and then you turn your suspicion on me? The one throwing his future away for a woman who cannae even stand him?”

Mariel was taken aback, though she shouldn’t have been. What else was he to assume, following her to Banner’s and watching the guards hunt her down like the criminal she was? He might be a spoiled brat, but he wasn’t stupid. “Well... Well, I see your salt and sand has come back, but where are your mates?”

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