“Have you been aboard this whole time?” she asked the pipe-smoking sailor.
“Yes, milady.” He took out the pipe and eyed her like she’d gone mad. “As the captain ordered me.”
She tore back up the stairs, her foot slipping on the last one. Catching herself with one hand on the bronze railing, she shouted over the bustling crew and the injured sailors who were being hefted as carefully as was possible over the sides, “Nico!”
Viridi was at her side in a flash of movement surely only elves could manage. “He’s not here?”
Rhianne looked at them and frowned. She leaned toward a crew member who was settling another three injured mates on deck. Rhianne then stood and raised a hand, getting the crew’s attention. She held to a sail’s line. “Anyone seen the boy?”
A man with a braided beard and massive shoulders stepped forward in respect to Rhianne. “He went ashore in a skiff like captain ordered.”
Werian lowered his head, his gaze going dangerous. “I didn’t make that order.”
“He said…” the bearded man stumbled over his words. “…the boy said you wanted him in my skiff, to meet up with Mistress Isa.”
“I’m not angry with you, Thomas,” Werian said to the man while Isa’s ears rang. “I’m worried about the situation.”
Memories flooded Isa’s mind: Nico holding her hand at the dock when they first boarded the Brunes’ ship. His fingers were hardly more than bones. His bright blue eyes looking down at her and telling her a story he’d made up when she was sick for the first of a million times onboard. The ferocious protectiveness that gripped her when Ursane began beating him.
Then she imagined what might be happening now… “Seigneur has him. I just know it.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
ISA
Isa fought off panic as Rhianne took out her wand, her fingers trembling with fatigue.
“No,” Isa said. “You all must stay here and heal. We can handle this.”
Viridi’s eyes widened a fraction and he glanced toward the shore.
“Absolutely not,” Werian said. “John and Eamon have things covered here. Princess Rhianne and I will be at your side, ready to fight as needed.”
The dragon flew overhead and landed on deck gracefully, wings brushing the main mast and nearly taking out Eamon. Everyone froze.
“I had wondered what your choice would be,” Werian said cautiously.
Sunlight sparkled over the ice-blue crystals that grew in a line down the dragon’s spine. She tucked her wings, and her citrine gaze flicked to the sailor nearest her crystal-spiked tail. The man looked like he was about to be sick all over the deck.
“Careful now, crew,” Werian said. “She has been treated poorly.”
Isa remembered the butcher’s dog who had lived just down the way from her family during her childhood. The butcher had tied the poor thing up on a short rope, and several of the town bullies would taunt the creature. She remembered one boy poking the dog roughly with a stick, hitting the dog’s eye once. And she’d never forget the day the dog’s rope broke. That boy with the stick had lost use of his left hand for good by the time the butcher pulled the dog off of him.
The dragon lowered its large head and eyed everyone in turn as if she were sizing them all up. Hopefully, as potential allies rather than possible meals.
Isa couldn’t just stand there another minute. Nico was missing, and most likely in Seigneur Brune’s terrible hands.
“Maybe she’d like a bit of food?” John started toward one of the many barrels.
The dragon jerked, eyes narrowing and belly going orange with banked fire.
“Easy now,” Werian said, a hand out.
Isa walked ever so slowly toward the spot where the rope ladder was secured as the ship bobbed gently.
The wind rose and a wave crested. One of the dryad elves stumbled and fell onto the deck. The dragon snarled and swung around to face him and Werian launched himself between the dragon and the elf. With a hiss, the dragon snapped at Werian, catching his shoulder.
Blood poured from the wound and Werian paled further, Rhianne crying out.