Page 129 of The Queens and the Kings
Chapter Thirty Six
BRITT
Britt screamedas the wind and seaswept her away. She had nothing to hold onto as she skimmed an increasingly tempestuous ocean, westbound. After ten seconds of heart pounding nausea, she made herself hold her bowl-like cocoon of swirling water that held her weight.
Pedr glared into the approaching storm as they separated, out of view within a minute. She clutched the firm but moving sides, curled her knees into her chest, and focused.
Wyverns.
Dead ahead.
Denerfen, wings tucked to his body to avoid falling in the sea, lay on her breastbone and beneath her dress. He peered out, eyes alight with joy. The smell of smoke filled her nostrils so briefly she might have imagined it.
“How are you enjoying this?” she shouted over the whipping winds.
He squeaked.
They raced toward the merchant ship of the line at a breakneck speed, highlighted by the stormy miasma. A sense of impending doom followed her every breath. The whole planmight fail. If Pedr was reluctant to send her, the consequences must be terrible, but not catastrophic.
She might die, but itwouldbe grand.
The sea bobbed her along like a cork. Fat raindrops lashed her face as she soared higher, over the top of building waves on her own wave-like cocoon. She stared, wide eyed, as the ship approached.
“Too fast!” she exclaimed.
The empty deck, pitching in yet another wave, barreled closer with breathless ferocity. Three seconds and she’d crash, smashing her to smithereens. The sea bore her forward regardless, utterly invisible.
“Stop!”
Britt grabbed Denerfen, tucked her elbows in, knees up, head down, and braced herself.
The shell vanished.
She hit the deck.
Her teeth jarred as she tumbled side over side. After four hard thuds on her aching shoulders, her momentum arrested. She leaned into her spine on the last landing, stopping a final topple before she crushed Denefen’s wings.
He chirruped weakly.
Arms splayed, she lay on the deck. Rain thrummed into her face from overhead. Several moments passed before her thoughts cleared. Britt shoved upright. Rain shimmered like watery velvet on the deck. Each tipsy roll of the vessel gave another groan. All sails were pulled in, as if the crew had surrendered. The ghostly outlines of high timbers loomed, clotted with ropes. No shouts, no calls. Only the empty air of a ship at the mercy of a sea master.
With a tap on Denerfen, who popped out of her neckline with another delighted squall, Britt stole across the top. She fell threetimes, sliding on her backside until she almost smashed into a mast.
Denerfen cried in her ear.
“I know!” she shouted. “I’m trying to find a hatch!”
They had less than thirty minutes before their return and she couldn’t waste a moment. Denerfen fluttered off her shoulder, hovering not far away. In the sluicing rain, Britt somehow noticed a small square in the deck. Too small to be a cargo hatch, it might lead to the staff quarters. Though those were normally near the quarterdeck at the stern. If they had locked it from the other side, then yanking that heavy wooden square open would be another matter entirely.
She muttered under her breath, “I hope you’re worth it, wyverns.”
Britt yanked on the access. To her surprise, it elevated a finger’s width. Not locked! What luck? Grunting, she attempted to lift it further, but struggled with the weight of the wet wood. If it slammed shut, someone would hear.
“Den!” she hissed. “Help! I need to reposition my fingers to the middle. This corner is too awkward. I need my legs beneath me.”
Denerfen dropped off her shoulder, wedged himself in between, and squawked once. He didn’t protest as she gently let it rest enough to allow her to shimmy to the middle of the trapdoor, press her feet into the deck, and crank it higher.
He soared inside.
