Another groan shakes the wood beneath me, and as if we are a toy in some god’s fingers, the ship slopes slowly in the opposite direction. I pull myself through the doorway and then lie flat against the wall as the entire thing leans back, until I’m near horizontal again.
My stomach churns. I force myself to breathe as my hair lifts from my neck, dangling toward the ceiling.
And then it rights itself, slamming me into the ground.
I willnotdrown like a rat.
The moment the ship steadies, I scramble toward the staircase leading above and slam my shoulder into the hatch, exchanging stillness for the roar of wind and a face full of stinging water. Sodden ropes lie in heaps around the deck, the crew ducking between their lines to manipulate the sails and rigging, each of them impossibly agile.
My legs tremble so much that I can barely stand.
But I’m alive. Free, and—
A wave larger than anything I’ve seen crashes onto the deck, knocking me to the ground as the ship tilts nearly on its side once more. For a moment, the movement attracts Nessa’s eyes and they widen as if she’s shocked I haven’t kept upright along with the rest of the crew. Then the water drags me by my ankles toward the edge.
My scream is joined by one sharp whistle, and I’m just about to slam into the railing when an arm locks around my waist, tugging me through the air one last time to collide with a sturdy wall of flesh.
“You don’t like to stay put, do you, Trouble?” I can hardly breathe as I stare into Faolan’s eyes and hear the lunatic laugh as if it’s not all completely terrifying. Lightning splits the sky above our headsand he glances up, then nods once and hooks his other arm beneath my trembling legs.
Words that barely make sense pour from my lips as I cling to his shirt. “Don’t put me back below. Please—I don’t want to die like that.”
His brows quirk together as he walks us across the deck, then sets me down at the helm, where Tavin holds the wheel. Faolan taps him on the shoulder, and the moment Tavin steps aside, Faolan catches the wheel with one hand and locks his arm around my waist with the other, keeping my back pressed flush against his chest.
He’s mad. All of them are mad. I shut my eyes tight as instinct takes over, reaching for the charms to pray, but all I find is a bare throat.
Right. The gods are dead. And my life is in the hands of a daredevil.
As if I’ve called his name, Faolan shifts behind me until his lips brush the shell of my ear. “Saoirse.”
I shake my head, and his chest jerks with a laugh.
“Lass?”
“No.”
“Open your eyes.”
“No.” I want to keep them closed and pretend I’ve made good decisions in joining his crew—in binding my life to his. Faolan’s fingers curl lightly over my ribs, then dance across them like a spider. I gasp, pitching forward into the wheel as my eyes fly open.
“Faolan—”
My rage stifles before it can truly begin as I witness the monstrosity of a storm at sea.
It is something my bones know to fear. Clouds boil in the heavens like the cauldron of blackberries I used to dye a new skein of wool just one year ago. Rain falls in torn sheets, blown about bythe volatile wind that splits every few seconds with jagged bolts of lightning.
It’s wickedly, wildly beautiful.
“How are we not dead?” I have to turn my head to be heard, and nearly jump out of my skin when it puts my face a breath away from Faolan’s. “The ship should’ve capsized hours ago, against all this. There’s no way…”
He smirks, one brow arched, and the answer strikes me hard.
Magic. Of course.
“We’d be a load of fools to travel to the Teeth without a few tricks up our sleeves.” Faolan tightens his arm around my waist. “Every summer, a heap of kelp washes up on the shores of the Isle of Ashen Flame—black leaves pebbled all over with ugly yellow warts. They’re a sight, aye, but once you pound them into a paste, there’s not a damned thing that can break through. We plaster the hull with it, and it makes for an easy repair when you’re in a rush to keep the old girl from sinking. Then there’s the clusters of Dhia Eamon’s quartz from your old betrothed’s island; we store some at each point of the ship to keep us balanced along the waves, no matter where the water takes us.”
Faolan regards his crew with the same pride my father always held when watching my brothers train with their blades. “And o’ course, we all wear a strip of goat’s hide from the Dromlach Cliffs tied round a shadow crane’s feathers tucked in our boots. You’d have to work damn hard to take a fall with those on your person.”
My brows snap together as a hazy memory attempts to unroot itself. “The Dromlach Cliffs? No, that can’t be right. My old nanny told me stories about those goats, and how as a girl she’d watch them hop across the cliffs without once losing their footing. She always swore they had wings. I begged to see them too, someday, but she told me…”
