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Teigra wiped the blood from her own hand and took Zosime’s sheepishly, the lingering rush of battle still pounding in her blood. The princess’s hand was warm and surprisingly soft. “I just did what anyone else would’ve done.”
“No, you didn’t. Most civilians would have run below deck and hidden. They certainly wouldn’t have rushed out to save someone they hated.”
“I don’t hate you. Well, I mean, I might have at the time, but—”
A splash caught her attention, and she turned a mortified look to the others. They were tossing body parts from the slain sailors over the side.
“What... what are you doing?”
Elexis laughed, tossing a dismembered torso out as if it was weightless. “How many Ondocians ’ave you known, my girl?”
“Enough,” she lied.
“Well, then you know that burial at sea is something them folk aspire to. So say a prayer if it’ll give you comfort. But we ain’t ’aving dead flesh hanging around to attract more of the buggers!”
“Yeah,” said Pikra, taking pleasure in her naivety. “And besides, none of them are alive to complain, southerner. So why don’t you be a good Sister and pitch in?”
She turned to Zosime desperately, but the princess was already tossing a severed leg into the ocean. “Many hands, Initiate Cosmin. Many hands.”
Initiate Cosmin?
She’s calling me a military recruit!
Teigra gulped at the closest piece of flesh—an arm, severed just below the shoulder, the blood soaking through the fabric. She didn’t want to touch it. But Zosime had thrown her a lifeline by lying about her being on a secret mission. And that could still turn in a heartbeat.
She approached the limb, feeling the sudden urge to vomit. The man’s uniform was darker than the others.
The driver...
Biting her tongue, she took the arm by the palm, touching it in a crab-grip between thumb and middle finger. The flesh had already started to cool, and disgusting as it was, the thought of just throwing it away, as though it wasn’t part of a person who’d been living and breathing just a few minutes ago, seemed a wretched thing.
But Elexis was right, wasn’t she? The sea? The salt? That was practically prayer to an Ondocian. They wouldn’t want to be thrown into the ground or burned in a crematorium.
Teigra thought back to the little Temple of Ondo back near the docks. Of the chalice of salt water. With a great sigh, her skin crawling, she tossed the arm overboard, where it tumbled down into a foam-tipped grave.
“Not a single one survived,” said Zosime, running the long, finely twisted whip through her hands. “And I’m guessing neither of you two know how to direct a team of hippocamps?”
“Won’t do us no good anyway, Cap! Them ’arpy buggers took out at least two of the team. And all the others snapped their restraints and made off before I could stop them.”
“Oh fantastic,” spat Pikra. “So we are stuck out in the middle of the ocean. We’ve no sea steeds. The sails are all scratched to shit. And, to top it all off, night is coming.”
“I’m afraid so. The steeds could be anywhere by now!”
Teigra shook her head. “No, not a trained team of hippocamps. They are very loyal to their masters, even more than pegasi. They’ll have fled to protect themselves, but they shouldn’t be far.”
Silence followed as all three Sisters stared at her. Zosime gave a faint smile and moved below deck.
“What did I say?” said Teigra.
“Nothing,” said Elexis, looking up at the sky.
Pikra leaned in with a malevolent smile. “Congratulations, Initiate! The Sisterhood does love a volunteer.”
A smack echoed from below deck, followed by a series of whinnies. At once, four pegasi flew out of the hold, circling overhead for a moment before coming gracefully down. Without being called, three went and stood by their masters.
She’d seen them before, but only now did she have the chance to look at them properly.
Pikra’s was a skeletal mare, mouse gray, and with wings that seemed scruffy and flea-bitten—a common trait among Messara steeds. And yet, there was a knotted musculature beneath its coat that told her not to approach.
