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It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but then instead of trying to go for Tylon, he’s trying to get away from me. To go to Roslyn. I release him.
We outnumber the men on the ship. After depositing us in the brig, the majority of Tylon’s men must have left to join the fight against the sirens. Those who remain go down quickly. We don’t spare a single one.
By the time I reach Wallov and Roslyn, Mandsy has her kit. She stitches the head wound and wraps it. Then she moves on to Niridia.
Two of us hold her down while Mandsy digs the ball out of her leg.
“Pity you lot drank all the rum,” Kearan says. “She could use it.”
“I don’t want rum!” she screams. “I want my sword, I’m going to—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her.
Mandsy wrenches the pliers deeper into Niridia’s flesh. My first mate screams before blacking out.
“Got it!” Mandsy says. She begins cleaning and wrapping the wound. I sit back on my heels, grateful at least that Niridia isn’t in pain anymore.
Now that we’ve finished taking care of those who are still alive, we tend to the dead. As I watch Reona’s and Deros’s bodies drift out to sea by lantern light, I vow that I will see justice done for the senseless way in which they died.
They didn’t go down fighting, protecting what they held dear. They were caged. Like animals.
My gaze drifts up from the water. To theDragon’s Skull.
“I’m coming for you,” I whisper.
***
Back belowdecks, I survey what’s left of my crew, take in all the faces and injuries. “We have two options now,” I say tothe group. “We can run or we can fight. I’m leaning toward option number two.”
“As am I,” Mandsy says, still wet with Roslyn’s and Niridia’s blood.
“I will kill all of them,” Wallov says, clutching a slowly healing Roslyn toward his breast.
“No, Wallov,” I say. “You will stay here and look after the wounded.” With Niridia injured, Mandsy needs to fill the role as my second. “The rest of us will board theDragon’s Skull. Are there any objections?”
When I hear none, I tell them the plan.
***
Dead men are heavier than live ones.
We strip them of clothing that isn’t too bloodied, then haul the corpses into one of the cells, piling them unceremoniously on top of one another. It’s quicker than dumping them into the ocean.
There isn’t enough clothing to go around, but we make do with what we have. The girls cover up their corsets with men’s shirts. They stuff their hair under tricornes. From their bunks, they tear up sheets and stuff them into their leggings to make themselves look bigger, more masculine. Some even ask my permission to raid my cosmetics to draw facial hair under their noses and mouths. It won’t do anything to mask them up close, but from a distance, it could work.
Tylon’s body is the only one outside of the cell. I suspect noone is fond of the idea of touching him, even in death. But Riden moves toward him as if to put him with the others.
“No.” I halt him. “We will need his carcass.”
***
Dawn hasn’t yet made its approach. The stars in the sky reflect off the ocean below, trapping us in a world dotted with lights. The rowboats cut swaths through the water, rippling the illusion of peace.
We don’t carry lanterns with us across the space between theAva-leeand theDragon’s Skull. We need the absence of light to mask us. If we’re to pass as men, we need to be as concealed as possible.
Though we don’t call attention to ourselves, we also aren’t trying to hide. We’re there, floating in the dark. Easily spotted if someone should shine a light on us. Yet concealed until then.
Riden sits next to me in the rowboat. He rests his hand atop my knee, squeezes, and removes it.
