The lantern whisked out, as if a shadow had detached itself from the ceiling and fallen upon it.
Without my pistols, I was helpless. A shot whistled over my head, and I hit the deck. Above me a locker exploded in a storm of splinters. Markos swore.
The light flickered back to life.
“You continue to be nothing but an aggravation, Miss Bollard.” Cleandros stood a few feet away, the barrel of a long flintlock aimed straight at Kenté. “You aren’t strong enough to overcome me.”
She flung a broken locket to the floor. “Well, I’m going to keep trying.”
He turned the pistol on me.
Of course, Markos immediately dove out of the chair and threw himself between the shadowman and me. Because he was an idiot.
“Very chivalrous, my Lord,” Cleandros said. “You know you can’t stop me from killing her if I wish it.”
Markos glared at him. “I think you mean Your Excellency.” I suspected he was madder about being called the wrong title than getting shot at.
“I have half a mind to kill you too,” Cleandros said. “But I think I’ll take you to Valonikos for the reward after all, now that I don’t have to split it with Melanos and his imbecile crew.” He gestured to us all with the pistol. “Up on deck. Now.”
I saw no choice but to obey. “Where’d he come from?” I whispered to Kenté as we climbed the ladder.
“He must have snuck on board during the battle. Saw him slinking around the deck in a mantle of shadows, so I followed him.”
“Cease that chatter,” Cleandros ordered, stepping through the hatch. He bowed to our borrowed crew. “Weapons down, if you please! Keep sailing. Just don’t interfere.”
Nereus set his knife on the deck. Daria’s little hands trembled so hard that she dropped the rope ends she was holding, her eyes never leaving Markos. Nereus had been teaching her knots.
A pang of emotion hit me. She wasn’t afraid for herself, but for her brother.
Markos threw an agonized glance over his shoulder at her. His hand barely moved, but Cleandros saw anyway.
He dug the muzzle of the pistol into Markos’s back. “If you touch that sword, your sister dies while you watch. Remove the belt.”
“No.”
Cleandros pointed the pistol at Daria. “Come, child. Over by your brother.”
She obeyed, slipping her hand into Markos’s. Bruises and cuts standing out on his pale face, he dropped his sword belt in a heap with the other weapons.
The shadowman waved us toward the bow of the cutter, past the forward hatch and the barrels stacked there. Glancing at the purple-clouded sky, I realized with dismay the sun had slipped below the horizon. He would only continue to gain in power.
“Since you are ignorant,” Cleandros said, “I shall tell you about the children of the night. Some of us take strongly to the practice of lurking and hiding.” He nodded at Kenté. “Others use the darkness to draw out men’s deepest fears. But I have a great talent for the art of sleep and dreams. That’s why His Excellency the Emparch prized me above all men in his inner circle.”
As he spoke, my limbs grew slack. It would be so easy, I thought, to just give up.
“You may find yourself growing tired,” Cleandros said. “Your mind becomes dim. In this state, the Emparch found, a mind becomes suggestive. Easily influenced.” He smirked. “In a room with me, a whole council of men might find themselves agreeing with everything the Emparch said.”
I struggled not to yawn. Even Kenté’s eyelids fluttered.
Markos pinched his own arm. “My father trusted you. And you betrayed him.”
“Your father didn’t care for anyone who was beneath him. You of all people ought to know that. Not tired yet?”
Markos glared. Though he knew his father hadn’t loved him, I could tell it angered him that Cleandros knew it too.
“Now,” the shadowman said, “sit down on the deck.”
I swayed on my feet. His tone was so friendly and reasonable.
“Markos,” Kenté said. “Do not.”
He blinked. “Isn’t—that’s—I know him. We’re safe.” He touched a hand to his forehead in bewilderment.
“He killed your mother.” Kenté’s glance darted between Markos and the shadowman. “He betrayed your family.”
“I remember.” Sounding unconvinced, he yawned. “I do.”
It made me yawn too. I wondered why Kenté looked so overwrought. Myself, I felt quite at ease.
The shadowman waved a hand. “It won’t work, you know.” He gave Kenté an indulgent smile, like a parent amused by the antics of a small child. “Your power is but a flicker compared to mine.”
“Markos!” she tried again. “Your brother. Cleandros killed him. Remember? Your brother.”
“Loukas.” His head dipped. “I—I’m just going to sit for a moment.”
“No! You are going to stay standing.” The words tumbled frantically out of her mouth. I wished she would slow down. “And you are going to remember why you want to fight this man!”
Markos’s legs buckled under him, and he dropped to his knees. Distantly someone laughed.
I thought he had the right idea. “Got to rest,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. “Only for a minute.”
The shadowman’s voice seemed to come through a thick fog. He turned to Kenté. “You may be able to resist me, you see. But your companions cannot.”
Many things happened at once. Kenté reached for the sky. Markos and Daria disappeared. Nereus let out a ferocious war cry, yanking a knife from the back of his trousers, and sprang—not toward the shadowman but at me. Seizing my arm, he sliced my hand open. A flash of pain burned my palm.
“Ow!” I clutched my bleeding hand. “Why’d you—”
Then I realized. I was awake again. Blinking away my grogginess, I tried to refocus on what was happening.
Cleandros laughed at Kenté. “You think yourself powerful enough to hide them from me? The masters at the Academy will purge you of such childish overconfidence.” He made an impatient gesture, as if brushing aside cobwebs.
And froze, sneering voice caught in his throat, when Markos and Daria did not reappear.
Turning to my cousin, he spat, “You have no training. You shouldn’t be able to veil them from me. It’s not possible!”
Before I could move to stop him, Cleandros aimed at the spot where they had vanished and pulled the trigger.
No one cried out. No blood spattered the deck. They simply weren’t there.
He advanced on Kenté, ramming powder and shot down the pistol. “Where are they?”
I scrambled backward, dragging my cousin with me. My heel hit the foot of the bowsprit and I stumbled, grabbing onto a stay for balance.
“I might’ve ransomed your cousin back to the Bollards,” Cleandros told Kenté, anger curdling his voice. “But enough is enough. Let this be a lesson to you.”
Behind him, Nereus lunged for the gun, but it was too late.
The shot struck me in the right side of my chest, red blood spraying out in a mist.
Pain—searing pain. My whole arm seized up. Spots danced in my eyes. My breath was uneven and raspy, as if I suddenly couldn’t gulp in enough air. Blood matted my shirt and waistcoat. I staggered, slipping on the bowsprit. My hand loosened on the stay.
Time seemed to slow. I heard, as if from a great distance, my blood dripping on the deck. Below me, the sea rose and fell.
There are some sailormen who say the drakon is nothing more or less than your fate coming for you. If it was still down there, would it be drawn like a shark to my blood in the water? Was this my fate, to be gulped up by a sea beast like the Nikanor and her ill-fated crew?
No. Understanding flooded through me. The drakon belonged to the sea. And so did I. That same drakon had been following me since the river. As what—a protector? A guide? If I was right, the drakon would no more hurt me than cut off her own tail.
I let go of the stay—and dropped into the sea.
The shadowman laughed. Distantly I heard Kenté scream as I hit the water. I couldn’t feel my right arm, and my legs were like limp dough. A wave sloshed over me, stirring the blood that clouded around me like spilled ink. I inhaled a gulping mouthful of ocean, salt stinging my nose.
I had been wrong. And my life would be the price for my mistake.
Then I heard her.