The sun was just beginning to rise as I climbed up to the main deck. I pulled my coat more tightly around myself, scowling at the way its weak sleeve pulled across my arm. Mary had suggested I ought to just get a new coat… but I’d lost an awful lot in the last few days, and I was determined at least to cling to my old, familiar coat.
Navi had thrust yet another ghastly knitted scarf upon me before I left, insisting that I needed it for my health. Soon, I reflected, we’d all be sporting warm clothing, given our northeasterly heading—but we always had it in spades because of the gunnery ladies and their itchy knitting needles. Even now, somewhere below deck, there awaited an entire trunk full of gloves, hats, and scarves—all monstrously colourful. To be given a knitted hat or scarf was a rite of passage aboard this craft; it meant that the ladies approved of you.
Worries careened through my mind as I paced across the deck. How long would it take Barsby to recover from the shock of his lost hand? Would he send friends after us, once he regained his bearings? And, blast it—we were going to have to burn New Havenshire from our list of welcoming ports. In addition to the Silver Legionnaire we were carrying, we still had a quarter of that blasphemous cargo in our hold—could we safely dump it off somewhere? Or maybe, if we got particularly desperate, we could use it for fuel—
No. I might be a fool sometimes, but even I knew better than to try that.
The truth, of course, was that these were all problems for the future Captain Blair. I was trying to distract myself with overwhelming problems of the sort I might not even be able to solve… because I still had something very straightforward and very difficult left that I needed to do.
I moved along the main deck, nervously tipping my hat to the crew members on duty. Slowly, I sneaked over towards a group by the railing that currently faced westward, away from the rising sun.
“…You gave us Your love, and You asked us for nothing in return but to love one another,” Evie intoned in solemn prayer. “May we always remember Your request, Most Merciful of Faeries. Let us remember mercy when we are tired. Let us remember mercy when we are angry. Let us remember mercy when we are grieved.”
I squirmed in place, though I had already managed half of an apology for my behaviour and received the equivalent of forgiveness. This was a common prayer to the Benefactor—but it felt perhaps a bit too on-the-nose this morning. Surely, Evie hadn’t changed his sermon as I approached? No, I decided; he was probably reminding himself to be patient and merciful, even as we all grieved. That was Evie’s way.
I saw Little standing at the helm, out of the corner of my eye. If it hadn’t been for my absence below deck, I knew he would have been with the others, listening to Evie. Little wasn’t a religious man, exactly, but he’d once confided in me that Evie’s prayers made him feel safe and calm. In truth, I suspected that Little worshipped his husband more than he worshipped the Benefactor—but I couldn’t really grudge him the sentiment. The Benefactor might have been theoretically loving, but He was a terribly distant figure. By comparison, Evie had been Little’s constant and caring companion for more than twenty years.
I returned my attention to Evie as he finished his prayers. He offered his hand to one of the kneeling crew and helped the man to his feet. The two of them then turned to two others, and helped them to rise—and so on, until all were upright. Hugs and cheek-kisses and gentle words of affirmation followed as people milled about for a spare moment, enjoying the lingering feeling of camaraderie.
I wish I could have found the same sort of solace that they did. But the ugliness of the war had affected me far differently than it had affected Evie. Mercy and I had a very complicated relationship these days… as evidenced by my internal conflict over the aethermancer on my ship.
Some of the crew spotted me, and I offered a few weak nods. Evie shot me a bleary smile, and I knew that he hadn’t slept very well at all. “It’s good to see you topside again, Wil,” he said. Normally, he would have called me ‘Captain’ on-deck, but I could tell that he needed the comforting familiarity today. “And on your feet this time, too,” he added, with a hint of tired humour.
I managed a lame sort of laugh at that. “Only fire-rum can fully vanquish me,” I said. I stumbled over my next words. “I was hoping to… maybe have a moment. With you. Er—alone.”
Evie’s smile became a bit easier. He settled his hand on my shoulder, as light as a sparrow, and ushered us both aside. He was wearing his blue sash openly again; I found that whenever he did, it granted him an unusual amount of strength and confidence. I might have been the captain of the ship—but Evie was the captain of our souls.
The halcyon led us up to perch upon the quarterdeck, apart from the rest of the ship. I leaned against the railing, staring at the wake of our ship and the mountains below us. Finally, I cleared my throat uncomfortably.
“I realise now that I never really said sorry,” I started. “Or… I suppose I should say, forgive me, Halcyon, for I have wronged a friend—”
“—you apologised very kindly, Wil,” Evie interrupted me gently. “And I forgave you.”
I turned back towards him, frowning dimly. “I did not,” I told him. “I know I hit my head, Evie, but my memory is still quite sharp on that point.”
Evie squeezed my arm reassuringly. “Actions speak louder than words,” he said. “I know you didn’t want a passenger, Wil. But you took Miss Hawkins aboard anyway, because I asked.”
I let out a breath at that. Evie must have caught the brand new conflict in my manner, for he raised an eyebrow. “She’s been a rather more… exciting passenger than I originally expected,” he admitted. “But isn’t that all for the best, given that she helped us in our hour of need?”
I dodged the subject for the moment. “I didn’t come here to talk about Miss Hawkins,” I said. I barrelled onwards into the conversation I had originally meant to have. “When we ran to check on MacLeod, and I yelled you off, Evie… all I could think was that if you came with me, it meant that we needed you to… to speak for him. That I’d be…”
“That you’d be admitting he was already dead,” Evie finished softly. “I understand, Wil. You wanted a physicker more than you wanted a priest, because that meant he might still be alive.”
I nodded mutely. There was still an awful, hollow place in my chest where my heart ought to have been. But my eyes were dry, at least.
“I have to rectify that now,” I said. “We’re going to have to see Dougal off. When we do… I’d greatly appreciate it if you spoke for him then.”
The little tension that remained between us drained away at that. “Of course I will,” Evie said. He held out his arms, and I embraced him as tightly as my injured shoulder allowed. There was a hint of desperation to the hug, as there had been with Holloway; we were both keenly aware of the possibility that we might lose one another at any moment. Last night’s dubious heroics certainly hadn’t helped with that feeling.
“You had us scared,” Evie mumbled at me.
“You were scared?” I scoffed. “You do remember that I was the one getting shot at?”
“I remember,” Evie said ominously. For just an instant, I saw a dark cloud cross his face. “For a moment, I’d hoped that Barsby might have found himself a pleasant path, out there on his own. But he’s gone above and beyond this time. After all of the chances we gave him—”
“Mercy measures the giver and not the receiver, Halcyon,” I reminded him wryly. “At least Barsby didn’t get away unscathed. He’s lost his hand, and a good part of his shipment. And I hazard he’ll think twice about harassing meek-looking young women from now on.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across Evie’s lips. “I shouldn’t be so pleased about that,” he admitted.
“You can be a little pleased,” I told him, with an answering grin.
We paused at the helm. My hands itched for the wheel, but I restrained myself. Little looked over his shoulder, already narrowing his eyes—but his quiet anger eased as he saw our smiles.
Little turned his glance towards Evie and locked the wheel in place, in order to free his hands. Did he apologise for being an ass? he signed.
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m standing right here, you know,” I said.
“Yes, he did,” Evie replied comfortably. “I told you that we’d work it out.”
I cleared my throat. “Still right here,” I reminded them both.
Still rude, Little observed.
“And ignoring someone isn’t?” I insisted petulantly.
Evie laughed, glancing between us. “It’s fine, Sam,” he said. “Really.”
“Goodness!” I exclaimed. “I must have died after all. I’m haunting my own ship!”
Little rolled his eyes and finally acknowledged me. Still angry with you, Captain, he warned. But he held out a fist in my direction, and I knocked mine obligingly against it.
An awful remaining tightness in my chest loosened at that. On top of everything else, trying to navigate Little’s silent, ongoing anger had felt like a weight on my shoulders. But Evie had gone out of his way to bring that anger into the open, where I could at least handle it in a straightforward manner.
“I’m… genuinely sorry,” I said. “I’d be angry with me, too.”
You didn’t yell at me, Little signed grudgingly. Evie forgave you. I guess I’ll get over it.
“We all know Evie’s required to forgive everyone,” I said ruefully. “Anyway… it’s all for the best. You’d have to get in line if you decided you want a piece of me. It seems I’ve made all kinds of enemies this week.”
Little signed Barsby’s name, along with something obviously angry—but I couldn’t make out the gesture. I blinked and looked at Evie, who snorted. “He just called Barsby a cyclopean weasel,” the halcyon translated for me.
I chortled at that and tried to repeat the gesture so I’d remember it for posterity. Little shook his head, but I saw him try and fail to hide a small smile.
“Well, that cyclopean weasel is going to need a bit of time to recover from Miss Hawkins,” I said. “He might still send people after us—but if they follow us to Pelaeia, they won’t enjoy what happens next.”
“And what about Red Reaver?” Evie asked quietly.
I faltered at that. It was a fair observation. We’d ducked one of Red Reaver’s ships—but the pirate herself was still out there somewhere. Someone had dared to steal Unseelie aether from her… and if Red Reaver ever found out that the Rose had been involved, we’d never fly the south again without looking over our shoulders. On top of everything else, we’d gone and destroyed one of her ships.
“We’d better hope none of her crew made it back to her,” I muttered.
That was a very angry mountain, Little offered hopefully. Maybe it killed the stragglers.
“No,” I sighed. “We’re never that lucky. We’d best assume she’ll hear about the Iron Rose eventually.” I shook my head. “For now, we’re headed north. Reaver’s never travelled that far before, and I don’t figure she’ll dare it now, either. She’s made enemies of both Carrain and the Emerald Spires. The northern clans don’t seem to want her back home, either.”
Evie frowned. “We still don’t know who actually wanted that stolen aether,” he observed. “Surely, it wasn’t Barsby?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “No,” I said slowly. “Barsby was a middle-man. We only ended up with his cargo by luck. When he saw it was us, he decided we ought to go the rest of the way to Morgause, in order to hand it over to his client.” I pondered this for a long moment. “Barsby might be petty, but he’s not stupid. Why would he risk sending a shipment like this with someone who didn’t want the job, instead of overseeing it himself?”
Little shot me a grim look from over the wheel. What kind of client wants Unseelie aether? he asked. At my surprised reaction, Little jerked his chin towards his husband. Evie overheard Barsby. We haven’t said anything to the crew yet.
I grimaced at the revelation, but moved past it for now. “Whoever did order this… particular shipment… I’m sure they’re a dangerous customer,” I observed. “Barsby’s always been a cowardly little rat. It doesn’t surprise me that he’d rather have us risk that meeting in his place.”
“Well, good luck to him now,” Evie said with a shrug. “He’s angered Red Reaver, burned his last bridges with us, and lost part of his cargo.” A sanctimonious glint came into his eyes. “Barsby should have paid more attention to his prayers. He might have learned how little Noble Gallant loves a weasel.”
A cyclopean weasel, I signed emphatically.
Little beamed at me for a moment, before he regained control of his features.
“Well,” Evie said. “Good riddance to Barsby, then. You said we’re headed to Pelaeia, in the meantime?”
“We are,” I said. I glanced at Little. “Have we started in that direction already?” I asked him.
We have, Little confirmed. I assumed that was our heading. I couldn’t ask you while you were out cold, but we’ve got Dougal’s outflyer in the hold for a reason.
“You assumed right,” I replied. “We’re taking MacLeod home. First, we’ll see him off proper—and then, we beg, borrow, and sell whatever we can in order to get back in the air.”
The two men nodded.
“We still have the note from Picket, for half payment,” Evie said, “and another note from Miss Hawkins, worth a tidy sum. They’re admissible in most provinces, if we sail to a city with a bank. But maybe someone in Pelaeia will be willing to buy one of them off us at a discount.”
And where are we taking Miss Hawkins? Little asked. Or at least, I assumed he was talking about Hawkins. He’d used the sign for miss and created a new sign after it, which I took to be his name for her.
I drew in a deep breath at this. I’d been trying to decide how to broach the subject of Miss Hawkins for the last bit. But I knew that I owed my two best friends—and eventually, my entire crew—the blunt truth.
“About Miss Hawkins,” I said in a low voice. “She’s not quite the woman that she first represented herself to be.”
Little snorted. What was your first clue? he signed.
I winced. “Yes, obviously she’s an aethermancer,” I said. “But I’m afraid that’s not all. While I was fighting Barsby, she… she summoned a silver sword.”
Evie and Little replied to this observation with stunned silence.
I figured I may as well tear off the bandage all at once, before they regained their bearings. “Before I knew what she was, I swore an Oath that I’d take her anywhere she wanted to go, in exchange for her help,” I added wearily.
Evie planted his face into his palm.
Little moved his fingers into a very delicate question. And where is it, precisely, that this Silver Legionnaire wants us to go? he asked.
“She didn’t say,” I replied, with a calmness that I did not feel at all.
Little threw up his hands.
Evie let out a tremulous breath. “I’m so sorry, Wil,” he said. “I had no idea—”
“I know you didn’t,” I said. “There’s not a single person on this ship that would knowingly deal with a Silver Legionnaire. But Miss Hawkins is here now, and I’ve made my Oath. So I need to make some important decisions before we reach Pelaeia.”
We can’t take a Silver Legionnaire to Pelaeia, Little signed furiously.
I held up a hand. “I still don’t know if she is a Silver Legionnaire,” I said. “Not all of the Legionnaires survived, and most of the swords aren’t accounted for. But, Oath or no Oath, I don’t intend to help Miss Hawkins pursue any Legionnaire business. So… if she survives, then I’ll be having a bit of a heart-to-heart with her. I’m not making any more decisions until then. I just wanted to start making people aware.”
Little levelled a flat look at me. Or—we could dump her off the ship before she wakes up, he suggested. Oath or no Oath.
“I’m talking with her, Sam,” I said stubbornly. “We owe her that much. It was going to get messy down there. And between MacLeod, and the others we lost to the Red Reaver’s Revenge… I’m just starting to feel like I’ve seen enough death for one week. Whoever she is, Miss Hawkins did step in for us—so she’ll get a fair hearing. No more and no less.”
Little forced some of the tension out of his shoulders. He nodded in reluctant agreement.
“On that note,” I said, “I have to go and see a physicker. Keep us on a steady course, Sam.”
Aye-aye, Cap’n, Little signed back at me. Go get your head checked out. A small, morose smile ghosted across his face at the double-meaning.
“I doubt the good physicker can fix everything that’s wrong with my head,” I replied wryly. “But we’ll see what he can do.”
I headed back down below deck, tromping my way towards Holloway’s quarters. But as it turned out, I was far from the only person on the ship with an interest in the woman inside.
Strahl was waiting just outside of the physicker’s quarters. He leaned against the wall, eerily back-lit by the blue aether lantern that swung from the ceiling. His faded grey arming jacket was stained and patched, but still quite serviceable. Even on the ship, his weapons hung from a heavy belt around his waist. Strahl crunched into an apple as I watched; his eyes flickered towards me, and he shot me a strangely wary salute.
“Mr Strahl,” I greeted him politely. “It’s funny meeting you down here. I was under the impression you were the ship’s bosun, and somewhat… necessary up top.”
Strahl shot me an unpleasant smile, before sinking his teeth into the apple again. After he’d swallowed down the bite, he said: “That woman. The one with the silver sword. She’s trouble.”
I stared at him.
Strahl had been up on the deck of the Iron Rose when Hawkins had drawn that sword. I’d seen him there during the chaos. He’d had the same viewpoint as the rest of my crew—and none of them had recognised the silver sword from that distance.
“You’re guarding her,” I said slowly. “Or… no. You’re guarding the rest of us from her.”
Strahl didn’t respond to this directly. “The Legionnaires were assassins and mercenaries, even when they still had a master,” he said. “Now, they don’t even have that leash. That woman’s got a silver sword, and no Oath to bind her.”
I watched Strahl’s face carefully. I’d speculated more than once that my bosun had been in the Imperial Army as a younger man—but whatever role he’d served in the Imperium, he’d somehow dodged swearing the Oath that the rest of us had broken by default. I knew that Strahl regretted his service. It was the only thing that every crewmember on this vessel could agree on: The Imperium had deserved its death. But Strahl and I had never discussed any particulars, past that very important point of agreement. Like many of the rest of the crew, Strahl was looking to make a clean break from his past.
Strahl’s stone cold face betrayed nothing. But I believed in my heart that he spoke from a place of concern for the rest of us.
“There was only one female Legionnaire, the way I remember it,” I said. “I could recite you facts about the other dozen from memory, but… I never took an interest in her, for some reason.” I mumbled the last part. It was obvious, in hindsight, why I’d never cared about Sweet Laurel. I couldn’t imagine myself wielding a woman’s sword… so there was no point in obsessing over her.
Young William Blair had been awfully full of himself, in more ways than one.
“She’s not Sweet Laurel,” Strahl told me. “Sweet Laurel was around thirty-five years old when the war ended. This woman’s barely in her twenties. Can’t you tell?”
I flushed at that. “The white hair makes things difficult!” I said defensively. “I have enough trouble telling new humans apart as it is.” Strahl arched an eyebrow at this, and my flush deepened. I’d complained to him more than once that humans seemed to think all goblins looked alike. I breezed very quickly past the subject. “So, she’s not a Legionnaire. She got her hands on one of their silver swords though, and she knows how to use it.”
“She knows how to use it well,” Strahl said grimly. “A real Legionnaire trained that woman. If I’m wrong, I’d eat your hat.”
I reached up instinctively to defend my hat, even as I spoke back slowly. “You seem to know an awful lot about Legionnaires, Mr Strahl.” I looked just past his head as I said it, careful not to imply a confrontation.
Strahl levelled a furnace glare at me. “Just what I’ve heard, Cap’n,” he emphasised. His tone wasn’t very convincing—but then, it probably wasn’t meant to be. He took another violent bite of his apple. “You know—the physick says she’s still sick from the aether. Be a shame if she didn’t pull through.”
Strahl sounded perfectly at ease as he said the words. He spoke in the same bored, casual tone he normally affected.
My bosun had killed a lot of people in his time.
I closed my eyes with a groan. I should have anticipated, perhaps, that I wouldn’t be the only person on board to entertain the idea of hastening Miss Hawkins’ demise. We’d all seen the war, from one angle or another. None of us wanted any part of the Imperium’s remnants.
“Holloway is caring for her,” I emphasised wearily. “Miss Hawkins will be fine.”
It was not the answer Strahl had been hoping for. My burly bosun set his jaw and looked away.
“Syrene would’ve torn that aethermancer to bits already, if it wasn’t for me,” Strahl said darkly. “That woman used Unseelie aether. The Fair Folk still call that sacrilege. Come to it, Syrene’s not too happy about us taking Unseelie aether on board either. She was in the mood to tear your arms from your sockets for a little bit, once she found out.”
I felt another presence, then—a black, murderous, violent loathing that sank into my gut and flooded my veins. It was a hatred so feral that for a moment, I wanted to sink my teeth into Strahl’s neck and butcher him for his arrogance. Syrene’s face peered from the wall just behind Strahl, staring at me with unblinking black eyes.
I clenched my teeth against the irrational surge of fury. “Is that a threat?” I growled. I wasn’t sure whether I ought to address the question to Strahl or to Syrene… so I asked the both of them at once.
The air grew thick between us. Syrene stared back at me, eerily expressionless. I felt the strands of her alien emotion wind around me, like the web of a sinister spider. Syrene pulled her body free of the wall, laying one long-fingered hand upon Strahl’s shoulder with cryptic grace.
“Not a threat,” Strahl said quietly. “Just a reminder.”
“A reminder,” I repeated slowly. “Then allow me to remind you, Mr Strahl, that if it weren’t for me, you’d have hung from the gallows years ago—and Syrene would still be trapped in some aethermancer’s trophy case. I remember what you said to me the day we all risked our necks to break her out. Do you?”
Strahl turned his stony visage away at the reminder. Before he did, however, I caught a flash of regret in his eyes. Both Strahl and Syrene had promised to follow my orders, so long as they were aboard the Rose.
“I made no contracts with the Evernight,” I said to Syrene. “I was told the canisters were aether—and if I’d opened one up to check what kind of aether they were, then I’d be dead right now, anyway.” Something plucked a nervous string in my soul as I forced myself to meet her inhuman eyes. I wasn’t sure whether the nervousness was mine or whether she’d engineered it herself. “If there’s to be any punishment, then it falls on the heads of those that pacted with the Unseelie. Isn’t that right?”
Syrene went utterly still. There was no breeze below deck… but the strands of her lavender hair still danced upon a phantom breeze as she contemplated my argument.
Slowly, the furious bloodlust abated. Warmth and affection flooded back with jarring suddenness. Syrene’s body shifted too—that arachnid, predatory grace gave way to a more fluid and feminine composure.
“We agree with the good captain,” Syrene said, in a voice like pleasant wind chimes. “We remain grateful to him for his efforts on our behalf.” A cunning undertone slipped into her cheerful voice. “We would also be quite happy to tear the heart from the woman who stinks of the Unseelie.”
I shivered uncomfortably. I was reminded of a child begging for sweets.
“Miss Hawkins falls under my hospitality,” I told Syrene. “For now.” I glanced towards Strahl. “That goes for you as well, Mr Strahl. As long as the two of you are on my ship, you respect my rules. You agreed to that.”
Silence stretched between us. Strahl met my eyes, and I could see him measuring his words carefully.
“…this is a mistake,” he said finally. He shook his head in defeat, though, as he took another bite from his apple and turned to lumber away.
Syrene followed after him, melting away into the Rose itself.
I let out a sigh of relief, before I could stop myself. That had been an… unexpectedly bracing conversation.
I waited another moment for the trembling in my body to relax. Once it had mostly gone, I knocked at the good physick’s door.
Holloway’s heavy footsteps sounded on the other side. As he opened the door, I noted his tired features; the physicker probably hadn’t slept since treating both me and Hawkins. Still, his gruff face relaxed as he saw me walking around under my own power.
“I see Miss Mary did her job admirably,” Holloway said. He stepped aside to let me into his quarters. “Still. Let me take a second look at you.”
I closed the door behind me, glancing surreptitiously around the room. Several injured crew still rested in bunks on one side of the clinic. On the other side, in a more secluded corner, Holloway had tucked Hawkins away in order to keep an eye on her personally. Her pale figure stood out like a ghost in the dim light—and I found myself thinking about Strahl and his own bleached colours. Perhaps, the thought struck me, my bosun really was an aethermancer? But I discarded the strange idea almost as soon as I’d had it. Strahl could barely work the sword he’d stolen off an aethermancer in Lyonesse, even with Mr Finch’s clever engineering tricks to help him.
“Look at me, please,” Holloway said, interrupting my thoughts. He tucked his fingers beneath my chin and angled my head upwards so that he could inspect my eyes. Whatever he saw there, it seemed to satisfy him—for he dropped my chin again. “You don’t seem much worse for the wear,” Holloway observed. “Very fortunate.”
“The Lady smiles on a fool,” I mumbled self-consciously. I glanced towards Hawkins again. “How is our passenger doing?”
“Her outlook is… positive,” Holloway said. He stepped away from me to grab a tumbler of whiskey. The good physickers always kept a bottle on hand, for more reasons than one. “I was a bit at a loss as to her treatment, at first, but Walther offered his expertise on the matter.”
“Mr Finch?” I asked in surprise.
Holloway raised an eyebrow at me. “Walther is certified to teach theoretical aethermancy,” the physicker said. “He hasn’t taught a class since before the war, of course, but he is still quite the formidable academic. Especially considering some of the more…” He paused. “...sensitive material he stumbled across, during his tenure at university.”
Mr Finch was perhaps the last man anyone would suspect of being a rebel. In some ways, that was part of his charm. During the Sundering War, my upstanding, tea-obsessed chief engineer had pretended to be an obedient scholar and professor. Right up until the end of the war, however, Mr Finch had used his academic access in order to pass the Coalition sensitive information about the empire’s latest ships, weapons, and aetheric research.
“And what does Mr Finch’s theoretical aethermancy suggest about Miss Hawkins’ condition?” I asked carefully.
“Fortunately for Miss Hawkins,” Holloway said grimly, lowering his voice, “Walther had occasion to browse some of the empire’s most restricted records. There are still old papers on the effects of Unseelie aether, dating back to the last two Breachings.”
I sighed heavily. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised me how many people had figured out the truth about our cargo, given its horrifyingly distinctive effects. “Miss Hawkins should count herself fortunate that our chief engineer is such an unruly academic magpie,” I muttered.
“Quite,” Holloway agreed. “Apparently, Unseelie aether lingers within the body unless it is specifically flushed out. Post-Breaching medical records suggest treatment with diluted Seelie aether. Walther and I borrowed some of Miss Hawkins’ extra aether for the purpose, and I’ve been administering it in small, regular doses. Of course, Seelie and Unseelie aether do not react particularly well with one another, so there are bound to be—”
Hawkins bolted upright in her bed, clutching at her stomach. Holloway dropped the tumbler back onto his desk and reached for a bucket just next to her cot. Hawkins grabbed at it blindly—whereupon she proceeded to be violently ill.
“—side-effects,” Holloway finished.
I winced at the sight. Hawkins was sickly pale and sweating with a fever. Thin threads of darkness threaded visibly through her veins just beneath her skin, where Unseelie aether still lingered within her.
Hawkins spent the next minute heaving and trembling over the bucket. Eventually, however, she sank back against her cot with a soft groan.
The charitable half of me wanted to give the poor woman time and space to recover. But we were on our way to Pelaeia—and I had no intention of bringing her with us unless she had something truly remarkable to say to me.
“Mr Holloway,” I said, “would you mind giving me a moment alone with Miss Hawkins?”
Holloway shot me a startled look—but I had always been blessed with an uncommonly loyal crew, for reasons I had yet to fully understand. He nodded curtly and turned away, towards his other patients.
“I don’t foresee any difficulties,” Holloway told me. “But I’ll be nearby, if she should take a turn for the worse.”
He drew the hanging curtain closed, in order to give me some privacy with Miss Hawkins.
Hawkins took a few shuddering breaths. I could tell from her face that she was still trying to gauge whether she had more in her stomach to throw up.
“We need to talk, Miss Hawkins,” I said. “And I’m afraid it really can’t wait for a more convenient time.”
Hawkins steeled herself. I watched it happen—the way her posture straightened and her breathing levelled out. It shouldn’t have surprised me how quickly she regained her composure, even in the middle of that wretched sickness. All of the best aethermancers had a cold iron will. It was how they maintained control of the aether they wielded.
“Are we still being chased, Captain?” she asked.
I settled myself carefully onto the stool next to her bed. As I did, I checked the room surreptitiously for any signs of aether or foci. I saw only the aether-lantern above us and a single vial of wispy-looking aether upon the far table. The aether in that vial was the diluted stuff that Holloway had mentioned; it was probably of even less use than the stuff in the aether-lantern.
“We haven’t seen any signs of pursuit just yet,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be any pursuit. We still have that unholy aether in our hold, after all.”
I watched Hawkins carefully as I said this. Since waking up, I had thought back on the sequence of events that had brought her to our ship. Hawkins had shown up in need of passage at the exact same moment that we had arrived with our cargo. What’s more, she had known that we were carrying Unseelie aether; she had flinched and tried to warn off the watchmen as they cracked open the crates.
“I was thinking we should dump the stuff as soon as possible,” I said slowly. “Do you know of a safe way to destroy it?”
Hawkins stiffened at the suggestion. “I would ask you not to destroy the aether in your hold, Captain,” she told me shakily. “Not yet, at least.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Already, this conversation was trending in a direction that suggested I ought to have let Syrene have her pound of flesh. “You want us to keep Unseelie aether?” I asked.
Hawkins must have read the darkness in my expression. She clenched her jaw. She was sick and blurry-minded, and she knew it. There was little way for her to control this conversation the way that she probably wanted to do.
“You made an Oath to me, Captain,” she told me. “I went above and beyond to fulfil your needs—”
“—and you could still hare off and murder a whole slew of people, and it would still be on my head,” I finished for her. “Look at me, Miss Hawkins. I saw Pelaeia only a week after it was razed. No amount of honour or personal fondness will ever convince me to contribute to something like that again.”
Hawkins blinked at me in confusion. I felt a moment of disconnect between us—as though I’d just turned her world upside-down.
“You’re an… anti-Imperialist?” Hawkins asked me. Her tone was utterly bewildered. “I thought you were ex-Navy.”
I flushed with displeasure—and no small amount of shame. “I suspect that you are about to have a very disappointing day, Miss Hawkins,” I told her coldly.
Hawkins shook her head slowly. “I think there has been a misunderstanding, Captain,” she said. Curiously, she now sounded more confident than she had before. “I asked for passage on your vessel because I intended to foil this shipment. An Imperialist faction has paid for this cargo. I have other uses for it… but they are scientific in nature. Above all else, however, this aether must not reach the people who have paid for it. I would destroy it, before I allowed such a thing to happen.”
Now I was feeling perplexed.
My first instinct, of course, was that Miss Hawkins was lying to me once again. And why not? She had disguised herself and misrepresented her intentions when she’d asked for passage on our ship. She had a silver sword. Strahl was convinced that she had been trained by a Silver Legionnaire.
But Miss Hawkins had only misrepresented herself when she’d thought that she was talking to an ex-Imperial captain. Moreover… she was of necessity working in opposition to whichever dangerous client Barsby was too afraid to face—whoever it was that had commissioned the theft of Unseelie aether.
The enemy of my enemy is sometimes a war criminal too, I reminded myself grimly.
“Why do you have a silver sword?” I asked her bluntly. “And what do you intend to do with this Unseelie aether?” Hawkins forced a neutral expression onto her face. I saw her prepare to put me off—so I made myself a little more plain. “You’re going to answer these questions,” I told her. “And I’d better believe the answers. Because if you don’t convince me you’re something other than a proud new Silver Legionnaire, Miss Hawkins, then I swear, I will throw you off the side of this ship.”
Hawkins narrowed her eyes at me. “You swear?” she repeated in a chilly voice. “And how much is that worth, Captain Blair?”
I clenched my jaw. “I’m not in the mood to argue theology,” I told her. “Either you believe me or you don’t.”
Hawkins considered me calmly. I saw her glance towards the aether-lantern; and then towards the vial of diluted aether. I knew she was assessing whether she could overpower me with what she had on hand. And perhaps she could—she was, after all, a fantastically skilful aethermancer. But what then? She’d still be sick and weak, on a ship full of antagonistic people.
It didn’t take her long to come to the conclusion I hoped she would.
“I will remember this, Captain,” Hawkins said.
I crossed my arms and waited.
Another shudder wracked the woman’s body as I watched. She heaved into the bucket next to her with a choked sound of frustration. I might have believed she was trying to buy time, if not for the miserable tears in her eyes.
Once she’d recovered, Hawkins reached for a waterskin next to the cot and took a long drink. The steel went out of her spine. The haggard look returned.
“I was trained by a Silver Legionnaire,” Hawkins croaked out finally. “By luck, Captain, more than anything else. I lost my family to pirates. I would be a slave right now, and not an aethermancer at all, if Jonathan Silver hadn’t rescued me.”
A remnant of my old hero-worship fluttered within me—immediately tempered with nausea. “Jonathan Silver,” I whispered. “Then, the sword you hold—”
“I carry the sword Galatine,” Hawkins finished dully. She glanced down at her heavily bandaged right hand. “He… Jonathan passed the sword to me before his death.”
The grief on her face was instant, and fresh. Sympathy surged inside me once again, no matter how I tried to quash it. Jonathan Silver had been no saint. Rot and ruin, he had been a pirate himself, before the emperor had offered him a silver sword and a letter of marque.
But Hawkins had clearly loved the man.
“He wanted to atone,” Hawkins said softly. “It was all he ever talked about. He’s been researching… he had been researching a way to send on the echoes that linger from the war. Now that he’s gone, I’m the only one who can do it for him.”
The weight of her statement struck me like a blow. I found myself briefly at a loss.
Was it true? Could it possibly be true? As far as I knew, Jonathan Silver hadn’t had anything to do with the razing of Pelaeia… but he’d been active in the war. Surely, the ex-Imperials on my ship couldn’t be the only ones that regretted their past, now that the truth was common knowledge and the propaganda had been stripped away?
Pelaeia had been rebuilt—but it was still a pale shadow of its former self. So long as the tortured spirits of the war remained, there would always be areas that were dangerous, off-limits. There would be families who could never retrieve the bodies of the fallen. Every evening, when the wailing grew louder, the clanfolk were reminded that the ghosts of their loved ones would never truly rest.
No one could ever fix the razing of Pelaeia. But if this was true—if Hawkins really could accomplish what she said she could accomplish—then the clans could at least be allowed some respite from its horrific aftereffects.
“You need Unseelie aether for this?” I asked softly. I tried to keep my tone suspicious… but I already knew that I halfway believed her. I wanted to believe her.
I wanted to believe that I had been offered a chance at atonement, no matter how slight.
“Seelie aether created those echoes,” Hawkins said quietly. “They might have been an unexpected side-effect, but they’re still of a Seelie nature. Unseelie aether is putrid, it’s true… but it is inherently opposed to everything that the Seelie create. With the right instruments and intentions, and with a strong enough will, I believe that I can safely unravel the trap that the Seelie aether has created and allow those echoes to move on. At least… all of the theory points in that direction.”
By the Benefactor’s merciful hand, how I wanted to believe her.
“You’re in luck, then,” I said stiltedly. “As it turns out—we’re headed to Pelaeia now.”
Hawkins blinked at me uncertainly.
“Rest up, Miss Hawkins,” I told her. “I’m going to give you a chance to prove the truth.”