Elisabeth reached the beach and found Marris sitting near the path. The sailor sprang to her feet as she approached.

  “Captain!” The She-Wolf didn’t slow down; she walked up to the woman and decked her with a solid swing of her right fist. The guard stumbled back at the impact.

  “You were supposed to keep her on the beach,” she growled, and stormed past the woman who was stretching her jaw, joints popping. Marris didn’t say anything, simply nodded and took up a position near the path again. Elisabeth ignored it all, her heart still racing, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She felt control slipping away from her with every breath she gasped past the staccato beat in her chest. She dropped into the hot sand, a marionette with its strings cut, and let her eyes roam over the rolling waves.

  The motion soothed her, as did the warmth of the sun on her back. Cold still racked her body, gooseflesh on her arms, her teeth chattered. She needed to put her shields back in place, to contain the necromancy that cooled her flesh, but she didn’t have the clarity yet. Her thoughts were a helter-skelter run of images and sensations, reason trudging behind them, trying to corral them into order and mostly failing.

  “Give her a minute,” she heard Cressia speak behind her, firmly back in the role of bodyguard. The other woman was right, she was in no mood to talk to Henry Mortimer yet. Confusion was foremost in her mind—the kiss, the battle, and her exhaustion the fuel for it to run rampant. She shivered in her wet clothes despite the hot air, the hot sand, the hot sun, and the fact that cold was her natural state of being. The last few days had left her drained and weak, with her hoarded trinkets spent, and her body beaten and sore. At the end, she hadn’t even defeated the siren: Cressia had killed the creature. She was accustomed to victory, to being the strongest and meanest pirate and practitioner in a room. Her pride was in shambles.

  Elisabeth chewed on her lower lip and worked at restoring her shields to rein in her necromancy. Leaving herself open to the magic meant hearing the whispers of ghosts, not only from the siren’s pond, but also from the beach, and the sea. It felt like the whole world was just a giant grave if she didn’t control her affinity for the dead. With the practiced ease of a lifetime, she pulled the tendrils of death-magic back to herself, bundling the glacial power into a box and locking it tight. A shadow fell over her as she worked at the containment spells, and Mortimer sat down beside her, drew his knees up to his chest, and hung his arms around them loosely. He looked out at the rolling waves and the two ships at anchor in the bay.

  Good, she thought, not wanting his scrutiny. She knew that even with the shields back in place, the glamour that came with them would take time to smooth out her features. It meant that for now, her gauntness was more apparent, her skin sallow, dark circles under her eyes, her lips tinted blue. Her hands were covered in scars, blood flaking from them. Tattoos stood out harshly against the pallid skin on her face, hands, and the part of her arms exposed by the sleeves she’d pushed up to her elbows. Dealing in death had consequences.

  “Parley,” Henry said after a few moments of silence, still looking over the water.

  “Parley,” she agreed.

  “After that little show in there, I know you’re the right choice for this conversation.” He turned to look at her, and she met his gaze. “I want to depose the Skeleton King. I want for us all to be free again.”

  “And you wouldn’t take his place?”

  “No. I’m a pirate, not a ruler.”

  “What if I took the throne?” She asked, mulling over her own desire to do so. To rule over the pirates, to be Queen. Landlocked and honor-bound. No, it wasn’t what she wanted.

  “Become Queen of us sorry lot?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’d have to kill you.”

  “You’d try, anyway,” she conceded. “I’ve no love of ruling.”

  “Will you join me, then?”

  Elisabeth looked back at Cressia standing a few feet away, Marris mirroring her stance further down the beach. The bodyguard was close enough to overhear their conversation. With the sun behind her, Elisabeth couldn’t see her eyes, and her veiled face was inscrutable. Moira would be against the risk. But the She-Wolf’s pride was pricked in the confrontation on Skull Island. Watching the self-proclaimed king fall would be satisfying, especially if she was a part of his undoing.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it, if we have an accord.”

  Elisabeth exhaled hard and took a long, deep breath in. The leash chafed. With an effort of will, she wrenched the last pieces of her shields back into place, allowing her flesh to grow warm again. “Aye, we’re in agreement.”

  Mortimer stood. “Shake on it?”

  She pushed herself up to her feet, brushed sand off her coat and legs, then squared her shoulders to face him. They shook. The compact was sealed.

  “Now, what’s the plan?” She prodded again, anxious to find out what sort of bargain she’d just struck. He looked her over for a long moment, blue eyes taking in the muck and blood drying on her clothes and skin, the dark circles she knew were still visible under her eyes.

  “How about a bath and dinner first?”

  “Not interested. How are we going to depose the Skeleton King?”

  Henry Mortimer laughed at her stubbornness. “How am I going to charm you into going along with my plan if I can’t ply you with wine and delicacies?”

  “I’ve already agreed to be part of the mutiny.”

  “True,” he turned to look out over the water, his blue eyes scanning the horizon. “It’s simple, really—you find the Atlas Stone, take it to him, and when you’re about to hand it over, you kill him instead.” He was looking at her again when he finished. Elisabeth took a moment to process what he said and then started to chuckle, then laugh deep from her belly. Of course his idea involved her doing all the work.

  “And what’s your contribution to this endeavour?” She wheezed once she regained a semblance of control.

  “I’m the charming rogue pulling the strings.” He grinned at her, flashing white teeth. “I’ll keep the other captains off your back. I know I can’t get close enough to him to do the deed, but you can. And you’re strong enough to take him out. I can ensure you get the chance.” Put that way, it almost made sense.

  “I see. Do you know where the Atlas Stone is?” Maybe she didn’t have to visit her sisters to get the information she needed.

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  “No. If I did, I would have brought it to him already and we wouldn’t be on this beach planning to overthrow our thrice-cursed king.”

  Elisabeth nodded. It was worth a try. She glanced back at her guards, both of them watching.

  “Do you know where it is?” He turned the question back on her.

  “Not yet.” The admission didn’t cost her anything. “I have a plan to locate it, but it’s going to fail if I have you in tow. I’ll need to gain favour with the source, and they won’t take kindly to your presence.” He wasn’t welcome at the Hideout. And at Hag’s Rock he was more likely to turn into dinner than any sort of real help. Best to leave him behind as soon as possible.

  Mortimer was quiet for a long moment, his furrowed brow the only outward sign that he was thinking hard on what she’d said. He nodded to himself, at last.

  “I’ll agree to stop pursuing you, but we need to set a rendezvous.”

  “Aye.”

  “How long do you need?”

  “Three weeks, maybe four. The wind’ll decide.”

  “Long time to wait for you.”

  “Go take a few prizes. We can meet in Driftwood Bay.”

  The suggestion made him cross his arms over his chest, showing off tanned muscles lined with the faint scars of old battles. “We have an accord,” he said, finally. “Best we leave now to catch the tide.”

  “I’ll see you in Driftwood Bay.”She held out her hand for another shake. He took it, clasping her arm hard. He used the contact to pull her close again.

  “I hope you think of me,” he whispered against her ear.

  “Oh, I will. Ways to kill you if you double cross me,” she hissed in response and pulled herself away from him. Elisabeth stalked away across the sand, signaling to Cressia and Mariss that they were leaving the island.

  “I regret this agreement already,” she muttered, waiting at the edge of the surf for the boat to come in to collect them. At least the Jester would stop following them.

  “Moira’ll be angry with this decision, captain,” Cressia warned.

  “Aye. Do you want to tell her for me?” She smirked at her bodyguard.

  “No. I might stay here on this beach for a while longer.” Elisabeth barked a single laugh.

  “I’m sure you’ll hear from here.” Cressia only snorted in response. The longboat pushed up onto the sand and they splashed their way to it. All of the women remained quiet on the way back to the Silence. Elisabeth’s mind raced, turning one thing over again and again—how best to inform her quartermaster that she had committed them to an act of mutiny against the Skeleton King.

  The feeling of the deck beneath her feet reassured Elisabeth, calming her nerves.

  “Captain, the ship is yours,” Moira greeted her with the traditional phrase.

  “Thank you, quartermaster.” They clasped arms. “Get her underway on an indirect route to the Hideout. I want to make sure he’ll keep his side of the bargain and stop following us before we set our true course.”

  “You heard the Captain,” Moira bellowed. “Move, you lazy bitches!”

  Trusting in her crew to follow their orders, Elisabeth went straight to her cabin. “Cress, get me a bucket of clean water. I need to wash this blood off.”

  “Aye.” Once the bodyguard left her in the room, she began to strip off her filthy clothing. The stench of the siren’s pool was overpowering in the small space. A knock on the door and Cress entered with the bucket, Moira on her heels. Elisabeth was wearing clean smallclothes and gratefully dipped a clean rag into the water. She started scrubbing at her face first, getting the grime and blood off with a sigh of relief.

  “What did Captain Mortimer want?” The quartermaster asked. Elisabeth didn’t answer immediately, instead, she kept washing off the filth from the siren’s pond. It felt good to get clean, and she wanted to take a moment to enjoy it. The conversation with Moira was going to be difficult, she needed to steal this minute of relief amidst the chaos. Going forward, peace was going to be almost impossible to find.

  “Well? I’m not here to watch you have a bath.” The edge in the quartermaster’s voice told Elisabeth that she was nervous about what transpired on that island.

  “We came to an accord.” She dunked her hair into the bucket and scrubbed the blood out of it, turning her head enough to still be able to look at the other woman. Cressia stood at the door, muscles tensed. “We’ll meet in a month’s time in Driftwood Bay. And we’ll finalize our plan to kill the Skeleton King.” A slow blink, a huff, her mouth opened and closed a few times, and finally the quartermaster turned on her heel and walked away, pausing only long enough to let Cressia step out of her way. The door slammed behind her.

  “That went…better than I expected,” Cressia offered.

  “She’ll be back in a minute.” Elisabeth wrung water out of her hair and swept the wet strands away from her face, tying them in a messy braid. She slipped on a clean shirt and trousers. She sat behind the small desk in the corner of the room and began to sort through a box of trinkets, selecting a few to replenish the ones she’d used in the fight with the siren. The door slammed open and Moira stormed back in.

  “Mutiny!” She hissed, slamming her fist down on the desk, rattling the charms sitting in a pile next to Elisabeth’s hand. “You agreed to mutiny!”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the Skeleton King steal your wits when he beat you to the ground?”

  “No. He made me kneel, Moira. No one makes me kneel.”

  “You and your damnable pride. You’ll get us all keel-hauled! Or worse.”

  “Or I’ll set us all free.”

  “We’re already free!”

  “No, we’re not. We answer to him. We get sent on impossible errands by him. We are made to kneel to him.” Elisabeth felt mad enough to spit, but did her best to rein in her temper. She wasn’t angry with Moira, she was angry with the world and with their would-be pirate leader.

  “Aye, but how many years did we sail the seas without interference? Are those worth nothing?” The questions took the heat out of Elisabeth’s rage.

  “But we’re not roaming now, are we? And we should be. We should be taking prizes and drinking rum. Instead, we’re set on this impossible path. I’d rather fight back, even if it means our end.”

  “Not your end.”

  “Against this adversary, that’s not a certainty.” It hurt to admit that she feared the Skeleton King might unravel her secret.

  Moira paced the few steps between the desk and the bunk, breathing hard, thoughts clearly racing. Elisabeth waited, allowing the other woman to work her way through the twist in their errand. Rebelling against authority was a core part of any pirate’s life. The quartermaster understood that.

  “Mutiny,” she heard her mutter. “Foolish business.” A deep breath. “Get us killed.” An exhale. “Damned either way.” Moira stopped pacing, rested her fist on the desk again to lean across it towards Elisabeth. “I’m putting the errand to the crew at the hideout. Just the search for the Atlas Stone. That’s enough of a risk on its own. They deserve a choice. Your accord with Henry Mortimer stays between the three of us.”

  “Four,” Cressia spoke up. “Mariss heard the exchange.”

  “Fuck. Well, we’ll have to deal with that. That woman likes to gossip.”

  “And the crew knows enough about her not to take her word as truth,” Elisabeth dismissed the concern. “If she causes problems, Cressia will talk to her. But I agree. The crew needs to choose.”

  “As you should.”

  “Then we’re in accord.”

  “We are, but I’m unhappy with your decision-making. Your pride’ll put us five fathoms deep.”

  “Or it’ll set us free.”

  “Hmph,” Moira stood back. “I’ll get us underway.” She walked out of the cabin without a backwards glance.