A wave of relief washed over her as soon as she stepped onto the deck, her ship welcoming its captain with a thrum of magic. The spells woven into every inch of wood and rope whispered to her of home, and she allowed some of the tension to flow out of her as she looked around at her ship. The Silence didn’t have a brig—troublemakers were subdued and placed in a small storage room at the back of the ship, behind the kitchen. Out of the way and easily contained. Elisabeth didn’t go there directly. With Henry in tow, despite her objections, she made her way to her cabin. She wanted her own clothes, and needed to replenish her stores of trinkets before confronting the fire-witch in the hold.

  “I need to gather a few things from my cabin, and then I’ll need Lotte and Leni in the longboat. I want to get Roger off the ship. If he loses control, they’ll be able to funnel some of the fire away from us.” The orders fell from her lips with ease now that she was once again in a position of command.

  “I’ll see to it and meet you below.” Moira withdrew with a wave of her hook, tending to her duties as quartermaster, never one to miss an opportunity to get a bit of work done. A slew of orders rang out as the woman moved across the ship, checking on the progress of the repairs. Cressia remained at her side, keeping to the left, as usual, and Mortimer stood to her right, studying the layout of the Silence, his calm gaze assessing the status of the ship. The frown lines between his icy eyes at the visible damage made her grind her teeth in response to his apparent judgement.

  “My quarters are this way,” she interrupted his inspection before he had a chance to voice any of his thoughts. She walked away towards the captain’s cabin without a backwards glance. The two followed her, twin shadows. Captain Wolf greeted the few sailors they saw on deck, as they made their way to the aft end of the ship and her quarters. When they reached the door, Cressia fell into her usual guard position, blocking the entrance as soon as her charge stepped into the room. Mortimer followed Elisabeth inside.

  The inspection continued in her cabin. She saw him eye her narrow bunk, tucked against the hull. His eyebrow raised at the small space—definitely not enough room to accommodate them both—and then turned her attention to the chest of trinkets that still sat on her desk. She pulled a handful of charms from it, enough to get her through the encounter with the firestarter, scattering them onto the table-top, and then moved to the chest that held her clothing.

  She rummaged through the pile of garments, pulling out black trousers and shirt. She didn’t hesitate to strip off her borrowed garments, but felt the heat of his gaze on her as she stood naked only a few feet from him. Part of her wanted him to run his warm hands over her bare skin, but she knew there was no time. She slipped into the clothing quickly, and began to shove the trinkets she’d selected into pockets and seams. Wearing her own clothes made her feel stronger. And when she pulled on her coat, she added a last few charms into its pockets. With the talismans humming against her senses, she felt as though she was settling back into her bones, anchored and solid after floating in the sea, and in Henry’s warmth. She allowed herself a long, deep breath, and then turned to face the other captain.

  “If the firestarter isn’t lost to us, I want him to join your crew.”

  “I don’t think so, Liz.”

  “A man onboard the Silence won’t work. I’ve made my reputation on running a crew of women.” She stepped close to him, tilting her head back to keep her gaze locked on his. “Based on how unstable he was when I saw him last, the spellblock might have broken him. But if it didn’t….He’s valuable, which is why I took him. Make use of him.” He glared down at her for a long moment.

  “Let’s see him first. We can haggle over where the kid lives once we know if he’s still sane, since you have some doubts on that point.”

  “Fair,” she agreed. Standing so close to him, she clearly saw the moment when his thoughts turned from the problem of the firestarter to the fact that she was standing inches away. Heat intensified in his eyes and a small smile tugged at his lips. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  “We won’t have a lot more moments alone together once we leave here.” He kissed her—his mouth hot on hers, as always. When he broke the contact, he stayed close enough to speak against her skin. “Stay with me on the Jester tonight, after the feast.” It was a tempting proposition—one more night of pleasure and warmth amidst the tumult of their lives. Elisabeth stayed in the circumference of his embrace for a moment, breathing in the smell of lightning, allowing the fantasy of another tryst to take shape. Going to his bed again, now that she was reunited with her ship was unlikely, she knew it in her bones, but it was a pretty dream.

  “We’ll see where we end up,” she said, pulling away and straightening her coat. She hoped that when the time came, she would be able to resist her desire. For now, she needed to focus on the problem at hand. “We need to get below. The spellbock’ll wear off sooner or later. And I’m in no mood to fight a fire-witch onboard my ship. We need to move him to the beach as quickly as possible.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “If it comes to that, don't bother getting him topside, just kill him.” Henry shrugged.

  “Easier said than done, but aye.”

  He stepped aside in the narrow space, giving her room to leave. “After you, Captain Wolf.” He gestured for her to lead the way. Elisabeth took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and walked out of her cabin with her usual confident saunter. The ship hummed around her, the magic woven into its planks and boards wrapping around her like a second skin. She was home.

  A slight scuffle sounded behind her, and she smiled. Both Cressia and Henry tried to fall in line behind her, each coveting the position as her shadow. A hint of surprise accompanied her amusement that Mortimer was willing to follow her lead. But the situation called for her expertise, and one of the things she learned about her companion was that he was shrewd. Elisabeth tried to ignore the tension between the two, and focused her attention on the firestarter. The spells woven into the Silence told her that the prisoner was still subdued, the tea still suppressing his abilities. Moira met them at the top of the stairs that led further into the ship. She greeted Elisabeth with a curt nod. The quartermaster’s posture was tense.

  “The wind witches’ll be ready when you are.”

  “Good. Now, take me to the prisoner,” she ordered, and Moira nodded again, then turned to lead the way down the steps and into the hold of the Silence.

  The scent of charred wood slowed Elisabeth’s steps as she approached the kitchen and the storage room that lay beyond it, the fire witch locked inside.

  “The smell’s old.” Moira answered the question before her captain had the chance to ask. “He tried to burn the door down. Screaming that he was going to set the ship on fire if we didn’t take him to you. He didn’t believe us when we told him you went overboard. Just kept demanding to talk to you and only you. The incident with the door made us…made me decide to give him the tea.”

  Elisabeth understood the reasoning, but it did nothing to curb her anger at the use of the suppressant. She did a quick scan of the room, and saw that they were alone. No guards stood at the door. The kitchen was nearly empty of food, as well, the normally cluttered space barren compared to the last time she saw it. In the aftermath of the Sargasso, their stores were depleted more than she imagined. Only a handful of barrels sat against the wall furthest from the storeroom. She paused, bringing the small group to a halt just inside the entrance to the galley, and as far from the storeroom door as possible while allowing for visibility. With a deep breath, she unfurled a careful tendril of magic, reaching toward the man inside the locked room to see if there was any response. She still sensed nothing—no heat, no wards, no power.

  “The spellblock is holding,” she told her companions. “I’m going to talk to him alone. Given what’s been done to him, he won’t trust you. I don’t want to crowd him, or overwhelm him, either.” She paused and thought about the possible outcomes for the situation. “Since he’s been asking for me, I hope he’ll be relieved to see me. But I might need room to move quickly if he’s too unstable to manage.”

  “Captain, I should be there, at least,” Cressia objected. “I wasn’t there when they gave him the tonic. He doesn’t know me. Let me watch your back.”

  “No, Cress. This is close enough. Not much any of you can do if he decides to turn the Silence into a bonfire.” Elisabeth activated a shielding charm, and held out her left hand. “Key,” she demanded. Moira placed a heavy metal key into her palm. The She-Wolf stepped forward without another word. A handful of strides took her through the kitchen and to the storeroom door. She placed her free hand flat against the rough wood. The surface was cool to the touch, but nevertheless, she reached out one more time, sending a wave of magic into the room to test if the firestarter had regained his powers. Again, there was no response to the probe. His abilities remained inert in the aftermath of the tonic. She slid the key into the lock and slowly opened the door.

  The small space was dark. Elisabeth drew on her own magic and pushed a blue witch-light into the blackness. The soft illumination showed Roger curled into the corner furthest from the door, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his head. He didn’t react to the door opening, or the light, and he didn’t move when Elisabeth crouched next to him. Now that she was close to him, she smelled the fear-sweat that soaked his shirt, and she heard that he was mumbling under his breath, the words barely distinguishable.

  “...cold, so cold, so cold, so cold, so cold, so cold…” The same thing over and over again. Elisabeth frowned. It wasn’t a good sign. When the spellblock severed his connection to his innate power, he lost the ability to warm his body.

  “Fuck,” Elisabeth cursed, and sent a bitter hex towards whatever sadist created the magic suppressant. The fire-witch was too inexperienced to contain his magic, allowing it to meld with his flesh; that was clear to her from his body’s reliance on his power to maintain its temperature. That level of integration between magical and physical likely meant that the tonic broke his mind. She had to get him off her ship quickly and quietly.

  Elisabeth sat next to him, her back to the hull. For a moment, she was back in the brig of a navy ship, bitter brew forced down her throat by a witch-hunter. She remembered that the liquid scalded her throat because it was so hot. Then it had turned like ice in her stomach. As it moved through her body, it dampened her necromancy, severing her from the spirits, and from the power to raise the dead. Numbness had spread, and silence. In her day-to-day life, she kept herself shielded, her magic contained, but her power was always inside her, keeping her body temperature lower, allowing her to sense things just beyond the veil.

  She pushed her memories aside, they were distractions in a moment when she needed focus. The experience with the spellblock was harrowing, and she felt guilty that her crew subjected the fire-witch to it. Elisabeth was determined to save him, although she knew the hope of accomplishing that was slim. She squared her shoulders and gave her full attention to the task of bringing him back from the brink.