The night burned in Verna’s eyes. The city in shambles, people fleeing, children screaming, blood on the street. It was too much. So many dead, the High Priestess gone, and now… She forced herself to breathe, the air heavy in her lungs.

  All I have left is Her. The High Priestess gave me this duty. I must see it through.

  She knelt beside Lapat as he slumped against the rails of the ship. His eyes were distant, rimmed red, and frozen in shock. He stared numbly at his hands. His suit was a mess of ash and stains, still steaming from the flame. Verna could only assume what damage the fire had done beneath his gloves. The old tortle looked as if all the life had been leeched from him all at once.

  But he had saved them.

  Though the ship was blackened, and the metallic sconce now entirely liquid, it had worked. They had escaped. The whirlwind of fire that flew from his hands, like the sun god himself, had torched their pursuers and forcing their stop, trapping the rest of the city with the invaders. But buying them time. Buying her time.

  Goddess be good, she prayed. Let it be enough time. Let me reach Lightfall in Your glory.

  “Lapat? Can you stand?” She put a hand on his shoulder but ripped it back, his skin still burning hot as coals. “Goddess! You are burning up!”

  “Yeah, I’m…sorry.” He fought to keep his eyes open. “The flames were…I stood a little too close to the fire.” He tried to laugh, but it came out smoky and choked.

  “We need to take off this suit and examine your burns. Did any of those soldiers hurt you? Are you bleeding?”

  “No, no. I am fine. Just tired.” Lapat winced. “I’m afraid your prayers would not aid me if I were wounded. Malina has never presented herself to me before.”

  Verna helped him sit up straight. “Our Lady does not always announce Her presence. Though She is with us at all times. But as fate would have it for us both, I do not require prayer alone to help you.”

  “Is that right?” Lapat sighed, resting back against the wall. “Here I thought it was all your people were good for.”

  “We serve many functions in Her name. I was trained as an apothecary in Lightfall. It is our duty to aid those we can and be the hands of healing for Our Lady.” Verna paused uncomfortably. “Sometimes we use more than just prayer to heal a soul.”

  “Well,” Lapat coughed. “How lucky we are for you and for having more than just prayers.”

  “For me? You are the one who saved us. I don’t know what would have happened if those things had caught us.”

  “Those things-those people, they were…they were after the ring.” Lapat groaned and gripped his side.

  “Lapat?”

  His fingers dug into his skin like it was all that kept him together. “I’m…fine,” he panted. “I’m okay…Just takes a lot out of me sometimes. Always a cost. Nothing I can’t manage.”

  “We need to lay you down to rest. Come here, I’ll ask if they have any spare cots.” Verna helped Lapat to his feet and walked slowly to the deck. On seeing Lapat, the crew of the Knave quickly pointed below deck and scurried away.

  “You would think they are scared of you or something,” Verna laughed.

  “A man of my prestige deserves a healthy amount of respect,” Lapat groaned.

  “Maybe,” Verna responded. But she could not help but feel a similar hesitation around the old tortle. Her eyesight was still spotty from the firestorm he had summoned, and she’d had the chance to look away in time. She couldn’t begin to imagine the damage it caused him.

  Easing Lapat into a private room and a nearby cot, Verna looked back to the deck stairs. “I’m going to go see if they have any medicine. Even just something to help you sleep tonight. How is your jaw?”

  “There is no need,” he coughed, straining with each breath. “I can handle it, thank you. I will be quite alright. I just need some rest.”

  Verna paused, her mouth twisting in disbelief. A reluctant patient is rarely a healthy one. But she left him to his sleep and rose to the deck.

  The sky was incredibly empty above her. Without the Spirit Lights, there was only a blanket of darkness and the light of a distant moon. It was as though she was blind and lost, her sense of direction made a void without light. Verna touched her brow. “Goddess, I will fix this. In your name, I will honor You.”

  The Knave carried on deeper into the continent regardless of the carnage they had left behind. Torch light across the deck gave sight to the crew taking regular positions around her, just as normal as any river journey. But she was not a normal passenger. The crew eyed her suspiciously as she marched past them and to the front of the ship, as though they were weighing every inch of her for some worth. But no one said a word.

  At the bow, a giant of a man with gray skin was throwing bodies over the side and into the water. A sudden panic filled her, and she rushed forward to stop him. “Wait! Please!” She pushed the pile of bodies aside, digging through to the bottom.

  “Rhto?” The man grumbled, his accent thick and rough. “What doin', girl?”

  “They aren’t all dead!” Verna panted, pushing aside a red soldier’s corpse.

  “Ain’t all dead?” The man scratched his square chin. “Look all dead to me.”

  “No,” Verna insisted. “One of them is still alive. I put him right here. To hide him.”

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  “You hid one? A dead one?”

  “No, he’s still alive. I just said- Here!” She locked eyes with the Hellkin boy and tugged him clear of the corpses.

  “Chudo!” The man exclaimed. “Deskin still live?”

  “Deskin?” Verna asked.

  “Va, lost the little fella with all the fightin’.”

  Verna stared at him. So, thief, you do have a name. His clothes were a wreck, his dark hair disheveled and dirtied. “Will you help me? He’s hurt and needs medicine.”

  “Medicine?” The large man clicked his tongue in dissent. “Oh, bedny, I don’t know about that. We’d seen him carried in like bag of grain. No good. Very bad.”

  “But he was injured,” Verna insisted.

  The gray man shook his head. “No good.”

  “Beirt!” A sharp voice exclaimed. “Seems our little canary has left the cage!” Eayrne crept towards her like a spider, jagged limbs and hungry pale eyes. “Are you here to sing for us, little bird?”

  Beirt waddled up beside him, clapping his tattooed hands. “Sing a ring! A ding ding ding!”

  “Sir, I need supplies. Salves for burns. Preferably, vinegar or honey. And some bandages.”

  “Oh?” Eayrne’s smile was predatory; too tight, too sharp. “And what will you be doing with all those materials?”

  “This man, your man, Deskin,” Verna said quickly, “is burnt. Badly. I can heal him, but not without the right medicines.”

  His pale eyes dissected her piece by piece. “And why would we do that?”

  Verna fought back a tremble rising in her belly. “He’s hurt. The blast knocked him out and scalded his skin. He’ll recover, but not without something to help him.”

  Eayrne laughed, jagged and cruel. “Beirt, I believe our priestess here is misinformed. Do you know where Deskin is?”

  Beirt giggled, “Lostman, lostman, lost in the sea sand!”

  Verna furrowed her brow, “He isn’t lost, just hurt and in need of care. Sir, if you would please-”

  Beirt danced up and down. “Care, scare, tear, a lostman does not dare!”

  “I’m sorry, I-I don’t understand. I can help him. And any of your men who need it.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about the others too much,” Eayrne chuckled. “Besides, start doing favors and they might…get the wrong ideas.”

  “I-I don’t understand. I can help-”

  “I think I need help, little songbird. Why don’t you come to my cabin and take care of me? These aching bones,” Eayrne sighed dramatically, “they need a personal touch.”

  Verna stepped back. What have I done? Everywhere she looked, the crew surrounded her, a hunger in their cold, murderous eyes. “As a Sister of Her Lady,” Verna said, trembling. “I have a duty to care for all who seek Her light. With the right tools, I-I can mend your wounds. But I must see to Deskin first. As a matter of urgency.”

  “Urgency?” Eayrne laughed. “He failed priestess. So, in my eyes, he is a lostman. Should he recover and redeem himself, maybe I’ll forget. But for now, he is just another man adrift at the end of the block. Death’s Row is no charity.”

  Goddess above, grant me strength. “Please.”

  Beirt froze in place, his hands raised mid-dance. His fat head swiveled to Eayrne in rapt attention.

  “Please?” Eayrne’s voice was like a dagger against her neck.

  “Please, help me.” Verna’s voice wavered.

  Eayrne looked at Beirt and cackled. “Little priestess wants to save the little demon? Oh, how sweet. How romantic! How dramatic! A tale for the ages!” Eayrne’s laugh cracked like a whip across the boat, dragging out a harsh bark from the entire crew.

  “I just wanted to help,” she whispered.

  “Okay, little bird. You entertain me. You may have some supplies for the lostman. How true and pure. Isn’t it, Beirt?”

  Beirt giggled, hopping from one foot to the other.

  “Cook,” Eayrne ordered; his laugh gone in a flash.

  The tall gray man nodded, “Sir?”

  “Finish dumping the trash and get the songbird what she wants.”

  Verna sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

  “Now, both of you, get out of my sight. I’m tired of you.”

  Verna quickly darted away and followed Cook below deck. After helping her to his cabinet of ingredients which he called, “House of Small Things,” they returned to the temporary quarters where Lapat lay asleep.

  “Thank you, Cook,” Verna said.

  “No, thank you, nice lady,” the large man rumbled. “Deskin is good nut. I like. You save. Goodbye now.” He nodded, satisfied with the conversation, and left.

  Verna organized her salves and turned to Lapat. He was snoring peacefully, but his skin was still a bright pink. I should examine him for any burns. She considered pulling off his gloves to help him cool but thought the better of it. He told me to leave him be. It is not my place to intrude. Thank the goddess we survived this long.

  Turning to the thief, she gingerly peeled back his ruined shirt. His burns were shallow and would heal quickly if the medicines took hold. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she applied a mixture of salves, the liquid cool and soft against his hot skin. His back was dark as a rose and hard with muscle. She tried to ignore how her fingers pressed into his athletic frame, and the soft gasps coming from his mouth as the bandages set.

  What is your story? Verna wondered, tracing the silver scars lining his back. He had a sharpness in his face, a hardness in his jaw, and yet his eyes... For a moment when he’d looked at her, she felt...different. Even though his hands were rough and worn, when he’d held her...

  “Focus,” Verna chided herself and tucked another bandage tight. “Now is not the time for distractions. You are a Sister of Her Lady, not a fluttering girl.” She leaned away from him, afraid that a second longer and her mind would wander further. It’s been a long night, is all. My body and mind are simply coping with the situation and working to keep me awake and alert. Nothing more.

  She rubbed her heavy eyes, trying to recall everything that had happened. Falling from the window, Lapat, that strange vision, the city burning, those metal masks. So much had changed so quickly.

  Here she was, caring for the man who tried to rob her, and across from some magic tortle, surrounded by criminals, carrying a magic ring the High Priestess died trying to protect. Perhaps this is fate. Perhaps this is a piece of Our Lady’s plan for me. My destiny to…do something. Redeem myself as the High Priestess said. What else could explain tonight but the will of a goddess?

  Verna’s finger slipped into the pocket and brushed the metallic ring. It was cool to her touch, silent as stone. Had it not been for the night’s events, she could have convinced herself it never glowed in the first place.

  What would it be to feel Her again? It had been so long, it was hard for her to remember it at all. But she had felt it once. The goddess flowing through her, filling her very essence with Her light. The prayers were once more than an oath, but a holy dialogue. It is why I must not fail Her now, Verna urged. I will be one with Her Order once more.

  Verna sighed and finished her work on Deskin. Bandaged and treated, she covered him with a sheet and let herself fall back against the bunk wall. I should probably get out of his bed to let him sleep. The bed was hard, and the hay poked her butt as she sat, but…

  Gods, he was warm. Maybe I’ll just sit here for a while. In case his bandages need changing.

  Her head rocked, fighting back the exhaustion dragging at her body and her mind. All the fear that had carried her thus far slowly drained away to a numb respite. Her eyelids drooped, growing heavier and heavier.

  She awoke at some point, her vision coming in fuzzy and laden with sleeplessness. A strange pillow kissed her cheek; a blanket lay across her. What- what happened? Where am I? She moved to rise but froze in place. Two yellow eyes stared at her in the darkness. Only by the crack of the door could she see him.

  The thief was up, his hand resting on the handle, having pulled it open but an inch. His expression was shadowed in the light.

  Verna stared back, her mind still fuzzy from sleep, unaware if it was truly just a dream.

  “Rest,” he said softly. “You deserve it.”

  Verna felt herself pulled back to the bed. As her head collapsed upon the pillow once more, she could not help but gaze at the fleeting sight of the handsome thief leaving like a whisper in the night.