a knife. If he got hurt before she reached him, she’d never forgive herself. She was bare-arsed, her friends were outmanned, she’d no idea where Tric was or the lay of the land.
Patience, she told herself.
She looked this Vaanian fellow over, weighing him up in her mind. Easy authority. Understated confidence. Intelligence. His men were busy soaking up an eyeful, but he’d not looked away from her eyes once since she drew her sword.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Ulfr Sigursson, wulfguard and first mate of the Black Banshee.”
“Does your king usually send his first mate out to round up troublemakers?”
“When he’s bored,” Sigursson replied. “And I have bad news for you, lass. He’s been bored a great deal of late.”
Mia glanced to Ashlinn, still standing on the bed.
This is the danger, she realized.
In having people she cared about. Familia she loved. She let her guard down around them. They made her vulnerable. Her enemies could use them against her. Mercurio. Ashlinn. Jonnen. Sid and the Falcons. If she were alone like she’d been in the beginning, she’d just be a flicker in the shadows, already gone. If she were alone, she could gut these four like spring lambs and be on her way. If she were alone …
But then she’d be alone.
She looked into Ashlinn’s eyes.
And what would the point of it all be then?
Mia curled her hand into a claw, meeting Sigursson’s stare. The shadows around the room began to move, stretching out toward the man, pointed like knives. Her hair blew about her shoulders in a cold starlit breeze that touched only her. To his credit, the brigand held his ground, but he finally drew his blade.
“Just who the fuck are you?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
“We’ll come with you, Ulfr Sigursson,” Mia said. “But if you or your men touch me or my friends in any unseemly fashion, I’ll kill you and everyone you ever loved. Do you understand me?”
Sigursson smirked, finally looking her up and down. “My men follow my lead. And you lack the appropriate block and tackle to hoist my sail, little girl.”
The man stooped and flung her britches at Mia’s head.
“Put your fucking clothes on.”
* * *
A stone fort awaited them at the south end of the docks.
It rose up direct from the water, its wall like a cliff face. It was limestone, round like a mighty drum, a crust of weed and mussels encircling its waterline. Cannon pointed from its battlements and guts, out across the water. From its highest tower, a green flag flew, trimmed with silver and set with the sigil of a black wolf with bloody claws. Around its wall were hung a hundred gibbets, filled with men and women. Some dead, some living, most somewhere in between.
“Fuck me,” Butcher was muttering. “Fuck me…”
Sigursson walked in front, the wulfguard marching around them. Mia and her comrades had been disarmed, save the small punching dagger hidden in the heel of Mia’s left boot. Sigursson was carrying her gravebone sword like a new toy. Sid had earned himself a black eye and split lip when the wulfguard charged into their room, and his chin was crusted with blood. Ash walked close beside Mia, and Mia carried Jonnen in her arms. Even with Eclipse in his shadow, she could feel the boy trembling. She squeezed him tight, kissed his cheek.
“All will be well, brother.”
“I want to go home,” he said, on the verge of tears.
“Me too.”
“You should never have brought me to a place like this.”
Mia watched the keep’s broad, iron-studded doors opening wide before them.
“I’m not feeling the grandest big sister in the world right now, sure and true.”
She was already looking for escape routes. Shadows to Step into, moments she might slip her mantle about her shoulders and vanish. She could manage Jonnen. Maybe even Ashlinn if she tried hard enough. But Bladesinger, Butcher, and Sid …
Fear coiled in her belly. Fear like ice and crawling worms. Fear for those she cared about. She wanted Eclipse back to help her manage it, but that would strip Jonnen bare and Goddess knew what he’d behave like then. And without Mister Kindly—O, ’byss and blood, how she missed him now—she was forced to deal with it herself. Push through the frost and the shakes, the memory of Bryn and ’Waker lying dead on the cold stone and think, think, think how the fuck they were going to get through this …
She heard shouts and jeers ringing ahead as they walked a long hallway lined