late for them. Pryce hunched over a man propped against the bulwark; Kirkland was not far away with another casualty. Tiptoeing through offal and vomit, she felt something round and slightly giving underfoot. She looked down to see a fingertip sticking out from beneath her foot. More could be seen lying about, single knuckles to entire digits, with the occasional pinkish curve of an ear.
The silence in the aftermath of battle was always the most deafening, the elation of victory doused by destruction. These mariners bore the added pain the damage suffered upon their ship, a lady who had fought as valiantly as they. Their efforts were divided between tending their mates and her. As before the battle, it was a scene of chaos, but again with purpose. The powerful voices of the captains of the tops, forecastle, waist, and the like, rallied their men. The mariners busied with tending each other, tying rags about bloodied limbs and heads. Some sat stoically as his mate fished into his flesh with a knife for whatever battle had inserted. The more seriously injured lay waiting, either to die or for help, whichever came first.
The price of victory.
The wreckage of rigging and spars was already being cut away and tossed overboard, along with the bodies of those past identification or Nightingales. No one here would mourn the latter.
Her heart lightened at finding Nathan. He stood amidship, sword clutched in his fist. He whirled around at her approach, eyes still wild with the exaltation of battle. His bloodied blade raised, and then lowered at seeing it was her. His cuffs and sleeves were crimson. A fine spray of blood, like paint flung from a brush, flecked his face and chest hair, kept brilliant by his sweated skin. A trail of scarlet ran down several braids from a dark blot on his headscarf, near his crown.
He swiped the blood from his smoke-blackened face. His breath coming in ragged bursts, he lurched unsteadily toward her, but stopped when his foot hit something: an arm, severed near the elbow.
He kicked at it in frustration and fury. “Goddammit to fucking hell! Is this what you expected, woman?”
A nearly decapitated body lay at his feet. A vicious swipe of his blade finished the job and he bent to snatch the head up by the hair. She stumbled back several steps when he charged at her shaking it, the dead eyes rounded and frozen.
“Pirates! Heartless, soulless, ravaging barbarians, without a shred of decency or humanity,” he shouted, the cords in his neck rigid.
He grunted with the effort of tossing the thing over the rail. “Goddammit, I didn’t want this,” he extolled to the sky.
Chest heaving, he stood staring across the water. “We had them: three against one, at the least. They boarded in the smoke, but we pushed them back. The sharpshooters mowed them down like pigeons. Then we boarded…”
Rubbing an arm with a hand that shook with weariness, he looked toward theNightingale, and said in a hoarse whisper, “It’s worse over there.”
He blinked, like a sleepwalker awakened, and turned as if seeing her for the first time. “Are you all right?”
In view of the carnage all around, she choked a mirthless laugh, sounding almost maniacal in her own ears. She managed a nod. The small gesture gave him ease. Dashing at his face with his sleeve, he swayed. He took a step, staggered and his knees buckled. Cate caught him with a shoulder under his. A crewman lent hand and they guided him to the quarterdeck steps.
Kneeling before him, she tried to take his sword, but he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—let go, and she had to pry it free. Now she could see that a good portion of the blood on him was his, pouring from near his crown.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She bit back a smile. “You look bloody awful.”
He swiped at the blood on his face and flicked it away. “Can’t say as I disagree. Seems I didn’t duck fast enough.”
Nathan lurched to his feet and leaned over the rail to retch. Several more spasms took him before he shakily sat. His ill-focused gaze steadied on her.
“Planning on putting me out of me misery?” he asked dully.
Cate looked down to find the pistol was still in her hand. “Give me a good reason and I'll use it.”
She dropped the weapon on the step and bent to help Nathan to his feet. “C'mon, you need to lie down.”
Mumbling in protest, he rose, nonetheless. He swayed precariously and she braced