A sheltered bay sat in front of them, the shoreline unbroken. It was the fourth inlet that mocked Elisabeth with its barrenness. The search for the Silence was unsuccessful again. Elisabeth gripped the rail of the Jester, her temporary home, and ground her teeth in frustration. She was adrift here, without friends, and without her hoarded trinkets, she felt alone and vulnerable. Solace was only found in Henry Mortimer’s bed, and that was a double edged-sword, at best. It allowed her to forget her circumstances for a few short hours, but morning always reminded her of her isolation. He left to run his ship, and she waited, she wandered, she withered.

  “We’ll find her soon.” The Jester’s captain sauntered up to her and leaned against the rail next to her, his back to the water and the empty bay. She felt him studying her tense face. His nonchalance grated on her nerves. He hadn’t let her see a chart, or map, or listen to the instructions he gave the sailors at the helm. In fact, he hadn’t consulted her at all about the search for her ship. She suspected that he was deliberately hindering the process. Keeping her with him for as long as possible. Part of her appreciated the extra nights in his bed, with the warmth of his body next to hers, the taste of his skin, the way she knew all of his scars and how he got them, but she wanted to be home. The lack of progress in locating the Silence was eroding what little trust she had in her companion.

  “There’s only one more spot they might be if they were as desperate for water as you said they were. Lobos Beach. They’ll be there,” he assured her, his voice rolling over her skin like a soft, warm rain.

  “They better be.” She ground the words out between clenched teeth, and let some of her power leak past her shields. The temperature dropped around them. His hand wrapped around her wrist, grip strong.

  “Stop that.” The tone of command didn’t sit well with her, and she let the magic spread, eyes clouding, veins darkening.

  “I might not be on my ship, but I’m a captain, same as you. So don’t give me orders, Henry.” She said the words quietly, holding his gaze with her death-touched stare. The tension built between them as they glared at each other. His breath fogged in the suddenly chill air. The ship groaned beneath her feet, the cold penetrating the boards. He stepped closer. His hand slid up her arm, softening. He was deescalating the stand-off.

  “My apologies. Habits, you know.” A smile tugged at her lips at the words, and she didn’t allow the hurt pride of the recalled moment to overtake her mood now. Instead, she allowed the smile to grow, willing to let the confrontation end, at least for now. Part of her hated the feeling that she acquiesced, but it was necessary. Setting her misgivings aside was the only way to navigate the situation. And for once, she listened to the soft inner voice that argued for caution, a voice that sounded a lot like Cressia, instead of the loud scream of pride that wanted to murder the entire crew, resurrect them, and find her ship without Henry’s assistance. There was always time to start a mutiny later. The thought turned the slight smile into a grin.

  “The Silence better be there,” she said, sliding her shields back in place to contain her power. A warm gust of breeze dispelled the cold that had surrounded the pair. She pulled her arm from his grasp, and he let her go. She waited a moment longer to let her features return to their normal pallor, aware that he watched the magic drain from her skin. When she felt her skin warm, she pushed away from the rail, and walked away across the deck.

  Returning to his quarters wasn’t quite the statement she needed, but it was her only option. There weren’t a lot of places to go on a ship. She slammed the door behind her and retreated to the bed, sitting with her back to the room, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her gaze set on the horizon. She was in tumult. She hated feeling trapped, hated being separated from her ship, hated the sense of powerlessness, but then she also wanted to curl up next to Henry at every opportunity, to wrap his warmth around her body like a blanket on a cold night. The hypocrisy of her own emotions was unnerving.

  With a sigh, she summoned her entourage of spirits, the only true comfort she knew. The temperature dropped, and her shoulders relaxed as flickering blue light bloomed in the small space.

  “What troubles you?” The female ghost who led her coterie sat next to her, shoulders almost touching, a line of cold along Elisabeth’s side.

  “I miss my ship.”

  “Aye. You do.” The bunk shifted under them, the wraiths crowding close. “And you’re not thinking straight.”

  “I know. I’m lost at sea.”

  “Seems like you need to remember who you are. Don’t let some man confuse you.”

  “This might not be the Silence, but you can make it your own.” One of the other spectres whispered in her ear, icy air tickling her skin.

  “Aye. Don’t let your heart betray you. Cold as it might be.” Elisabeth turned to face the ghost that sat beside her, but its expression was neutral. If it knew that it wasn’t the first time the captain had heard that warning, it gave no sign. The repetition sent a chill into her stomach, a hint of fear curling there like a rind of frost. Not finding the hoped-for comfort in the spirits’ presence, only more worries, she banished them with a wave of her hand. She could feel unsettled on her own.

  Disentangling herself from Mortimer wasn’t possible in the immediate future, she knew that, and so she pushed her unease aside. Instead, she focused on the idea of making his ship her own. That was a thought that deserved more attention. Every piece of wood, every length of rope, every inch of the Silence bore the mark of her presence. Spells suffusing the entire ship so it felt like a living thing to her senses, humming and thrumming with energy. It had taken years to accomplish. She chewed on her lip, and repositioned on the bunk so her back faced the windows. She hoped to be returned to her ship in a few days at the latest, but for now, she could make herself feel more at home on the Jester one spell at a time.

  Elisabeth took a deep breath and dropped into a trance. She activated a charm that sat under her clavicle, placed there years ago, its entry scar obscured beneath a slash from a sword. With the boost to her power, she started to weave magic into the wood of the captain’s cabin, and the hallway beyond, all the way to the steps that led to the hold. A spell to tell of movement approaching the cabin was her first task. There was solace in the work, and she lost herself in it.

  She knew her web was complete, when Henry came walking down the stairs into the hold, and she felt him approach. The planks whispered to her about his movements, the speed of his steps. Relief flooded her at the miniscule amount of control she gained through the magic. She opened her eyes to a dim room, the sun already dropped below the horizon beyond the windows at her back. She sat in darkness.

  The door swung open and banged against the wall. Mortimer strode in carrying a tray of food—bread, fish, fruit—and a jug of wine, their usual repast. He frowned at the shadowy interior of his cabin, but kicked the door shut behind him, carefully balancing the tray.

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  “We’ll be at Lobos tomorrow afternoon if the wind holds,” he announced, as he placed his burdens on the table, and began to move around the small cabin, lighting the lanterns scattered throughout to cast a soft warm glow.

  Elisabeth uncurled from her position on the bed, stood, and stretched, like a cat waking from a nap, a satisfied smile on her lips for just a moment as she revelled in the spell that sat in the walls and floor after only a few hours of work.

  “Be faster if you found yourself a wind-witch,” she mumbled as she sat down at the table across from him.

  “Aye, but it’s not as easy as you make it sound. Not a lot of them around anymore. Not ones that aren’t already happy on a crew,” he said, pouring wine for them both.

  “True.” She knew it was difficult to find certain practitioners—wind witches, healers, water makers were all treasured on all vessels, pirate, merchant, and navy alike.

  “I assume we’ll need to visit Driftwood Bay before we head to the Shroud. I’ll have the boys recruit. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Elisabeth tore off a chunk of bread. “Good plan. The Silence took some losses. We’ll need to do the same.” She hated to admit that her crew wasn’t intact, because it felt like admitting to her own failure in protecting them.

  “Aye.” He toyed with a slice of fruit for a moment, then popped a slice of orange into his mouth, grinned around it. “Liz, please don’t pull that necromancer shit in front of my crew. It makes them uneasy, and I’m already asking a lot from them to execute our plan.”

  She thought about his request, thought about their agreement, and shrugged. “I think you, and everyone on this ship, needs to remember who I am. I’m the She-Wolf, not some trophy, and not your bedwarmer.”

  “You definitely don’t warm anything. I wake up at night and the windows are frosted over. The whole room’s glowing blue. And you’re mumbling in your sleep about the Atlas Stone, and drowning.”

  That gave her pause. She made a mental note to set wards on herself before falling asleep, to keep from spilling her secrets and to contain her magic. The stress of the last few months was taking a toll, but it didn’t mean she could allow this loss of control while she tried to get at least a little bit of rest each night.

  “It won’t happen again,” she assured him, and hoped not to speak more of the Atlas Stone, and their quest.

  “You still haven’t told me anything about Rowan’s Shroud.” He drained his wine in a gulp and refilled his cup. Elisabeth cursed her luck and his persistence.

  “There isn’t much to tell. You know the tales and have heard the songs, I assume?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t have much to add. Our heading is south and then west. We’ll know we’re on the right path when things become difficult. The protections around it are strong. The spell that created the Shroud will sense that we’re coming and try to hinder us. I learned that through trial and error—the attack at Hag’s Rock, and the curse that kept the Silence becalmed.” Elisabeth shrugged. “Supposedly, there’s a lighthouse within the boundary.” She took a sip of her wine. “That’s all I know.”

  Henry glared at her for a long, quiet moment. Tension suddenly sat heavy in the air between them. “That’s not enough to formulate a plan. That’s barely even a heading to find the place.”

  “Aye. It’s why the Skeleton King set this task. It’s impossible. But, I’ll find a way to succeed. Why does it make you so angry?” She asked, perturbed by his shifting mood. He looked away, out the window at the dark sky. He was more handsome when he brooded. The scowl on his face casting small shadows that enhanced the lightness of his eyes, gave strength to the line of his jaw.

  “I’m not angry, Liz. I’m frustrated. I don’t like sailing blind. And trying to find Rowan’s Shroud is the definition of that. We don’t know anything about it other than rumors and myths. I don’t see another way to get access to the Skeleton King, so I have to be here on this mad errand. I’m not happy about it, though. And the crew is uneasy about you being aboard, which makes them uneasy about the mission. And that little display earlier didn’t help. We can’t afford a mutiny on the Jester.”

  “They should be unsettled, and so should you. I already told you. I’m not a pet. A display of my power is a tool to use to convince them that we can accomplish our goals, not a detriment to your plans.” She chewed on a piece of bread, organizing her thoughts about the rest of his outburst. She decided to set her own misgivings aside. They had a compact, and there was no way she was willing to face what lay ahead alone. “You scolded me about being too serious a few days ago, and now you’re running around the ship like an outraged bear, just because things aren’t lining up neatly all in a row. You’re a pirate, Henry. Manage your crew, and remove any rabble-rousers. And then focus on the goal. If we find and enter Rowan’s Shroud, we’ll become legendary. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  He glared at her across the rim of his cup, before draining it again.

  “What a pair we make,” he said, finally and chuckled. “You’re right. Why worry about the insurmountable odds we find ourselves facing?”

  “You can always pull out of our accord. Take me back to the Silence and go back to…whatever you were doing before you tracked me down and asked me to kill our self-appointed king. I’ll find the Shroud on my own, and then decide what to do after.”

  His eyes narrowed at the words, crows-feet forming at their edges. They glared at each other over the barely-touched food.

  “Enough,” he growled. “I’m in it ‘til the end. I asked for an accord between us, and I won’t break it, or my word.” He pushed back from the table a little, leaning against the back of the chair in a stretch. “Now, why don’t you come over here and make me forget my woes for the night?” His slow, easy smile was back on his face, eyes hot with desire. A shift so fast that Elisabeth struggled to follow, but she allowed his lust to pull her along. She got up slowly, crossed to where he sat, and straddled him in his chair.

  “I think that is a request I can fulfill.” His mouth tasted like wine, and as always, it was hot.

  ***

  In the middle of the night, with a sickle moon visible through the frosted window, Elisabeth woke to find the serpentine form of the siren coiled at the center of the room, watching the two pirates sleep. Henry’s chest rose and fell steadily, his breath fogging in the frigid air. She knew she’d set wards on herself before succumbing to sleep, and she felt them in place, holding her power contained, but the siren’s spirit appeared undeterred.

  “What do you want?” Elisabeth whispered. The ghost laughed in its sibillant way.

  “To help you,” the spectre cooed.

  “I doubt that.” The siren moved closer, hovering over Henry.

  “Bind him to you.” A soft susurration of song rose in the cabin, and a smile spread across the sleeper’s face.

  “Stop that,” Elisabeth hissed, and the creature laughed again.

  “Consider it, little witch. He’ll be so much more useful if you wrap my bit of magic around him. You know how. You feel it. Feel me every time he pulls you into his arms.” The wraith wasn’t wrong—Elisabeth sensed the current of the siren’s power every time Henry touched her, and it would be easy to weave a spell to tie him to her. But she didn’t understand the undertow of the magic. It was too distant from death-magic. And that lack of affinity meant that she couldn’t predict the shape of the binding once it was cast, had no way of knowing the true outcome. It might flow both ways and capture her as much as him. Or erase his mind except for the leash wound through him. The temptation was there to use this power, but the risk was too great. She pushed the thought away.

  “Be gone.” She banished the spirit, needing a push of magic to do it. She stared at the empty space for a long moment, wondering at the wraith’s power, at its intrusion. Absorbing the siren’s energy may have been a mistake, but there was no way to undo it now. With a sigh, she tightened her wards again, curled back into Henry’s warmth and fell back asleep.