Hag’s Rock’s protective storm closed behind the Silence, the force of its joining pushing the ship further into calm seas. The easing of tension on board was palpable. Elisabeth was relieved that with the bargain in place, the sisters opened a passage for them without a bloodletting. The family reunion left her tired, her already strained emotions wrung out after dealing with her sisters’ machinations. In the aftermath of the kraken’s assault, the ship was battered, the crew bruised. Elisabeth saw the weariness in the sailors’ movements.

  Even Moira showed signs of strain, her face pale with fatigue as she stood at the helm, her attention needed to navigate the ship in its damaged state. They were dragging along, and Driftwood Bay felt impossibly far away with how slowly they were moving. At least the pirate haven was in a mostly southerly direction, so they wouldn’t need to backtrack to reach Rowan’s Shroud. Darkness lay around them, but they kept moving. Urgency drove Captain Wolf: she wanted to create distance between them and Hag’s Rock, and now that she knew the location of the Atlas Stone, delay was uncomfortable.

  She stood at the rail, staring at the moon-speckled sea. A breeze ruffled her hair, charms clinking softly with the movement. The urge to brood was almost overwhelming—her thoughts strayed to the task at hand, and then to Henry Mortimer. With the condition of the ship, it was unlikely that they would arrive in Driftwood Bay at the arranged time. Would he wait? Or search for them? She knew so little about the man, aside from his reputation, that she had no way of divining his intentions. A touch of magic rippled over her skin, and then the smell of lightning was in her nose, and the memory of his mouth against hers rose like a leviathan. Elisabeth shoved the recollection aside, and thought she heard the siren’s laughter.

  “Lunacy,” she grumbled, pushing the heat that gathered inside her aside with a nudge of cold necromancy. That man was nothing to her, except an annoyance and distraction. He was a fly buzzing at her ear when she needed to focus. She ground her teeth and tried to dismiss the sudden longing that curled beneath her breastbone, but with little success. It remained coiled like a snake waiting to strike. “May the depths take you, you son of a devil,” she spat the words over the rail.

  “Always so charming.” A line of ice spread along her spine, and needled deep into her guts. She was tired, tired and distracted. Wards that needed tending lay frayed and scattered around her, and now the ghost of her father stood at her back.

  “What do you want?” She spoke without turning to see the dim outline of the spirit that hovered behind her to the left. Cressia stepped closer on her right, attuned to the rigid line of her limbs, aware that something was amiss, despite the calm night and twinkling stars. The wraith stepped up to stand beside her at the rail, its blue shape towering over her as it had in life.

  “I’m indulging myself, daughter. Seeing you play fetch and carry for that little man who claims to be a king tickles my funny bone, it does.” The spirit laughed, the noise sending pinpricks along her arms. The cold sweat his presence induced made her skin itch with grime. All of this attention from her family was beginning to grate on her nerves. She ground her teeth at the intrusion and the reminder of her defeat on Skull Island.

  “Be gone!” Her left hand waved a dismissal at the ghost, enforced with a touch of magic she could barely spare for the gesture, but she was willing to sacrifice a little to ensure the spirit left her in peace.

  “Are you so careless now, daughter?” The gooseflesh on her arms became painful as her father’s ghost moved closer rather than fading away. She took a deep steadying breath and turned to face him, her eyes tracing over his outline, noting the scars on his face that stood out prominently in the blue glow of ether and the gaping slash that was once his throat. She always thought it was curious that he chose to display his death wound—most wraiths preferred an unmarred appearance. He glowered down at her and crossed wiry arms across his chest.

  “First you let yourself be beaten, humiliated, subjugated, then you run home with your tail tucked and strike a bargain with your witch-bitch sisters. And now, well, now lassy you can’t even banish the shade of your long-dead, thrice-cursed father. Careless...and weak.” Even in death his voice was a bass rumble that thrummed into her bones. Cold exhaustion settled around her shoulders like a shroud at his words. Not even the tumbling rage that filled her belly was able to dislodge its effects. He’d always known how to hit his mark. And she’d always taken his words to heart, wanting to be like him, wanting the freedom he gained from his piracy.

  “Leave it alone, old man.” Elisabeth fought the urge to curl in on herself, an old habit when confronting her progenitor. He’d been a hard man—ruthless, vicious, and full of spite. And an exceptional sailor and tactician. She’d learned seamanship at his knee and necromancy at her mother’s teat. Neither parent had shown an ounce of kindness to their brood, but both held onto their spawn even after death. It was paradoxical. It was toxic. And it was the way of life for a family steeped in necromancy.

  “I can’t just leave you to it. Not when you’re being so damned obliging to that land-bound weasel.” The spirit glared out over the heaving sea. “Might be time to remind you of who and what you are, daughter.” He barked a laugh then, rough and raucous. The haunting sounds threatened to dredge up memories best left buried. “Your mother’ll set you straight. She’s got it all arranged. I’m just here to give you some fatherly advice: get your shit together.”

  Around them, the boat creaked and groaned in a gust of wind.

  “Hold her steady!” Moira’s voice boomed out of the darkness. The quartermaster was still at her post, ensuring the Silence operated as smoothly as possible.

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  “What’s mother sending our way?”

  “Oh, I can’t tell you that, lassy, but it won’t be long. It’s started already. We’ll see if you can get yourself and that hell-bitch crew of yours out of the muck. If you do, you might remember all the lessons I taught you, and you’ll stop being such a fucking disappointment.” A final line of ice ran along her skin, and his laugh rang out into the night. Foreboding filled her belly, a glacial ball of dread sitting there, weighing her down. With one last chuckle, the spirit disappeared, leaving Elisabeth to her thoughts.

  Vertigo hit her like a wave when the pressure of his presence released. She swayed, reached for the rail, but couldn’t grip it—her hands shaking too much to grab hold. Her vision blurred. Already fatigued limbs trembled. She dropped to her knees, ship spinning around her in a dizzying whirl. Her stomach heaved. Shivers racked her body. Elisabeth tried to steady her breathing, tried to calm her racing heart, but nausea took over and she vomited a belly-ful of bile onto the deck.

  Cressia knelt at her side, holding out a canteen of water.

  “Here, rinse and then drink,” the assassin instructed, voice calm, free hand helping Elisabeth move away from the puddle of puke. The water was cool inside her mouth, and she did as she was told, rinsing the bitterness away, and then taking a careful swallow.

  “Thank you, Cressia.” She handed the canteen back to the bodyguard.

  “What just happened?”

  “Not sure. My father’s ghost. Another threat. A decade without any contact with my family, and now they’re all involved in our business.” She didn’t finish the thought, she was too tired to continue. Her eyes drooped. Darkness washed over her in a deluge, but she fought against it, shaking her head to try and clear it. The motion did nothing to help her, only brought another surge of dizziness. “Fuck.” She reached out, gripped Cressia’s arm. “Get me up and to my quarters,” she ground the instructions out between clenched teeth.

  The bodyguard obeyed, pulling Elisabeth to her feet, but at a pace that allowed her to remain steady. Captain Wolf leaned on her companion the entire way across the deck, relieved that the majority of the crew was asleep below. The women that were at work were too busy keeping the ship moving to notice her suddenly frail appearance. Elisabeth caught Moira’s gaze, and gave the quartermaster a small nod, confident that the ship was in good hands.

  She collapsed onto her bunk as soon as the door shut behind Cressia, and squirmed out of her coat, the snug fabric stifling. Fever held her in its grip. Her teeth chattered. The sudden onset of the symptoms pointed to a curse, but she detected no magic. Her father’s wraith didn’t have that kind of power. It was just her body shutting down after pushing too hard for too long. The stress of the last few weeks had left her vulnerable, and the ghost’s sudden appearance distracted her from the onset of her illness. Still, her falling sick was a miss-step. She really was losing her way.

  “Bring me…the chest…beside…desk…” The words were pushed out between coughs, her lungs protesting every breath. Darkness pooled at the edge of her blurred vision. She barely saw Cressia move across the small cabin, but after a moment, the other woman was at her side again, the chest clutched in her strong hands.

  “What is it? What do you need?”

  “Sickness,” Elisabeth gasped. She tried to remember what charms were inside the box. It felt like a strong disease. The sort of thing that kept sailors bunk-bound for weeks if not treated quickly.

  “Little pouch, green beads, big black stone on it.” The rustle of Cressia shifting through the talismans was barely louder than Elisabeth’s laboured breathing. Pain flooded through her body, her muscles cramping.

  “Found it,” Cressia announced and pressed the charm into Elisabeth’s hand.

  “When this does its work.” She gulped another breath. “I’m going to fall…asleep. Maybe…for days.”

  “I’ll keep watch,” Cressia responded in her habitual serious tone.

  “One more drink…of…water.” The She-Wolf licked dry lips. A rustle of cloth, and then a canteen was held to her mouth. She took a long swallow of cool liquid. She almost spat it back up in a cough, but managed to hold onto it. With her thirst quenched, she shifted her attention to curing what ailed her.

  It was difficult to focus past the cold sweat coating her body, the way her clothing clung to her limbs, the shivers that racked her still, and the pain of the muscles spasms, but she gripped the trinket tightly, and pushed magic into it to call its spell to life. The effect was immediate, but uncomfortable. The spell sought out the sickness and began to unravel its hold on Elisabeth. Darkness closed around the ill captain, and this time, she didn’t fight it. She let go and fell into sleep like a rock falling off a cliff into the deep sea.

  The sea lapped against the hull, wooden boards creaked with the soft sway of the ship. Elisabeth returned to consciousness slowly, allowing the Silence to ease her awakening with its comforting noises. As she came back to herself, she began to notice that something was amiss—the tone of the ship was off, the motion not in the right rhythm. She propped herself up on her elbows, hair stringy from her confinement, mouth foul from sleeping for an indeterminate amount of time. She tipped her head, trying to place the sense of wrongness that was apparent in the small sounds and movements of the ship. Cressia was at her side in an instant, concern clear in the bodyguard’s eyes.

  “Captain! Are you well?”

  Elisabeth nodded, the room spinning from the movement. The illness was gone, but she felt weak in its aftermath. “Water,” she rasped.

  The canteen was pushed against her lips. One careful sip and she paused to slosh the liquid around her mouth, wetting her gums and tongue with care. She swallowed with difficulty. A second careful sip and suddenly she felt thirst rise up in her like a monster ready to devour the world. She needed water and Cressia would not allow more than this slow, painful sipping. The need was so great that she choked on what little she had, coughing and sputtering it out over her chin.

  “Careful,” the bodyguard admonished and wiped the spilled liquid away.

  “How…” She tried to swallow. Failed. Coughed and coughed instead. “How long?”

  “You’ve been asleep for four days.”

  Elisabeth flinched. She’d hoped for fewer days lost. Too much was happening for her to be unconscious for so long.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “Aye.” Cressia nodded, glance shifting to the cabin’s door, then back to her captain. Elisabeth read the hesitation on the woman’s face with ease: she was debating whether to involve Moira in the conversation.

  “Just tell me.”

  “We’re becalmed.”