The spells sunk into the ship told Elisabeth of his approach, allowing her to track his progress into the hold. As she focused her attention on him and listened to the way he moved through the space, she thought his gait was wrong, his presence within the web of magic altered. She frowned at the trinket that sat in her palm—a dried sea star with sigils burned into its bright orange surface to grant its bearer the ability to breathe under water. It gave her no answers. She dropped it onto the table top with a frustrated sigh. Footsteps sounded in the hall, and then Cressia knocked once on the door. After a short pause, the bodyguard pushed the door open, ushering Henry into the room without a word. Elisabeth froze.

  Henry’s left arm was bound in a sling. A massive bruise spanned from his jaw to his hairline on that same side. His eye was swollen shut, and a cut oozed on his cheek, another one split his lip. Elisabeth pushed power into every protective ward that suffused the wood of the Silence. With the ship’s security reinforced, she turned her focus to her ally. She reached into him with a tendril of power, searched for any trace of curse on him, but didn’t find anything. The only marks he bore in the aftermath of his prolonged interrogation were physical. It was a small relief.

  “The look.” He choked and coughed, took a few shallow breaths and tried again. “The look…on your face…is almost…worth the pain,” he rasped, words pushed out in little gasps, his voice gone husky. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

  “Broken ribs?” She asked, ignoring his teasing, to concentrate on the problem at hand---he was hurt and they were two days from setting forth on the next part of their journey. She stood and made her way around the table, arranging the chair for him to sit without aggravating his injury.

  “Aye,” he confirmed. “My thanks.” He nodded at her and sat in the offered chair, keeping his movements small.

  “Anything else?” Necromancy wasn’t able to tell her if there were more wounds hidden beneath his clothing, or his skin. She wanted to strip him down and check him over with her hands, but she knew it was a pointless impulse.

  “Nothing more serious. The Jester’s sawbones said the bastards broke two ribs. And I’ve got bruises, cuts, and a very sore ego.” He reached for her hand, touched it gently, but dropped it back to his lap when she didn’t reciprocate the gesture. His familiar easy smile ghosted across his face, but morphed into a grimace. Elisabeth watched his discomfort, watched him shift his weight in an attempt to alleviate an ache, and fought the urge to intervene. Her eyes darted to the trinkets that still sat on the tabletop—some of them were meant to heal injuries, to re-knit flesh and bone. All she had to do was reach for it, and push power into it to become his rescuer. The temptation was there, but she resisted. Doubt was loud in her gut, and she wondered if he was trying to manipulate her emotions with the display of his injuries.

  Elisabeth stepped away from Henry, and from the table. The situation needed to be addressed, but she wasn’t willing to use one of her carefully hoarded talismans for it.

  “A sawbones?” she asked. “Don’t you have a spell-healer on your ship? I’ll send for ours.” She went to the door before he had a chance to argue. Cressia came to attention when Elisabeth stepped into the corridor.

  “Get Altra down here to deal with the mess in there.” The words were tinged with disgust, her patience frayed.

  “Aye, captain.” The bodyguard paused. “He looks rough.” The comment was out of character for Cressia.

  “Mhm,” Elisabeth didn’t know what else to say. Mortimer’s appearance was ugly with all of his injuries. “But he’ll live.” Cressia nodded once, and then hurried off into the hold to fetch the healer, leaving her captain to return to the cabin and Henry Mortimer.

  “Not keen to have some gut-witch prodding me,” he growled at Elisabeth as soon as she stepped back into the room. She ignored him and walked past him to sit back down in her chair on the far side of the table. The complaint irritated her.

  “Suit yourself, but you’re going to do us no good in your condition.” She poured one last cup of tea even though the liquid was tepid at best, and she didn’t offer to share with him. The truth was that her mood was sour. The encounter with Rove the previous night, the burden of the token that still sat on the table, its bag moving slightly, and the imposition of Henry’s wounds left her in a sullen frame of mind.

  “Tell me what happened with Rove after I left,” she demanded. She wanted to get all of the unpleasantness into the open. She sipped lukewarm tea and waited for his answer. They glared at each other and it was strange to see only one of those crisp blue eyes staring back at her. After a long, tense moment between them, Henry sighed.

  “The Skeleton King is…displeased that I’m bedding you.” The easy grin appeared when he said it, and a touch of warmth flushed through her at the movement. He turned serious again.

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  “I’m meant to…oversee the recovery of the Atlas Stone, and your role in it.” He shrugged, and winced. “The beating was a reminder that I’m in the King’s employ, that I’m his to reward or punish. I owe…certain debts, and he will call them in if I don’t comply with his orders.” A tone of defeat sat heavy in the speech. Elisabeth remained silent, partly in surprise that he shared that much with her, and partly to think about what he’d said. Doubt plagued her, as well. She wasn’t sure that he was telling her the truth, or not all of it at any rate.

  “Seems a bad bargain to injure you when we’re about to head into the Shroud.”

  “Aye, to you it does, to me it does, but kings don’t care about the welfare of their subjects. You know that, Liz.” It was her turn to shrug. She did know. Empires and kingdoms treated their subjects like pawns in a game of chess. All of them were expendable. All of them were tools to be used and discarded at a leader’s whim. She abandoned her tea, her stomach turned sour alongside her mood. Silence fell between them, broken only when the healer walked into the cabin without a knock or pause. Her silver hair was pulled away from her dark, lined face in tight braids. Large dark eyes sat between crows’ feet. They shone with a liveliness that wasn’t reflected in the rest of her appearance or composure. She wore a dark dress, and a handful of necklaces were strung around her neck, all of them large, precious stones humming with power.

  “Captain,” she acknowledged, and then turned her attention to her patient without further ado. “Och, you’re a sight.” Altra stood for a moment, studying Henry, her hands were on her hips, and she rocked back and forth on her heels. She tossed a small satchel onto Elisabeth’s bunk and moved to hover over Henry. A soft yellow glow spread around her hands, and she slowly moved them around Henry’s body, never touching his skin. She made small, displeased noises as she worked. Elisabeth felt the tendrils of magic that sparked between the woman’s hands and Henry’s body as the healer assessed the man’s injuries.

  “Broken ribs,” she mumbled. “Bit of bleeding in the lung. Have you been coughing up blood?” She asked, eyes darting to Henry’s face.

  “Aye, a bit,” he admitted. Elisabeth barely suppressed the frustrated sigh that pushed against her teeth.

  “Mhm. Concussion, no broken bones in your face, though. Easy enough to fix all that. Rib’ll hurt to knit together.” Altra stepped back and clapped her hands to dispel the magic that surrounded them.

  “Orders, captain?” The healer turned to Elisabeth.

  “Do it. All of it. I need him fit to sail and fight before we leave Driftwood Bay.”

  “I’ll need him laying down.”

  “Use my bunk if it suits.”

  “Let’s get you stretched out, laddy,” Altra picked up the satchel and waited for Henry to move to the bunk.

  “What if I object?” Henry asked, single blue eye glowering at Elisabeth.

  “Then I leave here without you and you can explain that to your king.”

  “He’d kill me.” Elisabeth hoped that the sharp pain in her heart that the words elicited wasn’t clear on her face and shrugged.

  “You’ll risk us all getting killed if you sail with us in your state.” He continued to glare at her, but she saw in the way his shoulders slumped that he knew she was right and that he was going to accept the healing.

  “My thanks, then, for taking care of me in my time of need.” His tone was acerbic, but he grimaced and stood, hissing with pain as his muscles strained against the broken ribs despite his attempt at shielding them. Laying down in the bunk was done with the same result—a hiss of pain and a glower thrown at Elisabeth.

  “Now, this’ll hurt. Knitting together bones burns, or so I’m told. You want me to dull it? Or leave you be? You strike me as a fella who doesn’t like my kind meddling, so I’m guessing you don’t want more than strictly necessary.”

  “Just fix me up, woman,” Henry growled.

  “Aye, as I thought.” Altra turned to Elisabeth. “Captain?”

  “Do what he wants.”

  “Aye.” Altra hummed a tuneless song and the glow re-appeared around her hands. This time, the light wasn’t soft or yellow, but a strong white flare of power. As the magic spread, Elisabeth watched her eyes turn from a dark brown to a glowing orange. Her skin prickled in response to the growing spell. Altra smiled, showing glinting teeth, and thrust the magic into Henry, its light entering his chest and spreading through his limbs. At first, nothing happened, Henry’s body glowed and Altra still hummed with a smile on her face. And then, as the light gathered in his chest around the broken bones, Henry groaned, muscles in his arms straining in response. Elisabeth watched, impassive. Healing was always painful at that moment. In her experience with bonesetters and talismans, the body fought the spells. When it capitulated, the rapid process of reconstruction stressed the system, creating pain, confusion, and usually leading to a deep, dreamless sleep, depending on the severity of the injury.

  Henry’s chest heaved with long, unobstructed breaths, and the brightness of the spell moved to his face. A quiet grunt escaped him, and then the light dissipated. Altra dropped her hands, wiping them against her dress to dispel the final flickers of magic. Henry’s breathing was rhythmic, his eyes closed, his face unmarred. He was healed.

  “There ya go, captain,” Altra said, satisfaction clear in her voice.

  “Go see Moira. You’re due an extra ration of rum for your service.” Elisabeth dismissed the healer without rising from her chair.

  “My thanks.” Altra nodded and left. When the door thudded closed behind the woman, Captain Wolf spent one last moment watching Henry sleep, and then she turned her attention back to the pile of trinkets on the table. The star fish sat at the top and she picked it back up, ready to resume the task of sorting her hoard into ready-made spell-kits.