“Was that truly necessary?” The question drew a short bark of laughter from Captain Elisabeth Wolf as the women continued through the seething town, the unfortunate pirate left in their wake. Trust Moira Boone to balk at a touch of fearmongering. The quartermaster’s caution and diplomacy made her the perfect second in command, a position she’d held for a handful of years, but it stood in stark contrast with the attitude of the captain’s mercurial temperament. Between the two of them, the Silence garnered a reputation that preceded them everywhere they went—a mixture of respect and terror that was difficult to ignore.

  “No, but it amused me,” Elisabeth replied after a moment, charms tinkling as she shrugged her shoulders. Around the crew of the Silence, the town continued in its debauchery, the noise of singing and yelling sounding from every corner. The women chosen for this mission were corralled back into their purpose. They ignored the smell of liquor and spilled blood, pushed aside the temptation of taverns and whorehouses, and continued toward their destination: the ominous wooden palace at the pirate haven’s core.

  Captain Wolf sauntered along, her hands resting on her belt, a posture that looked relaxed but was meant to keep her weapons within easy reach. Her senses, both physical and magical, strained outward. She was getting a feel for the place, sorting through its miasma of drunkenness, violence, and sex, peeling away layers of subterfuge to find the spells that were woven into its bones. Necromancy was her primary power, but she knew enough to recognize all sorts of spellwork, learning it all at her mother’s knee from the moment she could crawl.

  The Skeleton King knew his craft—that was clear from the depth of the wards and charms scattered through the seat of his kingdom. She almost admired the man’s power and his claim to rulership over a vast band of brigands. That he didn’t notice her probing in his wards told her that while he was the spider at the center of the web, he wasn’t fully aware of its many strands. It was a blind spot she might need to exploit to free herself and her women from his dominion. Raised by a witch and a pirate, she held no love for any authority but her own. Elisabeth pulled her awareness back into her body, grateful for the women who walked at her side, shielding her from physical harm while she let her spirit roam. They were her vanguard, each of them skilled in combat, and dreadful to behold.

  “Cap’n,” Moira broke into her contemplation of the town’s defenses.

  “Quartermaster.”

  “Since we’re nearly at our illustrious destination, it behooves me to remind you that we are subjects going to an audience with our king. As such, we must—simply must—remember our manners.”

  Elisabeth glanced at the other woman, noting the stilted form of her speech for what it was: nervousness. “Worried I’ll get us all hanged?”

  “It is always a concern, ma’am.” A susurrus of laughter went through the group of pirates. They all knew and accepted their captain for what she was: a temperamental woman prone to following her impulses without consideration of the consequences.

  “I’ll try to only get myself killed.” Another rumble of chuckles sounded, though this one was tinged with unease. The women never knew when their capricious captain was intending to do just that, because she never stayed dead. They didn’t question the magic that brought her back to life, but she knew that they viewed it with equal parts revulsion and awe. She was a dangerous creature with a cache of blood-splattered secrets. A shiver ran through the group as they stepped up the wooden steps to a large open door guarded by two mercenaries. They all felt that they had crossed a boundary into a land of no return. Not until the business between the Captain and the King was concluded.

  The smaller of the two held up a hand to stop their progress. “Only Captain Wolf and her quartermaster may pass,” he announced. “The rest of you stay here.” The vanguard shifted with unease, hands ghosting towards weapons. Elisabeth gave a barely visible shake of her head to the crew, and they relaxed behind her, moving to flank the open door. The guard turned his attention to her. “We’ll take your weapons, She-Wolf.” Elisabeth frowned at him. He cleared his throat. “And your thrice-cursed magic trinkets go on the table, too.” The frown turned into a glare. She pulled her cutlass and spun it once in her hand, watching apprehension move through the guard’s eyes with a sick satisfaction. She put the sword down on the table that sat off to the side and then began to methodically remove several knives, daggers, and a brace of guns. Finally, she pulled two slivers of sharpened wood from her hair. Fully disarmed, she moved toward the inner door. The man cleared his throat.

  “The charms, ma’am.” Captain Wolf stopped, her back straight. The room stilled as she turned back to the guard. A scarred hand shot out and picked up one of the discarded knives, flipped it over, and held it out hilt-first to the startled mercenary.

  “You’ll have to dig deep to get them all.” She nudged the hilt at him. “What are you waiting for?” Her eyes were hard. Blood rushed to his face in a flush. “Pah! I didn’t think so.” She tossed the knife back onto the table with a flick of her wrist. A final look of disgust flung in his direction, and she turned away to face the still-closed inner doors. The guards shared a glance filled with despair but relented, allowing her to continue with whatever magical enhancements she carried. Elisabeth felt their fear crawl along her skin like a river of ants and tried to shake off the unpleasant sensation. It was a distraction in a moment filled with danger. “Let’s get on with it. Better to bring me as I am than not at all.” She crumbled a dry charm between her fingers and laced the words with just a hint of power to get the men moving. She was in no mood to stand in the foyer for the rest of the night while they dithered about their hides.

  “As you say, ma’am,” the shorter guard acquiesced and stepped past her to push open the inner door. Captain Wolf squared her shoulders and stepped across the threshold into the Skeleton King’s lair. His shields brushed over her in a wave of heat that left a sticky film in its wake, and then she stood in another antechamber with a second set of mercenary keepers. Moira let out a small grunt as she stepped into the room behind her, the wards set strong enough to brush against even the non-magically inclined quartermaster. The outer doors swung shut, leaving them enclosed in the small chamber. Elisabeth rolled her eyes at the theatrics.

  “You’ll wait here until the King is ready to see you,” the guard on the left spoke, his voice the sound of boulders rolling down a hill.

  “How long will that take?” Patience was not a quality for which the She-Wolf was known.

  The guard shrugged. “As long as he wants.”

  The pirate stepped forward, nearly touching the man. “I’m not some petitioner. He summoned me, and I don’t have all night.”

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  A bead of sweat ran down the man’s face as she leaned into him. She watched him swallow hard.

  “You’ll have as long as the king wants.” His voice was stronger than she expected and she grinned at him, a glint creeping into her eyes.

  “Captain.” The word held a note of warning. Elisabeth pictured the strained look on Moira’s face that often accompanied that tone, and barked one rasping laugh before turning away from the sweating guardsman.

  “Yes, quartermaster?”

  “Waiting is part of any royal court. An honor, truly. Let us embrace it as such, quietly and out of the way.” She stared at the other woman, jaw tense. The ridiculous games and decorum of royal courts were part of the reason she was a pirate, but seeing the stress lines around Moira’s mouth, she didn’t bother to voice the thought. Both women carried scars given to them by empires, though it had cost the quartermaster more: her arm lost to gangrene after an accident on board a merchant ship. Elisabeth nodded once at her second and then joined her on the other side of the room. She leaned her shoulders against the wall and hooked her thumbs into her belt. The wood hummed with magic, and she wondered how much time and energy the Skeleton King had wasted on infusing the entire building with spells that didn’t appear to have much purpose other than creating unease.

  With nothing to do but brood and wait, Elisabeth allowed her mind to fall into the web laid within the wood. She trusted Moira to keep an eye on the guards and to alert her of any danger that might enter the foyer. Her body was safe while her consciousness slipped into the protective spells. She brushed past the layer of foreboding, letting its edges fray around her as she pushed inward to find an intricate pattern. Admiration filled her as she considered the cost of the woven layers that guarded his stronghold. Now that she saw the details, she knew the time spent on the magic wasn’t wasted. Elisabeth paused her exploration to hover in place, studying the web of magic. Pull on the wrong thread and fall into a trap—she spotted a couple that filled her with dread. The whole thing was a maze waiting to swallow up the unwary and the unprepared. A frown creased her forehead as she evaluated the work.

  “Captain,” the way Moira enunciated the word told Elisabeth that it wasn’t the first time the other woman had tried to draw her attention. A scowl of annoyance flashed across her face—she’d been so intrigued that she missed at least one call. A mistake that might have gotten them both killed. With a soft huff, Captain Wolf pushed away from the wall and shook off the tatters of the magic that tried to cling to her as she brought her awareness back to the physical world. The room grew still beneath her full attention. The guards stopped fidgeting. The air softened with the intrusion on the spells at an end. “Captain,” Moira spoke softly at her side, “His Majesty is ready for us.”

  “About time,” she muttered in reply and straightened her coat. The inner doors were thrown open, and a short, obsequious man was revealed. Elisabeth moved toward him with the gait of a predator.

  “Captain Wolf, Quartermaster Boone.” The man inclined his head. “Crawley Crofton, quartermaster to his highness, Captain Gallows, the Skeleton King, ruler of the high seas and all its degenerate denizens.” His oiled mustache quivered as he spoke, and rings glinted off hands that were in constant motion, like two nervous birds fluttering around him. Elisabeth didn’t slow her pace—she pushed through the next magical barrier and brushed past the nervous little man, ignoring both in favour of entering the throne room. The space was long and narrow; torches flickered from holders in the walls and illuminated pilfered paintings and tapestries that were beginning to show neglect. Shadows hung deep and ominous in the corners.

  At the other end of the rectangular room stood an artifact that set her teeth on edge—the throne. It was made of a matte black stone, with broken swords shoved into it in a way that created a dark halo around the seat. Skulls, bones, and mummified heads hung from every hilt or jagged blade edge. The thing radiated wickedness and hunger, filling the room with a thick layer of dread. Elisabeth felt it reach longing tendrils towards her magic; its yearning for her power sent a cold jolt through her body. She suppressed a shiver at the intrusion and pushed more power into the myriad charms meant to protect her.

  With the scowl returning to her face, she kept her feet moving through an effort of will and a muttered incantation that cut through the miasma of the throne’s aura. For the first time in a very long time, Elisabeth felt uneasy in her strength. She was accustomed to being the strongest practitioner in a room, but the power held here made her wonder if she was about to meet her match. The thought was uncomfortable and made her even more petulant.

  She stopped a few feet from the bottom stair of the dais and frowned dramatically. “Where’s the king?” she growled at the little man who stood near her left shoulder, flanking her opposite her own quartermaster. The two had kept pace with her as she’d walked through the room, her attention once again caught in the ruler’s magic. It was careless, but at least she knew that Moira was there to protect her amid distraction.

  “He’ll be here in a moment.” From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Crofton’s hands continued to fidget, fingers twisting rings around and around, and she wondered if he was always this nervous. Of course, with the deep dread emanating from the magical seat of power, it was no surprise that the man’s nerves showed. Elisabeth sighed at the further delay and adopted her usual pose, her thumbs hooked into her belt loops, her hip cocked to the left, and her shoulders squared. A confident, easy posture she often adopted to instill calm in those under her command.

  In truth, her hands itched for her weapons, and her skin thrummed with the onslaught of the wards and the throne. Her gaze stayed on that terrifying edifice, and she ground her teeth as she considered the situation. It’s a trap, a small voice warned, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She tilted her head and glared at the stone monument as though it might provide answers to her many questions. Fear and impatience warred within her, and she wanted nothing more than to get this whole mess over with. Forget kings, and forget land, and forget men. All she wanted was the sea and her crew, the taste of salt on her tongue, and the gush of hot blood on her hands.

  An inner door opened, drawing her out of her brooding. Raised voices preceded the crowd of pirate captains into the room. A quick count brought her to ten captains and their quartermasters. A flare of anger ripped through her at the gathering of men filling the room. Twenty of them in total and at their head, the Skeleton King, laughing and clapping a hand on the shoulder of one of the captains. It felt like an ambush, and an insult. He’d summoned her like a commoner, and now he was parading the other captains in front of her—all of them jovial and invited. She wanted to spit at their feet and storm out, to bring the building down around them as she left.

  Moira shifted at her side, and the small movement brought her back from her internal tantrum. She pushed her rage aside with an effort and focused on the King. He was plain—brown hair, flat brown eyes, and a face no one would remember ten minutes after seeing it. Nothing about the man’s physique was memorable, even the braids common among magical practitioners blended in with his appearance, almost disappearing. His clothing didn’t set him apart from the other men, either. All of them were dressed in pirate finery—a ragtag of pilfered garments combined into garish outfits. He wore his body like a cunning disguise, because beneath his dull appearance she saw a well of magic that made her mouth dry with an unsettling combination of fear and yearning.

  The men moved around the room, lining up against the two long walls in orderly rows, their number splitting evenly to right and left, leaving Elisabeth and Moira at the center with Crofton. The King moved up the stairs of the dais to his throne, ignoring them all as he ascended, his braids clicking together with each unhurried step. He turned and swept his flat brown stare over the room, its weight apparent in the growing stillness around them, before allowing his attention to settle on Elisabeth. The strength behind his gaze was a physical blow, and she barely concealed her surprise at its effect. With a hint of a smirk, he dropped himself onto the throne, lithe as a panther, and half the lights in the room darkened with the movement. Dread slithered up her spine in a shiver as the shadows deepened.