A slate grey expanse of sea churned in a shallow bay. Elisabeth stood on its black sand beach and stared at the heaving water, and at the darkness that spread along the rim of the horizon. Its inky tendrils reached toward her across the cloud-covered sky. Familiarity nudged her memory, but no recollection emerged from the depths of her mind as is often the case inside a dream. The roar of the surf was loud in her ears, leaving her deafened to her surroundings. No breeze tugged at her hair, or stirred the leaves of the palms that stood to her left. Stillness covered the shore, the only noise and movement came from the heaving ocean and the growing blot of darkness.

  A line of warmth at her back was the only warning that Henry stood behind her on the shore. The crunch of his boots in the sand was swallowed in the noise of the crashing waves. Her muscles tensed. The darkness writhed in the sky.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He whispered, his breath tickling the hair at the nape of her neck as his hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her into the heat of his body. She found no comfort there, not with the way the air held its breath, and the black tendrils roamed across the sky.

  “Terrible,” she replied, mouth dry, her words drowned in the rush of the tide.

  “Terror and beauty—reminds me of you.” His hands moved to her hips, still holding her close. “When you’re not hiding what you are.” The darkness reached for her, crossing the space in an instant, a tendril wrapping around her leg. A familiar cold leeched into her skin at its touch: necromancy. A sigh escaped her, relief and fear intermingled at the sensation. She dropped her shields in response, allowing her power to unfold.

  “There you go.” The words were a purr against her skin and made her shiver. He turned her to face him, despite her resistance, she didn’t want him to put her back to the growing darkness. “You’re almost there.” He spoke against her lips, breath warm. He gave her one, gentle kiss that she didn’t reciprocate. Fear made her tense and unresponsive. Henry’s eyes were solid black, the whites and irises swallowed by darkness.

  Elisabeth tried to step out of his embrace, pulling back against his grip, but he shifted his hand and one of them was tight around her arm. Pain bloomed. The knife was embedded deep in her chest, piercing her heart, the heat of her blood in stark contrast to the iciness of the darkness that curled up her body.

  Elisabeth woke with a soft gasp, sweat-drenched and cold. The soft blue glow of the ghosts washed over her goose-pimpled skin. The bag that held the mummified rat thumped on the tabletop.

  “Fuck.” She sat up, shivering, and pulled a blanket around her shoulders with shaking hands.

  “Beware, necromancer, or your heart will betray you,” the woman who led the coterie of spirits spoke, hovering over Elisabeth, face set in stern lines. Dread pooled in Elisabeth’s stomach with a heavy nausea. She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat, and ground her teeth, felt the muscle in her jaw twitch with the force. It was irritating to get the same warning again. With a wrench of power, she pulled her shields back into place, and then used the surplus magic to push the wraiths back into their realm.

  “Begone,” she pushed the word out between clenched teeth. Their determination in repeating the warning left her rattled. She knew that their omens were potent, and in her bones, she felt that Henry was untrustworthy, that walking next to him put her on a dangerous path. It galled her to give up the small comfort she found in his embrace. Pleasure was so foreign to her way of life. Elisabeth took a deep breath and brought her attention to the present moment, setting aside the ghosts’ warning, and the dream residue that clung to the inside of her mind.

  The ship rocked softly, water lapping against the hull. The blue light of the ghosts dissipated, leaving the room in darkness. On the table, the rat still thumped and squeaked, attempting to get out of its cage. Elisabeth growled at the thing and pulled the magic that kept it contained tighter, limiting its ability to thrash. The cabin fell into stillness with only the soothing sounds of the ship, but Elisabeth didn’t return to sleep. She sat, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and she brooded on the best way to distance herself from Henry Mortimer, while accomplishing the two tasks ahead: obtain the Atlas Stone, and kill the Skeleton King. Their compact kept them tethered to each other. All she saw in her thoughts was the way Henry’s eyes sparkled in the sun, and the way their colour deepened when he met hers in their moments of shared passion. The scent of lightning and sea spray rose in her memory.

  The slow spreading glow of dawn found her frustrated and angry, unable to convince herself to let go of the man who was certain to betray her at the end of their journey. She listened to the change of watch, to the ship waking above her, and she knew that in a few more minutes, Cressia’s knock would sound at the door. With the sun breaking over the horizon, news of Henry’s further conversation with Rove was imminent as well, she suspected. All of her ruminating left her with no further insight into a resolution for her problems. Elisabeth sighed, and trusted that whatever obstacles appeared, she was able to overcome them. It had been true to this point, there was no reason to believe that it wouldn’t continue to be true. The knock sounded at the door, as expected, and Cressia stepped inside, a tray in one hand. The smell of black tea and citrus fruit reached her nose. Elisabeth sighed.

  “You’re awake early.” The bodyguard shot her a wary look, kicked the door shut behind her, and took the tray to the table. Elisabeth watched her consider the squirming, squeaking bag that sat at its center. Cressia’s brow dropped into a frown and she carefully placed the carafe of tea, basket of bread, dish of butter, and bowl of citrus fruit on the end of the table, as far from the cursed rodent as possible.

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  “Aye. Bad dreams.” Elisabeth’s answer was delayed, her mind still occupied with the premonition and the ghosts’ visit. She uncurled from the bunk, the blanket draped around her shoulders like a cape, and made her way to the table. The sight of the steaming tea made her mouth water, the promised warmth dispelling the last vestiges of fear in the wake of her disturbing night. She allowed Cressia to pour a cup for both of them. It was their morning ritual when time allowed. Elisabeth took the offered cup and cradled the hot vessel between her cool hands.

  “Any news of Captain Mortimer?” She asked, trying not to stare at Cress while she waited for the answer. She closed her eyes and sipped at the hot liquid, relishing its strong, bitter taste.

  “No. A boat went from shore to the Jester two hours ago.” Elisabeth felt Cressia’s probing gaze on her face. She knew that her companion worried about her entanglement with the other captain.

  “Hmm,” she wondered if Henry was in it, and if he was well after his prolonged interrogation, but she didn’t say more. Instead, she focused on slathering butter on the bread. Neither woman sat. A habit they had formed over the years—Cressia drank tea, Elisabeth ate, and both of them stood. She wasn’t sure why—perhaps because she wanted to stay alert after a night of rest, or perhaps the many times that the meal was interrupted with urgent ship’s business. The reason behind the standing meal didn’t matter anymore, it just was. She chewed the soft bread thoughtfully. The fresh food was a luxury of being in port for a few days, and she savoured it and the quiet moment with her closest ally.

  By the time Moira knocked at the door, Elisabeth was dressed in loose trousers and a black blouse, and sipped her second cup of tea seated behind the table, gaze fixed on the lump inside the leather bag. The mummy was still whining softly.

  “Come.”

  “Captain,” Moira greeted her as she entered the room. “I have a progress report.”

  “Very good, quartermaster. Sit.” Elisabeth nodded at the chair opposite her own. “Will you join me?” Cressia quietly withdrew to her post outside the door, exchanging a nod with the quartermaster as they stepped past each other in the small space. Moira didn’t take the chair, but remained standing.

  “My thanks, but no.” She shook her head as she spoke and then squared her shoulders, prepared to provide her update on their ability to continue their quest for the Atlas Stone. “The mast’ll be done tomorrow. Store’ll be loaded by the end of the day today. We recruited five women last night, and we’ll try for at least five more. If we could get fifteen to eighteen by the time we sail, we’ll have a full complement for whatever we face ahead.”

  “Any witches?” Elisabeth wanted to recruit as many magic-users as possible for this mission.

  “One—a water witch. We’ve got a couple that’ll make good fighters, too.”

  “Good. I want another healer if you can sniff one out. And more than a couple of fighters. Any of them know how to sail already?”

  “Just one so far. The others are keen to learn.” Moira shuffled her feet, eyes drifting to the squirming bag. “I haven’t heard any rumors of healers, but I’ll send a couple of the savvy girls deeper into town.”

  Elisabeth considered the information. She didn’t want to idle in Driftwood Bay for more than a few days, but sailing without a full crew wasn’t possible.

  “Find what we need quickly. We sail in three days with the tide.” She set the time of departure to give the other woman another push of motivation to accomplish her tasks.

  “Aye, captain, we’ll be ready.” The quartermaster nodded, and moved to the door without another word, aware that she was dismissed. Three days gave her enough time to complete the preparations, but she needed to get to work. Elisabeth saw that from the set of her shoulders as she walked out of the room. The timeline was tight for all the tasks that needed to be accomplished. The relationship with the quartermaster was still strained. Elisabeth wondered if it was irrevocably broken in the aftermath of the spellblock incident. The door thudded closed behind Moira and the captain leaned back in her chair, contemplating the smooth wood. She poured another cup of tea, and her thoughts turned back to Henry Mortimer and when he would reappear after last night’s ordeal. Elisabeth sighed, aware that she needed to work, to keep her mind occupied with some form of preparation for what lay ahead.

  “Cressia,” she summoned the bodyguard.

  “Aye, captain,” the woman stuck her head in the door, but didn’t enter the cabin.

  “Have them bring me all of my chests from the hold.”

  “Aye.” Cressia withdrew. Elisabeth sensed her rapid movement through the ship to carry out her orders. A small smile spread over her face, and she continued to drink her tea. Organizing her talismans would calm her racing thoughts, and allow her to feel secure in her ability to overcome the obstacles they were likely to face over the coming weeks.

  ***

  Halfway through the day, Elisabeth was sorting trinkets, integrating her new additions into the hoard that sat in three chests in her cabin. She thought that it would be enough to get into the Shroud and back out with the Atlas Stone. A re-supply might be necessary before facing the Skeleton King.

  A sharp knock at her door.

  “Enter,” she said the word without thought, mind still calculating trinkets and talismans, spells and their power.

  Cressia opened the door, looked at her for a moment. “Captain Mortimer to see Captain Wolf,” the bodyguard said finally.

  “Send him down,” Elisabeth ordered without looking up from her work.