She stared at him. “I-it can?”
He nodded.
Ebba stared into the creature’s eyes and shifted to face Jagger and Caspian. “They be sayin’ that we can sever their tie to Medusa with the beam o’ light. They want to be free.”
“What will happen to them if we do?” Locks asked.
She cocked her head to the daedalions.
The lovers shared a glance, and the air between them seemed to pulse with their connection. So much so that Ebba’s chest ached. That was love?
That was . . . otherworldly.
“We will pass from this realm,” the woman admitted. “Once our tether to Medusa is broken, we will be forced to follow our original path to death. We will be together at last as vessels, and our children will live on, free to roam and love as they please.”
Ebba scanned the rest of the flock. “And they’d be on their best behavior?” she asked. “I don’t want to unleash anything bad on the realm; it’s already in a sorry state.”
“Despite Medusa’s best attempts, we have raised our children to be kind. No, they will not harm others when they are free. Syrion,” he called.
Every time Ebba thought she might be done with magic, she found joy and heart and happiness within the immortals. Grubby, Sally, these daedalions—nothing had worked out for the lovers, and yet they still knew right from wrong.
One of their sons strode forward.
His father nodded and the creature nodded, dropping to one knee. “Lady, my name is Syrion, and I swear on behalf of my siblings that we shall harm none except those who deign to hurt or cage us. I would also like to offer you our friendship. If you find yourself in need, please call upon us. We will do whatever we can to aid you.”
That seemed fair enough. If someone hurt or caged her or her crew, she’d harm the person too. She relayed it to the others and waited until they’d voted.
“Aye,” she said, conveying the crew’s decision. “We believe ye.” She would’ve done it without their offer of aid, but Ebba wasn’t about to tell them that.
“So how do we do this?” Caspian asked.
“Watch and learn,” the sprite queen said, cracking her knuckles.
Sally floated forward and—as far as Ebba could make out—ripped off some of her glow and held it to her mouth. The sprite blew her light, and it drifted down to the space between the original daedalions and Medusa.
Twin cords, previously invisible, were illuminated by the sprite glow.
“Wait,” Stubby said, resting a hand on Jagger’s and Caspian’s shoulders as they started forward. “Let them say goodbye to their children.”
Their crew stood aside as the lovers embraced their family.
Ebba hadn’t ever thought to see a bird cry, but the sight of it nearly drew tears to her own eyes. Her fathers felt the scene before them stronger than she, tears marking each of their faces as the lovers untangled themselves from their children.
“I’ll never kill a bird again,” Jagger said.
The crew turned to look at him, and Jagger lifted a shoulder.
Ebba asked, “And what about Caspian? Will ye kill him?”
The pirate tightened his grip on the veritas. “He saved my life, and now I’ve saved his. We be even, in my eyes.” Darkness filled his gaze. “So I can go back to killin’ him.”
That was pirate logic if she’d ever seen it. But the words lacked the venom they’d once possessed? Jagger looked about as murderous as ever, so maybe that was highly wishful thinking. In fact, maybe Ebba would bottle some of Medusa’s water to dose him with. She’d learned more about him over Medusa’s dinner than in months of having his acquaintance.
Ebba peeked at the prince, who widened his eyes dramatically. She grinned, hurrying to tuck her amusement away as the daedalion lovers came to stand before her again.
“Fare ye well.” Ebba spoke for her fathers, who were still blubbering. “I hope ye get what ye’ve wished for. If ye see the thunderbird, could ye tell him Jagger has said he won’t be killin’ any more birds?” They’d probably have to sail past the god of souls again soon.
The female smiled, bobbing her head.
“Let’s get to it then,” she said, looking at the other two. Her two counterparts. Ebba shivered, still not entirely happy about the three watchers development.
She walked to join Jagger and Caspian. “Ready?”
Jagger gripped her upper arm and Caspian held her hand.
White blazed outward, coating them in mystical light that transformed them. Having done this a few times now, the otherworldly bronze glow of her skin didn’t leave her quite so breathless. Ebba studied the beam of light shooting out from them.
Directly north. Bugger. The next part was still in the Dynami.
The three of them maintained contact as they rounded the two lovers, so the beam of light would come into contact with the couple’s tether to Medusa. The other daedalions screeched and, far above, the sprites’ glow flared. Sal’s powers still illuminated the twin cords. And as the three of them took a final step, Ebba watched their shooting beam connect with the bond enslaving the daedalion.
The two lovers fell to their knees, bodies pressed close, one of their hands against the other’s cheek.
Jagger’s hand slid away, breaking the connection, but Ebba hardly noticed. She swallowed thickly as the lovers’ feathers began to disappear to golden dust, faster and faster, taking away the firm edges of their form, eroding deeper until soon their bodies were gone.
Their tender gazes were the last thing Ebba saw before the gold dust was caught by a breeze and lifted high into the sky to where all deserving souls were taken. Peace filled her for knowing the pair would pass their judgment.
She hadn’t had many chances to see lovers together, but even Ebba knew love of that measure was rare. To find a partner of your soul like that made death appear almost feeble.
The son who had spoken to them approached once more, wiping the tears from his eyes. He bowed. “Thank you for granting my parents’ wish. You have no idea how long they have endured, fighting against Medusa’s attempts to break their love. My siblings and I will leave you now; we go to mourn our loss. But remember my promise.” He looked directly at Ebba.
“I will,” she said hoarsely, blinking furiously to keep her tears at bay.
Without another word, the daedalions took off into the sky, chasing the golden dust. The beating of their wings grew fainter until quiet reigned once more.
Nineteen
“I can’t believe ye saved us, Sal,” Ebba said, voice muffled as she changed out of the stupid white dress and into a fresh tunic and slops. Reasonably fresh, anyway.
Ducking under her hammock, she knelt and threw back the lid of her trunk, adding, “Ye came back for us—and after all the horrible things I thought o’ ye after ye ditched.”
Sally squeaked from her mini-hammock.
“Hold on,” Ebba interrupted. She grabbed a belt and pulled it tight, then reached for the scio on her hammock.
‘Scio’ apparently meant ‘know,’ or so Saliha said.
Ebba tucked the new tube into her belt. “Go on then.”
Sally’s rich voice filled the sleeping quarters, the sound only punctured by the yells and clunking above deck where her fathers and the sprite minions worked to attach the new boom.
“I was saying,” the sprite queen said, eyes narrowed, “that you’ve been laying on the guilt for weeks. You forced me into helping.” She crossed her arms. “But for the record, I helped you in Syraness. I stole the key that Caspian dropped to you on Exosia to free you all from the cages. I went to search for the parts when everything went belly-up, and then held the pirates in the castle off with my powers so you could escape. I couldn’t save you from Malice for fear they’d take my magic and rise to power. And perhaps I should have left the pink champagne fountain,” she said, clearing her throat. “Honestly, I’m on a kind of. . .holiday, and it was a champagne fountain. I’ve seen your crew in enough scrap
s to know you could handle the rest.”
Ebba’s mouth was ajar.
“Oh,” Sally added, holding up a tiny finger. “I saved all of you from the thunderbird’s storm.”
“Ye can’t claim everythin’.” Ebba rolled her eyes.
“Wind,” the sprite said with a pointed look. “I combated the wind. He would’ve crushed you, even if not intending to. Once he starts a storm, it’s hard for him to control the urge to annihilate anything and anyone. You didn’t think you got through that on skill, did you?”
Perhaps that was true, and Sally had helped that much. Though it hadn’t felt that way at the time.
“You have no idea how much heat incurring Medusa’s wrath puts on my people,” Sally added. “Which, if we’re being honest, is why I couldn’t interfere too much with King Montcroix. If he hadn’t been killed, I would’ve had to work with him in the future.”
“Now who’s layin’ it on thick?” Ebba asked, snorting and rummaging in her trunk for a bandana.
Sally cracked a grin. “Can’t have you complaining I didn’t do enough.”
Ebba grinned back. “Nay, don’t s’pose so.”
The bilge door opened with a bang, and two glowing sprites floated down, bowing before their queen.
“Queen Saliha,” one said.
Saliha, Sally. Ebba was pretty proud she’d managed to name her pet something so similar to her queen name. She pulled up a bandana and squinted at it. Brown. Where was her orange one?
Sal grunted. “What?”
“Your subjects wish to know if you will return to your rightful place on our throne,” the same sprite said.
Ebba’s heart sunk even though five of her fathers had already pulled her aside and warned her this could happen. Grubby had pulled her aside, too, and then stared at her with a frown that Ebba took to mean he’d been sent by her other fathers and couldn’t recall why.
When she’d found Sal in the grog barrel at Kentro so long ago, having her around never felt like a permanent thing. But somewhere along the line, her presence aboard Felicity had started to feel necessary.
Sally licked her lips, and Ebba arched a brow, pulling out another not-orange bandana.
“Should I get ye some wood to chew on?” she offered the queen sprite. Chewing wood was better than relapsing with the grog, after all, but it was better if Sal gnawed on the scrap stuff. Stubby couldn’t take more damage to the spare booms already loaded in the hold.
Sally’s cheeks pinkened, and she swung off the bed, flying to her minions. “Gather the present sprites together. I shall address them forthwith.”
As the sprites flew off, Ebba said loudly, “Should I get ye some wood now?”
Sally glared at her, white glow blazing, and whizzed out after her messengers.
Under her hammock, Ebba snickered, wiping at her eyes that, unfortunately, weren’t just moist with laughter. She looked at the bandana in her hand. Black. Ebba groaned. If Plank had taken her stuff again, she’d cut a slit in his hammock. Or take something of his, like that pretty length of white braided leather he had stashed there.
Her lingering smile slid away as her fingers touched the flax pouch containing her beads.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Ebba drew the pouch out. Sitting back on her heels, she opened her eyes and unwound the fastening.
There they were. Nearly all of them. Certainly enough for her to look as she once had. But would she feel as she once had?
The answer to that was a resounding no, and expecting that to happen didn’t seem reasonable. Caspian wasn’t the same after losing his arm, and her fathers weren’t the same after sailing with Mutinous Cannon. Jagger . . . well, who knew with that man. Why would she be the same after her time on Malice? Ebba craved the connection with her memories again. A part of her wanted to wear the beads as a badge, a sign to everyone that what happened hadn’t broken her . . . a way of flipping off the pillars, Pockmark, and the other pirates aboard Malice.
Except it had broken her.
Such a simple thing—to put beads back in her hair. To climb the rigging. To return to Exosia. To shake off despair. And yet none of them were.
She was still waiting for permission of some sort. From herself or another. Permission that might not ever come. Was that idiocy? Ebba told Peg-leg he could climb the rigging, and that hadn’t seemed to do anything.
Ebba exhaled heavily and refastened the pouch, running her thumbs over the braided material that Jagger must have made himself.
“Then release Viva—and the others. Return them to their ship with the log, and I’ll remain. Do this, and I’ll stay willingly. I’ll even try to like ye,” he’d said.
Whatever her hang-ups with the flaxen-haired pirate were, an odd warmth filled her chest when recalling his words to Medusa. He hadn’t given Ebba the beads for malicious reasons. He’d pleaded for her life, willing to trade his own, and he’d been under the influence of the truth water.
. . . Why had he clung to the thought of her and the crew while aboard Malice? Had she really saved him just by not being miserable? For all his derisive comments about her being foolish and spoiled, he’d confessed that those very things helped him fight the taint.
The crow’s nest was hers for good.
She jerked violently as the bilge door was wrenched open.
“Ebba-Viva,” Peg-leg called. “All hands on deck, lass. We’re puttin’ up the boom.”
Ebba exhaled shakily. “Aye, comin’.” With another glance at the flax pouch, she tucked it back in the far corner of her trunk and swiped up the black bandana.
She shoved the material over her hairline, feeling her bead-less dreads spilling down her back, and climbed up the ladder.
Months prior, if Ebba had exited the bilge to the current sight, she would’ve thought she’d lost her bloody mind. Sprites whizzed overhead, glowing white balls carrying ropes. The majority of them were lifting the new boom off the deck and floating it higher. Her fathers, utterly unfazed by what had to be near-on one hundred tiny creatures with wings, were waving their hands to direct the beam into place.
“Help us with this, will ye?” Peg-leg called to her.
Ebba crossed to where he was untangling the rigging they’d salvaged after the storm. She took an end and began pulling on a knot.
“Ye okay, lass?” Peg-leg asked, the other corner in his hands. “We’ve gone through a fair lot recent-like.”
Her mouth dried. “I’m okay. I ain’t sure what to think about a lot o’ things is all.”
“Like?”
The beads. Caspian’s deeper regard. The things Jagger had said on the island. The ongoing struggle of her fathers. “We know Jagger be the immune and what it means. But I guess I don’t know what I am and what that means—or what Caspian is and what that means. Jagger’s only one part of the three watchers. I don’t know what we’re meant to do with the weapon. I don’t know how we’ll ever be ready to battle the pillars.” Or how we’ll all survive.
Ebba needed her fathers to get through this alive. More than that—she wanted them to heal enough to live for themselves. She—
That was it.
She stared at the rope squares in her hands, glancing across the deck to where Jagger lurked at the bow. That was why he couldn’t be thrown overboard or die. That was why she’d felt such panic at the thought. And such consternation over whether or not to trust him.
If Jagger could be rid of the taint, so could her fathers. And then they’d be okay. Yes, Jagger was an immune, but if he could throw off the taint entirely, surely her fathers could find joy and happiness again.
Ebba had to know they could fight against the darkness within. That they wouldn’t crumble without her. That was why Jagger unsettled her so much. In some ways, he was an acute representation of her fathers’ pain.
“That be a lot of things to be in one head,” Peg-leg said, breaking through her shock.
What? What were they talking about?
Throat working, Ebba returned to u
ntangling the rigging, scrambling to collect her thoughts.
“I be thinkin’ that when we’re ready to know more, we’ll know,” Peg-leg mused.
That’s the way they’d always worked—on a need-to-know basis. “I ain’t sure I want to wait.”
“The world doesn’t just hand ye things on a platter all nice-like, lass.” He held up the rigging. “Ye can’t force things to happen. Things have a way o’ leadin’ ye places, just like the thunderbird’s storm led us to this here island. When the time be right, ye just know.”
She watched the way he looked at the rigging—as though it was a great puzzle. “Like ye climbin’ the riggin’?” Ebba whispered.
He cast her a curious look. “Aye, like climbin’ the riggin’,” he said, busying himself again. “I wanted to thank ye for puttin’ the notion in my head. Ye’re right, havin’ a go is a good idea. In truth, it be an idea I’ve had myself many-a-time; I just could never seem to. . . .”
“Give yerself permis’ion,” she finished in a soft voice.
“Aye, lass. It was just that.” He put down the rigging and with a tap, tap, tap was at her side.
She fell into her father’s arms, inhaling his familiar sea salt and sweat smell.
He rested his bald head atop her dreads. “The way ye say these things makes me feel there be more on yer mind. And ye don’t need to say anythin’ if ye don’t wish. But I hope ye know how special ye are, lass. How others look at ye and see someone who’s right fierce and capable. Ye say things how they are, and that swine Jagger was right about one thing when he poured his innards out. Ye’re pure joy. Not just to yer biased fathers.”
Tears slipped from her eyes, and she hugged Peg-leg back tightly, unable to speak.
“Ye’re a fierce pirate,” he whispered in her ear. “And ye don’t take no for an answer.”
Ebba’s shoulders shook as she cried in her father’s arms. She choked out, “Ye don’t think I’m fakin’ strength and I’m weak under it all?”
“Is that what ye think o’ me? Or my co-parents?” he asked plainly.
“Nay,” she said with a loud sniff. “Never. Nothin’ could take ye down.”
Dynami’s Wrath Page 19
