by Lisa Maxwell
He’s as startled by my use of his name as I am, and that momentary surprise softens his sharp features. Then his grip on the sill of the window slips, and his expression is once more serious. “A little help, lass?”
There is such a look of panic on his face that I scramble over without thinking twice and, grabbing ahold of his arm, I help to pull him into the room. Olivia makes a keening sort of sound and backs away to the safety of the bed.
“What are you doing here?” I say as he pulls himself to his feet.
He rights his jacket by giving it a few sharp tugs to smooth it into place.
“I thought it was fairly clear,” he says, gesturing to the window. “I’m rescuing you.”
“Rescuing me?” I say, incredulous. He looks so earnest, so serious that I almost laugh, but then I stop myself. “You can’t seriously think I’m just going to fly off with you after what you did to Olivia?”
“I don’t bloody well fly,” he grinds out, taking me by the hand and starting to pull me toward the window. “And I haven’t done anything to her.” He glances over at her. “She seems well enough.”
“You attacked her earlier,” I tell him. “You left her for dead at the End.”
“The End?” he says, his expression twisting in confusion. “I’ve done nothing but try to reach you since you flew off with him, lass. I’ve never had the pleasure of even meeting your lovely friend,” he says, extending his hand toward Olivia as though they’ve just been introduced. The Captain gives a roguish grin, but Olivia flinches away, her eyes wary.
“Then your crew did it,” I said. “Which amounts to the same thing. She could have died out there.”
The Captain goes very still and turns to me. “My crew has done nothing save work night and day making sail to rescue you. I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”
“But Olivia—”
“I’m not here for Olivia,” he snaps. “I’m here for you.”
I blink at the resolve in his tone, speechless for a moment. And then my thoughts turn darker as I remember everything Pan told me about how the Captain survives in this world. “Why me?”
But the Captain doesn’t react the way I expect.
“I—” He runs his gloved hand through his hair, mussing it so a dark lock falls over his forehead. Then he looks up at me, and his expression is bunched with confusion “You left,” he says simply, as though he’s still trying to understand how or why it happened.
“Of course I left!” I back away from him again. “It’s not bad enough you feed kids to sea monsters, but you let the Dark One kill that boy,” I say, my voice rising. “And then you took his life.”
I see the moment when he understands what I’m referring to. His brows draw together, and his whole expression goes serious as he stalks toward me. “It was the Dark One that took his life,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward him with a sure tug.
I try to jerk away, but I can’t escape. “I saw everything that night, Captain. I know exactly what you did. I know why you did it, and I know there was part of you that enjoyed it,” I say, thinking of the look of horror and rapture on his face as he had taken that glowing thread.
“You know nothing,” he says, jerking me closer yet, until I’m forced to tilt my head back to look up at him.
“I know enough,” I say, refusing to back down.
“Do you?” he growls. “You knew, then, that the boy was dying, aye? That he’d been sliced clean through the gut. That when the infection hit—as it would have—his would not have been an easy death?” His mouth goes tight, and the expression on his face is like flint, his features so sharp and hard, ready for the strike that will make a spark. “And I suppose you knew as well that, had I not accepted what the Dark One offered, the boy’s death would have been for nothing?”
“You expect me to believe that excuse?” I ask, searching his face for something to give away the lie in his words.
“I don’t rightly care what you believe, lass.” He releases me then and backs away, putting enough space between us that I can almost breathe again. “I know the truth,” he says darkly.
“And what is the truth?” I challenge, but he doesn’t answer. “Why would the Dark Ones offer you anything? Unless . . .”
My mouth falls open. How stupid I’ve been not to see what was staring me right in the face this whole time. “No . . .”
His eyes narrow at me. “Unless what, lass?”
“Unless you’re with them,” I whisper. “Or unless the Dark Ones are with you.”
Though his brows rise slightly, as if he’s surprised by my words, his expression doesn’t otherwise change.
“Unless you’re the one who sent them to London in the first place.” I think of the blonde on his ship, the one who was also in London, and the air in the room feels thin, dangerous. “Is that why you’ve come back for me now?”
“You think I’m the reason you landed in this world?” the Captain asks, all humor gone from his voice.
“I ended up on your ship. I saw you working with those monsters,” I say, putting the pieces together. “And I saw Fiona in London, before I saw her on your ship.”
“You think I brought you here?” The Captain doesn’t give me time to respond. He’s already answering, his voice growing louder with each point he makes. “You’re not exactly what I look for in my crew,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “You’re pretty enough, to be sure, but not exactly handy in battle, aye? Every time I turn around, you’re needing rescuing, and here I am again, risking myself and mine to save your ungrateful behind only to have you throw this accusation at my feet.”
Olivia, who has been watching the entire exchange, whimpers behind me, and I understand why. With his white-hot scar and wicked dagger, the Captain can cut a terrifying figure when he wants to. And right now, he definitely wants to.
But I won’t be intimidated. “No one ever asked you to save me,” I say as I take a step toward him. I glare up at him, my temper spiking.
His mouth is so near that if I just lifted a bit onto my toes—
“No. No one bloody well did,” he says, stepping away suddenly. He runs his hand through his hair again, disheveling it even more.
I’ve never seen the Captain so rumpled, so undone. It makes him seem that much more human—and that much more dangerous.
He turns back to me, his expression grim, mocking. “I suppose you believe your new protector will be taking over the task of saving you now.”
“I don’t need him to save me,” I snap.
“Well, that’s a relief, since I doubt he’ll be doing anything of the sort.” The Captain pins me with his eyes. “You see, lass, if you want to know who it is that commanded the Dark Ones to bring you to this world, you’d do better to look to Pan than to me.”
“Pan?” I ask, thinking of what he’s told me about his mother, the Queen. “He has more reason than anyone to hate the Dark Ones.”
“Does he?” The Captain smiles, but it’s not a pleasant expression. More a baring of his teeth than anything else. “All lies, Gwendolyn, tied up in a package of pretty words. I did warn you of that.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” I charge, feeling suddenly unsettled and less sure of anything than I was just moments ago.
“I’ve never lied to you about who or what I am, lass.”
I huff out a hollow laugh. “You left out enough.”
“I’ve never promised to ply you with pretty words.” His grim mouth tightens. “But it’s not a lie when I tell you Pan brought you here because he intends to use you. And it’s not a lie when I tell you he’ll not allow either you or your friend to return to the world you came from. Especially not you, Gwendolyn.”
“Why not?” I ask, suddenly unsettled by how quiet his words have become. How his eyes are clouded with something that seems like regret.
His expression goes tight. “There’s more to all of this than I’ve time to be explaining to you right now. Come with me, a
nd I’ll tell you all.” He doesn’t demand this time. He simply holds out his hand again, an offering. “It’s past time for us to be going.”
The battle is still raging below, and the sounds that carry up to me remind me of the look on Owen’s face when Pan’s dagger found its mark, and the amusement on Pan’s face when the boy’s body dropped to the floor.
But I’ve seen what the Captain can do as well. I’ve seen him kill just as ruthlessly. And I’ve seen him take an innocent life. Neither of the two is safe. Neither is innocent.
“I’m not going with him,” Olivia says from where she’s been watching our conversation unspool.
“Then stay,” the Captain tells her without ever looking away from me. “Come, lass. Before it’s too late.” He has offered me his hand but nothing else.
“But it’s already too late, Captain,” Pan says from the open doorway.
The boy warmed his hands so no one would see how they trembled on his gun. His brother never shook before battle—just closed his eyes briefly and then faced whatever was to come. As though his brother had found a way to accept the pointlessness and the waste of the lie they found themselves trapped in. And the boy hated his brother for it, just a little, the way that only brothers can hate. . . .
Chapter 22
EVEN THOUGH HE SPEAKS TO the captain, Pan’s pale blue eyes are fixed on me. “Gwendolyn, my dear, perhaps you’d be so kind as to step aside?”
The Captain’s sword is drawn, and in a blink he’s in front of me, blocking me from going to Pan.
“I’ll not let you have her again,” the Captain growls.
Pan gives him a bored look. “Then again I shall have to remind you, the choice is not yours to make.”
The Captain steps forward, his blade at the ready. “I’ve heard you’ve been spinning your tales, Peter,” he says, snapping out the syllables of the name with a mocking cadence.
“Don’t, boy,” Pan warns, his voice dangerous.
“Still playing at your fairy tales, I see,” the Captain taunts as he lunges with a swift step forward. Pan parries easily, though, avoiding his dagger without much effort at all.
“I don’t play at anything. You know that well enough.”
“Aye,” the Captain says, pushing me back toward the bed, away from the fighting, as he circles left. “I know a great many things about you. I wonder, though, if you’ve bothered to tell Gwendolyn your secrets. Or if you’ve just tempted her with your many lies.”
Pan follows the Captain’s movements easily. “I’ve no need of lies.” Pan swipes savagely, and again the Captain meets him, their blades crossed, face-to-face. “Gwendolyn chose me, Rowan. She’ll choose me again.” He pushes the Captain back viciously. “And again.”
“And if she doesn’t?” The Captain’s face has gone murderous, but his voice remains calm as he rights himself, ready for Pan’s next move. “Will you leave her to die like you leave the rest that cease to be of use to you?”
“Why wouldn’t she choose me?” Pan drawls, circling farther to the right. “I saved her from the likes of you, didn’t I? And I can give her anything she wants.”
“Not anything, apparently,” the Captain says, baring his teeth. “You haven’t taken her back to her world, have you?” he asks, following Pan’s movement and preparing for the next attack. “Does she know that you could?”
I’m moving before I can think better of it, before the Captain can stop me. “What’s he talking about?” I ask Pan as I step in front of the Captain, between the two of them.
Pan shrugs. “They’re the desperate words of a desperate man, Gwendolyn. You saw with your own eyes who the Dark Ones work for, did you not?”
When I turn back to the Captain for some explanation, I see his expression has gone stony. Before he can say anything, Pan grabs my arm and pulls me safely behind him. In a blink Pan has the Captain’s back against the open doorway. Pan lunges and the Captain parries, but the heel of the Captain’s polished boot catches on the edge of the floor and he bobbles, his arms flailing to catch himself.
Pan lunges again, his dagger lashing out viciously, knocking the Captain back again.
But there’s nowhere to go. The Captain’s foot finds air, and he stumbles backward, only barely catching himself on the edge of the floor before he can fall to the hall far below.
He’s still clutching his blade in his hand and struggling to pull himself up from his precarious hold on the ledge when Pan approaches him. The Captain goes still when Pan crouches down, looming over him, but only for a moment. “Is this how you imagined you’d meet your fate, boy?” I can’t see Pan’s face, but I can hear the anticipation in his voice.
The Captain’s jaw goes tight as he struggles again to pull himself up.
Pan simply shakes his head. “I must admit, this isn’t nearly as amusing as I thought your demise would be,” Pan says, feigning disappointment. “And not nearly as satisfying as I hoped.” He raises a booted foot and brings it down, crushing the Captain’s hand—his real hand.
The Captain howls, his face contorting as his hand lets go of his blade, and his whole body slips farther. Pan picks up the Captain’s sword, examines it for a moment, and then brings the point to the Captain’s throat. “Ah, that’s better,” he drawls, amusement tinting his voice. “Done in by your own blade. Quite poetic, isn’t it, Rowan?”
The Captain’s dark eyes meet mine, and I see real panic there. And fear. The expression is so foreign, so strange-looking on the sharp lines of his face, I’m moving before I can think better of it. And before I can think through the implications of what I’m about to do, I grab Pan’s arm and pull him back. “No!”
Pan turns to me, his eyes narrowed and his mouth curled up into a snarl. Gone is the beautiful boy, and in his place is something cold and dangerous. His blue eyes are empty of any feeling but rage. Still I don’t let go of his arm.
“Why ever not, Gwendolyn? He brought his rabble into my home, to kill my boys—why should I spare him?”
“If you do this, you’d be no better than he is,” I say, careful not to look at the Captain. I keep my eyes on Pan, begging him without words to relent.
Pan’s eyes narrow as he considers me. For a moment that feels like an eternity, the Captain hangs from the doorway, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of trying to pull himself back up.
Whatever he’s done, whatever he might be, I can’t stand by and do nothing. I saw the Sea Hags, and I know the risk he took to pull me from the water. I owe him this much. “Please,” I plead. “You don’t need to kill him to win. You can be better than he is.”
At first Pan doesn’t show any sign of having heard me. His jaw remains tense, his whole body ready to attack as he glares at the Captain. But then his shoulders relax, just a little, and he glances at me, his expression hiding more that it reveals.”
“Quite right, my dear,” Pan says after another long moment. Then a dark smile flickers across his face. “But then again, I’ve always been better than he is.”
With a flick of Pan’s hand, the vining garlands that Olivia made begin to snake their way along the floor and wrap themselves around the Captain’s wrists. Blood wells where their thorns dig into his right arm, but he barely flinches. And he doesn’t scream or plead his case. His dark eyes are steady on me as the ropes of green begin to drag him off the ledge, lowering him down to the Great Hall.
I run to the doorway to see Pan’s boys gathering below. When the Captain, still struggling against the vines, finally makes it to the floor, the boys set upon him.
“You said you wouldn’t kill him,” I say to Pan, who is watching the events unfold with a gleam in his eyes.
Pan glances at me. “Worry not, my dear. My boys know well enough that I’d be very displeased if the Captain’s death came at any hands but my own.”
I’m not as sure of the boys as Pan is though. With his hands and arms wrapped tightly in the vines, the Captain doesn’t have a chance to defend himself against the blow
s he’s being dealt by the feral pack of children below. After a moment, one raises the Captain’s metal arm aloft like a trophy.
But some of the glowing orbs have started to gather around the group of boys. With a flash, one of them explodes in a burst of light that has me blinking away, and when I look back, I see a person is standing where the orb once floated.
Or not a person, exactly, but a creature that looks so much like Fiona, I don’t have any doubt he’s Fey. His naked torso is covered in the same strangely iridescent scales that covered Fiona’s body, and his head is topped with the same white-blond hair.
The boys in the hall below go completely silent, and the one who was about to deliver a kick to the Captain’s face lowers his foot as, one by one, the glowing orbs flash with blinding brightness and transform into more of the blond Fey. The sixth and final orb explodes in light and reveals Fiona, standing stone-faced over the Captain’s body.
I let out a shaking breath in relief as she bends down to examine him. With a quick jerk of her head, two of the other Fey come forward and hoist the Captain up by his arms. I wait for the boys to attack, but they never do. They just watch with uneasy expressions on their young faces.
“Show our guest to the hold,” Pan calls down.
I whip my head around, confused. On the ship, Fiona talked to the Captain as though they knew each other—more than knew each other. She talked to him as though they were allies. For a moment I thought she came to rescue him, but it’s clear from the expressionless look on her face, she hasn’t.
Pan smiles at my confusion. “Fiona’s been loyal to me from the first, Gwendolyn.”
“But she was on the ship,” I protest.
“Yes, she was—at my behest. She brings me information and keeps me apprised of the Captain’s plans. Rowan has no idea.” Pan smiles, a slippery curve of his mouth that lights his eyes with amusement. “Though I suppose he does now.”
When the order was given, they crept slowly, cautiously, out into the barren stretch of land between safety and death. His brother’s eyes were alert, watching for danger to reveal itself. The boy should have been looking as well, but he could not take his eyes off the misshapen lump that had once been a soldier a few meters away. . . .
