Erik towers above the other men brutally swinging his axe, while Lennox slashes with his cutlass, saving his pistol for an opportune moment. Sound fades, the heavy whooshing of my blood in my ears is the only thing I hear as I watch the other crewmembers hold their own against the King’s sailors, and it isn’t long before the opposing Captain falls under one of Erik’s blows.
Even the women from the Bartered Soul fight like demons. A sweeping sense of pride swells in my chest as I watch them. Everywhere I look, chaos unfolds, but still, my eyes scan each member of the crew until I find Charlie’s slight frame battling with a large sailor from the other ship. A sob rises in my throat, but I hold it back, hoping she can gain the upper hand.
Charlie’s eyes glance my way, and I realize, too late, that she has seen Lyra’s bright form hiding behind me. The moment of distraction is all her opponent needs. Lyra screams at the same time that his blade comes down on Charlie’s shoulder. Within moments, Pike cuts the sailor down, then turns to rejoin the fray. But Charlie remains motionless on the deck — a pool of crimson spreading around her limp form.
I’m in motion before I can consider the danger, running toward the boarding bridge between the ships. By the time I reach the rail, Erik has retrieved Charlie’s limp body and bellows commands to the crew. My eyes light on Lennox as he delivers a few final blows, blind fury clouding his face. I can only hope none of the blood that covers him is his own.
This close to the railing, I can see the full picture of the carnage of this attack. Fighting slows — our crew has taken the victory, and the King’s Navy has given in to the inevitable, but we are not without casualties. The remaining King’s sailors are on their knees once more, weapons at their feet.
My fingers dig into the wood of the rail as Lennox walks behind each prisoner, drawing his sharp blade across their throats as easily as if he is slaughtering a lamb. Only the sound of the seawater crashes in my ears as I watch them collapse forward.
This is the brutal pirate I feared when he lurked in the shadows at the House of Starlight.
This is the savage beast who offers no quarter to his foes.
And yet, the sight of the men in the King’s colors dying on the deck of their ship doesn’t make me recoil in fear.
Instead, this feels like justice. Justice for the pain Lennox endured under the lash when he was pressed into service and lost his family. For the pain the priestesses felt when our temples were ransacked, and they were staked and set ablaze. For the nights I sought refuge in memories of being touched by the gentle boy from the rites instead of the greedy hands of men in the House of Starlight. For the losses we have all suffered for this new King’s reign.
At the end of the line, when the last limp body hits the deck, Lennox raises his fierce eyes to meet mine. His chest rises with deep breaths, and his smile is a bright gash of white across his crimson-splashed face. The moment lingers, pride swelling in my chest where fear should be, but for this Captain, my fear is gone.
* * *
The remainder of the blood-covered crew returning across the boarding bridge snaps me back to the present. My heart lurches as Lyra pushes past me with a sob, running to Erik’s side as he cradles Charlie. I glance back once at Lennox as he mounts the bridge, then turn to see if there is anything to be done for Charlie. Lyra is kneeling on the deck, her fine gown soaked with sea spray and Charlie’s blood, as Erik lowers the limp form of the young woman to be cradled in her lover’s arms. Before I can even reach them, I know there is nothing I can do.
Charlie is already gone.
Lyra’s keening surrounds us, and my chest aches. Even the hardened crewmembers watch the beautiful girl with sorrow in their eyes, tears streaming freely down her tan cheeks as she curls herself over Charlie’s still form. I crouch next to her, running my hand over her back in an attempt at comfort, but I am not foolish enough to think I can soothe the pain she is feeling.
After a while, her shaking subsides, and I stand, glancing to see if I can be of aid to any of the other crewmembers, leaving Lyra to mourn. As I take in the battered crew, heat spreads across my skin in a tingle, and I know he’s behind me. Spinning, I catch green eyes shining fiercely in his blood-coated face.
Before I can think twice, I run into his arms, our mouths slanted together. I don’t care whose blood I am tasting, or if the crew sees us. All I can focus on is his strong body pressed against mine, his scent mixed with the salty sea air and the coppery tang of bloodshed. Relief washes over me.
He survived.
He’s safe.
The kiss can’t last long enough; I never want to let him go. After several moments, he releases me, and I pull back with heavy breaths. There is work to do. Lennox cradles my cheek in his palm briefly, his eyes never leaving mine as he gives commands to raid the hold of the captured ship for weapons and supplies.
“See if there is anything you can do to help the wounded. If they’re beyond help, offer them some of the strong rum or whisky to ease their pain until it’s their time,” he whispers to me before returning to the other ship with his men. I exhale a sigh of relief at his steady command before I return to the wounded.
Chapter 17
After the battle, I mentally categorize the crew into two categories: those with minor flesh wounds that I can clean and bandage, and those who are near death — far beyond my capability to help. As I told Lennox at the beginning of this trip, I’m not a physician or barber-surgeon; there is only so much that my herbs and prayers can do. Their crewmates and I both know it is only a matter of time until the latter group joins Charlie in the afterlife.
As Lennox mentioned, a strong drink is the only comfort I can offer to ease their pain, so I set my face into the calm, expressionless veil I am used to wearing, all emotion buried deep inside. I cannot allow my sadness and worry to seep into the injured.
We remain tied to the crown’s ship for several hours while I work. Lennox and Erik stand in deep discussion for a while before the Captain retreats to his cabin. When he returns to the deck, he is free of bloodstains and dressed in fresh clothing, appearing as though he hasn’t been in a battle at all.
The sun sinks lower in the sky, and I rise from the last of the crew I’d been tending, ready to seek out Lyra. Worry for her has been a constant in my mind this afternoon, knowing she has likely witnessed more brutality today than she has ever endured. Following the sounds of soft murmurs, I find the young woman tucked away behind a crate still cradling Charlie’s cold body, stroking her mousy brown hair softly.
Lyra’s tears have long since dried, and she simply rocks and hums a song to herself as she comforts a lover that can no longer feel pain. Leaving her be, I rush to my surgery and quickly prepare a tisane with valerian in it to help her nerves, hoping it will allow her to relax and sleep peacefully tonight. When I return to the deck, I lower myself next to her, leaning against the side of the ship with my knees tucked up to my chest, and offer her the warm mug. Instead of accepting my offering, she simply meets my eyes with her sad hazel ones.
“What happens now?” she asks in a ragged whisper, her voice rough from her wails.
“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly. “I believe sailors are buried at sea.”
As a priestess, I have been present at births as well as deathbeds — welcoming souls into the world and easing them back out — but I’ve never attended a ceremony at sea. The cycle of life isn’t new to me, but Lyra was sheltered in Artemisia, even under the roof of a brothel, and I wonder if she has truly seen death before.