Chapter 13

13

A HALF-BELL LATER, Nyx found herself posted beside Shiya again. Heeding Nyx’s recommendation, the bronze woman had let her song die away. Nyx had feared that the blaze of Shiya’s shield would be a beacon in this fog.

Rhaif kept vigil on Shiya’s other side.

No one dared speak.

Graylin turned and looked hard at her, his silent question easy to read.

Anything?

She gave a small shake of her head. Her hand reached to Shiya’s elbow. If another attack struck, the pair of them would have to act swiftly. Still, the waiting stretched to a dagger’s edge. Her breathing grew heavier. Her eyes strained as she searched the featureless fog. Her stomach felt another swing of the ship.

At the wheel, Darant slowly circled the Sparrowhawk, spiraling them lower and lower. Blinded by the fog, he dared go no faster. Fenn kept watch under their keel through his farscopes, searching below. But it was as if the world had vanished entirely.

Nyx shifted her feet. By now, her sight had adjusted to the gloom. The mists faintly glowed in the moonlight. This far into the fog, the ship’s windows were pebbled with droplets, obscuring the view. Nyx wiped similar beads of sweat from her forehead.

She studied her damp fingers with a frown.

Something’s not right.

She let go of Shiya and passed to Darant’s right. She reached out and placed her palm against the alchymically hardened glass.

The pirate glared at her, hissing low, “What’re you doing, lass?”

She turned, her voice the barest whisper. “It’s warm.”

Darant thrust out his arm and dropped his hand next to hers. His brows shot high. His voice gasped a bit too loudly in surprise, “She’s right!”

Nyx moved back. Her understanding of the world outside shifted. “It’s not ice fog. It’s not fog at all.” She swung to the others. “It’s steam. ”

Graylin came forward to confirm the same, which irked Nyx.

Why can’t he trust my word?

Fenn spoke softly from his station without lifting his eyes from his scope. “Must be some monstrous source of heat under us.”

“And we’re dropping straight toward it,” Rhaif groaned.

Other crewmembers gathered by the windows. Fearful of what awaited them, everyone searched below.

Except for one.

“Beware,” Shiya warned, her voice ringing sharply. Her face stared upward, as if her gaze could pierce through the roof. “They’re coming.”

Nyx felt it then, too. Since entering the steam bank, she had sensed a well of power ebbing and surging through the mists. It had kept a wary distance, but it now surged toward them from above, like a dark wave crashing upon a foundering raft.

She hurried to Shiya’s side, pulling in a deep breath as she rushed. Shiya arched her back and sang, her voice as firm and bright as the bronze of her skin. Strands of bridle-song webbed quickly, knitting back into a shield. Nyx added her voice, focusing hard to push her pounding heart out of her throat.

She quickly found her harmony, bolstering Shiya’s efforts. Together, they expanded the sphere of their protection out to the walls. Golden fire again sheltered those within the wheelhouse. She clenched a fist, bracing herself. She waited for the attack, for those dark spears of bridle-song to pound against their shield.

But that was not the threat.

Graylin stumbled with a gasp from the window. A large shadow swept past the ship’s bow and vanished below them. Nyx caught the barest glimpse of scalloped wings. Her blood turned to ice at the sight. Her song faltered, fraying the edges of the blazing shield.

It can’t be…

Then another shadow swept into view, hanging there for a breath, before snapping huge wings and shooting high. There was no denying the truth. The form was shaggy-pelted, with a shorter tail, but they all knew that creature.

“It’s a bat,” Rhaif said. “Like Bashaliia.”

Nyx knew the thief was wrong.

It’s nothing like Bashaliia.

More shadows shot and glided through the mists, staying high, barely discernible through the steam’s pall.

“What’re they doing?” Rhaif asked, drawing closer to Shiya.

The answer came as the ship gave a hard shudder, settled for a breath, then jolted again. Draft-iron cables whined and twanged outside.

“They’re bombarding our gasbag!” Darant yelled. “Ripping into it.”

Nyx craned her neck, staring upward. She knew swyftships like the Sparrowhawk were built as fighting vessels, faster and more agile than the giant warships. To withstand assaults, their balloons were compartmentalized into sections. A swyftship’s gasbag could take several tears and still stay afloat. But there were limits to how much damage it could withstand.

“Hang tight!” Darant said as he shoved the maesterwheel forward.

The ship’s bow dropped, sending the craft into a steep dive. Nyx’s feet slid, but she grabbed hold of Shiya to stop herself. The song died in Nyx’s throat, but the bronze woman did her best to keep a shield up. Nyx cast her senses, brushing against the fiery hatred flowing through the steam. So far, that power stayed out there, rather than being cast down upon the ship.

Maybe their earlier assault burned through the bulk of their bridling energy, leaving them no choice but to attack physically.

Darant spun the wheel, sending their descent into a tighter spiral. The sudden maneuver tossed Nyx to the side. She lost her grip, but Rhaif caught her. He pulled her back to Shiya, while also holding fast to the bronze woman.

“Can you call them off?” Rhaif gasped, speaking both to Nyx and Shiya. “Convince them we mean no harm?”

Nyx stared upward.

Shiya answered Rhaif, “They will not listen.”

Nyx knew the woman was right. The colony out there might be distantly related to Bashaliia’s, but something had malformed them. She sensed nothing like the cold astuteness of the swampland clan. What swept through the skies was feral, savage, but plainly still cunning—as this ambush demonstrated.

Despite Darant’s efforts to shake off the haranguing flock, the ship continued to quake and rock. Nyx swore she could hear fabric rip as more of the balloon was torn by sharp claws.

We’re not going to last much longer.

Graylin voiced the same, closing upon Darant. “It’s hopeless! We must get to the sailrafts! Pray those smaller vessels can slip past that horde.”

Nyx expected Darant—ever proud of the Sparrowhawk ’s ability and his own skill—to dissent. She was wrong.

“Do it!” Darant flashed his gaze right and left, to the secondary stations, to his daughters. “Glace and Brayl, get Nyx and the others into those rafts. Find somewhere to hide in this steamy clag.”

Glace stepped toward the man. “Father…”

He thrust an arm toward the door. “Go. I’m not giving up on the Hawk just yet.”

Darant turned away, dismissing his daughters. Ever obedient, the two women closed upon Nyx and the others. Their faces were hard masks of concern.

Nyx spoke as the pair reached them. “I left Jace in the hold. He should’ve readied the rafts by now.”

Behind them, Darant bellowed orders through the highhorn, divvying up assignments. He called back as they headed away, “Once free of the ship, dive fast! I’ll do my best to draw the bastards off.”

Nyx gasped as her skull suddenly burned. The small hairs danced across her skin. She glanced back as a huge shape flew into view. It struck the window with a resounding crash. The hardened glass splintered. The bat perched there, claws digging deep into the bow planks. Wings battered at the ship. Its ears lay flat to its skull, while fangs gnashed at the glass, smearing its surface with poison.

Those black-diamond eyes, though, never shifted. They glared straight at Nyx, tracking her as she fled with the others. For a breath, she sensed the horde-mind staring through at her. The cold malice cut into her skull—bringing with it a single thought, no words, only intent.

But it was clear enough.

We will break you.

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