Chapter 17 #2
Cheers roared across the ship, drawing even more men from below decks. They’d have a full crowd, and not one of them was on their side.
Plan or no plan, Selene hadn’t expected to face these men and miss her friends—her family—this bad.
To feel Oskar’s absence and words of wisdom so deeply.
Back home, she’d be surrounded by Blades, each of whom spent the last five months teaching and guiding.
At the end of this race, who would be on her side?
Heat-prickling emotion pushed at her insides from all directions, and she closed her eyes. These thoughts made her weak, and Oskar trained her to succeed in exactly this kind of scenario. And what would Augustus do here? Wimper? No. He’d turn that dangerous smile on and swagger into position.
She could do this.
She would do this.
“To your places,” Thorne said. “Selene, you and Alf can take the starboard shrouds. Petrina and Finn portside. Winners must reach the main skysail.”
Petrina leaned toward Selene and whispered, “Skysail?”
Pointing to the top of the mainmast, she said, “See that tiny sail at the very top?”
Petrina groaned. “We’ll need a decent lead to avoid fighting from those high beams.”
“They’re called crosstrees.”
“I don’t care. Just don’t fall. I’d rather not dangle like bait outside the hull all night.”
Selene and Alf climbed the starboard railing and maneuvered to the outside of the shroud, preparing to climb what was essentially a rope ladder on Thorne’s mark.
The shroud’s incline ended twenty feet above the deck beneath the first platform, where several rigging lines intersected.
Ropes dangled and swayed, while others—called stays—were taut.
She reached up and squeezed a pair of ratlines, preparing to climb the very second Thorne gave the word. The ship’s crew went so silent that only the creak of ropes carried on the wind.
Selene closed her eyes and conjured a different time and place. What would Oskar say if he were here?
“Don’t worry about how you’ll reach the end of the gauntlet,” Oskar’s memory instructed. “Focus on what’s immediately in front of you. What’s first?”
Make the climb, keep her footing, and watch her back. Alf wanted this win as much as she did. He was scrawny, but he had long arms, which meant he had a long reach.
“Don’t worry about the end,” Oskar advised. “Worry about your next hold.”
“Begin!” Thorne shouted.
Voices filled the air, a mix of jeers and encouragement. Selene climbed to its cadence, letting her body do what it knew to do, with one ear on Alf’s grunts and hissing breath.
Alf was lithe and fast, and they neared the platform side-by-side, their paths coming together. A hiccup in his movement was her only warning. He clawed for her shoulder—
Selene released her hand and let her upper body swing back—his fingers narrowly missed her breast. His mistake was putting all his weight into the move; he fell face-first into her half of the shroud, and his foot slipped.
She pushed his head between the ratlines, tangling him, then resumed her climb.
On the other side of the ship, Petrina kicked down on Finn’s large shoulder while he tried snatching her ankle out of the air.
Pain seared through Selene’s calf—
She yelped, more from surprise, and her foot slipped from the ratline.
She whirled toward Alf, expecting a fight, but he climbed with nothing but a grin, his attention below. On the deck, the crew laughed. Some even patted Thorne on the back.
Thorne smirked and nocked another arrow. “Nothing motivates like fear, don’t you think?”
So, that was how he wanted to play this game? Fine.
Selene grinned back for all the times she couldn’t before. “Fuck you, you bastard.”
Tristan Thorne was a vile, dangerous man. He was also shrewd. She wasn’t sure how or when, but she would ensure that was his undoing.
Selene ignored the pain and pulled herself up onto the platform, only seconds ahead of Petrina, who had a stream of blood streaming from a gash on her temple.
“Thorne?” Selene asked.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Grunts and heaving breaths preceded the groping of hands on the platform. A whistle of air flew by her ear, and an arrow struck the mast by Selene’s head.
“Thank you!” she called down and yanked it out.
Petrina half-stood on Alf’s wrist, making him writhe and yell. The assassin gave Selene a nod. “Do it.”
Selene stabbed Alf’s hand, then yanked the bloody arrow tip back out.
Alf screamed—you’d have thought she’d just lobbed off his entire arm. His hand vanished below just as Finn came up through the other side.
Finn faced Petrina, feet planted, weight centered. He blindly found a dangling rope and wrapped his forearm in it, leaving a good amount of length dangling. He whipped the rope toward Petrina’s feet, but it didn’t have the snap he expected.
Petrina grabbed the rope and yanked.
Finn fell onto his knees with a thunk, and the crew’s cheer turned into an uproar of excitement.
Petrina pushed Selene up another shroud, this one much slimmer. “Go.” Alf appeared on the platform, and she added. “Hurry.”
Selene tucked the arrow into the back of her waistband and scurried up toward the spar where the mainsail was furled. Petrina was on her heels, leaving the other side open for the pirates to climb.
Alf led the way, being smaller and faster, but Finn charged like a furious bull.
Selene continued toward the bird’s nest, muscles burning, heart racing.
Petrina leapt onto the mainsail’s thick, wooden yard and faced the two men, who ran nimbly toward her.
Rope. Selene needed…
Ah, there.
She jumped from the shroud onto the dangling rope. Her momentum swung her around the port side toward the yard. She dropped behind the pirates, who had corralled Petrina toward the yardarm.
Selene gripped the rope and ran up behind Alf with a wild plan rushing through her head. Her thoughts were a drum beat with every step—please work, please work—and gave over to her training.
She wrapped the long length of cable around Alf’s arms and torso. He turned to respond, only worsening the tangle and losing balance. With a pitched yell, he toppled off the yard and swung wide through the air.
The crew’s laughter carried upwards like a distant echo.
Another arrow shot past Selene, clipping her right shoulder. Blood soaked through her shirt and began seeping down her arm.
She blinked hard, dizzy with adrenaline, but the ache was manageable. For now.
Ahead, Petrina and Finn exchanged swings, and then the assassin jumped off the yardarm to a collective gasp from below. She didn’t fall far. Petrina caught the footrope and shimmied beneath Finn to laughter and cheers.
With Petrina out of reach, Finn’s attention had only one place to go: Selene.
“Come and get me,” Selene said, and resumed climbing the shrouds.
The next stop was the bird’s nest. The nearer to the top, the more furious the pre-storm winds. The platform swayed amidst the chaos of ropes and rigging that hung loose.
Selene climbed inside and steadied herself with one of the loose ropes, trying to catch her breath. She should keep climbing—she was so close—but Petrina was several feet behind Finn, and she wouldn’t win this stupid race alone.
Brandishing her arrow like a dagger, Selene faced Finn as he hoisted himself over the edge and into the space.
“You were lucky before,” he said, spitting to the side. He pulled a knife from his belt. “Ya’will’na be again.”
Finn lunged, his blade a precise slash toward her side.
Selene side-stepped the knife’s sharp point and struck out with her arrow. The tip dug into his forearm, and he staggered back with a wince.
Finn’s cheeks flamed red. “Bitch.”
With a growl, he came at Selene with vicious, arcing swings. Wild and desperate.
For the first time, panic twisted through Selene. She had to dodge his knife without tripping over or into a tangle of rope.
She parried with her arrow and kept her back to the hip-high railing as Finn turned more and more furious. One wrong move, and she’d plummet to her death. She had to hold on just a little longer.
Petrina slinked through the opening, her expression determined and assessing.
Finn spotted the movement and did a double-take over his shoulder. He grinned. “Well, c’mon then. Do your best.”
Selene jabbed forward with her arrow, pulling his attention back. “Don’t forget about me.”
He grinned. Just as fast, his expression promised violence, and he raised his knife.
Petrina appeared and grabbed his wrist, twisting sharply.
Finn’s blade fell with a thunk, and he wailed in pain, his hand dangling at an odd angle.
Selene grimaced.
Petrina swept a leg at Finn’s ankles. He crashed to the floor and rolled to his side with another cry of pain.
Petrina retrieved the blade and threw it over the side and into the sea. “Come on.” She grabbed the final set of shrouds. “Let’s end this.”
Selene threw her arrow after the knife—it wouldn’t do them any good to return armed—and followed Petrina’s climb to the crosstree at the very top of the mainmast.
Petrina gave a wide arcing wave to the men below, and an eruption of cheers reached them.
“Now,” Selene said, gasping for breath, “they’ll stop watching us so hard.”
Petrina groaned. “Next time, I plan, you listen and nod.”
Selene stared beyond the horizon where the storm clouds continued to build. “Let’s hope there is a next time.”