Chapter 6
Without Corsair, the Bitterwind fell easily.
Captain Ridge lay dead at Sebastian’s hand, and the Maelstrom crew handled the cleanup like a well-oiled machine. They hadn’t lost a single man.
Hellsgate evaporated from Will’s grip as he oversaw his new ship. He didn’t particularly want to manage another one—his fleet had over a dozen as it was—so the Bitterwind would be stripped of relics and sold off at the next port, and those who had surrendered would be turned loose.
While everyone else plundered, Sebastian systematically escorted the surviving members of the Bitterwind crew to the brig and locked them up, lest they get any ideas. When he returned, a certain gangly teenager slouched at his side.
Sebastian said something to Mouse and pointed at Will. The boy’s shoulders drooped as he shuffled over, head bowed. Again, an irritating sentiment needled at Will. If Mouse’s curls were gold instead of brown, he could have mistaken the boy for his younger self.
“Captain,” Mouse said in a meek voice worthy of his nickname. “I
. . . I’m real sorry. It won’t happen again. Thanks for coming to get me.”
Will’s temper sparked as he glared down his nose at Mouse, only partly because of his gross incompetence.
Duaric would have clocked him.
Graven would have had him bludgeoned and discharged.
Perhaps Will should follow suit. He curled his fingers into a fist, hardening his jaw and trying to harden his heart with it.
“What were you told about pickpocketing in Aereasead?” he asked Mouse.
“Not to, Captain.”
“Your foolishness jeopardized the entire crew. I should dismiss you.”
“Yes, Captain. I’m sorry . . .” Mouse’s bottom lip quivered, his hazel eyes glassy and red-rimmed.
Damn.
“You’re on dishwashing duty for six months,” Will decided. “And you won’t disembark the Maelstrom for three. If you step one more toe out of line, you’ll go straight back to Erebar. Understood?”
The threat of returning to the mean, seedy streets of lower Erebar, where Mouse had spent eight of his sixteen years scavenging for scraps, had the desired effect. He nodded, blinking back tears. The offered punishment was mercy, and he recognized it as such.
“Yes, Captain. Thank you. I won’t let you down again.”
“Good. I’ll be taking Portal, as well. Where is it?”
“I don’t know. Ridge took it.”
“Don’t expect it back.”
“No, Captain. I mean, yes, Captain. I mean—”
“Ozzie!” Will cut off Mouse’s stammering by calling for the Maelstrom chef. A portly man covered in tattoos and boasting an impressive mustache stomped over, wearing an apron with his relic, Silverspoon, sticking out of the pocket.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Get Mouse fixed up, will you? He’ll be under you for the next six months.”
“Aye. Come along, lad.” Ozzie clapped a heavy hand on Mouse’s thin shoulder. He nodded toward Will. “Appreciate the extra help.”
Mouse turned to go, leaving Will in peace for all of three seconds before he spun back around. “Wait, Captain. Did you find Amaya?”
Will rubbed his forehead to soothe the beginnings of a headache. “Amaya?”
“Yeah, the girl. You can’t miss her, she’s super pretty—black hair, blue dress. She’s so nice, too.”
“Get to the point.”
Mouse’s perpetually rosy cheeks deepened a shade. “Um, well, I thought she could come with us.” In a smaller voice, he added, “I kind of promised her she could . . .”
“You did what?”
“Please? Ridge took her right before you came and she didn’t come back. I’m worried.”
If there was another prisoner on board, they’d find her. Will couldn’t fathom why someone like the girl Mouse described would be on the Bitterwind . . . but he couldn’t imagine why Corsair had been here, either.
Perhaps the two anomalies were connected.
“We’ll look for her, but no promises.”
Once Mouse left with Ozzie, Will joined his crew in exploring and looting the ship. He picked a few Class One relics off dead pirates, winding his way through the carnage until he came to a door underneath the upper deck. This was the room Corsair had come out of when the skirmish began.
Will tried twisting the knob and pushing, but met resistance from the lock. That was . . . strange. Why take the time to lock a door when under attack?
He leaned against the door and knocked, listening for movement. Feet shuffled inside, and he knocked again.
“Who’s in there?”
No answer.
Gritting his teeth, Will tried again.
“You are speaking to Sky Lord William Lexington. The Bitterwind has surrendered and is now under my command. Open the door.”
Finally, there was an answer—soft and feminine. “I can’t.”
Will frowned. Was this the girl Mouse mentioned?
He summoned Hellsgate, shoving it in the crack between the door and its frame and slashing the lock.
When he swung the door open, he laid eyes on perhaps the most striking woman he’d ever seen—though one glance told him he was seeing her at her worst.
She sat on the floor against the desk with her arms behind her back, wearing a torn blue dress decorated with gold stars and dried blood.
The light streaming past Will’s silhouette revealed her curly hair to be not quite black like Mouse said, but a deep espresso.
It was dirty and tangled, her pale skin smudged with filth.
But it was her eyes Will noticed the most. If anything, her bedraggled appearance only made the vibrant, crystal blue pop even more. They sparkled like Aether—brighter than the sky itself.
Mouse was wrong. She wasn’t pretty; she was stunning.
“You must be Amaya,” he said, repeating the name Mouse had given. She looked surprised that he knew it, but nodded, jumping when he released Hellsgate.
“Amaya Sinclair.” She scanned him, attempting to size him up. Will disliked the feeling, but he was used to it. He was never quite what people expected of a Sky Lord—too young, too clean-cut, too blond. He’d heard it all in the past five years.
“You’re Phineus’s captain?” she asked.
“Phineus? Who the hell is Phineus?”
Amaya’s perplexed frown matched his own, and then he remembered.
“Do you mean Mouse?” No one on the Maelstrom had called Mouse “Phineus” in the two years he’d been aboard.
“No, I mean Phineus. What kind of name is Mouse?”
“One that suits him.”
Will stood back while Amaya struggled to stand. It would have been gentlemanly to help her, but he wasn’t in the habit of pretending to be a gentleman.
When she’d steadied herself, she marched over to him and lifted her chin, settling into a haughty, confident posture Will associated with aristocrats. Her nose was level with his shoulders, but the weight of her presence made her seem taller.
“I’m told you’re our salvation,” Amaya said. She was matter-of-fact, but there was a slight lilt to her voice that almost turned her statement into a question.
She was scared.
In her position, she’d be a fool if she wasn’t.
“For Mouse, yes. For you, that remains to be seen.” Will took another step closer, mostly to see if she’d step back. To her credit, she didn’t. “What brings a lady like yourself to the Bitterwind, Miss Sinclair?”
“Corsair kidnapped me a few days ago,” Amaya said. Her gaze shifted around the room as if searching for him, painful memories behind her eyes. “I imagine he was holding me for ransom. My father is Benjamin Sinclair, the Lord Mayor of Sorrento.”
Will raised one eyebrow. He might not know what was going on, but that wasn’t the reason for her kidnapping. If she’d been captured by common pirates coming off a string of unsuccessful raids, maybe, but Corsair didn’t deal in currencies so common as money.
“You . . . imagine?” he repeated. “Did he have you pen a letter to your father begging him to pay?”
Amaya parted her lips for a heartbeat before closing them again, as if realizing she’d made a mistake.
So she was the type to lie to a Sky Lord, was she?
“Let me tell you one thing, Miss Sinclair,” Will said.
He circled her, assessing every inch of her condition.
“I don’t tolerate lies. So you can tell me the real reason you’re here, and I might be persuaded to help you, or you can lie again, and I can spare myself the trouble and toss you overboard. ”
Will completed his circle and made eye contact once more. He was the one threatening her, yet he couldn’t shake the sensation that she could see right through him with that piercing blue gaze. He squandered the notion the second it arose.
“I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you try again. Why are you here?”
At first, Amaya didn’t answer. She just stared at him, likely trying to decide if she believed he’d dare to throw her overboard.
In truth, Will had only made good on that threat a couple of times, and none of those instances had involved young ladies he’d inherited as captives—but Amaya wouldn’t know that.
“I . . . I have this old necklace they were interested in,” Amaya finally admitted. “They were convinced it does something.”
“A relic?”
“I’m not sure. Corsair seemed to think Ronan Pearce designed it. He was bringing it—me—to Sky Lord Graven in Aereasead.”
Will’s eyebrows drew together. There was . . . a lot to unpack there.
Graven had always been obsessed with Ronan Pearce, seeking out everything tied to him. But only a fraction of the airship inventor’s work was accounted for, the rest of it rumored to be concealed somewhere in the floating Marruvian Mountains with Pearce himself. Or so Graven believed.
But no one could get to the Marruvian Mountains because . . .
Will’s gaze dropped to the neckline of Amaya’s dress in search of the necklace, the gears inside his head turning.
“Did he assign a name to it?” he asked. “The necklace?”
Amaya regarded him with cool, calculating eyes. Will wondered if she was considering going for that second lie and calling his bluff.
Thankfully, she was smart enough not to.
“Skystone,” she said. The word caused Will’s pulse to jump. “He called it the Skystone.”
So Graven had finally found it. Or thought he’d found it.