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  Sally had left, and Ebba wanted to leak a tear or two in private.

  “I’ll go up again,” Peg-leg announced.

  He would?

  Her father used to be a rigger until the depraved captain of Eternal had ordered his leg amputated in petty revenge. Minus a leg, carrying a past filled with horrific abuse, and with the taint still in him driving his thoughts to black places, her father only recently regained the confidence to climb the shrouds.

  He’d gone up once, and Ebba knew the more he climbed to the nest, the more he’d heal.

  Mouth drying, she rushed to say, “That be a great idea, Peg-leg.”

  “What’s going on?” Caspian said, exiting the bilge door.

  “I’m goin’ to climb the shrouds,” Peg-leg told him. “Locks, did ye get a chance to make me that foot?”

  Locks nodded. “Aye, it be below deck. I’ll grab it.”

  The ship carpenter disappeared into the hold, and everyone’s gaze dropped to Peg-leg’s fake leg.

  “Thought a wider surface would be makin’ it easier to climb,” he said defensively.

  Caspian’s breath hitched in his throat. “A missing limb doesn’t change a thing, Sir Pirate?”

  Peg-leg winked at him. “Nay, lad. A missin’ limb doesn’t stop ye from a thing.”

  Locks returned and knelt to fit the end of Peg-leg’s peg into a deep groove on an otherwise flat strip of wood about the length of a foot.

  Stubby clapped the cook on the back. “Up ye get then, matey. We’ll ready the ship and figure out where to go.”

  Testing his new foot a few times, Peg-leg then ambled to the rigging. Ebba scowled at Jagger, waiting until he released the ropes before doing so herself.

  The oversized pirate walked to the mast, and she trailed after him toward Caspian.

  She stood on the prince’s right, patting her belt. “Hold on, I put the scio down somewhere.”

  “You tied it to Pillage again, my dear,” Barrels reminded her.

  Oh, aye. She’d initially wanted to see if the scio helped her talk to the ship cat. But when his meows continued to just be meows—stupid cat—Ebba had decided to re-test the feline as a hiding place. She’d used the scio so he wouldn’t gouge holes in the deck again—using the dynami last time hadn’t been such a great idea.

  Blast. Pillage could be anywhere. Whenever she didn’t want to find him, he was around. As soon as she did, he tucked himself into some obscure corner of the hold. The ship cat did it on purpose, she was certain.

  “Where be the dynami? I’ll use that instead,” she said. They could use any three parts of the root to find the way to the next piece.

  Barrels blew out a breath. “I’ll go find the scio.” No one answered, and he exhaled loudly again, leaving through the bilge door.

  “Anyone have the dynami?” she called across deck.

  “Here, have the purgium. I’ll go search for Pillage as well,” Caspian replied.

  From the starboard bulwark, Plank called, “Aye.” He reached under the sash holding his pistols to his chest. He drew out the dynami. “Here ye go.”

  Caspian handed her the purgium as Plank tossed her the dynami. Flustered, Ebba dropped the healing tube to catch the dynami but managed to miss that too.

  Both parts rolled across the deck, and everyone immediately started after them—though the tubes were too big to be lost out the scuppers.

  The bilge door crashed open.

  Ebba jumped and whirled about, clutching her chest.

  “She stole my bloody cat,” Barrels shouted.

  Plank asked, “What?”

  “That sprite stole Pillage. I found the scio on my desk with a note saying the queen has ‘borrowed Pillage to act as her noble steed.’”

  No one on the ship really liked Pillage aside from Barrels, but Ebba pushed down her bubbling laughter. “That be terrible.”

  Plank snorted. “Ye need to put a mite more effort into that, little nymph.”

  “That be terrible!” she cried.

  Plank nodded. “Better.”

  Caspian threw her an amused look, the corners of his lips quirking, and she flashed a grin back.

  “Laugh if you will, but I consider this a gross misdemeanor after the hospitality we afforded her,” Barrels snapped, some of his peppered hair escaping the leather tie he used to hold the strands back.

  Fancy words. Ebba took them to mean her father was greatly peeved.

  “She was your pet, Ebba-Viva Fairisles,” he continued. “I expect you to put things to rights.”

  They were in the Dynami, so she felt pretty safe agreeing to do so. “Sure thing. Wait, has Sal been able to write this whole time?”

  “I wrote the note for her,” Jagger told them, drawing everything to a screeching halt. “She dictated usin’ the scio.”

  “You knew?” Barrels screeched, rounding on the pirate.

  Jagger shrugged a shoulder. “Aye.”

  Ebba snickered, taking a large step away from him.

  “Oopsie,” Grubby exclaimed from directly behind her. “Look what ye dropped.”

  She peered over her shoulder to where he stood across deck. Ebba whipped fully around as Grubby bent down, his fingers stretching to the purgium and the dynami.

  “No matter,” he said happily.

  “Nay, Grubby,” Ebba choked out. “Don’t touch them.”

  Too late.

  White light exploded.

  Two

  Ebba came awake, grimacing at the aches riddling her body. Her eyelids were sore. Was that a thing?

  Someone squeezed her hand tight. “You’re okay, Ebba.”

  She looked through bleary eyes at Caspian. He’d called her Ebba, not Mistress Pirate.

  “What happened?” Her other fathers were down here. Everyone but Locks and Peg-leg.

  The prince was pale, his eyes red-rimmed as though he hadn’t slept a wink. “You don’t remember Grubby touching two parts at once?”

  Gasping, she sat bolt upright in her hammock. “Grubby!”

  Ebba remembered the flash of white light. The force of the explosion had thrown her clean across the deck. But that was the least of her concerns.

  Grubby was tainted and he’d touched the purgium. They’d been warned months ago that none of her fathers could ever touch the healing tube. The purgium would heal their taint, and there was no telling if they’d survive the sacrifice demanded by the part. When Caspian touched the healing tube while tainted, he lost an entire arm. He’d been wounded and infected with the taint, but her fathers had been influenced by a weaker taint for a lot longer.

  Was her father gone? She couldn’t bear it if her father was gone. Darkness wavered at the corners of her mind, ready to descend, and Ebba dragged in a stuttering breath. “Grubby?”

  Caspian hurried to reassure her. “Yes, Ebba. Grubby is okay.”

  “He be safe, lass,” Stubby said from where he leaned against a hammock post.

  The words penetrated whatever fog had surrounded her and she clawed the rest of the way back to the surface by herself, shaking her head to be rid of the all-consuming terror.

  “Grubby’s okay,” she repeated thickly, looking at the prince and returning the gripping pressure of his hand like he was the only tether in a storm.

  “He’s . . . breathing.”

  “I need to see him.” Ebba let go of the prince and tried to stand.

  Plank stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Hold on, little nymph. Ye had a nasty knock to the head.”

  She relaxed back down. “I did?” Reaching around, Ebba palpated her skull, wincing when she found the tender spot. “How long was I out?”

  “Three days,” Barrels told her.

  Three days? But her head wasn’t even that sore. “Really? Ye didn’t give me anythin’ to help me sleep?”

  “Not a thing,” her eldest father replied.

  She stood, this time evading Peg-leg’s attempt to keep her in the hammock. If Ebba had slept for three days; so had Gr
ubby. He wasn’t fine.

  Her fathers parted for her, and she dropped next to Grubby’s hammock, trying to control the burning ball in her throat.

  His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. “Why isn’t he awake?” she asked, placing her hands either side of his pale face.

  All of the crew were tanned from the sun. Ebba’s tribal skin was extra dark, but none of them were pale. No pirate would be, so why was Grubby’s face drained of all color? He looked. . . .

  Ebba’s heart galloped in her chest. She couldn’t even think the word without panic grasping her tight.

  “No idea, lass,” Locks answered, kneeling beside her. He settled his fingers on Grubby’s wrist. “The blast threw him clear into the ocean. Took us a while to get out there and bring him in, and by then, he’d drank a fair amount o’ water. His heart was still goin’, though.” He sat back, lips pressed tight.

  A vision of Grubby face down in the water flashed before her eyes, and Ebba released a shaking breath. “He be a selkie. He can breathe underwater.”

  Silence reigned.

  “Well, yes.” Barrels broke it. “Though recalling that took us a day . . . or two.”

  Ebba swallowed hard, not shifting her eyes from Grubby’s face. “What did the purgium take from him in exchange for healin’ the taint?”

  Plank rested a hand on her shoulder. “No notion. We hope it’ll just make him sleep a few days. But there ain’t no way o’ tellin’ until he wakes.”

  Barrels spoke quietly. “We don’t want to risk touching him with the purgium again. We have no idea what a double-healing would do. The purgium demanded this sacrifice, after all.”

  “Aye, we can’t touch him a second time,” she said, knowing in her gut that wasn’t the way.

  Ebba hung her head. She’d dropped the purgium and didn’t pick it up straightaway. Even knowing it was dangerous to leave such things lying about with Grubby onboard. With any of her fathers onboard.

  “We’ll have to wait out whatever it is,” Stubby said, a tremble in his voice. He sucked in a breath. “Keep him warm and watered.”

  Lifting her head, Ebba studied the boatswain. Out of all of them, he looked the worst. His blue eyes were dull, his gray curls limp and disheveled.

  Stubby caught her studying him and averted his gaze to the wooden floor.

  For the first time, Ebba noticed the rolling of the ship. “We’re movin’.”

  “Aye,” said Stubby with a bite. “I told them we shouldn’t shift until ye were both awake and well.” His chest heaved, and he clenched his jaw so tight Ebba swore she could hear his back teeth grinding.

  Stubby was acting . . . strangely. Her eyes strayed to Plank, who had a knowing gleam in his eyes.

  Barrels cleared his throat. “We understand you felt strongly about remaining anchored until everyone was better, but that is not the way this ship runs. It’s a voting system. Medusa told us the pillars would be on their way. Remaining anchored by her lair put everyone in danger, including Grubby and Ebba.”

  Stubby cursed and, whirling, stalked to the ladder. He climbed to the top, slamming the bilge door shut behind him.

  Why was he taking Grubby’s injuries to heart?

  Ebba returned her stare to her pale, unconscious father. “There must be sumpin’ we can do to help him.”

  “Come now, little nymph,” Plank said, helping her stand. “Grubby will be okay—”

  Turning shining eyes on him, she asked, “How do ye know?”

  “Because he’s breathin’ when he might not’ve been. There be a reason for that.”

  That shouldn’t make sense, but it did. Her entire life had been based on believing things without a reason. And though Ebba now knew there was a place for truth, maybe there was also a place for believing in things because of hope.

  She sat on Peg-leg’s hammock, directly opposite Grubby. She’d stick by his side until he woke.

  He would wake.

  “So where are we headed?” she asked in a bid to distract herself from worry. “Ye used me to find the way to the next part while I was out o’ it, I’m s’posin’?”

  Caspian cast her a confused glance. “How did you guess that?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Makes sense.”

  “Well, yes,” he admitted, a wrinkle between his brows. “We did.”

  “Jagger and Caspian tried to find the direction without you. We wondered if finding the direction might depend more on Jagger—seeing as he’s the immune,” said Barrels.

  A small part of her felt a hollow pang at the thought she might not be needed—or may not be one of the three watchers. In the brief time she, Jagger, and Caspian had known about their greater role in saving the realm, part of her had grown used to thinking there might be a reason she was on this quest. That there might be an explanation for this madness thrust upon them. She’d been chosen somehow or possessed something special. Her reaction to Barrels’ words surprised her. From the outset, she’d longed for the return of how things used to be, so the presence of any disappointment, no matter how tiny, was almost shocking.

  “The theory was disproved,” Barrels continued. “Finding the way depends on the three of you. We thought you wouldn’t mind if we pressed on, considering everything. . . .”

  “Nay, I don’t mind.” She was just surprised Jagger had ventured below deck. There was little else the pirate feared after his stint with Malice.

  “Northwest,” Plank answered before she could ask her next question. “Jagger be up in the crow’s nest, keepin’ a lookout.”

  Her father froze as she narrowed her eyes.

  Jagger thought he could slip into the nest while she was injured, did he? Ebba wouldn’t be budging from Grubby’s side, but there would be hell to pay when she ventured to the main deck.

  “What lies northwest?” she asked, trying to draw up a visual of the only Dynami Sea map in their possession.

  “Not a thing.” Caspian shook his head. “At least, not on our map.”

  Ebba nodded, gripping her trembling hands together. Distracting herself wasn’t working. Not one bit.

  Grubby lying there so still made every horrible thing that had happened in recent months seem like a tiny scare. To think that her youngest father—any of her fathers—could have died struck a bone-deep, open-mouthed horror within her. The feeling was the worst experience of her life to date. Even more horrifying than having the taint—because she could handle anything as long as her fathers were whole.

  She wanted to cling to her six fathers and never let go. For if she ever had to let them go, doom would work its swift misery. Her fear of being parted from them didn’t make a lick of sense. From what Ebba could see, her reaction wasn’t normal. But that didn’t stop the terror from shaking her until her teeth rattled.

  “Grubs nearly died because I dropped the parts and left them lyin’ around,” she said, hanging her head.

  Locks sat beside her and wrapped an arm tight about her shoulders. “Nay, I’d be blamin’ Plank. That was a shite throw.”

  “It was,” Plank immediately agreed.

  Ebba appreciated their attempt to make her feel better. She rubbed her temples, swinging gently in the hammock. “I just can’t think about doin’ anythin’ until he opens his eyes.”

  “Aye, lass,” Stubby choked out. “I know. But the ship must be sailed. And a pirate must be at their best if they mean to care for another.”

  Locks released her and guided Ebba down to lie in the hammock. “Ye sleep now, Ebba-Viva. Grubby will be right here. We know where we’re headed. Ye just leave the rest to us.”

  She turned on her side and stared across at her unconscious father. Truthfully, if they’d asked her to help in some way, Ebba wasn’t sure she could have.

  Grubby had to wake up.

  Ebba couldn’t think of what she’d become if he didn’t.

  Three

  Someone shook her shoulder gently. “Ye need to eat, little nymph.”

  Ebba blinked up at Plank and
turned her head to check on Grubby in the hammock opposite.

  “Did he wake while I slept?” she rasped.

  “Nay, but he be a scant bit better,” Plank said cheerfully.

  Too cheerfully.

  She rubbed her eyes and gave Grubby another once-over. “He still looks the same.” His breathing was an even, easy pace. His skin, chalk white. It was as though the purgium had placed him in a sleep he might never wake from.

  She jolted at a rattled snore from Grubby’s other side.

  Ebba squinted across Grubby at where Stubby slept in a sitting position, head resting back against a post.

  “Has Stubby left his side?” she asked.

  “Nay. And I wouldn’t think he’d be inclined to.”

  Plank tilted his head to the hold. Swinging up, Ebba followed him through the narrow passage to the kitchen shoved in the front corner.

  She sat on a barrel and accepted a goblet of grog from him, waiting as he lifted a pot lid and sniffed.

  “Sausage stew or sumpin’ close,” he muttered.

  She took a plate of the stew from him, listening as he began humming his favorite daydreaming tune.

  “Why is Stubby so upset about Grubby?” she asked after draining her drink.

  Plank whisked away her empty goblet and filled it again, sipping from it before he answered. “He was upset about yer injury too. He held it together for a couple o’ days but fell apart on the third. And he fell apart for the same reason Peg-leg hadn’t climbed the riggin’ in twenty years. For the same reason Barrels never returned to Exosia.”

  “It has to do with what happened to him while ye sailed under Cannon,” she stated, having already come to that conclusion herself.

  She’d never seen Stubby react to anything so strongly. Nothing except damage to the ship drew him to displays of high emotion. And what he’d displayed over Grubby’s injury was far more than that.