Page 117 of Vengeance of the Pirate Queen

A tear slides out the side of my eye and catches in my hair. “Would you do something for me?”

“What is it?”

“Kiss me.”

Kearan swallows, and his eyes tilt down toward my mouth. “This isn’t the right moment. Not now when you’re hurt.”

“It might be the only moment.” He still hesitates.

“If I had the strength, I would reach up and initiate it, assuming you want—”

“I want,” he growls, the two words forming a complete sentence of their own. He leans down and presses his lips to mine.

I learn then that there is a difference between physical heat and the electricity of being touched by someone you care for. While I can’t feel the former, I can certainly feel the latter. My skin tingles at all the places we are connected, and while I cannot forget the horrible numbness of my limbs, it is nice to have something else to focus on.

The soft scratchiness of his beard against my cheeks. The texture of his lips placed so gently over mine. The way his thumb moves up and down my neck while he still cradles my face with one hand.

I never would have guessed such a precious moment in time would be possible for me. My tears come more quickly now, because I realize that one moment is not enough. I need more. I need a lifetime of moments like this.

Moments with him.

A shout has Kearan drawing his head back. We look over in time to see Enwen and Taydyn hauling one of the undead up the stairs. It’s moving like a beached fish while Enwen holds the arms and Taydyn grasps the legs. It takes some maneuvering, but they finally get the body thrown over the side of the ship.

“What’s that about?” Kearan asks them.

“They’re not staying dead,” Enwen says. “Rendering the muscles useless isn’t working anymore. Their very bones are being moved for them. We can’t clear them out of the room with the capstan. Miss Dimella says to toss them over and keep watch so they don’t reboard.”

They both disappear back below. Another two men come up top carrying another wriggling undead.

“They’re not staying dead?” I repeat aloud. “But that would mean—”

“He’s been playing with us this whole time,” Kearan says. “Making us feel like we had hope and a sense of control. But we can’t render his armies useless. It’s never been possible.”

And that’s why all those skeletons were encased in ice. All he needs are bones.

“You need to go help them,” I say. “He’s getting too close. Please. Just set me down.”

Kearan isn’t happy about it, but he listens, as he’s always done. “I’ll find out what’s holding up Iskirra.” He sets me against the crate in a sitting position so I have a view of the deck and the sea. He gives me one last, longing look before running downstairs.

I wonder if he suspects, as I do, that perhaps Iskirra isn’t with us anymore. If the undead cannot be rendered useless, then there’s no way I have a full crew still alive downstairs. My heart falls at the thought, and I curse this wound that’s preventing me from moving.

I watch the churning water grow ever closer. A musket shot away now. They’ll be upon us within the minute. But as I count my breaths and try not to think on the pain in my torso, the ship doesn’t move. I don’t hear chains rising out of the water or the cranking of the capstan.

And though the remaining fighters on the main deck do their best to keep the bodies that have been thrown over from resurfacing, they can do nothing when a tower of bodies lunges out of the sea. Threydan climbs a ladder made from undead bodies and hauls himself over the ship.

King of the Undersea, indeed.

The dead follow him aboard.

They sweep through the ship like a tide, grabbing all in their path, holding them immobile, just as they did at our camp.

Threydan’s eyes move over the boat, and I know he’s seeing with more than just his own vision. He’s also taking in all that the dead see and hear. When his eyes land on me, I stiffen, but I don’t move. If I’m going to expend any energy, it has to be at the right moment.

Still barefoot, Threydan approaches me, despite my crew trying to reach me first. I admire their efforts, but now is the time to stand down. The dead keep them held in place, clearing a path for Threydan to reach me.

I feel for the buckle at my chest, not sure yet if I mean to undo it and speed up my end or reinforce it so I can be here for whatever comes next. It is a futile attempt. My fingers cannot grip anything properly at the moment.

Threydan stares down at me, eyeing the injury and my fumbling fingers. “Beloved, you are dying,” he says.

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