Page 122 of Vengeance of the Pirate Queen

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he says, “but as I recall, I was actually quite good at it.”

And then he moves.Reallymoves this time.

Before I can blink, he’s under my guard, and his sword is embedded in my gut. It is the oddest sensation. I can feel the sword against my innards. The steel caresses my intestines and severs my skin. Yet there is no pain. No fear. Because I am not in danger.

That knowledge is heady.

Threydan withdraws his sword, and I watch as my skin heals itself. I could get used to that. No pain. But I cling to the reminder that I didn’t want this. It was forced upon me by this man. He means to control me, and I cannot allow it.

I leap at Threydan, slashing right and left. He dodges both, but he can’t go far. The undead only leave a small ten-by-ten-foot section of deck surrounding the mainmast for us to occupy, my crew still held within their grasps.

With his next attack, our swords meet in the middle, and Threydan uses his full weight to shove me backward. I collide with wet dead bodies, but they might as well be a brick wall for how much give they have. Threydan’s will still pushes against mine in an attempt to control them.

I bounce off the undead and hit the floor. Normally, I’d ache from the bruising I’d take after such a fall, but of course, there is nothing.

I’ve had many lifetimes’ worth of pain, and I can’t deny that there’s a part of me that thrills at never having to experience it again.

But when I look up, I find Kearan staring down at me from where he’s pinned in place. He’s a reminder that I haven’t had a lifetime’s worth of love yet. His eyes say everything. They encourage me, show me that I hold meaning for him, show me that I have his trust and confidence.

A deep pressure streaks across my face, and my vision goes dark. I blink my eyes furiously as liquid fills them.

“Stop looking at him,” Threydan says, and I realize that he just slashed me across my open eyes. When the blood finally clears and my vision returns, Threydan is standing before me. “You’re with me now. Don’t forget it. I made you this way. I’m what’s healing you. You’remine.” He holds out a hand to me, thinking to help me to my feet, and I swipe at it with my rapier.

Three of his fingers fall to the deck in a heap of blood. Threydan sighs as he turns the empty sockets toward his face for examination. No sooner has he done so than fresh fingers sprout in their proper places.

He wiggles his new digits in my direction.

I rise slowly, rubbing at my eyes, even though there’s no need. It is a reflex more than anything else.

“Done yet?” Threydan asks.

“I’ve barely started.”

I launch myself at him.

Time ceases to be measured by seconds and minutes. It is counted by drops of blood and slashes of the sword. By the tiring of muscles. The encouragement and gasps from my crew.

We carry on for the better part of an hour.

Threydan is not in as good of physical condition as I am, having slept for a thousand years, but the panaceum sustains us both far longer than mortal muscles should allow.

My advantages have counted for naught.

I’ve sliced the arteries in both his legs. He’s lost an ear, the tip of his nose, and more fingers—each of which grew back shortly after they were separated from the rest of his body. It doesn’t matter what I do or how I cut him. That beating artifact in his heart keeps us both alive.

But tire, we eventually do.

We both collapse to the ground, arms like liquid, legs like rocks. The undead don’t move an inch, not while we both try to take control of them. Threydan has not stopped his mental assault once and neither have I.

“Shall we call it a tie?” Threydan asks, his voice slowed considerably from the exertion.

“No. This is only a respite.”

He manages to laugh. “And how long will you keep fighting?”

“Forever. That’s how long I’ll protect those I’m sworn to defend.”

“Not likely. The panaceum will make you forget them soon enough.”

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