Page 73 of The Sea Witch
“Explain it to me.”
He threw the cloth into the basin, and water sloshed. “Six and twenty years I’ve lived, on land and on sea. Not once in all that time have I shown any supernatural ability. And for good reason. I do not, and never will, wield any magic.”
“You—”
“This topic is no longer open for discussion.”
It sounded as though he dressed himself quickly.
She turned around to find him in his shirt and breeches—a disappointment. With a wave of her hand, the web disappeared.
He stalked to his hammock. “Talk all you desire, but there will be no response from me.”
Glowering, he climbed into his hammock, folded his hands across his stomach, and squeezed his eyes shut.
“By all the constellations,” she said on an exhale, “men can be the veriest children.”
He remained obstinately mute.
After using magic to douse one of the lamps, she went to her berth, then pulled off her breeches. She caught him staring at her before he slammed his eyes shut once more.
Shaking her head, she climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the covers. Sleeping was the last thing she wanted to do at that moment, but even with balancing, she needed rest.
A moment later, she rose from her berth and grabbed the manacles.
He didn’t speak, only held his wrists out again. She fastened the bonds around him before returning to her bed.
His breathing didn’t slow, and neither did hers. They both lay awake, late into the night.
Bare tree limbs shook overhead, rattling like bones from the chill January wind. The sky stretched in an uninterrupted span of iron. Columns of smoke rose from the chimneys of low stone cottages in a desperate attempt to beat back the marrow-deep cold. Distantly came the sounds of the ocean pounding against the shore, angry and relentless. Above that rose men’s voices, even more angry and relentless.
Terror plunged through her.
She was in Norham. Today, they would drag Ellen from the prison and hang her from a branch of the oak that stood outside.
I can still stop it.
She hiked up her skirts and ran. Her breath was frozen and harsh in her lungs as she sped as fast as she could toward the heavy stone structure where they held Ellen.
The town whipped by her in a blur of gray and brick. She splashed through icy puddles, uncaring whether her buckled shoes were soaked and ruined. If she pushed herself hard enough, ran fast enough, she could beat the mob and reach Ellen first.
Yet as she neared the prison, hands erupted from the ground. Men’s hands, clutching and demanding. They gripped her skirts and her cloak, holding her back. They were legion, bursting from the ground like grasping vines. She fought against them, yet no matter how she struggled, kicking them away, prying them off of her, there were always more and more. She would never reach Ellen in time.
Her magic could get her there. She summoned the sleek elusiveness of a cat. Twisting, muscular and fluid, she writhed and spun herself away from their clutches. Finally, she was free.
The ground churned beneath her as she sprinted, and then, with a final burst of speed, she reached the prison yard.
The mob gathered in a crowd around the base of the oak tree. And Ellen... Ellen was already gone. Her body swayed in the cold wind.
Alys screamed, sinking to her knees in the mud. She was too late.
Someone gripped her shoulder, pulling her to her feet, leading her away.
“Again,” Ben said, his voice in her ear. “You failed her again.”
Alys shot up, blankets twisting around her as sweat clung to her skin. Her breath was jagged in the quiet of the cabin. Her gaze ricocheted around her quarters, seeking comfort in familiar things. Her desk. The bottle of rum atop a table. A roll of charts propped in the corner.
Ben’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he watched her. He was here, too, just as he’d been in Norham in her dream.
