Page 49 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
Over the next several days, the racing ship took form and became reality. Mai had to endure the critique of Flay and Jazadri, explain her thoughts behind each aspect of the design, and submit to alterations when they could not be convinced. She tried to be flexible; after all, they’d lived at sea for years. But on a few points she would not relent, and after inspecting her face, Flay nodded and said, “As you wish, Sparrow. I’ll trust your brilliance.”
They were all trusting her “brilliance.” The future of theWind’s Favorand its entire crew lay in her hands, and the strain of that knowledge tightened inside Mai each day. She spent hours in the warehouse, watching the build, advising and aiding, learning techniques she’d never imagined from the experienced builders Flay had hired. She helped with sawing and sanding, bolting and tarring. She oversaw the crafting and installation of the weapons she’d designed, too—a bracketed crossbow-like machine that could shoot multiple giant darts, a small cannon for the prow, another cannon with a secret purpose, and a launcher that spewed compacted balls of netting into the water to tangle rudders and slow down other ships.
“I want to be on board during the Race,” she told Flay, as they stood side by side watching the painters adding the final touches. One of the women was laying the nameKestrelonto the boat’s hull with swirling brushstrokes.
“Your cousin would kill me if I let you participate,” Flay said.
“She isn’t my mother, or my guardian. I’m a grown woman.”
“Torrent and tide.” He ruffled his blond hair, sighing. “Don’t put me between the two of you. You can’t swim, Sparrow. And you said there will be monsters—”
“Which is why I need to be on board. I’ve seen the monsters, how they move. I can help you fight them.”
“You already have, by designing this. And those weapons—I’ve never seen anything quite like them. Where do you get your ideas, Sparrow?”
“I used to think of ways to kill the mermaids,” Mai admitted. “Nothing that was ever practical for the enormous scope of the threat. But I came up with a lot of weapons. Most of them I never showed to anyone, not even Kestra.” Her fingers twitched, unease rolling through her as she thought of Feral and the designs she’d given him. What if he used them for the Race? What if someone recognized her style in the look and function of those weapons?
Surely no one would.
“Rake saw the monsters, too,” said Flay soberly. “He can tell me what I need to know during the Race. I’m taking him along, with Baz and Corklan. You’ve done your part for this round, Sparrow.”
Mai’s fingers curled tight, her nails pressing into her palms. She should be glad Flay had given her such liberty with the ship’s design. She should be grateful he saw her talent, the genius so few had recognized back home. But she didn’t like being used for her gifts and then set aside. Whether he meant to or not, Flay was doing exactly that. He truly wanted to protect her, for her own sake and Kestra’s. But Mai could hardly bear the thought of being on the sidelines again. The ache she’d felt weeks ago, when they’d sailed away to find the Great Entity without her—it had pierced deep, a betrayal that lingered even now, souring her soul.
But now, as then, she had no choice. On the day of the race, she would be standing on some high point with Kestra, watching the ship she had designed skim the waves without her.
“Cheer up, Sparrow.” Flay wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. “As soon as this beauty is ready, I’ll take you out for a test voyage.”
14
Rake had felt the eyes of a crowd on him before, back on Kiken Island when the villagers of Anchel had first discovered his partnership with Kestra and Flay.
But that crowd had been tiny compared to the audience staring at him now.
People lined the entire length of the seaside boardwalk, standing several bodies deep, a multicolored mass. They clustered on balconies and rooftops, squeezed onto the tops of carriages, stood on towers of crates in the shipping yards. Pennants, large and small, snapped and waved from hundreds of upraised hands. Each pennant corresponded with the sail color of a boat competing in the race.
TheKestrel’s sail color was bright blue, blue as the sky overhead, blue as Flay’s eyes.
Rake could not help staring at the young captain. He was shirtless, his lean muscled torso gleaming bronze in the sun. His right hand gripped the wheel, while the remainder of his left wrist was encased in a leather covering Mai had designed for the occasion. He’d pulled back his golden hair into a low knot, below the curling brim of his captain’s hat, and a sword dangled from his belt. He looked every inch the magnificent, vibrant man Rake had seen poised on the railing of theWind’s Favorweeks ago—a lifetime ago.
“We’ll be going all the way around the island. Ten targets to hit,” Flay was saying. “The other ships will try to knock us out of this race, but we’re not going to let that happen, even if it means Goldfish has to jump out and push us.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Right, Rake?”
“Yes, Captain.” Rake adjusted his tinted goggles. The rosy hue of their lenses made the blues of the world so much brighter.
“Graves is our steadiest hand—he’ll be painting the targets,” Flay continued. “Corklan is on sails, and Baz is on weapons. Rake, you’ll pull that rope like I showed you, and stand by to assist on sails or guns.”
Rake bowed his head briefly in assent. Kestra had drawn him aside before the race and whispered, “Flay may need help steering. And he may be too proud to admit it, so watch him and lend a hand if you think he needs one, even before he asks. There’s too much riding on this for his pride to get in the way.”
Rake had promised. And then he had moved away from Kestra, without feeling the temptation to sniff her lustrous hair or stroke the softness of her thick curves. He was proud of himself. He was learning to let Kestra and Flay belong to each other.
He could admire without lusting, he thought, as his eyes skimmed Flay’s body. He wanted Flay’s corded neck, without gills to mar its slope. He wanted Flay’s fingers, clawless and strong, with rounded ends that could caress a woman without hurting her.
As the captain took off his hat and let the breeze toss his hair, Rake wanted the round curl of Flay’s ear and his human-sized mouth with its square white teeth.
Rake’s gaze shifted, latching onto the physik Graves, lean and gray as always. He carried shadow with him, even under the sun. And he was watching Rake, eyes narrowed.
It was Graves who had torn Rake’s heart with cruel words and prompted him to leap into the sea and carry the Queens to their doom in the maw of the Great Entity. The physik likely wished Rake had stayed dead.
Rake lifted his chin and returned his attention to the rope. He centered himself with the familiar scent of salt, with the fishy odor wafting from fishing vessels moored at the docks. He didn’t like the pressing heat of the sun, but the whip of fresh wind against his face made it endurable.
