Celestine stood, eyes wide, seeming more intrigued than frightened. “I’ll be gutter-strummed,” she said. “There’s more to you, boy, than meets the eye.” She looked from Evan to Strangward and back again. “Ah,” she said. “I see it now. I should have known you’d have at least one of the ratlings with you.” She motioned to Evan. “Come here, boy, and let me have a better look at you.”
Evan stood, shaking his head, and the medallion on the back of his neck seethed and burned. He raised his blade again. “You come here, and get a taste of this, witch,” he said.
She laughed. “Magelings should never throw stones at witches.”
The tip of Evan’s blade dropped a little. “Mageling?”
“Didn’t you know? There’s magic in you, boy.”
Evan was so flummoxed that all he could come back with was, “I’m not a boy. You’re not much older than me.”
“That’s true,” she said. “We should be friends, not enemies. What’s your name?”
“Don’t listen to her,” Strangward said. “They don’t call her the Siren for nothing.”
But Celestine stayed focused on Evan. “What’s the matter? Has Captain Strangward been holding out on you? He hasn’t told you his real reasons for bringing you on and keeping you close? He hasn’t told you who you really are?”
All of the questions that had been seething deep inside Evan came boiling to the surface. Such as why he’d been chosen over bigger, stronger street-rats. Why his captain always sent him belowdecks when they encountered another ship. Why he’d never been allowed to join in the fighting.
“At least I’ll tell you the truth,” Celestine said. “You carry Nazari blood—the heartsblood of the empire. You have a magical heritage that goes back centuries. Strangward wants to keep you to himself, but you belong at my side.”
“Maybe he carries your blood, Celly,” Strangward said, “but he’s my blood, too.”
Now it was Evan’s turn to look between his captain and the empress. No. It wasn’t possible. Strangward had plucked him off the streets of Endru, ganging him onto his crew. Evan had gone along, because it was, after all, a bed, and a roof, and food in his belly, with the promise of shares later on.
He’d started out an orphan, and now he had two of his relations fighting over him.
If I’m his blood, why did he never tell me? Did he not want me to make any claim on him? And how, exactly, are we connected?
More importantly, if he had royal blood, and Strangward knew it, why had he kept it secret?
Celly crooked a finger at Evan. “Come here. Let me see how you’re marked.”
Involuntarily, Evan reached for his neckline. Then forced his hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. Captain Strangward has lied to you, and betrayed you. Come serve me, and I’ll teach you all about how to use your magic.”
Evan took a tentative step forward, as if pulled by an invisible tether. Then somebody wrapped a muscled arm around him, pinning his arms to his sides, lifting him so his feet barely touched the deck. He felt the bite of a blade at his throat. It had to be Abhayi, but he couldn’t fathom why.
“No!” Celestine said, panic flickering across her face. The empress extended her hands as if she could reach across the water between them.
“Leave off, Celestine,” Strangward said, his voice flat, “or the boy dies.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Celestine said, licking her lips in a way that suggested she thought he just might. “You wouldn’t murder a child.”
“I would, to keep him out of your hands,” Strangward said.
Evan hung there, frozen, thoughts thrashing around in his head. Was Captain Strangward protecting him from Celestine, or was Celestine rescuing him from Strangward? Right now, he felt like he needed to be rescued from the both of them.
No. He didn’t need rescuing. He needed to rescue himself. He slammed both heels into Abhayi’s knees, hearing a crunch when they connected. Howling, the big man fell forward, his grip loosening enough that Evan was able to roll out of the way before he was pinned underneath. Pushing to his feet, he scooped up Abhayi’s blade and ran forward and up. He swarmed up the sheets onto the foremast, swinging the blade, recklessly slicing lines along the way, climbing higher and higher until he found a stable perch astride the tops’l yard.
“Hold your fire!” the empress shouted at her crew. “If the mageling gets hurt, you’ll answer to me.”
Now everyone was shouting at him—Strangward, Abhayi, the empress. The remains of the crew crowded toward him—all people he knew. Zalazar, who’d shown him the ropes. Entebbe, who’d taught him to swim. Akira, who’d covered for him in the early days, when he thought he’d heave his guts out on his first blue-water crossing. Brody, who’d begun climbing the mast toward him, his face set and grim.
Even Brody.
“Stay back,” Evan warned, thrusting both hands toward them.
They shrank back, raising their arms in defense. Brody stopped climbing and clung there, pressing himself against the mast.
They know, Evan thought. They know part of this story, anyway. They’ve all been keeping secrets. He owed them nothing.
Changing tactics, he took aim at the Siren. He extended both hands, palms out, and made a pushing motion, in the hope that flames might shoot out of his palms. Instead, the Siren shuddered as her mains’l went taut, the masts creaking and complaining as if under the pressure of a violent squall. With the sudden beam reach wind, the vessel heeled over until seawater slopped over the far rail and the empress had to grab hold of a capstan to keep from sliding across the deck and dropping into the ocean.
Just when Evan thought she might capsize, the crew managed to douse the mains’l and the ship righted herself.
Evan stared at his hands, working the fingers, feeling the texture of the air in his grip.
Celestine pulled herself
