Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(61)

Heat pounded behind Merik’s eyeballs. Safiya would open her own skin. She would spill blood, and Merik would lose everything he’d worked for. Somehow, she knew what the contract said, and she was testing him.

So Merik lowered his blade.

Then he gave into his rage. The winds swept free, blasted over his sailors. “Kullen! Take her air!”

Safiya’s face drained of blood. “Coward!” she snarled. “Selfish coward!” She attacked.

Merik barely had enough time to launch himself backward toward his cabin before her blade slashed the air where his head had been.

He flew toward the quarterdeck, the word “coward” hitting his ears from all directions. It writhed from his sailors’ lips, and as he lowered to the deck, he found Kullen’s eyes in the crowd. The first mate shook his head—a sign that he would not help this time.

Then Merik understood why: his father’s sailors only saw a woman—a Cartorran woman at that—who’d called their new admiral a “coward.” If Vivia or Serafin were leading this ship, then justice would be swift, thorough, and violent. These men expected that. Demanded it.

And it wasn’t as if they knew about the Hasstrel contract.

Which meant Merik was going to have to fight Safiya fon Hasstrel, and he would have to do it without spilling her blood.

Merik’s feet touched down, and there was the girl, hurtling toward him with her braid flying behind. Sailors dispersed from her path, their attention on what would come next.

Then Safiya was before him, cutlass arching out. Merik met it with his own. Sparks blazed along the steel—this girl was strong. He needed to get the blades out of this fight as soon as possible. Even the slightest nick could be too much for the contract.

Another hacking blow from the girl. Merik parried, but his back was against his cabin. Worse, the world was angling sharply left, and the ship was in that pausing stillness between heaves.

The girl used that inertia, and by the Wells, she was fast. One slash became two. Three. Four—

But there. The ship lurched the other way, and her knees wobbled. She had to widen her stance before unfurling her next attack.

Merik was ready. When her blade swung high, he ducked low. Her sword thunked into the wall, and Merik tackled her. Yet the instant she was over his shoulder, her fists hammered into his kidneys. Into his spine.

His grip loosened, and the ship rocked. He felt his balance go. She’d hit the deck headfirst.

So he tapped into his Windwitchery. Air gusted beneath the girl, flinging her torso high and returning Merik’s balance … until she wrestled fully upright onto his shoulder and kneed him in the ribs.

He doubled over—he couldn’t help it. Planks zoomed toward his face.

His magic exploded. In a cyclone of power, he and the domna blasted off the deck. They spun. They tumbled. The world blurred until they were above the masts. Wind whipped around them, under them. Safiya hardly seemed to notice how high they were.

Merik tried to control the power beneath his skin. In his lungs. But there was no denying that the girl awakened this rage inside him. His witchery no longer responded to him but to her.

Her fist launched at Merik’s face. He had just enough time to block it before her foot hooked behind his ankle. She whipped him backward—her body spinning with his until they were upside down. Until all he saw was sailcloth and rigging and Safiya’s fists thrashing in.

Merik countered, but he pushed too hard—or maybe his witchery did. Either way, she went twirling out and away from the sails. Then she left Merik’s winds entirely and plummeted, headfirst, toward a hundred gaping sailors.

Merik thrust a magicked wind beneath her, propelling her back his way. Flipping her—and himself—right side up. The ocean and the rigging streamed through his vision.

Then Safiya kicked him. Right in the gut.

His breath thundered out. His magic choked off.

He and the domna fell.

Merik had just enough time to angle his body beneath her and think, This will hurt, when his back hit the deck.

No … that wasn’t the deck. That was a swirl of wind. Kullen was slowing their speed, before—

Merik slammed onto the wood with a brain-rattling crack! The girl toppled onto him, crushing his lungs and ribs.

Despite the pain and the shock, Merik took his chance while he had it. He hooked his knees into hers and flipped her beneath him. Then he planted his hands on either side of her head and glared down. “Are you finished?”

Her chest heaved. Her cheeks were sunset red, but her eyes were gleaming and sharp. “Never,” she panted. “Not until you go ashore.”

“Then I will put you in chains.” Merik shifted as if to rise, but she clutched his shirt and yanked. His elbows caved; he fell flat against her, noses almost touching.

“You don’t … fight fair.” Her ribs bowed into his with each gasping breath. “Fight me … again. Without magic.”

“Did I hurt your pride?” He chuckled roughly and dipped his mouth toward her ear. His nose grazed down her cheek. “Even without my winds,” he whispered, “you would lose.”

Before she could respond, Merik rolled off her and shoved to his feet. “Take her below and chain her!”

Safiya tried to scramble up, but two sailors—men from Merik’s original, loyal crew—were already upon her. She wrestled and roared, but when Kullen stepped stonily to her side, she stopped fighting—although she didn’t stop shouting. “I hope you burn in hell! Your first mate and your crew—I hope you all burn!”