Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(116)

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” He eats it himself and moves away.

Emotion threatens to overwhelm me again, and I have to take a deep breath. I probably should have taken the fruit. It makes no sense to lose my strength when I might need it later.

Then again, the ship is rocking in the strong current, the wind beating the sails so hard that the rigging rattles with every gust. The only thing worse than being tied with my hands behind my back would be the prospect of vomiting on myself in this position. Despite the fact that we’re bound on the deck, the crew has been working tirelessly, moving sails and tying ropes and adjusting chains when Gwyn calls orders.

I make the mistake of looking out at the ocean just as a swell of seawater comes over the side, and for a brief second, I feel like I’m staring straight into the ocean, like the only thing keeping me in the boat is the rope binding my wrists.

Then the boat rights itself, and I’m staring at a wildly bobbing horizon.

One of those brigantines is definitely closer.

A whistle sounds from high overhead, and I crane my neck back. Up at the top of the mast, Marchon clings to the narrowest part of the rigging, where Corrick nearly fell. I’m almost instantly dizzy, but he’s got legs wrapped through the ropes, holding him in place.

“Cap!” he yells, and even in the wind, I can hear the urgency in his voice. “Get your spyglass.”

The ocean swells again, and water splashes onto the deck. My breath catches.

“Is that normal?” I call to anyone nearby.

Tor looks over from where he’s winding rope around a cleat. He laughs. “Oh, Chaos Isle gets a lot worse than that, miss.”

Great.

Rian strides across the deck to fetch a spyglass from his quarters. He takes one quick look, then swears. “Brock!” he calls. “Roll those cannons. Tor! Be ready to man the bilge pump.” The ocean swells again, and even Rian has to grab hold of the rigging. Several of the men shout as the ship tilts in the churning tide.

But a new worry has lodged in my thoughts. Cannons. “What’s happening?” I demand, yanking at my bindings. “Why are you rolling cannons?”

“Because they are rolling cannons.” He looks past me, to where Corrick must be tethered. “That ship doesn’t seem overly friendly now, Your Highness.”

“Maybe they know you’re a lying bastard,” Corrick calls back.

My heart skips to hear his voice sound so strong.

“If you let me go,” Corrick says, “we could try to hail them. I can speak on your behalf.”

Rian seems to consider this for a fraction of a second. “I could never trust you.”

“You can trust that I don’t want to drown with my hands tied to your mast.”

“Please,” I call. I think of the moment in the darkened hallway, when he was going to kill Rocco. Gwyn was urging him to do it, but then he didn’t.

Because I asked.

Corrick was right: I do have the captain’s ear. “Please, Rian,” I beg. “Think of your crew.”

He stares back at me, his stormy eyes full. “I always think of my crew.” He sighs tightly, then unhooks his fingers from the rigging. He draws a dagger from his belt.

I don’t know what that means, whether he’s going to untie Corrick or something else.

I don’t get the chance to ask. A loud crack echoes across the sea, just as Marchon leaps down to the deck. “Cannonball!” he shouts.

Just as the ball of black steel slams right into him, driving the man straight through the deck in an explosion of blood and splintered wood.

I’m staring, aghast, when Bella starts laughing hysterically.

“Oh, Rian,” she says between bursts of laughter. “I think this is going to be even better than what my father would have planned.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Corrick

Noise is everywhere at once, the crew shouting, people screaming, cannons booming. I watched Marchon get driven through the deck, torn apart by splintering wood, and the scent of blood and smoke in the air churns my stomach. It’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.

“Rian!” I shout. “Rian, cut us loose!”

He doesn’t answer. No one answers.

“Tessa!” I call.

Nothing. So many people are shouting conflicting orders that I can’t hear my own thoughts. All the while, Bella is laughing hysterically. The ship dips and sways, water splashing over the edge.

I swear I see one of the crewmen go over the railing.

Maybe these bindings aren’t bad after all.

But then I see Lochlan come up from below, crawling along the deck. The ship is rocking so forcefully that he can’t stay on his feet. Another cannonball comes screaming through the air, and men cry out—but this one smashes through the railing to land in the water below.

Lochlan keeps crawling across the deck. His jaw is tight, his face a mask of determination. His eyes look up and meet mine.

And then I realize he has a dagger in one hand.

My chest clenches tight. I’m lashed to the mast. A sitting duck.

I hold my breath. The ship pitches wildly in the current, but he stays low to the deck and keeps crawling.

“Rocco,” I say. “Thank you for your service.”