Petrina looked at Selene and shrugged. Nothing bothered this woman.
They’d talked about the possibility of Selene racing instead—they couldn’t predict how the conversation would go. They’d even discussed what sorts of torture they’d have to endure if this went awry and deemed it worth the risk.
However, they’d never considered Thorne would be so keen to oblige, and Selene didn’t like it.
Selene, free of the manacles, rubbed her raw wrists. “I guess we’re doing this, then.”
Petrina opened her arms and spun for the crew. “I hope you’re all entertained.”
Cheers roared across the ship, drawing even more men from below decks. They’d have a full crowd, and not one of them was on their side.
Plan or no plan, Selene hadn’t expected to face these men and miss her friends—herfamily—this bad. To feel Oskar’s absence and words of wisdom so deeply. Back home, she’d be surrounded by Blades, each of whom spent the last five months teaching and guiding. At the end of this race, who would be on her side?
Heat-prickling emotion pushed at her insides from all directions, and she closed her eyes. These thoughts made her weak, and Oskar trained her to succeed in exactly this kind of scenario. And what would Augustus do here? Wimper? No. He’d turn that dangerous smile on and swagger into position.
She could do this.
Shewoulddo this.
“To your places,” Thorne said. “Selene, you and Alf can take the starboard shrouds. Petrina and Finn portside. Winners must reach the main skysail.”
Petrina leaned toward Selene and whispered, “Skysail?”
Pointing to the top of the mainmast, she said, “See that tiny sail at the very top?”
Petrina groaned. “We’ll need a decent lead to avoid fighting from those high beams.”
“They’re called crosstrees.”
“I don’t care. Just don’t fall. I’d rather not dangle like bait outside the hull all night.”
Selene and Alf climbed the starboard railing and maneuvered to the outside of the shroud, preparing to climb what was essentially a rope ladder on Thorne’s mark. The shroud’s incline ended twenty feet above the deck beneath the first platform, where several rigging lines intersected. Ropes dangled and swayed, while others—called stays—were taut.
She reached up and squeezed a pair of ratlines, preparing to climb the very second Thorne gave the word. The ship’s crew went so silent that only the creak of ropes carried on the wind.
Selene closed her eyes and conjured a different time and place. What would Oskar say if he were here?
“Don’t worry about how you’ll reach the end of the gauntlet,”Oskar’s memory instructed. “Focus on what’s immediately in front of you. What’s first?”
Make the climb, keep her footing, and watch her back. Alf wanted this win as much as she did. He was scrawny, but he had long arms, which meant he had a long reach.
“Don’t worry about the end,” Oskar advised. “Worry about your next hold.”
“Begin!” Thorne shouted.
Voices filled the air, a mix of jeers and encouragement. Selene climbed to its cadence, letting her body do what it knew to do, with one ear on Alf’s grunts and hissing breath.
Alf was lithe and fast, and they neared the platform side-by-side, their paths coming together. A hiccup in his movement was her only warning. He clawed for her shoulder?—
Selene released her hand and let her upper body swing back—his fingers narrowly missed her breast. His mistake was putting all his weight into the move; he fell face-first into her half of the shroud, and his foot slipped.
She pushed his head between the ratlines, tangling him, then resumed her climb.
On the other side of the ship, Petrina kicked down on Finn’s large shoulder while he tried snatching her ankle out of the air.
Pain seared through Selene’s calf?—
She yelped, more from surprise, and her foot slipped from the ratline.
