“Captain,” Crow said, stepping closer so she didn’t have to shout. Eira turned her attention to the woman. “Surviving our first battle means this vessel should have a name.”
She hadn’t named it yet. It had seemed so…unnecessary before. This small ship was purely to get them from one place to another—to be a means to an end. Eira hadn’t been planning on getting attached enough to give it a name. But now that the question was presented, she felt more responsible for it thanever. As responsible as she felt for her crew. This collage of wood and ice was the only thing that kept them safe.
“Winter’s Bane,” Eira said with little thought. The name was the first thing to pop into her mind and it felt right.
“Winter’s Baneit is,” Crow repeated.
“Everyone but Cullen, head belowdecks,” Eira ordered, gently enough that it was clear that the command wasn’t firm—more of a suggestion. “Get some rest. Cullen and I will see us out of the storm.” As she spoke, her magic searched for the edge of the rain.
Varren and Lavette wasted no time. Same with Crow and Fen. But Olivin and Alyss were on the opposite side of the deck. Crow’s body had been concealing them.
Olivin was crouched by Alyss. A faint glow of magic illuminated Alyss’s face from underneath Olivin’s palm. Yonlin was at her opposite side, saying something Eira couldn’t hear over the rain.
She approached. “Everything all right?”
“She—” Yonlin started.
“Got a scuff from the battle.” Alyss’s brave smile was painfully obvious to Eira. “Nothing that Olivin couldn’t fix.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Eira asked as Yonlin helped Alyss to her feet.
“Absolutely.” As she said the word, lightning cracked in the distance, followed by the roll of thunder, causing Alyss to jump.
“All right, get some rest.” Eira knew better than to push the matter. If her friend had nothing to say, then they’d leave it at that.
Yonlin helped Alyss away, even though she had no visible wounds any longer.
Olivin lingered. Eira’s eyes met his.
“How bad was it?” Eira knew he’d be honest with her.
“She was more shaken than injured. A scrap of wood her magic didn’t catch in time clipped her ear and took out a chunk. Nothing major. But if she had been standing a step over…” Olivin didn’t have to finish.
Eira noticed a narrow slab of wood on the deck, more like a stake than a piece from a ship. She kicked it into the sea. “If it had posed a genuine threat, Alyss’s magic would’ve saved her.”
“Eira…” Olivin shifted, taking a half step closer to her. The same concern that had been in his eyes for weeks now was still there. But now it was enough for him to cross the line he’d been minding and say something. “Alyss is powerful, but even the strongest of sorcerers aren’t immortal.”
“I know that.” She wasn’t sure if he was intentionally referring to Noelle or not. Either way, the mere idea of a suggestion stung.
Olivin touched her forearm lightly, fingers trailing down almost to grab hers. Hers twitched in response. She wanted to reach for him. But she couldn’t… There wasn’t warmth enough in her right now to offer him. Noelle’s memory left nothing but anger and cold rain. He abandoned the motion.
“I know you’d be… If something happened to…” He sighed and abandoned the thought that couldn’t coalesce into something he’d want to say. “I know you care about all of us, and you’re doing your best. But maybe don’t chase down enemies that haven’t even seen us?”
She pursed her lips. Unable to object with the ship in its current state. Resignation escaped as a sigh.
“All right. Straight to Qwint from here on. Unless we’re attacked first.”
He nodded and stepped around her. As he moved past, the backs of his knuckles brushed against hers. Her fingers twitched. His were waiting. For a second, they brushed together. Not quite lacing. But not nothing, either.
There was a void in all of them that took the shape of the woman who should’ve been there with them. Noelle’s ghost was a companion, and a void.
As Eira turned, she found one other remained. Instead of heading down, Ducot wandered to the front of the vessel, hand on the railing.
It was just three of them now on deck. Cullen back at the helm, Ducot at the bow, and her in the middle. Eira looked between the two men. Cullen caught her eyes and gave a nod, as if he knew what she was debating. But of course he did. He knew her heart in many ways better than she, even if Eira didn’t always want to admit it.
She ascended the quarterdeck once more, crossing to the bow and stopping next to Ducot. He looked out to sea with unseeing eyes. Wind pushed the rain over his cheeks, forming rivulets that almost looked like tears. Almost.
But he had already mourned an ocean. They all had. There was nothing left in the echoes of their sobs and cries. It was a void as deep as the sea churning beneath them, a vast endlessness—as dark as the pit.
