“Brother,” I grit out with a tight nod of greeting. “I must say…you possess a true talent for turning up at the worst moments imaginable.”
A whimper sounds from Dawson’s boat, drawing my attention to a disheveled man sobbing at the helm. He sports two rapidly blooming black eyes and his hands are shackled to the wheel, his fingers mangled and swollen with multiple breaks. A nasty gash at his hairline bleeds freely, coating his terrified features in a grotesque scarlet mask.
“P-p-please—"
The word is hardly out of the captain’s mouth when my brother rolls his eyes and draws a pistol from one of his many belts. With a dramatic sigh of irritation, he shoots the man in the head. Wendy screams as the captain’s skull explodes, showering the deck in brain matter and bone fragments. Dawson merely slides his gaze back to me with a casual shrug.
“I’ve always hated sailing,” he says, like this is a perfectly reasonable excuse to kill a man.
Swinging his body, he leaps lithely down from his deck to mine, landing in a feral crouch with the revolver leveled at my chest. “Now then, where were we? Ah, yes. Your terriblemanners.” He cocks his head, his expression a familiar one—a predator toying with his food.
Adrenaline surges through my veins, having been on the receiving end of his sick machinations so many times.
“You’re alwayssoconcerned with being boring and proper, and that’s how you greet your kin? It’s been almost a year since you stabbed me, and you haven’t even bothered to ask how I’ve fared.”
Keeping my eyes trained on Dawson, I haul Wendy up by the scruff of her shirt. “Open. That. Ward.” I hiss in her ear, before shoving her behind me.
She stumbles, collapsing back to the floor with a sob. I curse under my breath, despising that I’m here withherinstead of Willa. For all the times I’d hatefully called Willa a coward, there is no circumstance in which she’d just curl up on the floor to surrender in a puddle of her own tears as Wendy seems inclined to do.
“I don’t need to ask how you’ve managed, Dawson. If anyone could thrive in this shithole of a world, it would be a cockroach such as yourself.”
My brother grins, clutching a hand to his heart, the other still steady on the gun. “Aw, Nikolas…your compliments warm my heart.”
“Come now,” Itsk.“We both know you have no heart to warm.” I tilt my head curiously. “Though I can think of no other plausible explanation aside from sentiment that would explain your continued servitude.”
Dawson’s nostrils flare as I rake my gaze from his head to his toes in disdain. “I serve no one,” he snarls to my amusement. “The Aeternalis and I are equals.”
I laugh, the sound serving to incense him further. Since we were children, my brother has been quick to anger and easy tobait. I prod further, digging a knife into his insecurities to keep his attention on me and away from the ward.
“Surely you know better after all these centuries,” I remark with false pity. “The Boy King doesn’t like to share. Why else would he leave you in this world with no magic? He cares nothing for you if he’s left you to work with lowly mainlanders, while he gallivants around Letum…taking everything you’ve wanted for the past two centuries, but never quite able to have.”
The air tingles, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “So, tell me, Dawson…which of us truly crawls back to those who never wanted us?”
Dawson’s expression is lethal as he clicks off the safety of the gun. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, little brother, but you are entirely mortal now. All it would take to end you is one tiny bullet through the head.”
I grin, my delighted laugh echoing between us. “Someone thinks highly of their aim. You only managed to hit my shoulder last time and we were standing closer than we are now. Practice only goes so far when one lacks coordination.”
I’ve nearly succeeded in turning Dawson’s attention entirely on me, when the atmosphere ripples. The storm surrounding us rages with newfound fury, the renewed roar of the wind sending the vessels crashing into one another. Wendy yelps at my feet, but to her credit, she does not let go of the ward this time.
It widens until the air of Letum—distinctly tinged sweet with dreams—begins to spill through the chasm. Dawson rips his gaze away from me to see the pathway home looming open above us both—a violent whorl of stars and worlds and times gaping like a hungry maw.
He snarls in fury, motioning to his men. Two hundred guns turn toward me.
“Give her to me, Nikolas,” Dawson says. “Give her to me and slink off to whatever world you please, so long as it isn’t mine.”
I drop to the ground as he fires off a shot in warning. The upholstery behind where I just stood explodes in a shower of leather and cotton. My ears ringing, I dig my fingers into Wendy’s arms as she squirms beneath me, her skin slick with fear. Finally, I find purchase enough to haul her upward, placing her squarely between my brother and I.
Wendy sobs, clawing at my iron grip. The ward howls above us, the call of home—of death, of dreams.
“I still don’t know why you tried to escape your kin, Nikolas,” Dawson says with a hollow grin. “When you are so deliciously self-serving.”
Wendy sags in my arms, her sobs now hiccupping from her in pathetic little gulps. If I had any sense, I’d throw her at Dawson and escape through the ward. But unfortunately for me, Wendy is immortal.
Which means that though he cannot kill her, he will have endless time to break her to his will. It will only be a matter of time before Wendy is at his mercy, and he follows me to Letum.
Which leaves me with one choice.
Taking a deep breath, I adjust my grip on Wendy. And then I toss her into the ward.
