But what if I stayed? If I did nothing, Thalassia would fall—and I would have to live with the knowledge that I’d stood idle while innocent people were gutted piece by piece. Whatever power they had stolen from me would go with them.
If I had to tear my hands bloody on the ropes—if I had to wrestle the sails alone—if I had to steer by stars I barely understood—I would.
If I hesitated—if I waited for the council to agree on a course of action—Thalassia would be lost.
I turned from the door and moved down the corridor, each step quicker than the last.
Back in my chamber, I shut the door fast and leaned against it for one trembling breath before I forced myself to move.
I would only take what I could carry.
I gathered the crescent shards and tucked them carefully into my satchel, fastened my dagger to my thigh, and swept my cloak around my shoulders before turning to the final pieces. Strapped across my back now were the axe and shield Veyrion had givenme during Yule. At the time I hadn’t known what to make of them—a jest, perhaps. A gesture. Now their weight steadied me. A reminder that I wasn’t completely helpless. That I wasn’t only a girl fleeing in the dark anymore.
I pulled my hood down over my brow, slung the satchel over my shoulder, and pressed my hand to the latch.
Everyone was distracted—the council still locked in argument, the docks half-deserted in the deep winter hour, watchfires burning low. I had to move now, before anyone noticed. Before anyone could stop me.
I eased the door open and peered into the corridor. The voices from the council room still rose and fell in waves—clipped and angry—filling the halls.
Perfect.
I slipped into the shadows. Every step was measured, my pulse a drum in my ears. I thought I heard footsteps behind me—an echo too deliberate to be the house settling—but when I glanced back, the corridor was empty. I quickened my pace. Boots whispering on stone. The axe’s handle knocked lightly against my shoulder. At last, I reached the doors that opened onto the path winding down toward the docks.
A blast of frozen air hit me the moment I stepped outside, biting into my cheeks and tugging at the hem of my cloak. I tightened my grip on my satchel strap and adjusted the axe across my back. This was madness—one girl against a crew’s worth of work. But there was no other way.
Veyrion’s ships were unmistakable—sleek, deadly things built in an old Northern style, crafted not for wandering but for war. Their hulls rode lower and narrower than most southern vessels, designed for speed, for impact, for closing distance before an enemy could think to flee.
His lead ship stood at the center of them all—similar in silhouette to the Black Marrow, but broader through the beam and slightly longer at the keel. It was the closest thing to familiar I could find. I didn’t understand Northern ships—not truly. But I understood the Black Marrow. I knew how she moved beneath my feet. I knew the language of her decks. And this vessel felt like her brutal cousin. If I was going to steal a warship in the dark, I would choose the one that felt most known.
The deck groaned beneath my boots, cold and slick with frost. The ship rocked gently against the pier, tethered by thick ropes and iron rings. Frost curled from my lips as I moved toward the rigging and prayed no one had noticed yet.
Anyone who saw this ship would know whose it was. And who dared sail it.
The Covenant fleet—whispered about in every harbor tavern, feared for the banners they bore and the blood they left in their wake. Men scattered when those serpent prows cut through fog. Whole crews surrendered without a fight, knowing it was better than being dragged under.
Perhaps that would buy me protection. If poachers saw these sails, they might think twice. They wouldn’t see a girl out of her depth and half-frozen at the wheel. They’d see a Covenant ship dressed in wolf and serpent—and run. Or so I prayed. If they looked closer, if they saw me for what I was—I would be dead long before I reached Thalassia.
I can't think about that right now. I pushed those thoughts to the deepest corners of my mind and got to work.
I started with the mooring line, fingers clumsy with cold. Frozen knots fought me until my palms burned and skin split against rough cord. At last the rope gave, slithering free into the dark water with a heavy splash.
The sails were next. My gaze darted up the mast rising like a black tower above me. The canvas hung furled tight, bound by ropes I only half-remembered. My heart hammered, but I hauled myself up the rigging anyway, fingers stiff against frozen lines.
I watched them do this a hundred times. I can do it. I have to.
The wind howled across the harbor, tugging at my braid, filling my ears with a roar. I freed one knot, then another. The rope bit into my raw hands until blood slicked my grip. The sails dropped with a heavy snap, shuddering open as they caught the full force of the sea wind. Too much wind at once. The ship lurched. The wheel tore away from where I’d set it.
“Too fast,” I hissed, stumbling, then forcing myself to steady. I loosened the line just enough to steady her.
I scrambled back to the wheel and clutched it with frozen fingers, chest heaving.
Come on. Please.
The vessel shuddered beneath me—no obedience, only physics taking over—timbers groaning as the wind tried to claim her.
I shoved the wheel hard. The ship groaned and pulled away from the pier. Ropes creaked, then snapped free. The wheel kicked back violently, nearly wrenching my hands loose. I threw my weight against it, jaw clenched, refusing to let the rudder spin wild—refusing to let this end before it began. And then the wind caught. The sails bellied. The timbers sang. The ship surged forward into dark water. I stood alone at the helm, cloak snapping around me, heart pounding with terror and exhilaration.
I did it. I stole a Covenant ship. The thought rang in my skull like a bell—equal parts triumph and dread.
