Excerpt

Chapter One

Ksara

Ksara lingered too long near the shadowed rail of the ship, and a dark tentacle slithered around her boot and up her calf like the fingers of an unwanted lover. She stifled her yelp and stalked up the deck, away from the dangerous shadows.

They weren't dangerous to everyone. For anyone else, shadows were just shadows, innocuous pools of dark. Inert. Static. Harmless. Even a relief on a hot day.

But for Ksara they were a constant reminder that some insidious, unknown thing wanted her, longed for her, and she could not stop it.

On any other day she'd pretend to her crew that she was directing this relentless presence that haunted her. Then, when the crew grew tired or distracted, she'd sidestep around the shadows and hurry to Ulric's side. Her brother would give her a crooked smile, check the deck to be sure all eyes were away from them, then snap his fingers. A burst of light would ignite with the motion, just bright enough to drive the shadows away from Ksara's boots. They'd share a conspiratorial smile and she would take a long, deep breath.

That trick would have served her now, too, except Ulric was lying on the deck, dying from a wound none of them understood.

She moved to Ulric's side and hovered over him. He lay on a bundle of blankets, his eyes squeezed shut tight and his arm cradled to his chest. The wound was only three inches long and he should have just shrugged it off. He hadn't. This superficial slash had driven him to his knees, and seconds later, he'd fallen unconscious with a fever that could fry eggs. The skin around the wound had changed from a smooth, deep brown into a thick, cracked gray that peeled away from the muscle and bone like bark from a tree.

In an instant, Ksara had known this was an injury they could not treat. They needed a healer mage. And that meant returning to the chamber pot of academia and vandals called Nokte Murosa.

More shadows slipped across the deck to swirl and slither around her, as if sensing she had no protector this time. No one could chase them away from her now. The living dark reached up her leg and a chill ran deep through her veins.

She flinched away from the brazen bit of darkness, her sudden movement breaking its hold, and she continued pacing up and down the deck faster than before.

She could have saved Ulric. If she'd been able to push back the shadows, they would have seen the monster lurking there. They would have been able to dodge those scythe-like claws and Ulric would be standing beside her, elbowing her in the ribs and teasing a smile out of her.

But she hadn't been able to control the shadow. Instead, she'd let Ulric take the lead into the darkness. Let him fall because she was afraid. Weak.

And Atlas had seen it all.

He watched her now, his gaze fixed on the shadows chasing her. Suspicion and anger a darkening storm on the man's face.

"Use your power, mage," he said, his voice low. A challenge.

Ksara forced herself to acknowledge the metal-clad man standing at attention at the bow of the ship. He wore full Imprevari armor despite the danger it posed while at sea. The charcoal gray steel as grim as its wearer. "What did you say?"

"I said use your power, mage," Atlas said again, louder and sharper.

Ksara squared her shoulders.

He shifted his hand to rest on the hilt of his short sword. "You don't seem very comfortable with your little friends there. Why don't you make them go away?"

Ksara kept her gaze even and her voice calm. The Imprevari craved a fight—he always craved a fight—and she wouldn't give it to him. Not here. Not with Ulric dying at their feet. "My power is my own."

"If you say, mage. If you say."

The muscles between her shoulder blades tightened. Her jaw set. She wanted to drive Atlas's face into the deck. She could drop the Imprevari in three hand strikes. One hand strike and a kick if he drew his sword.

More shadows sloshed at Ksara's boots, sending chills up her legs.

To an outside observer, the darkness seemed to rally to her anger. And she let the charade play as though she was summoning her power, matching Atlas's intensity with plenty of her own.

"Nokte Murosa on the port bow!" Coronata called from the helm.

Ksara turned on the heel of her boot, strode right through the shadow, gritting her teeth at the chill, and joined her first mate at the helm.

Coronata maneuvered the ship with relaxed precision and an amused curl to her lips. The sea loved the woman, the wind played with her long black hair, the sunset enhanced the golden tones of her skin, and the Falco danced beneath her touch. "Did Atlas lose another dagger up his ass?"

"For this foul mood? A dagger is too small. Might be a rapier."

Coronata laughed. "That is a clenched ass no weapon returns from."

Ksara almost smiled. She almost took a deep breath of sea air. Almost.

"Guide us into port, Captain," Coronata said with a grin and stood to the side of the helm, leaving one hand on it until Ksara took control. "I'll man the sails."

"What's left of them."

"What's an adventure without a little damage?"

Ksara winced and her gaze fell to Ulric on the deck.

Coronata sobered some, too. "Don't worry. He'll be in the hands of the healer by sundown. And the arms of a barmaid by midnight."

Ksara swallowed. "Let's get to it, then."

Coronata smiled wide, leapt down the stairs, and got to work climbing into the rigging.

Mere moments later, a screeching whoop filled the air and something crashed below deck. A voice murmured curses and the next second a creature darted up from the ladder and raced up the mast in a flash of black and white until it found Coronata's shoulder and curled up there.

A giantess of a woman climbed up the ladder after the thing, her face nearly as red as her hair. "Khyven!"

The creature hissed back at the woman.

Ksara spun the helm to port and then held steady. "Merewen, help Coronata at the sails."

The Usaran woman straightened her muscled shoulders and composed her expression. The blue tattoos on her jaw twitched. "Of course, Captain."

"Did he do unmentionable things to your sacred shaving basin?" Coronata called out as she climbed down the rigging.

"No," Merewen said, her placid calm returning. "He did unmentionable things to my scrolls on magic curses."

Coronata stroked the creature on her shoulder. It looked something like a cat with wide fox ears, curved black horns, and tiny dragon claws. "Khyven the kapicat!" She scolded. "I told you to only use Atlas's things for your dirty business."

"I'll kill it," Atlas growled from the bow.

"You've already tried," Coronata said, retying a series of ropes on the deck. "Twice."

"He will taste my sword!"

"Ew."

Ksara slapped her hand to the railing. "Stop!"

The crew quieted.

By Grina's skirts! She'd led them through the mazes of Selvo Pass. Bested bandits and ambassadors in turn. She'd even guided them to the most coveted magical artifacts in Noksonon. They could hold their petty arguments until after Ulric was safe. "All hands to the sails."

The crew complied and the ship slid across the water faster than before, catching a coastal wind and skipping along the waves toward the unfortunate city of Nokte Murosa.

Two noktums hemmed in the city, towering canyons of black air that loomed hundreds of feet over the tallest building.

More reasonable folk would have left that strip of land between the two noktums alone, but the one sure thing obscure academics and desperate criminals had in common was a deficit in reason. And now they also shared the port city where the very wind that bolstered the Falco's sails brought in plenty of trade and even more trouble.

The bay held a dozen different ships, all with their sails low and coasting normally into the docks. The Falco crew kept the sails high and hurtled dangerously past the other ships—Ksara whipping the helm back and forth and Coronata angling the sails just so. They cut a wake into the port faster than any ship in history.

Fifty feet from the docks, Ksara's heart thumped in her chest. They were headed right at the harbor near full speed with a crew of three and Ulric's unconscious body sliding about the deck. "All hands prepare for Lotura's Luck."

"We should have died the first time we did this!" Atlas growled into the wind.

Forty feet.

Coronata whooped with delight. Ksara gripped the helm with white knuckles.

Thirty feet.

Merewen lashed Ulric to the mast. Ksara widened her stance and let out a short breath.

Twenty feet.

"Now!"

Ksara whipped the helm to port in three sharp rotations. In the same instant, Coronata and Merewen released five ropes, dropping the sails while Atlas threw the anchor.

The Falco jerked hard and spun out around the anchor. The hull groaned. The waves crashed. And the Falco slowed for just a moment before it finished its spin and cracked its starboard hull into the Nokte Murosa docks.

The crash flung Ksara to her knees and the Falco listed side to side, nearly dumping them all into the angry ocean. Ksara clung to the helm until the ship steadied.

"Everyone still breathing?" she asked.

Atlas moaned. Coronata laughed.

"Ulric's fine," Merewen said.

Ksara leapt to her feet and hurried to the starboard hull. Merewen sat beside Ulric. Atlas vomited over the side of the ship. Coronata calmly joined Ksara to examine the damage.

Splinters of the dock protruded from the Falco's hull like spines from a porcupine.

"That's a new record for holes in the ship," Coronata said.

"It won't sink," Ksara said.

Coronata cocked a brow at her.

"Tonight. It won't sink tonight."

Coronata grinned. "And what's your prediction for the dock, then?"

The dock had all the appearance of a sailor who had just lost a tavern brawl and now couldn't locate several of his teeth. Two poles sticking up out of the water were crushed into oblivion, the missing pieces now wounding the Falco's side. Four sections of planks dipped into the water. And another two-foot section was lost to the sea completely.

And that's when the shouting began.

Nokte Murosa dock workers ran at the Falco. Followed by some fellow sailors. All of them angry. And armed to the teeth.

"Get Ulric," Ksara said. "We slow down for no one."