His mouth found hers, stealing a kiss before he said, “As Staro. To seal.” And she would have let him linger there, but his mouth continued downward.

“As Pyrata.”

A breath against the base of her throat.

“To burn.”

His hands sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“As Anasae.”

A blossom of heat between her breasts.

“To dispel.”

Above her navel.

“As Steno.”

One hand unlacing the ties of her slacks.

“To break.”

Guiding them off.

“As Orense.”

His teeth skimming her hip bone. “To open …”

Kell’s mouth came to rest between her legs, and she arched against him, fingers tangling in his auburn curls as heat rolled through her. Sweat prickled across her skin. She blazed inside, and her breath grew ragged, one hand clenched in the sheets over her head as something like magic rose inside her, a tide that swelled and swelled until she couldn’t hold it in.

“Kell,” she moaned as his kiss deepened. Her whole body trembled with the power, and when she finally let go, it crashed down in a wave at once electric and sublime.

Lila collapsed back against the sheets with something between a laugh and a sigh, the whole cabin buzzing in the aftermath, the sheets singed where she’d gripped them.

Kell rose, fitting himself beside her once again.

“Was that a good enough lesson?” he asked, his own breath still uneven.

Lila grinned, and then rolled on top of him, straddling his waist. His eyes widened, his chest rising and falling beneath her. “Well,” she said, guiding his hands over his head. “Let’s see if I remember it all.”

* * *

They lay pressed together in the narrow cot, Kell’s arm looped around her. The heat of the moment was gone, replaced by a pleasant, steady warmth. His shirt was open, and she brought her fingertips to the scar over his heart, tracing the circles absently until his eyes drifted shut.

Lila knew she wouldn’t sleep. Not like this, body to body in the bed.

She usually slept with her back to a wall.

Usually slept with a knife on her knee.

Usually slept alone.

But soon, the ship was quiet, the small skiff rocking gently on the current, and Kell’s breathing was low and even, his pulse a lulling beat against her skin, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Lila fell well, and truly, and soundly, asleep.

V

“Sanct,” muttered Alucard, “it’s getting worse.”

He spit Ilo’s latest batch of dawn coffee over the side of the ship. Jasta called out from the wheel, her words lost on the breeze, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up to see the Going Waters take shape on the horizon.

First only a specter, and then, slowly, a ship.

When he’d first set out for Maris’s infamous vessel, he’d done so expecting to find something like the port of Sasenroche or London’s night market, only set at sea. Is Feras Stras was neither. It was indeed a ship—or rather, several, growing together like coral atop the crisp blue sea. Squares of canvas stretched here and dipped there, turning the network of decks and masts into something that resembled a nest of tents.

The whole thing looked unstable, a house of cards waiting to fall, swaying and bobbing in the winter breeze. It had the worn air of something that had lasted a very long time, that only grew, not torn down and rebuilt by whim or by wind, but added to in layers like paint.

But there was a strange elegance to the madness, an order to the chaos, made more severe by the quiet shrouding the ship. There were no shouts from any of the decks. No layered voices echoing on the breeze. The whole affair sat silently atop the waves, a ramshackle estate bathing in the sun.

It had been nearly two years since Alucard had last seen Maris’s craft, and the sight of it still left him strangely awed.

Bard appeared beside him at the rail.

She let out a low whistle, her eyes wide with the same hungry light.

A low boat was already drawn up beside the floating market, and as the Ghost slowed, Alucard could make out a man, skeletal thin and leathered by the sun and the sea, being escorted from Maris’s ship.

“Wait!” he was saying. “I paid my due. Let me keep looking. I’ll find something else!”

But the men on his arms seemed oblivious to his pleas and protestations as they heaved him bodily overboard. He fell several feet before landing on the deck of his own small craft, groaning in pain.

“A word of advice,” said Alucard lightly. “When Maris says leave, you leave.”

“Don’t worry,” said Bard. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

It wasn’t a comforting notion. As far as he could see, she only had one kind of behavior, and it usually ended with several dead bodies.

In Jasta’s hands, the Ghost slowed, drawing up beside the Ferase Stras. A plank was shifted into place between the Ghost and the brim of the floating market, which led onto a covered platform with a simple wooden door. They crossed the plank one at a time, Jasta in the front, then Lila and Kell, with Alucard bringing up the rear. After an hour’s disagreement, the decision was made to leave Holland behind with Hastra and Lenos.

The remaining Antari was cuffed again, but some silent accord must have been struck between Holland and Kell, because he’d been granted freedom to move aboard the ship—Alucard had walked into the galley that morning and seen the magician sitting at the narrow table holding a cup of tea. Now Holland stood on the deck, leaning against the mast in the shadow of the mainsail, arms crossed as much as his chains would allow, head tipped toward the sky.