Page 60 of Hymn of Breath and Bone

“So you did notice that?” I laughed. “I think so.”

“Poor Mira,” Caspian murmured, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “This is a brilliant idea, Urchin. Have I told you recently how utterly incredible you are?”

“Not recently,” I teased, letting him take my hand and guide me back to the ship. The siren vessel was easy to spot—the figurehead of Melusine standing with arms upraised to the sky was the only one of its kind amid the other merchant and passenger ships. “But perhaps you can show me.”

“Skies, yes,” Caspian growled, scooping me up in his arms and hastening his pace as I laughed. He kissed me, barely able to watch where he was going for the distraction of my lips and tongue. “I want you all to myself before the crew wakes.”

I was so wrapped up in Caspian’s warmth and breath and the pounding of his heart and growing desire, that I didn’t sense the danger until it was far too late.

“Hello again fledgling,” said the Stormcrow. He had a dagger pressed to Zephyr’s throat as he held her before him. One of the siren crew—Caspian’s crew—was lying face down in a pool of blood behind the mast. Nextto him lay the bloody head of a sea dragon, yellow scales dull and green eyes blank and staring.

I sent a silent scream out to the sea in warning.

“We really need to stop meeting like this.”

Selkie warriors sprang from the sea below, surrounding us and trapping us on deck. Each carried a spear that they pointed at Caspian’s heart.

I quickly scanned the deck, taking inventory of our situation. I counted about twenty selkie warriors and perhaps ten unfamiliar crew members. Ilya’s crew appeared to be a motley mix of sirens, dwarves, and demons who looked just as villainous as their master.

The selkies all wore the shirt kilt and leather armor of my father’s guard. If the selkies were from the isles, then that meant…

Vitulus stepped out from behind the Stormcrow, ordering his warriors not to hurt us.

I moved without thinking, pulling water from the sea below us and pushing it down the throats of the nearest warriors. They fell back, clutching at their throats as they worked to move the water back out of their bodies.

I aimed for the Stormcrow next, but Vitulus was faster than me.

“Marina!” he shouted, clamping a pair of iron cuffs down on my wrists. “Stop this!”

My magic left me in a wave of icy pain. I cried out, dropping to my knees as Caspian called my name, water dribbling from the mouths of the warriors I’d attacked.

The Stormcrow laughed, his eyes alight. “My my, youarea treasure. It’s no wonder your fatherwants you back so badly.”

“My father?” I whirled toward Vitulus, wincing as the cuffs grated against my wrists. He gave a small nod of confirmation, looking at least like he regretted allying with the likes of the Stormcrow.

“How?” Caspian demanded through bared teeth. “How did you take my ship?”

The Stormcrow laughed. “Did you think I wouldn’t do my own digging after your little visit, fledgling? It took maybe an hour to discover which ship was yours, and another to alert the good captain here that I’d found his bride-to-be. Although you may not want her now, Captain. I think she’s sullied goods.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Caspian growled.

“Maybe later.” The Stormcrow rose, Zephyr squeaking as the blade dug a little deeper. “And now, my new friends and I have a job to do, I'm afraid. To return the Selkie King’s beloved daughter to his side.”

Caspian rose, his hand on his sword, and spears immediately pressed into his throat.

“None of that, now,” the Stormcrow chided, motioning to the selkie guards to take him below. “Wouldn’t want to get blood all over your pretty mate, now, would we?”

Chapter 22

For the second fuckingtime in my life, I found myself in iron chains.

I assumed the chains had come from Marina’s father. I kept several sets in the siren cliffs, but the iron trade was illegal in Nordhavn—iron being the only material that could silence fae magic and inflict lethal damage with a single blow. Only dwarves and humans had no laws preventing iron from being made or sold along the easterncoast of the continent.

I spat a mouthful of blood at the floor, my battered face and body straining against the shackles.

I shifted, grimacing. One of the Stormcrow’s thugs had given me a black eye as he’d chained me up, and another had kicked me in the ribs repeatedly. The bruises hurt, but the cold iron was worse—a slow, sucking agony against my wrists—and I gritted my teeth in pain.

“If you lay a hand on my mate—”