Chapter Thirty-Eight

“What do you mean, they’re going to be almost impossible to steal?” I shouted over the pound of rain. It rinsed the world, flecked the granite in the doorway.

“Herleif has them well guarded,” Erik shouted back.

“Okay. I’ll be extra careful. Problem solved.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. If you’re caught, I won’t be able to help you.”

Okay . I could do this. I had to do this. If I didn’t, Stefan and Katrina would torch the ships, the hellhounds would be stuck to ravage the island, and Hans’s memory would be forgotten, his death unanswered and meaningless.

I still had three days to steal the boxes. Three days. It had to be enough time to make and execute a plan. “What if we got Bo and Kaspar out?”

The rain pounded harder.

Erik furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Bo and Kaspar. The hellhounds said you could free them.”

The corner of his mouth ticked. “Herleif offered, but I’d have to bind myself to him.”

“What does that mean?”

He smoothed a thumb over his nubbed finger.

“What does it mean?” I shouted again.

“It means I’d be his. Forever. Like Kynda’s general. And I can’t—” The expression faltered. He turned away and I caught the edge of his cheek. A lock of blond hair curled just over his ear.

I took his hand. His fingers were rough and warm. They trembled.

“Do you want to walk over to the beach and talk about it?”

He shook his head. “I have to check on my dad. He’s… It’s worse.”

Water ribboned the world, poured off the eves of the castle in torrents, brought out the colors, the greens and grays and white. The flagstones glittered.

“Come with me to change?” I asked. “We’ll go together?”

“You don’t understand. He’s dying .”

I glanced at my skirt, the pee spots darkening to a muddy brown. I didn’t want to leave him like this, but I couldn’t stay in these clothes.

“Okay,” I said, stepping into the pouring rain. “Your dad. I’ll meet you there.”

In Erik’s tent, I stripped off my skirt, hauled a bucket of wash water to the copper tub and scrubbed the pee off my knees. I scrubbed and scrubbed, and the bubbles were black, dark as pine. They reflected the room.

I needed to be there for Erik, needed to get back. I knew he was a Vold, knew we weren’t on the same side, but the curve of his cheek, the flash of his hurt, the way his fingers trembled.

He didn’t feel like my enemy anymore.

Rain battered the canvas, lashed the walls.

I splashed everything away, the bubbles, the pee, and pulled on a clean skirt, a cozy olive twill.

Strands of hair curled at the corner of my vision. I pressed my palm against them. My braid had been torn from the frantic struggle with the king, but it didn’t matter. I could fix it there.

I grabbed my brush and the bag of medicines, and—

Stefan.

He stood in the tent’s doorway, water running in sluices down his face.

“You can’t be here,” I said.

He stepped inside, letting the flap fall closed. “Were you going to tell us you went to the prison?”

I swiped away the strand of hair. “We were looking for the boxes. Erik shadow walked. It didn’t seem important. You can’t be here.”

“And where are the boxes?”

“I forgot to ask.”

Another step, light like a tabby. Lamplight glittered in his hair, his teeth. His face went grim. “You forgot to ask? Or are you lying?”

“I’m covered in the king’s pee, and I haven’t slept all week. Erik’s dad is dying, and he just shadow walked. So, yeah, I forgot.” I tried to step around Stefan.

He blocked my path. “We’re running out of time.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“I need better.”

A thousand thoughts welled in my mind, a ship, a storm, they hammered and hammered and—

Tell him it’s not enough.

Are we not enough for you?

Stefan. He’s better.

He grabbed my wrist.

I yanked it free. “Then torch the fleet,” I hissed. “See where that gets you.”

Lightning streaked, casting everything in sharp relief—fingers of black. White. Black. White. Stefan. His hands clasped behind his back, his mouth pressed in a line.

Thunder boomed.

Stefan’s jaw ticked. “Three days.”

“Or what?”

No response.

I laughed and stepped forward, and now I was the predator and he was the prey. “You need me. I’m the closest thing you have to the Volds.”

No response. Of course not.

“From now on,” I continued, “you’ll do things on my time. You won’t come to the camp again. You won’t seek me out again. If I have something to report, I’ll go to you.”

Stefan circled the tent. He let his fingers trace the curving back of the chair, the sheepskin throw, the rows of medicine bottles I’d lined up on the desk.

Tick, tick, tick.

He stopped. Pressed two fingers against the map. Stones for ships—black and white. He picked one up, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “You were right, you know. About torching the fleet. I came to tell you we have a new plan.” His thumb circled the stone. “Poison the officers. The captains. The seconds… The generals.”

I’m Rythja’s general while my father is dying. Erik’s words.

My heart thudded. “Why?”

“It’ll scare them. If the Lover’s Boxes are really the weapon, we’ll flush them out amid the chaos. If the weapon is something else, then we’ll find that, too.” Stefan twisted the stone, ran his thumb down the fissured groove. “You might not be keeping us involved in your plans, but I’m keeping you involved in ours. You can thank Katrina for that.” He pocketed the stone. “Fix this. You have three days.”