Becalmed, the word brushed against her awareness like a serpent slithering across her skin, smooth and cool, and potentially deadly. Elisabeth sighed, her eyelids fluttering closed. Weakness still filled her limbs, but she didn’t crumple back onto her bunk, despite the desire to simply go back to sleep. Perhaps it was all a nightmare, a thing that could be escaped with a dip back into unconsciousness. Becalmed, the word came again, louder and more insistent, a sense of wrongness trailing in its wake. Elisabeth growled in frustration, and forced her eyes open. Glaring at her clenched hands, she focused on breathing steadily, at releasing the tension from her fingers. Becalmed, becalmed, becalmed, the word was a mantra now, sounding in time with her pulse. Its urgency beat frantic wings against her rib cage. Sitting in her bed and ruminating on the predicament was making her skin itch with the need for action.

  “Cressia, get me up. Then go fetch Moira.” As the bodyguard helped her out of the bunk, steadying her when she swayed with dizziness, Elisabeth began to formulate a plan. First, she needed to assess the status of the ship—what had they done to try to escape the becalment, what were the rations like, what was morale among the sailors? Questions raced through her mind as she carefully made her way to the trunk that held her clothing.

  The cabin door shut behind her, leaving her to her own devices while the royal assassin ran her errand. Elisabeth stripped out of the sweat-caked shirt and trousers. Her body was gaunt from exertion and illness. Her ribs were visible, her hip bones sharp. Her dark-inked tattoos were stark against the increased pallor of her skin. She found a bucket of luke-warm water—Cressia’s doing, she suspected—and washed some of the sick-grime off her body. Each movement was slow and controlled, her arms trembling with the small movements. After a few minutes, she pulled one of the chairs close, and sat while continuing her attempts to get clean. When the door re-opened to reveal Moira and Cressia, Elisabeth sat naked, her eyes closed against the dizziness that plagued her with every move.

  “Captain, it’s good to see you up and about.” Moira’s tone was hesitant. Elisabeth took a long, deep breath and looked at her quartermaster. The woman’s cheeks were flushed, and wrinkles around her eyes spoke of tension. Cressia moved around the two of them with quiet efficiency, draping a blanket around Elisabeth’s shoulders, and helping her to her feet. Once upright, she was able to move on her own to sit at the table. The warmth from the sheet helped her focus on the task at hand.

  “It’s good to be awake, quartermaster.” Cressia handed her a cup. She took a sip to find more water and did her best to keep her hand steady. “Tell me what I’ve missed.”

  “Cress already told you we’re becalmed.” The two women exchanged a brief look. “We’ve tried to row, but the Sargasso follows. The sea’s as smooth as glass. A shroud envelops us. We cannot see more than a hundred yards, and then all is haze. The women are unsettled. All of them whispering about curses, and wondering where you are. There are no fish, no birds, no other sealife. We’re on rations for water and food.” Each word was a stone thrown into the sluggish stream of Elisabeth’s thoughts. They were cursed, that was clear, but this felt too powerful for her mother’s threat. The ghost didn’t control the seas. The illness was a more likely result of the dead necromancer’s ire. Focus, she admonished herself. The curse’s origin didn’t matter at this moment.

  “Did the others...try...to break it?” While she was the most powerful and well-provisioned witch on the Silence, she certainly wasn’t the only one who might be able to break out of the sargasso.

  “None of the women were able to touch the magic,” the quartermaster spoke softly. “You know that. Else we’d be on our way.” The cabin was quiet for a long moment, and then Moira sighed. “You’ll need to get us out of this mess.”

  Elisabeth ran a shaking hand through her stringy hair. “Aye, and I will.” She paused, catching Moira’s gaze and holding it. “You know I always do.”

  “I might believe that, but you look like shit. And you’re shaking like a leaf in autumn back home. The crew needs to see you strong, or there’ll be mutiny.”

  “She’s right, captain,” Cressia added in her quiet way before Elisabeth had a chance to protest. The She-Wolf’s gaze shifted to the bodyguard. She looked down at herself, the blanket hanging loose around her shoulders, her gaunt body, and sighed.

  “Cress, bring me that box.” She pointed at a small wooden chest that sat at the foot of the bunk. The bodyguard set it down with a soft thunk. Elisabeth flipped open the lid and rummaged through its contents. She pulled out a couple of trinkets. With a sigh, she activated a small round band of twigs and flowers that lent her strength. The spell pulsed into her limbs and they stopped trembling. Next, she pushed magic into a ball of yarn with two small red feathers attached to it---a talisman for mental clarity. It felt like a soft breeze in her mind, pushing away the fog that tried to linger.

  “That’s a start,” Moira said. “You have anything in there that’ll make you look alive?”

  Elisabeth snorted a laugh. “Aye, but it won’t last long. Put me to rights, and I’ll use it when we go above.” She hated using glamor, but in this situation she saw no other choice. Appearances mattered with the crew.

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  “Aye, captain,” both women answered at once. A slow smile quirked her lips at their synchronicity. Moira got up and with Cressia at her side, they began searching in Elisabeth’s trunk, picking through her limited wardrobe.

  “You’ll need decent clothes. Can’t have you roamin’ about in your usual ragtag mess and covered in old blood.”

  “Sometimes dried blood is a good reminder to everyone. Don’t want them to forget what I am,” Elisabeth griped. She knew that both women struggled with her disinterest in clothing and grooming. To them, a captain needed to look respectable. It was one of the few points where the two women were in agreement. As a result, they spent more than their share of time ensuring their captain was presentable. Elisabeth appreciated their efforts, while also chafing under their attention. She often didn’t pay attention to her dress, was too focused on carrying an assortment of trinkets and charms to supplement her magic. Clothing meant little to her beyond her hat and coat. The rest was inconsequential.

  “I have something tucked away. It might be time to use it,” Cressia confessed, pulling a black shirt embroidered with red thread, and a matching set of tight-fitting black pants from the bottom of the trunk. Elisabeth lifted an eyebrow, having never noticed the two items before. They were beautiful. The crimson stitching ornamented the cloth in swirling patterns that she recognized from her tattoos---an added layer of protection sewn into the garments. She was impressed with the bodyguard’s wiliness in procuring items imbued with power.

  “Your skills always amaze me, Cress.” A royal assassin had many skills, and Elisabeth discovered new ones in her bodyguard even after this many years together.

  “I almost sent you to Skull Island in this, but I had a feeling that the visit would get messy.”

  Elisabeth nodded, accepting her reasoning. Studying the garments, she shook her head. “If we want the women to get a sense of calm from my appearance, I think wearing my usual clothing is a better idea. We need to treat this like a small event, not anything spectacular.” The quartermaster and bodyguard exchanged a look.

  “You might be right…” Moira conceded.

  “Aye,” Cressia agreed with a sigh. Her hands fingered the embroidery before placing the items back into the trunk. She pulled out a red shirt and black trousers, holding both up for Elisabeth to see. The She-Wolf nodded, then stood and shrugged off the blanket. “Let’s get started.” She allowed Moira to help her dress, and Cressia tugged her sweat-drenched hair away from her face and into an elaborate series of knots and braids. The style hid the filth and kept the grungry strands away from her eyes. The two women stepped away, and Elisbeth put on her coat and boots. She took a few more charms from the box still on her desk, making sure that she had additional options for strength, clarity, and spell enhancement. When she was done, she picked out a gold ring set with a small ruby. With a whisper of magic, the talisman came to life. She slipped the ring on her finger. The surprised expression on Moira’s face told her that the glamor worked.

  “It’ll do,” Moira muttered, after a long moment of consideration. “Still a bit skinny, but you’re not pale as a corpse anymore.” Cressia nodded in agreement.

  “Good. Let’s go.” Elisabeth led the way, pushing open the door of her cabin and striding toward the deck. She paused just inside the opening that would lead her into the thick of things and took a slow, steadying breath. The pause also allowed her eyes to adjust to the brightness beyond the threshold. After a moment, she stalked out into the light, her spine straight and shoulders squared.

  The first thing she noted was the oppressive heat. The second thing she saw was the glare of the sun on a sea as flat as a piece of glass. The third thing that caught her attention was the thick fog that obscured the horizon, but not the sky. And she couldn’t ignore the clusters of listless sailors that lay spread around the ship. No one was in the rigging, no one was swabbing the deck, no one was busy with work. Idle hands spelled trouble at sea, she thought as she stood watching the women. Slowly, heads began to turn in her direction.

  “Captain!”

  “Captain!”

  “It’s the Captain!” She felt their attention shifting onto her as she moved to stand at the rail. There was hope in their whispers. They gathered behind her back, waiting for her to undo the curse and get them moving once more. Their faith in the She-Wolf was complete in this moment. Slowly, their voices stilled and they stopped shuffling. All was silence. The miasma hung around them, obscuring the sky and drenching the women on the deck in its ill-effects. Elisabeth frowned. She let her magic drift around the ship, searching for the depths of the curse.

  Everywhere she touched, she recoiled. The spell ran deep and dark. The air was stifling. It was difficult to breathe. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She tried to fill her lungs—it was a struggle to take a breath. Dizziness rolled through her again and she gripped the rail, leaned forward to stare at the flat surface of the sea. The curse was powerful. She didn’t see a way to break it. The magic hung around them like a veil, drenching them in stagnation. Her thoughts were sluggish. Her mouth was dry.

  A strong hand on her elbow brought her back from riding the magic. Cressia was at her side.

  “Can you get us out?” She spoke so softly that the words were barely more than a movement of air.

  “Yes,” Elisabeth answered just as quietly, emphasizing her words with a small nod. The affirmation was meant for both of them. She saw no clear path to escape, but she wasn’t willing to admit defeat. She glanced over a hunched shoulder. Maybe one of the other women was the key to unlocking the curse. They had tried, true, but perhaps with guidance...She rolled the thought over in her mind. Most of them had some small talent for magic. She closed her eyes and recalled the strengths of each of them. None were spellbreakers and no one else hoarded power the way she did. No, they were not the answer. She was the only one who could undo the spell. “Yes, I can.” She said with more force and pushed herself up and away from the rail. She turned her back on the ocean, the haze and the crew and headed back into her cabin without another word or glance. Behind her the deck remained quiet, as despair settled into the rigging, the boards, and the women.