Between the battle and the life she’d stolen to at least partially recover her strength, Elisabeth was lightheaded, and she stepped out into the street in a daze. Every part of her body ached. Every inch of mental space was taken over with exhaustion and the last lingering lashes of rage. Instinct took over as she collided with a man about to enter, sliding a small, sharp knife into her palm while the deft fingers of the other lifted a purse from his coat at the moment of impact. The maneuver was unconscious and she snapped back into herself when a strong grip wound around each wrist, pinning her in place. Clarity returned as she inhaled the smell of sea spray and lightning, cut with the acrid notes of a recently smoked cigar and just a hint of rum. She blinked up at the man who held her against him and met cool blue eyes that sparked with amusement and a touch of something hot and dark.

  “Begging your pardon, captain, but that prize is mine, and there’s no need to be threatening me with that little knife for your error.” He growled, low and deep. The sound sent a shiver along her spine that was equal parts fear and lust, the latter a thing she hadn’t felt toward a man in years. She licked her lips, tasting copper and wondered exactly how beaten she looked. She felt the dry patches of blood on her upper lip and chin, smelled the char of spent magic clinging to her clothes, but when she reached out a careful tendril of power she sensed no acumen in him for spellwork. His hands around her wrists tightened, impatient for her to withdraw.

  “Habits, you know.” She dropped the purse to land on the floor with a loud clinking of coins and let the knife follow with a clatter, but he didn’t release his grip. Instead, she watched eyes the colour of ice chips look past her to the dead man. The moment stretched and she felt, more than saw, her crew spread out around them, preparing to defend their captain. His own men were flickers at the edge of her perception. She ignored them all to study the man that kept her captive.

  He was tall, and broad shouldered beneath the leather of his coat. She traced the strong line of his jaw, the scar that cut a line down from his ear and toward his neck. A layer of stubble added a ruggedness to him. A gold hoop dangled from his ear. His skin was darkened by the sun and crow’s feet lined his eyes. His nose had been broken at least once. He was rough around the edges, but handsome. The scent of lightning and sea spray filled her lungs. And she wanted to bury her face in his neck and take a deep breath, drawing it into her like a slow pull of opium smoke. The desire was unsettling. An after effect of being defeated, she reasoned. A wish for comfort and he smelled like the ocean before a storm. What she needed wasn't a warm body next to her. No, she needed to get back to her ship and away from this island.

  “We’re all guilty of those, aren’t we?” She met his eyes again and almost recoiled from the darkness in his gaze—a mixture of anger and lust that she knew was mirrored in her own. It was all too much, the confrontation with the Skeleton King, the need to submit to save herself and her crew, this small room with too many bodies in it. Elisabeth felt panic rising, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. At her back, Cressia moved closer, reading her body language like a children’s book, noting the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremble in her legs. Moira was also inching closer, and the She-Wolf knew that the other woman was about to start yelling. The room roiled with pressure, both magical and emotional. When the inner door slammed open, Elisabeth flinched and hated the brief flash of sympathy in the man’s face. The sound of weapons leaving sheaths filled the tense silence.

  “Mortimer, you’re late.” Quartermaster Crofton dropped the pronouncement into the room like a stone into a still pool, Elisabeth barely caught his eyes flashing to the half-drawn weapons. Earlier, he’d acted obsequious, but now, his voice and posture were full of command. She noted the shift with interest.

  “I can only sail as fast as the wind.” He still hadn’t released her and his breath was hot against her cheek.

  “Best tend to your business and let me go.” He glared past her at the quartermaster and suddenly stepped back. releasing her wrists as he went. He swept her an elaborate bow. Weapons returned to their homes.

  “Right you are. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Wolf.” And with that he moved into the building, leaving her to catch her balance without a backward glance. Cressia slid her knife into its sheath for her and deposited the bag of coins in her pocket. He hadn’t even stopped to retrieve it from the ground where it fell.

  “Thank you, Cress.” The words were barely more than a breath, but the bodyguard heard them and gave her a small nod.

  “I think it’s high time we leave this place,” Moira announced, and Elisabeth couldn’t agree more. She straightened her coat, squared her shoulders, and did her best to saunter out of the Skeleton King’s lair as if she wasn’t feeling like curling up in a dark place and nursing her wounds for the next fortnight. They walked for some time in silence, her vanguard fanning out around with the ease of long practice. Nothing would assail their captain now that she was once more amongst them. They all noted the blood on her face and the scent of spent magic that clung to her, and knew that the audience with the king had not been one of pleasantries. With a small sense of safety restored to her, Elisabeth fell to restless brooding on the events of the evening. Rage still sat hot in her belly. The memory of defeat was a bitter thing at the back of her throat. To be laid bare in front of all of those captains was loathsome. And she knew in that moment that she was going to kill this king for the humiliation he bestowed on her. At least the lightning-scented stranger hadn’t been present.

  “Moira,” she said softly.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Who was the man in the anteroom?”

  “I believe that was Captain Mortimer of the Jester.” Elisabeth rolled the name around her mind, trying to remember the stories told about the captain. She saw the other woman lick her lips from the corner of her eye. “He’s said to be ruthless, unpredictable and charming when he needs to be to get what he wants. Like any other man.” The quartermaster shrugged. “An uneasy ally and a bad enemy to have.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Elisabeth chewed on that information for a moment. “Mortimer…the Jester…he burned Lochlin to the ground last month, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “And he bends the knee to the king, just like the other rats.”

  “Best not say that where he or his can hear you.”

  “Afraid for me?”

  “Yes. Always. He’s no man to be trifled with, even by the likes of you.”

  The exchange did nothing to soothe Elisabeth’s rage or wounded pride. Hadn’t she also bent the knee to the king? Didn’t that make her a rat, too? Not for long, she told herself and envisioned her dagger shoved deep into the Skeleton King’s chest, all of his magic flowing into her like a fountain of youth. The image brought a smile to her bloodied lips.

  “I mean that, Captain.” Moira mistook the smirk for a reaction to Mortimer. A relief, if Elisabeth was being honest.

  “I don’t intend to cross paths with him again. The experience was entirely unpleasant.” But as she said the words, a shiver of premonition ran up her spine—they would meet again. “And if he crosses mine…I’ll try to remember my manners.” She thought the quartermaster might laugh, but the other woman kept quiet and her face remained solemn.

  “He’s no man to be trifled with,” she repeated the words and shook her head before falling back to walk with the guards at the captain’s back. What was left unspoken was the quartermaster's concerns regarding the audience with the King, and Elisabeth’s mercurial temperament. The other woman knew her well enough to know that she was likely to act out after that encounter, and that spelled danger for all of them. And she wasn’t wrong. The desire for revenge bloomed in her heart already, taking root fast and hard. Elisabeth shrugged tired shoulders and turned the information over in her thoughts as she considered Moira’s behaviour.

  Henry Mortimer, if she remembered right; a fearsome pirate, quick to kill, but fair with his crew, by all accounts. And rumored to have courted every woman within three hundred miles. A rogue and a charmer, without an ounce of magic to his name. Moira didn’t like him and the quartermaster was usually right in her judgement of people. Elisabeth chewed on her lip. The image of his grin floated through her memory, followed by the memory of his smell and the warm line of his body pressed against her own. She shook her head to clear it. Men like that were dangerous. She didn’t have time for the distraction. A strong tug on one of her remaining wards brought her back into her body with a jolt. Just a probe from a curious old pirate that watched them pass from a haphazard tent thrown up in the shadow of a tavern, but it brought her awareness to her lack of protection. She felt exposed without the myriad charms she normally carried on her body.

  “Moira,” she called the quartermaster to her side again and the woman quickly appeared.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Find me a witch.”

  “Yes, Captain.” She fell back again, murmuring to one of the other women. Elisabeth felt the magic that went out from their circle, seeking for a spell-maker in the sprawling town. They sauntered on for a few minutes before the quartermaster was back at her side.

  “Corra knows where.”

  “Have her tell Cressia. I’ll take only her with me.”

  “In your state? I hardly think that’s a good idea.” Moira’s bluntness itched at her nerves.

  “It’s not the sort of errand that needs a whole vanguard. I need you to take them back to the ship and get her ready to sail by daybreak.” The sooner they left this place, the better. She wanted nothing more to do with Skull Island and its denizens. The quartermaster hesitated, and Elisabeth felt the argument brewing.

  “You know I won’t let harm come to her,” Cressia spoke softly from the other side of Elisabeth, materializing like a shadow.

  “Aye,” the other woman acquiesced. “Aye.” She heaved a long sigh. “I’ll see to it, but I can’t promise that we’ll have everything we need.” Elisabeth realized that she was the only one who knew the nature of the King’s errand. Once they were underway, she needed to get the details from her quartermaster.

  “Do your best. I want to put this place in our wake.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The quartermaster began to issue orders to the group of women that accompanied them. Splitting the vanguard into pairs, all of them peeling away to gather as many supplies as they could in the time allotted for the task. Soon, only Cressia remained at the captain’s side, her eyes scanning the shadows as the two women made their way through the raucous pirate town. The presence of the bodyguard calmed Elisabeth, her trust in her complete. They wound their way through alleys and footpaths, Cressia certain of her destination. As they walked, Elisabeth began a more thorough inventory of her remaining charms, and her anxiety returned when she realized how depleted her stores truly were after the encounter with the Skeleton King. Everything that was aimed at protection was gone or emptied. They were in a hostile place with no shields or wards, the thought that Cressia felt this way all the time crossed her mind, and she pushed it away. Realizing her vulnerability quickened her pace toward the Witches’ Room, where she hoped she might regain at least a small sense of control.

  After what felt like an extensive hike, Elisabeth stopped short; she was tired and she finally had a sense of her destination. A tug on her magic alerted her that the Witches’ Room was near. At least she still had that, even without the tokens lost in the fight. She looked around, her awareness coming back to the physical, away from her morose thoughts, and saw that they were in a warehouse district. All of the buildings shut up tight against theft in a town like this one, though lacking guards. She wondered if that was the effect of the Skeleton King—that the pirates feared him so much they didn’t need guards for their plunder, just walls and doors with locks on them. She noted the detail, and returned her focus to the task at hand. Tucked away behind one of the storehouses, the Witches’ Room sat in shadow, barely noticeable from the alley that led past it. Elisabeth stared at it and let her vision shift. She traced along the lines of power that webbed the house and pulled on the one that seemed likely to send a gentle knock to the proprietor. After a moment, the door opened silently and showed a brightly-lit room filled with magical paraphernalia.

  “Wait here,” Elisabeth instructed her bodyguard before walking down the alley toward the threshold. Distance was a strange thing when entering a witch’s space, and so she was there in only a few steps. She entered into the warm, mint-scented shop with a soft sigh of relief—it was a sanctuary, its wards old and strong, and completely free of the Skeleton King’s magic. As the door swung closed behind her, she saw Cressia slip into the shadows, guarding the entrance from any that might think to find Captain Wolf unattended—a concern that would only arise once she left the hut. Confident in her safety, Elisabeth took a deep breath and let her gaze wander over the charms and potions that lined the walls, filled cupboards, and hung from the ceiling.