The Ever Queen (The Ever Seas Book 2)

One hand clung to the thick rope. The other held my cutlass out to my side, the curved edge aimed at Larsson’s ship. The sight of the grappling hooks spurred his crew into action. Ropes wrapped around wrists, and his men leapt off their rails much the same as us.

My swing had me aimed at a bastard with hair to his damn waist and a thick leather jerkin over his chest.

The fool wasn’t a man of the sea. Both his hands clung to the rope, and his eyes went wide and hopeless when he took note of the blade in my grip. One swift swipe, and his innards spilled over the Ever Sea.

My boots struck the rail of Larsson’s ship, leg protesting. Blades awaited. Blood called. To board a ship meant preparing to strike before you took a bleeding step on deck.

A gilded sword swiped at my neck. I met it with my blade and kicked the sod’s knee in the same motion. When the man fell, my blade met his heart.

Purpose burned in my chest, a balance between bloodlust and passion, rage and hope.

I had two objectives in this battle: kill Larsson Bonekeeper and find my queen.

Bodies collided on the deck, and blades clashed in a frenzy. I strained to peer over heads, searching for Larsson. A wild swing from a knife nearly landed in the crook of my neck. I dodged and sliced through the man’s belly.

Across the deck, Gavyn boarded, eyes black with the same wild heat pounding through my veins. Before one of the elven could strike, Gavyn impaled the bastard through the underside of his chin.

He disappeared into the rainfall on deck, only to take shape behind the brute at the helm. Gavyn winked through the helmsman’s cry of fright, then trapped his face in his palms, snapping his neck in a single twist.

Celine and Stormbringer whooped when the elven folk backpedaled toward the center masts. Stormbringer closed his eyes, almost peaceful, and hummed his song. In the same moment, Celine and her false wooden teeth drove into the neck of one of the elven.

At her back, a man approached, blade at the ready. Before he had an opportunity to strike, he was thrown back by a rogue burst of wind that snapped one of the sails free from the rigging.

Celine lifted her gaze, blood dribbling down her chin, and beamed at Stormbringer. “Finn!”

“Woman,” he shouted back, slicing through the chest of another guard. “Where you go, there I go.”

A blade hissed through the air at my back. I spun around with just enough time to lift my cutlass.

A burly man with shocking pale eyes sliced a second blade close to my middle. I spun away, cutting at his knees. He dodged. I lunged. The damn guard earned a hit to my shoulder, but at the sight of my blood, he took a step back.

I dipped my fingers into the wound on my shoulder. “Ah, you’ve heard.”

Before he could flee, I cupped a hand around the back of his head and slammed my bloodied palm over his mouth until black veins skirted up his throat and his body shook violently.

I let him drop and took hold of the cutlass that had slipped from my hand.

Overhead, the darkened sky burst in flashes of silver stars.

Elven not crossing blades shouted their stun, even a little despair, when the sky ignited over their isle.

A smile bloomed over my face. Well done, love.

The first signal was placed, now it would be time for Lady Narza to prove her words and stand with the Ever King at long last. Bells of warning clanged from the isle. Ash and smoke sails broke the surface in the distance, and a storm collided with the shores.

Triumph, bright and heady, burned under my ribs.

A grunt and splatter of blood landed a dead man at my feet. Through the rain, Stieg shot me a dark smile. The warrior turned and leveled another man with his sword, and when a second attack came from the side, he managed to cover the sod’s face with his big palm and slam his face against the center mast.

I rolled my shoulders. All was going to plan.

“Bonekeeper!” My voice, like the swell of the sea, rocked along the deck with every sway in the storm.

“Erik, the helm!” Celine had a blade raised like she might throw it, but her mouth was slack with worry. “The helm!”

Tidecaller rushed on her own, frantic, dodging strikes made by rogue blades. I spun over my shoulder, and a sharp burn filled my middle. Sewell, bent over the rail, held his sword against Larsson. Blood already stained Bonekeeper’s chin. How many men had he shredded for their voice?

None of it mattered. My cook, my crewmate, the closest man I’d ever had to a father, was faltering.

Then I was running.

Fire crackled up my leg, into my spine. I hastened my pace.

An elven guard, one sleeve of his starlight tunic set aflame, stumbled into me. I hissed, braced my back on the mast, and stuffed his belly with my boot. There was no time to wait to watch him flail as he tumbled over the edge of the ship into the sea.

The pierce of a scream cut deeper than a blade. Celine shouted for her father, her brother, and she stumbled. Larsson finagled Sewell’s sword from his grip, and the moment the former bone lord opened his mouth to use his sea voice, Larsson tore his teeth into Sewell’s neck.

“No!” Gavyn noticed. He was water in the next breath.

Shit, shit, shit!

I crashed into Larsson, tearing him away from Sewell. Gavyn’s form appeared in front of his father, catching Sewell under the arms before he fell to the deck, blood a fountain from his neck.

Larsson’s head smacked onto the quarterdeck, my body over his, but his fist struck my ribs without pause. We rolled away from the helm, lashing like starved hounds. Larsson straddled me and reached for my throat. My knuckles cracked over his jaw. I bucked my hips, tossing him off balance overhead, and scrambled to my feet.

Blades out, Larsson sliced a dagger through the air. I bent back, but not swift enough. Larsson slammed his leather-wrapped hilt against the weak point of my leg. It buckled. With the back of his hand, he struck my face. I tilted onto one elbow, bracing, and shielded a downward blow with the edge of my cutlass.

Teeth bared, Larsson leaned into me over our swords and lifted his boot again, kicking and kicking at the crooked bones in my leg.

Black clouded the corners of my eyes from the pain.

“Untouchable, Bloodsinger,” Larsson spat. Blood from his attacks—from Sewell—fell onto my face. Another kick. “Poison blood can’t help you against snapping bones.”

Somewhere, my name was called. Pleaded, more like it. My leg bent under another kick. It cracked.

One more, and the whole of my limb would shatter. I groaned and embraced a hysterical instinct to survive. Larsson leaned over our blades again, and the edge trembled close to my throat. I took him by the neck and dug my fingernails deep into his flesh until it broke and split.

Larsson reared back, leaving bits of his skin under my nails. With the quarterdeck rail, I heaved upright, bracing on my strong leg.

Cold eyes darkened. “You never give up, do you?”

“Must be a family trait.”

Larsson used his sleeve to wipe away some of the blood. “Perhaps. You know, brother, I don’t think you’ve ever heard my voice.”

He hummed a tune, soft, almost lively.

My body stiffened, muscles locking. Pain tore into my chest. Needles of ice pierced my skin until it burned. Rain slicked my shirt to my skin, giving clear sight to charcoal black flesh peeling away from my bones. Fleshripper. Strange, how fascinated my mind became, watching my own chest shred and burn.

Blood spilled down my middle. My feet stumbled. I fell.

Slow, almost somber steps approached. Dazed, distant, I stared up at Larsson’s face. If I narrowed my gaze, I could almost see her. Blue eyes like the Ever sea, the sweet worry line over her brow.

I should’ve told her I loved her one final time.

Larsson ended his song, leaving my skin opened, bleeding, burning.

“In another life,” he said, voice low. “We might’ve had a chance to be brothers. I might’ve even liked it.”

I despised him but wanted to agree, wanted to admit not much in this life had ever been truly fair for the heirs of Thorvald.

Blade raised over the ripped wound in my chest, Larsson studied me a final time, as if to bid a silent farewell, as if to prove he’d won the crown. Voices still cried out for me. It mattered, that even some on my crew might mourn me. I ached for Livia. I’d crave her until I met her in the Otherworld; gods, I’d wanted those thousand turns.

The ship lurched without control. Sails tipped toward the water violently.

Larsson was thrown back, his brow struck the rail. Disoriented, he pressed his palm to his forehead. Agony pinched my face when I sat upright, hooking my elbow over the rail once more. I cried out when flesh and sinews split and tugged until I could peer into the storm.

A smile crept across my face. “Earth Bender.”

From the swirl of the sea, jagged cliffs rose. The peaks split through ropes connecting the Ever Ship and Gavyn’s vessel to Larsson’s, like a cage isolating our singular enemy.

With a horrified sort of awe, Larsson gaped at the rising seafloor that trapped his ship.

Across the distance from ships to shore, cyclones rose from the shallows of the fading isle, violent and perilous. Narza was there, aiding in Livia’s land battle. The Ever Queen claimed the soil. Now it was time to claim the sea.

I stood, biting down on the tip of my tongue when my leg raged. Larsson grappled to find his footing, still lost in the sprouting cliffs. Hate met hate.

“It’s over, Erik,” Larsson said, long, slow drips of blood covered his bottom lip. “You won’t last against me. Die with dignity.”

I bent and lifted my cutlass off the deck. “When have I ever been dignified? If I fall to the Otherworld, I will take you with me. In pieces, I hope.”

No pause, Larsson rushed at me.