Nyx gave the pirate a worried look, which he noted but ignored.

  Graylin shifted closer. He glanced at Shiya, then back to her. “Do you have any inkling what’s out there—or when they’ll renew their attack?”

  She shook her head. Shiya kept the blaze of bridle-song around the wheelhouse. It frazzled along the walls, as if the ship were already burning in a golden fire. It wasn’t until this moment that she realized the assault upon the ship had stopped. All had gone quiet, as if the enemy had decided to match Darant’s strategy.

  “They’ve ceased their attack,” Nyx whispered. “At least for now.”

  “Maybe they retreated,” Darant offered hopefully. “Decided we’re too much for them.”

  “No,” she assured him. “They’re biding their time.”

  “Until what?” Graylin asked.

  “Until this.”

  The Sparrowhawk slipped into the mist’s edge. The world vanished around them. As it did, the last of the winds died, too. Even the gusts ripping through the hull breach grew muffled. A dismaying silence settled over the ship.

  Darant didn’t have to remind the crew.

  Everyone knew the truth.

  Nyx reminded them in a whisper, “They’re out there.”

  13

  A HALF-BELL LATER, Nyx found herself posted beside Shiya again. Heeding Nyx’s recommendation, the bronze woman had let her song die away. Nyx had feared that the blaze of Shiya’s shield would be a beacon in this fog.

  Rhaif kept vigil on Shiya’s other side.

  No one dared speak.

  Graylin turned and looked hard at her, his silent question easy to read.

  Anything?

  She gave a small shake of her head. Her hand reached to Shiya’s elbow. If another attack struck, the pair of them would have to act swiftly. Still, the waiting stretched to a dagger’s edge. Her breathing grew heavier. Her eyes strained as she searched the featureless fog. Her stomach felt another swing of the ship.

  At the wheel, Darant slowly circled the Sparrowhawk, spiraling them lower and lower. Blinded by the fog, he dared go no faster. Fenn kept watch under their keel through his farscopes, searching below. But it was as if the world had vanished entirely.

  Nyx shifted her feet. By now, her sight had adjusted to the gloom. The mists faintly glowed in the moonlight. This far into the fog, the ship’s windows were pebbled with droplets, obscuring the view. Nyx wiped similar beads of sweat from her forehead.

  She studied her damp fingers with a frown.

  Something’s not right.

  She let go of Shiya and passed to Darant’s right. She reached out and placed her palm against the alchymically hardened glass.

  The pirate glared at her, hissing low, “What’re you doing, lass?”

  She turned, her voice the barest whisper. “It’s warm.”

  Darant thrust out his arm and dropped his hand next to hers. His brows shot high. His voice gasped a bit too loudly in surprise, “She’s right!”

  Nyx moved back. Her understanding of the world outside shifted. “It’s not ice fog. It’s not fog at all.” She swung to the others. “It’s steam.”

  Graylin came forward to confirm the same, which irked Nyx.

  Why can’t he trust my word?

  Fenn spoke softly from his station without lifting his eyes from his scope. “Must be some monstrous source of heat under us.”

  “And we’re dropping straight toward it,” Rhaif groaned.

  Other crewmembers gathered by the windows. Fearful of what awaited them, everyone searched below.

  Except for one.

  “Beware,” Shiya warned, her voice ringing sharply. Her face stared upward, as if her gaze could pierce through the roof. “They’re coming.”

  Nyx felt it then, too. Since entering the steam bank, she had sensed a well of power ebbing and surging through the mists. It had kept a wary distance, but it now surged toward them from above, like a dark wave crashing upon a foundering raft.

  She hurried to Shiya’s side, pulling in a deep breath as she rushed. Shiya arched her back and sang, her voice as firm and bright as the bronze of her skin. Strands of bridle-song webbed quickly, knitting back into a shield. Nyx added her voice, focusing hard to push her pounding heart out of her throat.

  She quickly found her harmony, bolstering Shiya’s efforts. Together, they expanded the sphere of their protection out to the walls. Golden fire again sheltered those within the wheelhouse. She clenched a fist, bracing herself. She waited for the attack, for those dark spears of bridle-song to pound against their shield.

  But that was not the threat.

  Graylin stumbled with a gasp from the window. A large shadow swept past the ship’s bow and vanished below them. Nyx caught the barest glimpse of scalloped wings. Her blood turned to ice at the sight. Her song faltered, fraying the edges of the blazing shield.

  It can’t be …

  Then another shadow swept into view, hanging there for a breath, before snapping huge wings and shooting high. There was no denying the truth. The form was shaggy-pelted, with a shorter tail, but they all knew that creature.

  “It’s a bat,” Rhaif said. “Like Bashaliia.”

  Nyx knew the thief was wrong.

  It’s nothing like Bashaliia.

  More shadows shot and glided through the mists, staying high, barely discernible through the steam’s pall.

  “What’re they doing?” Rhaif asked, drawing closer to Shiya.

  The answer came as the ship gave a hard shudder, settled for a breath, then jolted again. Draft-iron cables whined and twanged outside.

  “They’re bombarding our gasbag!” Darant yelled. “Ripping into it.”

  Nyx craned her neck, staring upward. She knew swyftships like the Sparrowhawk were built as fighting vessels, faster and more agile than the giant warships. To withstand assaults, their balloons were compartmentalized into sections. A swyftship’s gasbag could take several tears and still stay afloat. But there were limits to how much damage it could withstand.

  “Hang tight!” Darant said as he shoved the maesterwheel forward.

  The ship’s bow dropped, sending the craft into a steep dive. Nyx’s feet slid, but she grabbed hold of Shiya to stop herself. The song died in Nyx’s throat, but the bronze woman did her best to keep a shield up. Nyx cast her senses, brushing against the fiery hatred flowing through the steam. So far, that power stayed out there, rather than being cast down upon the ship.

  Maybe their earlier assault burned through the bulk of their bridling energy, leaving them no choice but to attack physically.

  Darant spun the wheel, sending their descent into a tighter spiral. The sudden maneuver tossed Nyx to the side. She lost her grip, but Rhaif caught her. He pulled her back to Shiya, while also holding fast to the bronze woman.

  “Can you call them off?” Rhaif gasped, speaking both to Nyx and Shiya. “Convince them we mean no harm?”

  Nyx stared upward.

  Shiya answered Rhaif, “They will not listen.”

  Nyx knew the woman was right. The colony out there might be distantly related to Bashaliia’s, but something had malformed them. She sensed nothing like the cold astuteness of the swampland clan. What swept through the skies was feral, savage, but plainly still cunning—as this ambush demonstrated.

  Despite Darant’s efforts to shake off the haranguing flock, the ship continued to quake and rock. Nyx swore she could hear fabric rip as more of the balloon was torn by sharp claws.

  We’re not going to last much longer.

  Graylin voiced the same, closing upon Darant. “It’s hopeless! We must get to the sailrafts! Pray those smaller vessels can slip past that horde.”

  Nyx expected Darant—ever proud of the Sparrowhawk’s ability and his own skill—to dissent. She was wrong.

  “Do it!” Darant flashed his gaze right and left, to the secondary stations, to his daughters. “Glace and Brayl, get Nyx and the others into those rafts. Find somewhere to hide in this steamy clag.”

  Glace stepped toward the man. “Father…”

  He thrust an arm toward the door. “Go. I’m not giving up on the Hawk just yet.”

  Darant turned away, dismissing his daughters. Ever obedient, the two women closed upon Nyx and the others. Their faces were hard masks of concern.

  Nyx spoke as the pair reached them. “I left Jace in the hold. He should’ve readied the rafts by now.”

  Behind them, Darant bellowed orders through the highhorn, divvying up assignments. He called back as they headed away, “Once free of the ship, dive fast! I’ll do my best to draw the bastards off.”

  Nyx gasped as her skull suddenly burned. The small hairs danced across her skin. She glanced back as a huge shape flew into view. It struck the window with a resounding crash. The hardened glass splintered. The bat perched there, claws digging deep into the bow planks. Wings battered at the ship. Its ears lay flat to its skull, while fangs gnashed at the glass, smearing its surface with poison.

  Those black-diamond eyes, though, never shifted. They glared straight at Nyx, tracking her as she fled with the others. For a breath, she sensed the horde-mind staring through at her. The cold malice cut into her skull—bringing with it a single thought, no words, only intent.

  But it was clear enough.

  We will break you.

  14

  HUDDLED IN THE hold of Sparrowhawk, Graylin grabbed Nyx’s arm. Fear forged his fingers into iron. The others had already boarded the two sailrafts. Bundled in a thick coat, Nyx stood beside Bashaliia at the foot of their raft’s ramp. She had wanted to wait until the last moment before leaving the beast’s side.

  “Get aboard,” he ordered.

  Even sheltered behind the sailraft, he had to yell. The Sparrowhawk’s massive stern door had been dropped flat, sticking out of the ship like a tongue, poking into the steamy darkness. Graylin kept watch on the skies as the ship spiraled deeper into the mists. The air stank worrisomely of sulfurous brimstan. After so long in the cold, the heat flowing into the ship felt oppressive.

  “Now,” Graylin pressed Nyx.

  She kept a palm on the bat’s cheek and glanced over. “Are you sure we can’t take him with us? There’s room.”

  “Barely, and we’ve gone over this. He’s better off on his own and can follow us down. He’s certainly far more agile than any raft. If anyone can escape those monsters, it’s him.”

  She sighed and leaned her brow against her brother’s bowed head, saying a final good-bye.

  Deaf to bridle-song, Graylin imagined the energy passing between the two. In that moment, Nyx looked so much like Marayn. The tenderness in the girl’s face, the steel in her eyes, even the edge of fury in the set to her lips. It all stung his heart. He prayed that he could take better care of her than he had her mother, a woman whom he had loved more than his own standing, his own blood oath, his own life. Still, Marayn had died in the Mýr swamps. He had failed her in the end, abandoning her in a futile attempt to lead the king’s forces astray.

  As Nyx straightened, he searched her face for features that matched his own, but all he could see was Marayn. Nyx might be his child, but he could not know for sure. He had shared Marayn’s bed—memories of which were forever etched in his heart—but so had another, the man to whom she had been indentured. She had been raised among the pleasure serfs of King Toranth’s palacio, becoming the sovereign’s most beloved treasure. The king had forbidden any other man from touching her.

  But Graylin had broken an oath and trespassed where he shouldn’t have, bringing ruin to all. The guilt had become as much a part of him as his scars and calloused bones. Still, the gods had granted him a measure of absolution.

  He stared at the young woman before him. He didn’t care if she was his daughter or not, only that she was Marayn’s. He’d treasure even this small part of the woman he once loved.

  Bashaliia finally backed away from the ramp, fluttering his wings loose.

  Nyx stared after him, her expression pained. “Be careful. Stay close to us.”

  With matters settled, Graylin herded Nyx up into the small hold of the sailraft. He looked over at the other craft.

  As he watched, its stern door snapped shut. Rhaif and Shiya were already inside. The immense weight of the bronze woman had limited the number of crew it could carry. Darant’s daughter Glace manned its controls. The only others aboard were the engineer Hyck, along with a pair of brothers, Perde and Herl.

  Brayl called from the wheel of Graylin’s raft, “Seal us up! My sister is ready to launch!”

  With a grimace, Graylin rushed into the hold and grabbed the crank handle just inside. Using all his shoulder strength, he wheeled it around and around. The stern door slowly rose behind him.

  Inside, Nyx crossed to Jace and Krysh. The two of them had hauled in a crate of hastily packed books, tomes apparently too precious to leave behind. Graylin didn’t care. If nothing else, the volumes would make good kindling for a fire.

  On the other side of the hold stood two more crewmembers. Fenn leaned over Brayl’s shoulder. The navigator gestured and talked rapidly, likely planning for their descent. Looming over them was Quartermaster Vikas. The woman stood a head taller than Graylin and massed twice his size. She was all muscle and grimness encased in leather armor. She carried a broadsword, one so lengthy it had to be sheathed across her back.

  More passengers could’ve been crammed in here, even with Kalder’s hulking size aboard, but the rest of the crew, numbering eight or nine, had opted to remain on board, to help Darant in his own escape. They all knew their only hope of completing the journey—or even returning home—depended on saving the Sparrowhawk.

  Brayl elbowed Fenn back, snapping at him, “Give me some sodding space already. I know what I have to do.”

  Graylin recognized her ire was not directed at the navigator. She rankled at having to abandon her father. Still, the two sisters were the best pilots aboard the Hawk, possibly even better than Darant.

  We need their skill.

  Jace suddenly yelped and jerked back. He pointed toward the bow window. “They’ve found us!”

  Graylin twisted around to see what had provoked the young man. Outside the swyftship, a pair of shadows swept through the steamy mists. Until now, the beasts had been harrying the gasbag and upper deck, ignoring the lower stern.

  No longer.

  One shadow cartwheeled through the air and dove toward the open deck of the Sparrowhawk. It landed on the dropped door outside. Claws skidded across the planks. Its leathery wings were held high, its head low. It hissed, baring teeth, likely wary at the strangeness of the ship’s interior. Its sheer size—twice that of an ox—drew all their breath.

  “Launch!” Graylin gasped out. They could not risk the enormous creature damaging either sailraft. They had to go before the beast got its bearings.

  Another realized the same.

  A resounding twang sounded to the left. The other raft shot out into the mists like a wooden bolt. It sailed far, nearly vanishing. Before it did, a small balloon exploded from its top, snapping taut, catching the craft before it plummeted. Small jets of alchymical fire burst from its stern forge, propelling it into the cloak of the mists.

  Startled by the launch, the massive bat had flapped to the side. It now blocked their path. Fiery eyes turned upon their vessel. With a deafening screech, it lunged at them, claws reaching.

  “Go,” Jace urged.

  Brayl held off, rightly so, voicing her concern. “If it rips into our furled gasbag…”

  Graylin understood. Better to be trapped aboard the Sparrowhawk than risk a deadly plunge in a damaged raft.

  Nyx moaned and shoved a palm to the roof. “Don’t.”

  Gray frowned, confused—then a shadow sped over the top of the sailraft.

  Nyx’s arm dropped leadenly. “Bashaliia, no…”

  Her brother dove upon the huge attacker, striking hard. The two tumbled and twisted away. The enemy screamed and thrashed, surprised by the ambush. Despite the disparity in size, Bashaliia drove the beast out of the stern. The pair fell away, tangled together, lashing at one another, then vanished into the steamy mists.

  Nyx fell to her knees. “No…”

  Brayl didn’t wait. “Hold tight.”

  Everyone snatched for hanging loops of leather. Graylin abandoned the crank and grabbed for one of them. The raft’s stern door remained a quarter open, but it couldn’t be helped. They dared not wait another breath.

  Brayl pulled a lever, and the raft snapped forward, thrust by the launch cables. The craft blasted out of the Sparrowhawk. Graylin lost his footing and swung from his loop. Kalder skated on his paws across the floor, bumping into him. Nyx, still on her knees, toppled over, but Jace grabbed a fistful of her coat and held her in place.

  Graylin’s stomach lurched as the cast-off raft plummeted for a long spell. Brayl clearly wanted some distance from the ship, from what swept through these mists. Then a small blast sounded overhead. Graylin pictured the balloon bursting taut above them. The raft’s plunge stopped short, hard enough to rip his fingers from the leather loop.

  He kept his legs under him and twisted around to peer out the gap in the stern door. He glimpsed the Sparrowhawk as it was swallowed by the mists. Shadows chased after the ship, then they disappeared, too.

  Brayl ignited their stern forge. Blue-orange flames spat out into the steam. The fire sputtered a moment, then roared into a steady blaze. The raft sped faster now, fleeing in the opposite direction.

  Nyx stood up shakily and stumbled toward Graylin at the door. “Bashaliia?”

  Graylin searched the skies. “I don’t see him.”

  She joined him, even allowing him to put an arm around her. She trembled as she stared out.

  Graylin tightened his arm. “He’ll find his way back.”

  Nyx’s next words were a whisper. “But where are we going?”

  Silence settled over the hold, all lost in their own thoughts. Then the raft veered sharply portside, throwing Graylin and Nyx to the side.

  Brayl cursed behind the wheel.

  Fenn gasped.