Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (17 page)

W
ith Rohan by her side
, Fiona stood on Fiddler’s Green’s rocky eastern shore. The recruits awaited the pirates’ arrival, and russet sunlight glinted off the water. A thick smell of seaweed hung in the humid air, and a gull cried overhead.

Two small sailboats were moored in the bay, one with green sails, its side blazoned with the word
Kraken
in gold paint
.
Next to it, a boat called the
Old Roger
bobbed in the water, white skulls staring out from its black sails.

Whatever happened today, she needed to impress Nod. She would do whatever it took.

Ives sat cross-legged on a large rock, chucking stones into the water. “May the best pair win today’s challenge.”

Ostap pirouetted into the water, flinging droplets around him. He turned, catching Fiona’s eye, and bowed a sarcastic bow. “Milady.”

Rohan leaned close to her ear. “We need to be paired up. I don’t trust either of them.”

“Neither do I. But Nod will make the call, and I don’t think he’s going to ask for our opinions.”

He shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

She rubbed a knot in her shoulder. How was she supposed to make it through this task with the screaming pain in her muscles? For the past twenty-four hours, Lir had been unrelenting with his training demands: swimming before dawn, six-mile runs, sword fighting all afternoon, and all night he made her climb up and down the shrouds while reciting sailing lore. He seemed to have forgotten that she was only human and needed rest, but it wasn’t like she could complain. He would’ve just called her soft and told her to go home.

Footsteps sounded on the rocks as Nod led the Guardians to the beach. Striding into the sage-green water, he surveyed his recruits. “The four of you will sail around the island in a race. There are no rules. Your only task is to win. Ives, you’re with Rohan on the
Kraken
. Fiona goes with Ostap on the
Old Roger
.”

Fiona’s stomach turned a flip. With Ostap? The tattooed psychopath? 

Rohan stepped forward. “Captain. I think I should be with Fiona.”

Marlowe glared at Rohan, pointing a long finger. “The Captain made his decision,” he snapped, having lost all patience with his recruit.

Apart from the lapping ocean waves, silence descended while Nod stared at Rohan. Wind rushed over the island’s surface, dappling the sea with little cat’s-paws. The Captain prowled through the water, rubbing the finger bone he wore around his neck. “And why is that?”

“The others accuse her of murder. I think they might let her die, even if it meant losing.”

“That’s an outrageous accusation!” shouted Ostap.

“Paranoia won’t win you any favors,” muttered Ives. 

Nod rubbed his chin. “I appreciate your bluntness, Rohan. Fine. Go with her on the
Old Roger
. It’s only because I like the girl.” 

Fiona turned to Rohan, mouthing
thank you
.

They waded into the shallow waters, and Fiona climbed onto the
Old Roger
, extending a hand to Rohan. “I can be the crew if you want to take the lead as skipper. You’ve saved my ass twice now. You deserve a little glory.”

“You’d have done the same for me.”

She liked to think she would have, but who knew what she was capable of when it came to self-preservation. “Well, one of us has to steer. Go for it.” She nodded to the helm.

Leaning over the ship’s side, she pulled up the anchor, her eyes meeting Lir’s. He was beginning to seem trustworthy, but it was hard to be sure. She definitely wasn’t ready to tell him about her dad.

She blinked, forcing herself to focus on the trial. It was just as Lir had said—another loss and Nod would send her home. And desperate as she was to see Tobias again, she didn’t want to find out what Estelle would do if Fiona came crawling back to her shores, powerless to fight her.
A psychopath, a failure, and a reject. Christ.

Rohan steered the boat to line up with the
Kraken
. Unlucky for her, they were stuck on the outside, which meant a longer distance around the island.

On the rocky shore, Nod held a pistol in the air. “Are you ready to entertain me, recruits?” He pulled the trigger and a shot rang through the air.

Fiona mentally ran through her training with Lir.
The cord—no, the halyard.
She grasped the rope, raising the sail in a few strong pulls while Rohan pumped the tiller back and forth. Slowly, the sail swelled, and they glided forward.

Over the gunnel, Fiona could see clear into the depths—crab, lobsters and seaweed sped past. Wind swelled the
Old Roger
’s sails, and they cruised along, flush with the
Kraken
.

From the other boat, Ostap grinned, rubbing his crotch. “Don’t work too hard, ladies. Let the men take control.”

Gross.
There was something really wrong with him. No wonder Loukomourie wanted to get rid of him.

Fiona stared ahead, trying to concentrate on the water. As they approached the island’s northern shore, a dangerous shoal came into view. Jagged boulders jutted from the surface, threatening serious damage to the keel.

“Look out for rocks,” shouted Rohan. “If we hit one, we’ll be stove in.”

Swiftly reaching for the rope, Fiona adjusted the mainsail, peering over the side. Just ahead, a huge boulder humped from the water’s surface like a hippo’s back.

“Boulder on the port side,” she yelled. Rohan shoved the tiller and they glided to the right, narrowly avoiding the rock. Fiona loosened her grip on the mainsheet, easing a little wind out of the sail.

Rohan squinted in the setting sun. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to hit a rock if we don’t slow down.”

“They’re gaining on us.”

As the boat drifted, they picked their way through the craggy shoals until the sea deepened again, and Fiona’s panic eased a little. Rohan steered the boat west, into the wind.

Out of the island’s lee, the wind blew stronger. The bow cleaved the waves, and a fine spray misted the air. She’d never understood before that the ocean could actually be beautiful in its own way. Maybe she would actually like being a Guardian. Assuming she didn’t get kicked out and that she made it out alive, which were two big assumptions.

As they rounded the northern side, Rohan tacked toward the island and the
Kraken
tacked in the opposite direction.

Shit.
The two boats were on a collision course.

“We’re going to hit them,” Fiona shouted over the sound of rushing water. She eyed the oar. She could use it to shove the other boat away if she needed to, and she wouldn’t hesitate to knock a few of them into the water. She was Danny Shea’s daughter; an assault with a wooden oar should be the least of their concerns.

Ostap cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting, “Thanks for showing us the way through the shoal!”

She gritted her teeth.
Why is it the worst people always get the upper hand?

The
Kraken
inched past them.

Rohan tacked the
Old Roger
, but each time the others pulled a little further ahead. “Bollocks!” he shouted.

With a racing heart, she adjusted the mainsheet, letting wind swell the sails. She wasn’t going to let herself be exiled again. She was in control here.

The waves grew large, capped by white peaks. The boat heeled, and Fiona climbed the gunnel’s side as a counterbalance. Any screw-ups with the tiller would hurl them into Dagon’s arms. Just ahead of them, Ostap and Ives skimmed over the water like jesus bugs.

Her mouth went dry. Estelle would rip her throat out if they lost, and she’d be too weak to fight back. If Nod kicked her out, she’d be adrift—a cursed wanderer. Or worse, she’d be left to the mercy of the Purgators who wanted to burn her to death. A wave of panic slammed into her. She couldn’t let her life end this way, hunted and alone.

Her heart hammered in her chest as they reached the island’s last stretch. She couldn’t let the sail jibe. If she kept it in too tight, it could swing across the boat, threatening to capsize them. She loosened the mainsheet.

A shout pierced the air and Fiona’s eyes darted to the
Kraken
, now rocking wildly. Ostap grasped at the sail, trying to hold it in place, while Ives struggled with the tiller. Wind caught their sail, pulling Ostap to the edge of the boat. In a rare moment of gracelessness, he lost his balance, nearly tipping into the water. She caught the look of panic on his face and nearly smiled. The
Kraken
had lost its momentum.

With the wind filling their sail, Fiona’s boat inched closer, but the
Kraken
remained out of reach. On the rocky beach, the Guardians watched, arms folded. Not cheering, or having fun, but judging, eyes darkened. A pit grew in her stomach. They were watching her fail. Ostap turned, flashing a feral grin at Fiona.

There had to be a way to stop them, to wipe that smile from Ostap’s face.

“Gods damn it,” Rohan cursed. “We need some way to anchor the bastards.”

An anchor.
Fiona closed her eyes, racking her brain. Surely all the sailing knowledge Lir had forced her to memorize would be good for something. She heard his voice in her head, calm but insistent, and saw his murky green eyes as he rattled off each part of the boat—the points of sail, the beam reach and the broad reach—the cleats used to secure the lines.

With her eyes closed, she could almost smell his damp-wood-and-rosemary scent, could see the drops of seawater on his golden skin. But what had he told her about anchors? Fluke anchors were for the sand, plow anchors for seagrass, but neither of those would help her now.

It struck her like a bullet to the brain.
A drogue. A sea-anchor.

“I’ve got it!” She leapt to the front of the boat and rummaged around a suitcase-sized compartment. Her pulse racing, she grabbed an old piece of sail, a ten-inch steel anchor, and some rope as Rohan looked on.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t distract me.” Rushing over the deck, she secured one end of the rope to the corner of the sail. Then she looped it through the holes in the sail where the lines would normally attach it to the boat, then tied the free end of the rope to the anchor. Sunlight glinted off its smooth edges as she swung it in a circle before letting go of the line. The anchor soared through the air, taking the rope along with it, and landed in the center of the
Kraken
’s
deck. As Ostap stared at her in confusion, Fiona heaved the old piece of sail over the side. It caught in the water. While the
Kraken
moved forward, the sail began to fill with seawater, pulling in the opposite direction of the anchor. The weight yanked the steel anchor along the
Kraken
’s gunnel, snapping a shroud.

A loud crack cut the air. The
Kraken
’s mast toppled into the sea.

Relief flooded Fiona, and Rohan whooped as they raced past the
Kraken
to the shore.

I
n the setting sun
, Fiona stood on the deck, a wreath of scarlet pimpernels in her hair. Nod had been so impressed with her maneuver, he’d seen fit to crown her with wildflowers.

Her entire body throbbed with fatigue.

Near the quarterdeck, Rohan was dancing a reel with Valac while Ives and Ostap sulked over their drinks. Fiona was relieved, but too exhausted to celebrate tonight.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to see Lir, his skin bathed in pearly moonlight.

“Please tell me I finally impressed you,” she said.

His face betrayed no emotion. “You let too much wind out of the sail in the shoals.”

Prick.
She gritted her teeth. She’d had enough of him for one night. “Good to know. I’m going to bed.”

He could damn well jog alone tomorrow morning. She deserved a little sleep.

I
n her candlelit room
, Celia slipped into a dress the color of an afternoon sky. Its neckline plunged into a deep V, and the back draped nearly to her waist. Maybe the Maremounters were prudes, but the werewolves weren’t, and this dress was perfect for the party tonight. A blueberry festival.
That’s what they do here for fun. They have parties for berries.

She smiled at her reflection. Maybe she was living in a backwater village full of wolves, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a party. At least she was finally looking like herself again. She’d taken a hot bath, and her hair and skin gleamed. What was more, she had a few reasons to celebrate. She’d mastered at least two attack spells, and she’d held her own in a spar with Alan—for thirty seconds anyway, until he’d twisted her arm behind her back.

She smoothed out her dress as she crossed the room. Pulling open her bedroom door, she hurried down the stairs to the dirt road.

Oswald had left twenty minutes ago. She had the distinct impression he’d been avoiding her since their training session yesterday morning. Had she crossed a line? Maybe she shouldn’t have pulled him close like that. Maybe it had freaked him out. She wasn’t used to scaring guys off. Then again, she’d never felt so unsure of herself around someone before. She was probably acting like a total weirdo.

Outside, a waxing moon shone on the pebbled path into town. Cool sea air howled through the rickety houses, kissing her bare neck. For the first time since they’d arrived, Mariana was supposed to come out tonight. Alan was escorting her to the festival, and he’d promised to walk her home if she started to panic.

Fiddle melodies and drums filtered through the streets, the music rhythmic and entrancing. A faint smile crossed Celia’s lips. Maybe they’d actually have fun for once.

As she drew closer to the common, she saw a field lit by tiny, floating lights that sparkled like fireflies. Someone must have spelled the common to grow wildflowers, because buttercups and blue cowslips carpeted the rocky field. And it looked like a real party. All over the glamoured common, the werewolves danced and drank from copper cups, and a small band played from the top of the rocky knoll.

Celia had come to expect flowers, drinks, and a little wildness in Dogtown. What she hadn’t expected was to arrive at the festival to find Mariana dancing with Alan. He twirled her to the captivating music, mingling among Dogtown’s witches.

At the sight of Mariana’s tentative smile, a little ice around Celia’s heart began to thaw. Fiona was gone, but at least she had Mariana.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she jumped. It was that crazy blonde from the woods, Cadonia. Tonight, she’d dressed up in a green gown threaded with real flowers. Grinning, she thrust a cup at Celia. “Blueberry wine. Makes you feel good. Might help you find a mate.”

“Thanks. Find a mate?”
Do I really look that desperate?

Cadonia sloshed her cup, and her chipmunk scuttled over the front of her dress. “That’s what we do at the festival. Find mates. At least for one night. Maremount has the mayflower festival, and we got blueberry. Same kinda thing. You know what kinda thing I mean.” She gave an exaggerated wink.

Celia had a feeling Cadonia had spent some time with the punch bowl. “I don’t think tonight’s my night for that kinda thing.” Taking a sip, she winced at the sweetness of the wine, but it warmed her throat.

“Tonight’s the night.” Cadonia jabbed a finger in Celia’s face. “You find yourself a handsome young man.” With one last grin, she stumbled back toward the punch bowl.

Whatever you say, crazy chipmunk lady.
Celia surveyed the crowd. On the south side of the common, Tobias leaned against a table, a troubled expression on his face. Estelle lingered by his side, her tight gold dress even more scandalous than Celia’s.

She felt a twinge of jealousy. A queen who knew how to dress for attention—that should be
her
role. Not that Estelle’s outfit seemed to have the desired effect on Tobias. He hardly looked at her.

But where the hell was Oswald?
And why do I even care?
Celia edged closer to the action, peering between the dancers for a sign of the golden-haired Tatter.

Instead, what she saw was Cadonia, pulling Thomas close in a dance that went beyond friendly. She clutched him in a tight embrace, running her hands over his back.

Gross.
Celia forced herself to look away and walked the perimeter, scanning the southern edge of the common.

Then she spied him, leaning against an ash tree in the shadows, a wooden cup in his hand. For a Tatter living in a backward wolf village, Oswald always seemed remarkably well dressed—his shirts clean and unwrinkled, perfectly fitting his athletic frame.

She averted her eyes. For some reason, she felt nervous approaching him. But why? It wasn’t like anything had happened between them. It had just been a tactic. Anyway, she’d hooked up with plenty of boys. Oswald wasn’t any different. Not that she’d been thinking about hooking up with him in the first place. Not only was he a Tatter, but he was arrogant as hell.

She threw back her shoulders and crossed the grass. Oswald didn’t seem to notice her, and she felt a moment of self-doubt. What exactly was she afraid of? Sure, he was beautiful, but it wasn’t like she wanted him as a boyfriend.

As she drew closer she schooled her face into a confident expression—a slight smile, unruffled. Just a few feet away, Oswald’s eyes met hers. He didn’t smile, but his eyes sank to her low neckline. He smelled amazing—apples and freshly laundered clothes.

She ran a finger around the rim of her cup. “Hanging out by a tree. Looks like you really know how to enjoy a party.”

“Are you looking to dance with me? I was hoping to enjoy my drink first.”

“You need to get drunk to dance with a beautiful woman?”

“Not big on humility, are you?”

“You’re one to talk.”
Cocky bastard.
She had a sudden desire to pull him close again, though whether it was to fight or to dance, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was the music was intoxicating—or maybe it was the wine. Her pulse racing, she inched closer.

His eyes darted to the common, and Celia followed his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“The wolf queen. Guess she didn’t find the mate she was seeking.”

So Oswald knew about this whole finding-a-mate thing, too.

Celia caught sight of Estelle. She had a stormy look on her face as she strode purposefully across the grass into one of the narrow streets.

Oswald thrust his cup at Celia. “I’ve got to go.” He hurried into the shadows, following Estelle back in the direction of her house.

What the hell was that about?
And what was Celia supposed to do—just stand here holding his drink like an idiot? Whatever Oswald was up to, she wanted to be a part of it.

She downed the rest of the blueberry wine, setting the cups on a table as she passed. When she glanced at the revelers, she saw the party had heated up even more. Cadonia and Thomas danced on a table to a song with a deep, pulsing beat. Cadonia hadn’t been kidding. The whole town was letting their hair down tonight.

Everyone except Celia, who’d just decided to stalk Oswald through the village like some kind of psycho. She slipped through the dark streets, keeping her distance as he prowled to Estelle’s house at the other end of the village. What exactly was his interest in the she-wolf? Maybe he wanted to make sure she planned to fight the Throcknells. Or maybe he was looking for a mate.
In which case, my presence would be more than awkward.

But Celia couldn’t quite stop herself.

A warm light glowed from Estelle’s living-room windows. He wasn’t inside, was he? Something about the thought of Oswald sneaking off to find Estelle alone made Celia’s chest tighten. He couldn’t be looking to mate—not with her.

Frowning, she considered her options.
I can’t spy from the front of the house, but I could poke around in back.
Her pulse speeding up, Celia crept around the perimeter. Oaks loomed tall overhead, blocking most of the moonlight, but she caught a flicker of movement on the lawn—a figure crouched in a shrub under one of the living-room windows. Oswald, peering in the window like a Peeping Tom.

As quietly as she could, she snuck through the overgrown garden, closing in on him. But a twig snapped under her foot, and his head whipped around.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Rocks bit into her knees as she crouched down beside him, her arm brushing his. Maybe she shouldn’t have followed him. Maybe she was acting like a creep. Then again, she wasn’t the one who’d decided to lurk in Estelle’s shrubs.

She lifted her head, peeking into Estelle’s window. The werewolf queen stood before the fireplace, her hands hovering above a copper cauldron. Steam rose from the pot. Estelle threw back her head and shut her eyes. Her body swayed gently from side to side as she chanted something Celia didn’t understand.

Celia leaned into Oswald, so close she could feel the warmth coming off his skin. “Why are we here?”

“I don’t trust her. She’s acting monstrous strange with Tobias.”

“She has the hots for him. It makes people act weird.” She winced, worried she’d betrayed something more than she meant to.

Falling silent again, she watched as Estelle swayed. In a deep voice the she-wolf intoned, “Tobias,” then opened her eyes, staring into the cauldron. A grin spread over her face.

Celia grabbed Oswald’s arm. “She knows something.”

Estelle’s body tensed, and she cocked her head. Her dark eyes pivoted to the window, and panic gripped Celia’s gut.

“Let’s go.” Oswald tugged her arm, and they hurried through the shadows to the towering oaks.

Before they could get to the the edge of the forest, the house’s back door swung open. Estelle was coming.

“Act natural,” Oswald whispered. “We’re just here to mate.”

“What?”

Estelle stomped through the brush. “Who’s there?”

Oswald wrapped his strong arms around Celia, lifting her up against a tree. God, he smelled amazing. Without thinking, she wrapped her legs around him, her dress hitching up to her thighs. He leaned into her, pressing his warm mouth against hers in a slow, soft kiss. She parted her lips, their tongues brushing. A thrilling heat blazed through her core. Her hands roamed over his back, gripping his shirt. As she arched her back into him, the kiss grew deeper.

When he gently nipped at her lower lip, all rational thought flew from her mind. Running her fingers through his curly hair, she had a burning desire to touch every inch of his skin. She wanted to hear him gasp.

“Oh,” said Estelle. “It’s you two. I was wondering when you’d get down to it. At least someone’s having fun.” She turned, crunching on the path back to town.

Slowly, Oswald pulled away, his eyes still on Celia. “I think it worked,” he whispered.

Celia’s hands remained locked around his neck, and she’d forgotten how to speak. Instead, she just nodded. What had just happened? And how was Oswald able to put a sentence together when she’d forgotten how words worked?

He lowered her to the ground, releasing her from his embrace. For a second she was unsure if her legs would hold her up, and she felt a sharp longing for his touch again, even if he
was
a cocky Tatter.

She swallowed hard. Maybe the kiss that had knocked the ground out from under her feet was just another tactic.