“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “I have a vested interest in not drowning.”

The Elder ignored her, running out a length of rope and looping it around her middle. “You’ll only drown if the ship sinks. And if we sink with a sea serpent, you’re as good as dead anyway.”

Her golden face went pale in the lantern light. She didn’t fight when the rope tightened, backing her to the mast. Instead she glanced at Andry. He expected to see the same terror he felt in his heart. But there was only cold resolve in Corayne an-Amarat.

“My blood is as much saltwater as it is Spindle,” she said, grim.

The squire wished he could say the same. Night pressed in from all sides of the ship, the lanterns a weak defense against the beast curling in the water.

“Sea serpent,” Andry managed to breath.

The ship rails bristled with armed sailors, their hooks and short ship swords brandished like needles. They peered at the water, ready for the next strike.

“Better than a kraken,” Valtik singsonged, dancing over the deck with her dirty bare feet. The full, cleaned skeleton of a fish dangled from her belt. “We are not forsaken.”

Sigil scowled. Her ax flashed. “Does she always do that?”

“Unfortunately,” Sorasa answered, stepping into the light of the mast lantern. Her bronze dagger leered. “Well, Witch. Immortal.” She glanced from Valtik to Dom. “Any suggestions?”

The old woman grinned toothily and tied herself in next to Corayne, looping rope over her wrists.

“Survive,” Dom answered, grave.

The assassin’s eyes rolled. “I don’t know which one of you is more useless.”

“Get some more lanterns lit; keep your eyes open,” Sigil called, her voice commanding. Though Andry knew little of the bounty hunter, her presence was familiar and calming, like one of the knights or instructors training him to the sword. She stalked to the rail as she barked orders, her boots hammering the deck. At the prow, the Larsian captain echoed them, his face gray with fear. “Captain Drageda—” she called in sudden warning.

Only to see the serpent’s great head rise up behind him, yellow eyes slitted, the sheen of sharp, white teeth in its jaws. It struck, devouring the captain headfirst before darting back into the safety of the water. Spears glanced off its scaled hide; hooks failed to find purchase. Only Dom’s sword broke the creature’s skin, drawing black blood that splattered the decks.

It rained, dark as oil, down the length of his steel.

“Run out the oars—we need to make for land!” one of the sailors shouted, his panic rising. A few others agreed, dropping their hooks in haste.

Andry gritted his teeth, the newly bought sword heavy at his hip. His hands shook as he drew it. He breathed heavily, trying not to think of the last time he’d raised a sword for battle. “Hold your ground!” he shouted, sounding bolder than he felt.

“Stow the oars—that thing will snap them like matchsticks!” Corayne roared, her voice so strong it caught even the sailors off guard. She strained against the ropes keeping her safe. “Use the sails but protect the masts at all costs!”

The sailors had no idea who Corayne was and were not inclined to obey a teenager on their ship. A few still ran for the hold and the oardeck, their boots sliding over the spray of seawater. It was Charlon who turned them back, blocking the way.

“You heard her,” he said, wagging an ink-stained finger.

Sigil’s eyes flashed, filling with light as lanterns flared all down the galley. “Defend the masts, men,” she snapped, all business.

The bounty hunter in armor, an ax tight in her fist, was more difficult to ignore than Corayne. She formed up first, putting her back to Corayne, letting Dom hold the opposite side. They moved in unison, circling slowly, their eyes on the darkness beyond the ship. Andry fell in without question. This he understood. The squire had trained all his life to fight side by side.

A dark shape crawled overhead and he jumped, startled, raising his sword only to find Sorasa clambering nimbly up the mast. She had a bow over her shoulder, a quiver of arrows dangling precariously from her hip. Her dagger flashed in her teeth, the sail snapping around her as the winds kicked up. She wasn’t bothered, nestling herself into the cross of the mast and yard.

The serpent returned in earnest, still bleeding as it looped over the ship in a graceful, terrible arc. Its eyes blazed, jaws wide as it crashed through the sailors on the opposite rail. Wood splintered and bones broke; hooks tore in vain at thick scales. Dom surged, sword raised with a battle cry of Iona. An arrow flew past him, close enough to ruffle his long hair. It needled into the serpent as it dove back into the water, taking two sailors with it, their weapons abandoned on the deck.

Andry wished for sunrise. Daylight. The blackness pushed in, no matter how many lanterns they lit along the ship. The serpent struck again and again, darting with its tail or diving up and over. The galley listed with each blow, threatening to topple over under the sheer force of the beast. Only the wind saved them, filling the sails with a gale that moved them forward, howling beneath the stars. It blew shudderingly cold.

The sailors dwindled, one by one, abandoning the rail to ring the main mast. The monster hissed at them, coiling once around the prow, threatening to snap it apart. It nearly got an arrow to the eye for the trouble and slipped away as Dom and Sigil charged, their weapons flashing in tandem. Andry followed, his muscles remembering how to fight even if his mind still could not believe what he fought.

The serpent was longer than the ship, thick around as an oak tree, spitting and bleeding and flooding the deck with seawater at every turn. Andry nearly lost his footing, and salt stung his eyes as he swung his sword, the scales passing just out of reach. His vision blurred but he kept his eyes open, narrowed to slits, as the beast wriggled up and over the ship. This time it came within snapping distance of Corayne, its fangs the length of her arm.

Charlie threw crate netting at the beast’s head, grunting as he did so. The serpent seemed to sneer, dodging the ropes, its tail lashing across the deck. Another part of the rail splintered under its force, and waves lapped over the deck, foaming white.

Without thought, Andry made for the gap in the rail, his clothes soaked through. But he never lost his grip on his sword.

A voice screamed his name but he didn’t stop, sliding into place to block the serpent’s retreat. Behind him, there was nothing but open air and the devouring waves.