Leigh Bardugo - Siege and Storm

I turned then, not caring who saw us or what punishment I might receive. The mist was rising off the water now, creeping along the deck. I looked up at him, taking in every detail of his face: the bright blue of his irises, the curve of his lip, the scar that ran the length of his jaw. Behind him, I glimpsed Tamar scampering up the rigging, a lantern in her hands.

“None of this is your fault, Mal. None of it.”

He lowered his head, setting his forehead against mine. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

We both knew he was powerless to stop it, but the truth of that was too painful, so I just said, “I know.”

“You’re humoring me,” he said with the hint of a grin.

“You require a lot of coddling.”

He pressed his lips to the top of my head. “We’ll find a way out of this, Alina. We always do.”

I rested my ironbound hands against his chest and closed my eyes. We were alone on an icy sea, prisoners of a man who could literally make monsters, and yet somehow I believed. I leaned into him, and for the first time in days, I let myself hope.

A cry rang out: “Two points off the starboard bow!”

As one, our heads turned, and I stilled. Something was moving in the mist, a shimmering, undulating white shape.

“Saints,” Mal breathed.

At that moment, the creature’s back breached the waves, its body cutting through the water in a sinuous arch, rainbows sparking off the iridescent scales on its back.

Rusalye.

RUSALYE WAS Afolk story, a fairy tale, a creature of dreams that lived on the edges of maps. But there could be no doubt. The ice dragon was real, and Mal had found it, just as he had found the stag. It felt wrong, like everything was happening too quickly, as if we were rushing toward something we didn’t understand.

A shout from the longboats drew my attention. A man on the boat nearest the sea whip stood up, a harpoon in his hand, taking aim. But the dragon’s white tail lashed through the sea, split the waves, and came down with a slap, sending a rolling wall of water up against the boat’s hull. The man with the harpoon sat down hard as the longboat tipped precariously, then righted itself at the last moment.

Good , I thought. Fight them.

Then the other boat let fly their harpoons. The first went wide and splashed harmlessly in the water. The second lodged in the sea whip’s hide.

It bucked, tail whipping back and forth, then reared up like a snake, hurling its body out of the water. For a moment, it hung suspended in the air: translucent winglike fins, gleaming scales, and wrathful red eyes. Beads of water flew from its mane and its massive jaws opened, revealing a pink tongue and rows of gleaming teeth. It came down on the nearest boat with a loud crash of splintering wood. The slender craft split in two, and men poured into the sea. The dragon’s maw snapped closed over a sailor’s legs and he vanished, screaming, beneath the waves. With furious strokes, the rest of the crewmen swam through the bloodstained water, making for the remaining longboat, where they were hauled over the side.

I glanced back up to the whaler’s rigging. The tops of the masts were shrouded in mist now, but I could still make out the light of Tamar’s lantern burning steadily atop the main royal.

Another harpoon found its target and the sea whip began to sing, a sound more lovely than anything I’d ever heard, a choir of voices lifted in a plaintive, wordless song. No , I realized, not a song . The sea whip was crying out, writhing and rolling in the waves as the longboats gave chase, struggling to shake the hooked tips of the harpoons free. Fight , I pleaded silently. Once he has you, he’ll never let you go.

But I could already see the dragon slowing, its movements growing sluggish as its cries wavered, mournful now, their music bleak and fading.

Part of me wished the Darkling would just end it. Why didn’t he? Why not use the Cut on the sea whip and bind me to him as he had done with the stag?

“Nets!” shouted Sturmhond. But the mist had grown so thick that I couldn’t quite tell where his voice was coming from. I heard a series of thunks from somewhere near the starboard rail.

“Clear the mist,” ordered the Darkling. “We’re losing the longboat.”

I heard the Grisha calling to one another and then felt the billow of Squaller winds tugging at the hem of my coat.

The mist lifted, and my jaw dropped. The Darkling and his Grisha still stood on the starboard side, attention focused on the longboat that now seemed to be rowing away from the whaler. But on the port side, another ship had appeared as if from nowhere, a sleek schooner with gleaming masts and colors flying: a red dog on a teal field—and below it, in pale blue and gold, the Ravkan double eagle.

I heard another series of thunks and saw steel claws studding the whaler’s portside rail. Grappling hooks , I realized.

And then everything seemed to happen at once. A howl went up from somewhere, like a wolf baying at the moon. Men swarmed over the rail onto the whaler’s deck, pistols strapped to their chests, cutlasses in their hands, yowling and barking like a pack of wild dogs. I saw the Darkling turn, confusion and rage on his face.

“What the hell is going on?” Mal said, stepping in front of me as we edged toward the meager protection of the mizzenmast.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Something very good or something very, very bad.”

We stood back-to-back, my hands still trapped in irons, his still bound, powerless to defend ourselves as the deck erupted into fighting. Pistol shots rang out. The air came alive with Inferni fire. “To me, hounds!” Sturmhond shouted, and plunged into the action, a saber in his hands.

Barking, yipping, snarling men were descending on the Darkling’s Grisha from all sides—not just from the railing of the schooner but from the rigging of the whaler as well. Sturmhond’s men. Sturmhond was turning against the Darkling.

The privateer had clearly lost his mind. Yes, the Grisha were outnumbered, but numbers didn’t matter in a fight with the Darkling.

“Look!” Mal shouted.

Down in the water, the men in the remaining longboat had the struggling sea whip in tow. They had raised a sail, and a brisk wind was driving them, not toward the whaler but directly toward the schooner instead. The stiff breeze that carried them seemed to come from nowhere. I looked closer. A crewman was standing in the longboat, arms raised. There was no mistaking it: Sturmhond had a Squaller working for him.

Suddenly, an arm seized me around the waist and I was lifted off my feet. The world seemed to upend itself, and I shrieked as I was thrown over a huge shoulder.

I lifted my head, struggling against the arm that held me like a steel band, and saw Tamar rushing toward Mal, a knife gleaming in her hands. “No!” I screamed. “Mal!”

He put up his hands to defend himself, but all she did was slice through his bonds. “Go!” she shouted, tossing him the knife and drawing a sword from the scabbard at her hip.

Tolya clutched me tighter as he sprinted over the deck. Tamar and Mal were close behind.

“What are you doing?” I squawked, my head jouncing against the giant’s back.

“Just run!” Tamar replied, slashing at a Corporalnik who threw himself into her path.

“I can’t run,” I shouted back. “Your idiot brother has me slung over his shoulder like a ham!”

“Do you want to be rescued or not?”

I didn’t have time to answer.

“Hold tight,” Tolya said. “We’re going over.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing to tumble into the icy water. But Tolya hadn’t gone more than a few steps when he gave a sudden grunt and fell to one knee, losing his grip on me. I toppled to the deck and rolled clumsily onto my side. When I looked up, I saw Ivan and a blue-robed Inferni standing over us.