Jim Hines - The Snow Queen's shadow

Talia gauged the wind, then threw. The wooden pin flew the length of the ship, striking the man on the shoulder. He toppled forward, dropping soundlessly into the ocean.

Talia crouched behind the mast. Had this been a normal ship, the man would have cried out, and half the crew would now be working to rescue him. Instead, the crew carried on, oblivious. But if he had been poisoned with a sliver of Snow’s mirror, she should have sensed his fall.

The cabin door below opened, and Snow hurried across the deck. Now the crew moved to save their companion, responding to unspoken orders as they trimmed the sails and tossed a line over the port rail.

Talia lowered herself to the main deck and slipped into the cabin. A single lamp burned on the small desk bolted to the floor. The cot was made, blankets folded neatly at the base. Either Snow had made up her bed, or else she hadn’t slept recently. Knowing Snow, Talia guessed the latter.

It took little time to search the cabin. There was no sign of Jakob. Talia returned to the door and peeked through the crack. Even with the cape enhancing her senses, it took a moment to pick Snow out in the darkness. She and the other crewmen stood with their backs to Talia, peering into the water.

Talia snuck out and strode toward the nearest hatch. She barely touched the ladder as she jumped down into the main hold. A ship like this was unlikely to have a proper brig. Where else would Snow have put Jakob? Assuming the prince was still alive.

No, Talia refused to believe that. Demon or not, Snow wouldn’t kill Jakob.

Two covered lanterns cast weak light through this deck, illuminating heavy beams and wooden walls to partition off the cargo. Barrels and crates were lashed to the walls, but the hold was mostly empty.

She sniffed the air. Down here, away from the waves, she could just make out the sweaty, frightened scent of Prince Jakob.

Movement in the shadows froze her in place. Shadows she had mistaken for cargo rose and stepped toward her. Talia counted six men. They appeared to have been sleeping on the bare decks, without blankets or hammocks. She glanced around and spied two more coming up behind her.

“Jakob?” She kept her voice low, in a likely futile attempt to avoid alerting the men above deck. She pulled a knife with her left hand and readied her whip with her right. The zaraq whip was an assassin’s weapon, a thin line with a lead weight at the end. She twitched the whip, readying the weight and a short length of line.

“Aunt Tala?”

Talia spun, snapping the whip out at one of the men behind her. The weight struck the center of his forehead. He staggered, and Talia leaped close, looping the whip around his neck. She pulled hard, sending him headfirst into one of his companion. “Can you get to me?”

The rattle of chains answered her question. Talia kicked both of her downed foes, making sure they stayed down, then yanked her whip free. She stepped sideways, putting one of the support pillars at her back.

There were tricks to fighting a group. Normally Talia would have singled out the most dangerous of her opponents, hoping to demoralize the rest. But as they approached, the lantern illuminated identical expressions of hate and anger, as though she were a plague to be eradicated from this world. And Jakob was chained somewhere beyond them.

Talia pushed off from the pillar, reversing her grip on her knife and slamming the butt into the exposed elbow of the man on the left. She heard bone crack, but the man didn’t even cry out. He swung his other fist. Talia twisted, taking the punch as a glancing blow to the cheek. She continued to spin, trying to keep him between herself and the others.

He grabbed her arm, and she growled, letting the wolf surge through her. She stabbed her knife into his shoulder and flung him back. Her whip lashed out, catching the leg of another man and pulling him to the ground.

“So you’ve turned against me as well.” The inflection was Snow’s, though the words were low and gruff, coming from a bearded man to her right. “So much for love. Tell me, do you plan to help Danielle lock me away, or will you simply try to kill me?”

“Not you.” Talia punched the man in the nose, but Snow simply continued talking from another body. “The demon who’s taken you.”

“You Aratheans once called my people demons,” the man said. “Whatever my mother enslaved in the mirror, it’s helping me. You don’t understand what they did, Talia. None of you know.”

“So come back to Lorindar and tell us all about it.” Talia’s words came in tight gasps between blows. She dropped low, kicking her heel back and up into someone’s groin. It was getting harder and harder to keep them away.

A hand grabbed her hair. Talia seized the wrist in both hands and spun. She had to dislocate the man’s thumb to get him to release her.

“It’s not too late, Talia. I can help you to see.”

No matter how hard she struck, how many bones she broke, they kept coming. They had spread out, backing her toward the wall. And there were more above deck.

“Aunt Tala!”

She tried one last time to reach him, striking the next man in the throat so hard he dropped to the deck and didn’t move. She could break through this group, but it would take time to free Jakob from his chains. They would never get past the rest of the crew on deck.

Tears blurred her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jakobena.”

Jakob’s voice rose. “Aunt Tala, please!”

Talia snarled, letting the spirit of the wolfskin take her. Her knife was a fang, ripping flesh wherever it touched. Hot blood splashed over her, but it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t fight the entire crew. She kicked a man in front of her hard enough to crack his ribs, and then she was running toward the ladder. “I’m sorry! Be strong. I promise I’ll save you.”

Another man was already climbing down, with more waiting above. With a shout, Talia ripped him from the rungs and slammed him to the deck. She snapped her whip upward, clearing space at the top. An ax descended toward her head as she climbed. She swung to one side, and the blade thudded into the ladder. She grabbed her attacker and pulled him off-balance, using his weight to open a path through the circle.

Something slammed her hip, and a blade slashed her arm, but she made it to the rail. She turned to see Snow watching from the bow, her arms folded. The moonlight exaggerated both the sorrow on her face and the red scars from her mirror.

“I’ll save you both,” Talia whispered, and leaped overboard.

Danielle sang softly as she stood at the rail, waiting for Talia to return. The song was an old one, a lullaby Jakob demanded most every night before bed. The familiar words loosened the knots in her stomach, even as her eyes watered at the thought of her son.

“You’ll get him back,” Gerta said, coming up beside her. “You’ll be singing him to sleep soon.”

Danielle nodded, but continued her song to the end, just as she had the prior night. Some part of her believed Jakob could hear her, that her voice might help him to feel less afraid.

Talia should have reached Snow’s ship by now. If anyone could sneak on board and find Jakob, it was her.

Gerta stared out at the water. She had left the deck only once since Talia’s departure, and that was to try to scry on Snow and the Lynn’s Luck. Her efforts had failed, leaving her with pain she described as icicles stabbing the base of her skull.

A speck of cold landed on the back of Danielle’s hand. A tiny snowflake melted on her skin. Clouds had drifted to block the moon. Scattered flakes of snow shone in the lamplight as they fell.

Hephyra climbed onto the forecastle, Stub curled in the crook of her arm. She scratched absently at the cat’s chin. “The snow could be a problem if it gets worse. Even light snowfall will slick the rigging and the yards.”