Cocky couldn't sleep. Below deck, the others had finally settled—Kith's snoring, Ink's steady breathing, even Dain had stopped tossing. But Cocky's mind wouldn't quiet.

  Tomorrow they'd reach Eldmere. Tomorrow they'd face whatever Jorvan had done to his kingdom.

  He climbed the narrow steps to the deck. The night was clear, stars scattered across black velvet. The ship creaked and rolled, sails full of wind that pushed them toward home.

  Merren stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, watching their wake for signs of pursuit.

  He glanced over as Cocky approached. "Can't sleep either?"

  "No." Cocky settled near the rail. "Keep thinking about tomorrow."

  Merren was quiet for a moment, then reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch. "Can I tell you a secret?" He opened it, revealing fat little globes. "This is how I endure very boring people." He held the pouch out to Cocky. "Drunken raisins. Keep a stash on hand. It doesn’t help me endure boring people, these beauties make even the most tedious merchant fascinating after a handful or two."

  Cocky peered them. "What's drunken raisins?"

  "Raisins soaked in burned wine. Some alchemist in Vyrden was distilling perfumes, accidentally created this instead. Considerably stronger than regular wine. I may have acquired his entire experimental stock." Merren grinned. "Want some?"

  Cocky hesitated, then pecked one out of the pouch. They were sweet, rich, with a warmth that spread immediately. "These are good."

  "Aren't they?" Merren ate one himself, then set the pouch on a crate between them. "So. Tomorrow."

  "What happens when we dock?" Cocky took another raisin. The warmth was helping, loosening the knot in his chest. "Theron will be right behind us."

  "Hour, maybe two if the wind stays favorable." Merren's voice had lost its usual flourish. "We split up immediately. I have connections in Eldmere—people who can hide you while we figure out what we're walking into."

  "And then?" Cocky ate another raisin. Then another one. They really were good.

  "Then we get word to William. See how long until Caladwyth's can get his forces to Eldmere." Merren looked at him properly. "You'll need to be patient. Armies take time to mobilize."

  Cocky pecked another raisin. The stars seemed brighter. "What would you do? If you were me?"

  Merren laughed—short, genuine. "Me? I'd pilfer and pirate my weaselly black guts out and stay as far away from overthrowing kingdoms as possible. Why risk your neck when you can have allies in power who owe you favors?"

  He paused, met Cocky's eyes.

  "But that's not what you should do. You need to boot Jorvan right back to Garanwyn where he belongs and look after your people."

  The ship rolled. Merren adjusted the wheel slightly.

  "But Cocky—your people will be afraid. Jorvan's a tyrant. Don't expect them to show support for you openly. Doing so could get them killed. They'll want you to win, but they won't be able to help until it's safe."

  Cocky's feathers ruffled in the night breeze. He ate another raisin. "So I'll be alone."

  "No." Merren's voice was firm. "You've got us. Kith, Seren, Dain, that menace of a dog. Oh and of course myself and those pesky eels. I also have contacts. You're not alone—but you're just not going to get crowds cheering in the streets. Not yet."

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  "Not yet," Cocky echoed, and reached for another raisin. There were hardly any left. When had that happened?

  Merren was watching him now with an expression somewhere between amusement and concern. "How many of those have you eaten?"

  "Some?" Cocky looked at the nearly empty pouch. "They're really good."

  "They're also soaked in distilled spirits." Merren picked up the pouch, peered inside. "You ate most of them."

  "Oh." Cocky stood, wobbled slightly. "I feel... optimistic. Is that the word? Optimistic."

  "Oh no."

  "What?" Cocky spread his wings for balance. The ship was moving more than it had been. Or was he moving more than he had been?

  Merren's grin spread slowly. "Well. We dock tomorrow anyway. Might as well enjoy tonight." He ate the last few raisins himself. "Can you dance?"

  "Can I—what?"

  An hour later—or maybe two, time had gotten slippery—Merren had produced a vielle from somewhere. He couldn't play it worth a damn, but he was making enthusiastic scraping noises while Cocky hopped and spun across the deck, wings spread, singing something that might have been a song if songs were made of pure joy and poor decisions.

  "You're a terrible musician!" Cocky announced, spinning.

  "I KNOW!" Merren laughed, scraping the bow across strings with no regard for melody. "Isn't it liberating?"

  They danced under the stars, the ship cutting through dark water toward Eldmere, toward whatever waited for them. But for this moment—this stolen, drunken, ridiculous moment—there was just movement and laughter and the endless sky above.

  Cocky spun once more, stumbled, caught himself against the mast, and laughed until his sides hurt.

  Below deck, Kith opened one eye, heard the chaos above, and went back to sleep. Some things weren't worth investigating.

  ***

  Morning came with brutal sunshine and the sight of Eldmere's coast on the horizon.

  Everyone gathered on deck, ready for the careful plan. Merren looked tired but functional. Prattle sat on his shoulder, unusually quiet.

  Cocky emerged from below deck, moving very carefully, eyes half-shut against the light.

  "Oh good, you're up," Seren said. "We need to go over—"

  Cocky took three steps, swayed, and fell over.

  Everyone froze.

  He staggered back to his feet, eyes suddenly wide and unfocused, staring at something no one else could see.

  "Oh no," Merren muttered.

  Cocky's beak opened.

  "Don't clap," he muttered.

  "I didn't mean to—"

  He squinted at the deck.

  "Three crowns, one throne."

  "One escapes. One dies. One... stays?"

  Pause.

  "The thief marks."

  "Not a crown. A friend."

  He swayed.

  "They fall but don't... gone but marked."

  "Blood remembers."

  His knees buckled. He pitched forward and hit the deck beak-first. His beak wedged tight between two planks, tail feathers pointing at the sky.

  "Mmph," he said.

  Silence.

  Dain rushed forward and carefully worked Cocky's beak free. The cockatrice stumbled backward, blinking.

  "Did I just—?"

  "You PROPHESIED," Kith said, voice flat. "The morning we need to execute a careful infiltration plan, you got drunk and PROPHESIED."

  "I didn't mean to!"

  "When do you EVER mean to?"

  Seren looked at Merren. "What exactly happened last night?"

  Merren examined the rigging with great interest. "We may have... discussed strategy. With refreshments."

  "You got our king drunk the night before we liberate his kingdom."

  "In my defense, he ate the raisins first."

  Dain was staring at Cocky with wide eyes. "What does it mean? Three kings? A friend falls? Falls how? Falls WHERE?"

  "I don't know!" Cocky struggled upright, head pounding. "I never know! That's how prophecies work!"

  The coast of Eldmere drew steadily closer. Behind them, invisible but inevitable, Theron's ship followed.

  And somewhere in that prophecy—vague, drunken, unhelpful—was a warning about what waited for them.

  Cocky just wished he knew what it meant.