Captain Zyren of the Galeheart signaled for a few crew members to grab me.

  There wasn’t a need. I would have gone willingly. Where else was there to run? After the island, after the screaming, after the red mist that still seemed to cling to the back of my throat?

  “To my quarters,” the captain bellowed.

  Hands seized my arms anyway. They dragged me across the deck. The Galeheart groaned around us; the rigging creaked, wind humming through taut lines while the crew kept their eyes carefully elsewhere.

  The captain’s quarters sat beneath the mizzenmast towards the back of the ship. The moment the door shut behind us, the sounds of the ship dulled.

  I stumbled forward and was shoved hard enough to stagger.

  The room was sparse. A desk, a few shelves, and a single wooden chair set in the middle of the floor like an accusation. I sat, suddenly exhausted.

  I heard the captain’s boots crossing the planks behind me. One measured step. Then another.

  The next thing I felt was an impact as something slammed into my chest. The chair rocked back. The world tilted. I hit the floor and stared up at the ceiling beams, breath gone, ribs screaming. For a moment I couldn’t remember how to inhale. Panic fluttered inside me.

  “Where are they?” Captain Zyren screamed, spit flying.

  I rolled onto my hands and knees, coughing, trying to drag air back into my lungs. My broken wrist flared with fresh pain when I put weight on it. I bit down on a sound.

  The captain’s shadow loomed over me. Then his boot snapped up and caught me under the jaw.

  My head jerked. Light burst behind my eyes. My jaw rang as if I’d been struck with a hammer. I tasted blood: warm, metallic; it pooled on my tongue.

  Why?

  Why was he doing this?

  The captain crouched and grabbed my shirt, yanking me up until we were face to face. His grip was iron; his knuckles white. His eyes were bright with something that wasn’t grief. It was fury.

  “You were supposed to die for them,” he hissed. “You! Not them. Instead, you survived, and they both died.”

  “No!” The word tore out of me, rough and frantic. “They lied to me. They said I would be protected. But that creature, the boss, was too strong. Too fast. I don’t know what happened. I don’t—”

  His fist cracked across my face.

  Stars scattered through my vision. My ears rang. I blinked hard, trying to find the room again.

  “Bullshit,” Zyren said. “You knew. You just didn’t care.” He spat to the side. “She was right. I should’ve listened.” His mouth twisted as if the words tasted bitter. “How did I convince myself you were anything other than a coward?”

  He let me drop. My knees slammed the floor. A sharp pain shot up my legs.

  Zyren straightened and pulled out a small pipe, as casually as if we were discussing the weather. He snapped his fingers, and a fire sparked into life, giving the dim room some light.

  I stared, dazed. I saw no sign of any device that would have given off a spark.

  He lit the pipe and inhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips. “I chose you for one reason,” he said. “To die. That’s what you wanted, right?” His eyes narrowed. “You asked me to throw you from the sky. Instead, I gave you purpose. Glorious purpose.” He exhaled smoke. “And how did you repay me? By getting two of my best killed and not even having the decency to die with them.”

  My throat tightened. The injustice of it; how he spoke as if their deaths were my crime.

  “You dropped that aura on purpose,” Zyren continued, voice sharpening. “You wanted them dead.”

  “No,” I replied. “I didn’t—”

  “You did.”

  “No!” I screamed, lunging at him.

  I slammed into his chest with everything I had. He didn’t move an inch. It was like throwing myself into a wall.

  Zyren sighed, almost bored, and looked down at me as if I’d proven his point. “Look at you,” he said. “Wretched. Puny.”

  His knee drove into my stomach.

  Pain radiated through me. It felt less like physical pain and more like an electrical shock. I fell back and coughed up blood, which spewed across the planks. My breaths came raspy and short.

  “I think you can still be of use,” he said calmly. “The crew’s been lax of late. A bunch of scoundrels. Murderers, thieves… you know the type. Same as you. Same as I was until I became something more.”

  I forced myself to lift my head. My vision swam, but I kept my eyes on him. There was a growing feeling of dread…and hate.

  “One doesn’t climb to the rank of captain without sacrifice,” Zyren said. “They don’t remain so without more sacrifice. And in this case, it’ll be your sacrifice.”

  He tapped the ashes from his pipe into a small tray on his wooden desk. Reaching out, he grabbed my shirt again and hauled me upright as if I weighed nothing. Wordlessly, he dragged me out of his quarters and back out onto the deck.

  Chilled wind slapped my face. The sudden openness of the sky made my stomach drop. The Galeheart rolled gently through cloudbanks, its timbers complaining with every shift, sails snapping like whips overhead.

  Work stopped. Not completely, as sailors still moved, hands still found ropes, but the ship’s attention tilted toward me.

  Their eyes slid away the moment I stared back.

  No one met my gaze. No one dared.

  Zyren’s grip didn’t loosen.

  He hauled me forward until the prow loomed, and the figurehead waited there; Pyrax, the dragon-like wooden sculpture, wings carved wide.

  The thing turned.

  Those wooden eyes fixed on me with too much awareness. Too much judgment.

  Zyren said, “I accuse this one of intentional sabotage resulting in the deaths of two crewmates.” He spoke like a man reciting a law. “I deem him guilty and sentence him to take the plunge. Do you concur?”

  Pyrax smiled with wickedness, a sinister grin crossing its wooden face.

  “I saw bits and pieces,” Pyrax said. “It is as you say, Captain. This one left his crewmates to die and saved naught but himself. He is not worthy to stand amongst the rest of you. And so… he must fly.”

  Something in my chest sank, heavy and final. It wasn’t fair.

  Zyren’s smile returned, bright as a sunburst. “Wonderful! Now, will you walk on your own like a man? Or do I have to throw you off like a coward?”

  I stared at the crew again: blank faces, tight mouths, and shoulders turned away. I wasn’t the coward. They were.

  I stepped forward of my own volition.

  Zyren matched me stride for stride, lock-stepped at my side like my own shadow.

  At the starboard rail, a section had been pulled loose. A plank had been placed across the gap, jutting out into the open sky. It was usually a docking board; meant to bridge two ships safely.

  Zyren didn’t secure the back end. He didn’t need to. He simply used his weight to hold it down against mine. He had at least thirty pounds on me.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  I stepped onto the plank.

  It flexed beneath my boots. The wind tugged at my shirt and made my skin prickle.

  I walked to the edge and stared down. We had moved away from the island. Below was only mist: thick, churning, and endless. No hint of land. No hint of a bottom. Just a hopeless abyss.

  My mouth went dry.

  The plank shuddered.

  For a heartbeat, I thought Zyren had let it slip. My heart leapt as if it wanted to escape my ribs.

  When I turned, Zyren’s grin was stretched wide across his face. It was sick with enjoyment.

  He liked this.

  He wasn’t like me.

  I had killed to survive.

  He killed because it made him feel alive.

  So why was I the one walking to my death?

  It should be him. It should be—

  An idea snapped into place. Brutal and simple.

  One shot.

  One chance.

  I jumped and slammed my heel down on the very edge of the plank with all the force I had left.

  The shock traveled back along the wood, and Zyren’s balance broke. His grin flashed into surprise. He pitched forward.

  I grabbed him.

  I hooked an arm around his coat and yanked him with me as the plank dropped.

  The sky swallowed us both.

  The crew screamed. Hands shot out. A few lunged for Zyren; none were fast enough.

  Wind roared past my ears. My stomach lurched into my throat.

  I clutched Zyren as we fell towards the mist. Towards our inevitable death.

  I closed my eyes and waited for the end.

  Falling.

  Falling—

  Smack!

  Impact punched the air out of me. My vision went gray at the edges.

  Zyren shoved me off him and rolled away, gasping. His eyes were wide with terror; he’d never truly believed the sky could take him too.

  His mistake.

  Mine as well.

  I lay there, chest heaving, throat burning, staring at the wooden planks beneath me.

  Planks.

  Not clouds.

  No mist.

  Nor that thing they called grass.'

  Plain ole wood.

  I drew a breath in and forced myself up, swaying as I did.

  I was on a ship.

  But it wasn’t the Galeheart.

  This deck was different; different wood, different pitch in the air, different creaks in the rigging. And the faces staring at us weren’t the faces of a crew I recognized. These eyes were sharper, more curious, less practiced in looking away.

  My head turned, trying to understand.

  Then I heard it: heavy footsteps, deliberate and unhurried. Wood on wood.

  I glanced up.

  A man approached with a roguish, full black beard and a cap topped by a white feather. A pipe hung from the corner of his mouth, smoke curling.

  He let out a gruff laugh. “Well,” he said, voice rich with amusement, “I see we’ve got some company who decided to drop in.” He took the pipe from his mouth and smiled, showing teeth. “Welcome to the Skycutter.”

  ***

  “Damn you, Roan,” Zyren seethed.

  Then, like a mask sliding into place, he adopted a sickly smile. “So glad you could assist. You see, this criminal here tried to kill both me and himself.” He gestured at me as if I were a stain on the deck. “You know the law, and that is that the captain’s word is law. He is sentenced to death, and I’ll see it done: on the Galeheart or the Skycutter, it matters not.”

  “Pleasure as always, Zyren,” Roan replied. The captain of the Skycutter’s voice was calm, almost amused, but there was a certain intelligence that lay beneath the surface. Pointed and sharp as a rapier. Smoke curled from his pipe as he spoke; he was unhurried and in complete control. “On my ship, you will address me as Captain, Captain Roan, or,” his eyes flicked to Zyren, and they held violence, “in your case, Captain Roan Skyrat of the Skycutter.”

  Zyren grumbled, the sound was deep and vicious in his throat, but he hid that disappointment behind another false smile. “Of course,” he replied. “Apologies. I seem to have forgotten my manners back aboard my ship.”

  Those words were calculated as well. Zyren had mentioned his own ship; had pulled the conversation back to letting all know that he too was a Captain.

  Captain Roan simply waited.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  The silence stretched until it became its own kind of humiliation, the sort you couldn’t talk your way out of. Zyren’s jaw worked. His mustache trembled. Finally, he relented through clenched teeth. “… Captain Roan Skyrat of the Skycutter.”

  Captain Roan smiled, finally satisfied. “Now that the pleasantries are over, how about you explain how you found yourself in this predicament?”

  “As I’ve explained,” Zyren replied, “this one has been sentenced to death. The law—”

  “The law is what the captain says,” Roan cut in. He tilted his head, glancing around and feigning ignorance. “And where are we?”

  Captain Zyren glanced. His eyes dragged over the Skycutter with more than a little disgust.

  “That’s right,” Captain Roan said, as if Zyren had answered. “We’re on my ship. My word is law here.” He took one slow step toward Zyren. “And on the Skycutter, I won’t be throwing anyone off the deck who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “But—”

  “Now then,” Captain Roan cut in as he stepped towards me. I felt the weight of his attention settle on me. He appraised me, and I couldn’t tell what the man was thinking. “Tell me what happened. In your own words.”

  “Captain Roan!” Zyren spat. “I must insist that this matter has already been ruled on. If you do not wish to throw him from your deck, then that is your prerogative. Return us to the Galeheart and wash your hands clean of it.”

  Roan let out a quiet breath through his nose. “My hands are dirty now, Zyren; you’ve made sure of that.” He turned back to me. “And I won’t condemn a boy to death without hearing why. It goes against my,” he paused and drew in a large puff of smoke, letting it curl slowly out of his nose, “good nature.” His gaze sharpened. “Go on, lad.”

  My throat felt raw. I was tired. Exhausted. I’d survived death so many times within the past week, but somehow, this time felt different. I felt that if I said the right things here, my life would be different. Better or worse, I could not say, but different nonetheless.

  I stared at Zyren and his smug certainty. I took his hatred. I took his contempt. I took everything anyone had ever felt about me and swallowed it. It was succor to me.

  And so I spoke.

  I explained everything in excruciating detail: the island, the village, the Echo Core pressed to my chest, the hateful aura burning around me. I told them about Raze and Kade; about their false smiles, the false promises, the moment I realized I was bait. I described Gullin’s golden fur and the way the ground shook when the boss had moved. I described the hooves. The screaming. The red mist. Everything I could think of in the most excruciating detail I could muster.

  And finally, I told them how I had fallen; of how Zyren had meant to throw me into nothing. Of how I had dragged him with me. How we crashed onto the Skycutter instead of into the clouds.

  For a heartbeat after I finished, the deck was silent.

  A few of Roan’s crew snickered. And then broke into laughter; not cruel, but startled and disbelieving. The kind of laughter that comes from the impossible becoming possible. One man slapped the rail. Another shook his head as if he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or terrified.

  Captain Zyren’s face turned red as blood.

  Roan took his pipe from his mouth and smiled at Zyren. “Sounds like the lad got the best of you. Torren, right? I’ll be sure to remember it.”

  Zyren’s eyes narrowed. “A lapse in judgment,” he replied. “One that will not be repeated.”

  “No,” Captain Roan agreed, voice cold. “It will not.” He glanced back at me. “The lad stays aboard the Skycutter.”

  “You can’t!” Zyren seethed.

  “I can,” Captain Roan replied, and the word cracked the air. The crew’s laughter died instantly. “As per the Dictates of the First: when one Skyrat is cast out of a crew, another captain may stay any corporal punishment and take said Skyrat as one of their own. With due compensation, of course.”

  Zyren’s mouth tightened as Roan spoke, but at the mention of “due compensation” his mood seemed to lighten. His features relaxed.

  “And what are you proposing?” Zyren asked.

  Roan eyed me again, and for a moment I hated the way it felt; as if I were being evaluated, measured, and priced. I was a human, was I not? Or had that been what my sentence had actually been back in Skyreach? Had the judge stripped me of humanity itself?

  “He’s new,” Roan said. “Likely Level 1. No skills worth speaking of.” He shrugged as if this were a simple business transaction. “I’ll give you two Level 1 Echo Cores for him.”

  “Three,” Zyren countered, holding up three fingers. “Two for him, and one for my aching back.”

  Captain Roan grinned in return. “Aye then. Three it is.” He nodded toward Zyren, reaching out a hand to shake on it. “Go see the quartermaster. They’ll show you the loot. After that, I’ll ferry you back and we’ll part ways amicably.”

  Zyren shook and then turned to leave, straight back as if he had ultimately won the conversation.

  “Oh,” Roan added, almost casually, “and one more thing.” His voice was sharp. “That island belongs to us now. We’ll do what you couldn’t. We’ll clear it out for good.”

  Zyren mumbled something under his breath; too quiet for me to hear. He gave Captain Roan a dismissive wave as he stalked away.

  Captain Roan watched him go until Zyren’s boots disappeared into the crowd. He turned back to me and clapped me on the shoulder; hard, but not cruelly so. “We need to talk,” he said.

  I braced myself for what was to come. Had I traded one cruel master for a crueler one?

  Roan surprised me. “First,” he said, pulling me into a full embrace. “Welcome to the crew.”

  For a breath, I felt nothing. Nothing at all. Not the chill of the wind that raced through my hair, nor my own heart; completely frozen from what I had heard.

  Then the Skycutter erupted with cheers, and I could breathe again. Jovial cries. Stomping boots. Someone whooped loud enough to make the rigging tremble.

  And there I was, standing in the middle of it, bruised, battered, but alive. I realized something scared me more than the fall ever had: I didn’t know what to do with being accepted.