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“Tell me which way to turn, or I throw you overboard.”
Cassian Vance kept one hand locked around Lyra Sterling’s wrist and the other around the pistol jammed under her jaw. The deck bucked hard enough to throw loose tools across the control room. Somewhere below, metal screamed. Something huge scraped along the ironclad’s belly, dragging claws over the hull.
Lyra didn’t flinch. She only tilted her blindfolded face toward him.
“Your gun is shaking.”
“It’s the ship.”
“No. The ship is screaming. You’re the one shaking.”
Cassian pressed the muzzle tighter against the line of her jaw. Her skin was warm against cold steel. He could feel her pulse, quick but steady, under his thumb.
“Last chance.”
“You already used your last chance at the dock.”
A deep boom rolled through the vessel. The control panels flickered. Red lamps blinked across the brass-riveted walls, and a warning bell started hammering overhead.
Brant Thorne shouted from the engine hatch, “Captain! We’ve got three chains ahead and a leviathan under the port screws!”
Cassian didn’t look away from Lyra. “How close?”
“Close enough that I can hear it chewing!”
Lyra’s mouth pulled into a thin smile. “You should listen to your engineer.”
“I am listening.”
“No, you’re threatening me. Different skill.”
Cassian shoved her back against the navigation console. Her shoulder hit brass. The blindfold stayed in place, tied tight behind her head. A few strands of pale hair had come loose and clung to her cheek. She smelled like smoke, hot metal, and the sharp copper tang of blood from the cut at her temple.
“Those chains are mine,” he said. “You laid them across the bay.”
“I marked them.”
“You armed them.”
“I warned you not to steal my boat.”
“It’s my ironclad.”
“You stole it from the cartel.”
“I stole it from the man who put a price on my head.”
“Same thing, if you’re the one getting shot.”
Another impact slammed through the hull. Cassian’s knees bent, but he kept Lyra pinned. Her hand caught the front of his coat for balance. Her fingers curled into the wet fabric near his ribs, close enough to the knife hidden beneath it.
She knew exactly where the blade was.
Cassian lowered his voice. “You touch that knife, I break your fingers.”
“You touch me again, I’ll use my teeth.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth before he could stop it. Lyra noticed. Of course she noticed. Her head turned a fraction toward him, like she could track his eyes without ever seeing them.
“Still shaking,” she murmured.
“Brant.” Cassian’s voice cracked across the room. “Give me the depth.”
“Forty fathoms and dropping!”
“Can we clear the chains?”
“Not with the rudder jammed!”
Lyra pushed against Cassian’s chest. “Then stop wasting time.”
He caught both her wrists and pinned them above her head against the console. Her breath hitched once. Not fear. Anger. Her body was pressed against his because the deck had tilted beneath them, her boots sliding until his thigh blocked them.
“Tell me the route,” he said.
“You won’t follow it.”
“Try me.”
“You’ll follow the first turn. Then you’ll ignore the second because you’ll think you’ve found a faster line.”
“I don’t think. I calculate.”
“You calculate like a man who enjoys dying.”
“That’s rich coming from the woman who sailed a stolen skiff through a minefield with no eyes.”
“I had eyes.”
Cassian stared at the blindfold.
Lyra smiled again. “Not mine.”
The ship lurched. Her wrists twisted under his grip. Cassian felt the small bones shift and loosened his hold by instinct. Lyra drove her knee into his thigh.
Pain flashed up his leg.
She tore free and slammed her palm into the emergency lever beside the console. A steel shutter dropped between them with a violent clang.
“Lyra!”
“Turn the wheel left!” she shouted. “Now!”
Cassian grabbed the helm. The wheel fought him, vibrating so hard it burned his palms. He wrenched it to port.
The ironclad swung.
A chain mine exploded off the starboard side. The blast punched a wave over the canopy. Black seawater sheeted across the armored glass, and the whole control room plunged into darkness for three heartbeats.
Then the lamps snapped back on.
Brant’s voice came through the speaking tube. “One chain cleared! Two more ahead!”
Cassian looked through the front canopy. He saw nothing but churning black water and the pale, bone-white links of the next explosive chain rising out of the deep.
Lyra stood behind the shutter, one hand spread against the brass wall.
“Don’t turn yet,” she said.
Cassian kept the helm steady. “You can see the chain?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know where it is?”
“It’s singing.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
A shape moved below the canopy. Too long. Too wide. Rows of hooked ridges scraped over the glass, each pass leaving a trail of pale sparks.
Brant swore. “Captain, the thing under us just opened its mouth.”
“Can you fire the lower gun?”
“Not without blowing the ballast tanks!”
“Do it anyway.”
Lyra snapped her head toward him. “No.”
Cassian turned from the helm. “You don’t give orders on my ship.”
“If you fire, you’ll rupture the pressure line. The whole bay will fill before the gun cycles.”
“And your better idea?”
“Get me the dial.”
“The navigation dial is bolted to the console.”
“Then unbolt it.”
Cassian stared at her. “You want me to tear out the only compass we have while a leviathan is eating the screws?”
“I want you to stop pretending you’re the only person here who knows what he’s doing.”
The creature struck again. The canopy bowed inward with a sharp metallic groan.
Cassian released the helm and drew his knife. He drove the blade into the panel beneath the brass dial and ripped through the wiring. Sparks snapped across his knuckles.
Lyra moved closer. “Careful.”
“You said unbolt it.”
“I said get it. I didn’t say destroy it.”
“You’re welcome to complain after we’re alive.”
“I’ll complain while we’re alive. It keeps me busy.”
Cassian hooked the knife under the dial’s mounting ring and levered hard. The bolts popped loose one by one. The brass instrument came free with a fistful of copper wire trailing from its base.
He tossed it to Lyra.
She caught it against her chest.
For the first time, her calm slipped. Her fingers tightened around the dial, and a sharp breath cut through her teeth.
Heat shimmered above the metal.
“Damn it,” she whispered.
Cassian stepped toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
The brass dial glowed orange between her hands.
He seized her elbow. “That looks like something.”
“Let go.”
“You’re burning yourself.”
“I said let go.”
The ship dropped through a pocket of dead water. Lyra slammed into him, the hot dial trapped between their chests. Cassian caught her before her skull struck the console. Heat spilled through both their coats.
Her breath brushed his throat.
“Move,” she said.
“You’re not walking into a minefield with that thing.”
“I’m not walking. I’m listening.”
“You’re blind.”
“And you’re wanted for murder. We all have problems.”
Cassian held her upright while she pressed her bare palm against the burning brass. The skin of her hand reddened almost at once. Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t pull away.
The dial spun.
Not from the ship’s movement. The needle jerked in short, violent steps, pointing toward the black water ahead.
Lyra sucked in a breath.
“What do you hear?” Cassian asked.
“Three mines.”
“Brant said two chains.”
“Brant hears the chain. I hear what’s tied to it.”
Her fingers curled harder around the dial.
“One mine is above us. One below. The third is drifting under the chain.”
Cassian glanced at the canopy. “How far?”
“Six seconds.”
“Until what?”
“Until you hit it.”
He spun toward the helm. “Brant, reverse the port screw.”
“Can’t! The beast has it locked!”
“Then cut the screw loose.”
“That’ll kill our thrust!”
“Do it!”
Brant slammed a lever below the engine hatch. The port side of the ironclad jerked, and the creature beneath them shrieked. Its hooked back scraped away from the hull.
The vessel swung sideways.
Lyra shouted, “Now! Two points starboard!”
Cassian dragged the helm over. The dial blazed brighter in her hand. She staggered, and he caught her around the waist.
Her back hit his chest. His arm locked across her middle to keep her from sliding. Her hair brushed his chin. She was too close, too warm, and the sharp rhythm of her breathing beat against his wrist.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
“Then stand on your own.”
“I would if your ship stopped trying to throw me into the ocean.”
“You’re the one holding the compass.”
“You’re the one driving.”
“Keep talking and I’ll assume you’re not scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re bleeding on my coat.”
“Your coat is ugly.”
Cassian almost laughed. It came out as a rough breath instead.
The first mine drifted past the canopy, close enough for him to see the brass teeth around its core. Lyra’s hand tightened around the dial.
“Down,” she said.
Cassian shoved the depth lever forward.
The ironclad plunged.
The mine passed above them. A second one dropped from the dark overhead, its chain scraping along the canopy. Lyra’s head snapped up.
“Stop!”
Cassian reversed the lever.
The ship halted so hard Lyra slammed back into him. His palm spread across her ribs through the heavy coat. Her hand flew up and caught his forearm.
For one second, neither of them moved.
He felt her pulse under his fingers.
She felt his thumb shift against her side.
“Your hand,” she said quietly.
“Your choice.”
“Move it.”
“Give me a safe route.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I enjoy being alive.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The mine scraped over the top of the canopy. Metal shrieked. Cassian pulled Lyra down with him as a shower of sparks burst across the glass.
She landed half on his chest, the brass dial wedged between them. Her palm was still wrapped around it. The heat had spread up her wrist, leaving angry red marks across her skin.
Cassian caught her burned hand.
She went still.
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
“You’ve got a strange way of asking for help.”
“I’m not asking.”
“Then you can watch me suffer and feel powerful.”
Cassian pulled a strip of cloth from the inside of his sleeve. He wrapped it around her hand while she watched his face from behind the blindfold.
Her fingers twitched when his knuckles brushed hers.
“You don’t sound like a murderer,” she said.
“You don’t sound blind.”
“Maybe we’re both lying.”
“That would make this easier.”
“No. It would make you dead.”
She pushed herself up. Cassian rose with her, keeping one hand at her shoulder as the ship rolled through the gap between the chains.
The third mine floated directly ahead.
Lyra lifted the dial. Her face tightened. A thin line of red slipped from one nostril.
Cassian saw it. “You’re done.”
“Not yet.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s a nosebleed, not a confession.”
“Brant, give me the harpoon gun.”
Lyra caught Cassian’s coat and yanked him back. “Don’t fire.”
“You can’t guide us around it.”
“I can guide you through it.”
“That’s not better.”
“It is if you trust me.”
Cassian looked down at her covered eyes. “I don’t trust anyone who keeps secrets while holding a bomb.”
“Then trust the fact that I’m standing in front of you instead of running.”
“You can’t run. I locked the hatch.”
Her lips parted.
Cassian leaned closer. “There it is. The part you forgot to mention.”
“You locked me in?”
“I locked everyone in. The sea wants to eat us.”
“You locked me in because you knew I’d leave.”
“I locked you in because you’re valuable.”
The words came out too fast.
Lyra’s chin lifted. “Valuable how?”
Cassian’s grip tightened on her shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“No. Say it.”
“Get us through the minefield.”
“Say I’m the only one who can.”
A deep growl rolled through the hull. The third mine began to spin.
Cassian glanced toward the canopy. “Lyra.”
“Say it.”
“Fine. You’re the only one who can get us through.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I put you in the escape pod and let the cartel find you.”
Her smile vanished.
“That’s your threat?” she asked.
“That’s your choice.”
“No, Captain. That’s your lie.”
She twisted the dial in her burned hand. The needle snapped hard to the left.
“Hard starboard,” she said.
Cassian grabbed the helm. “We’ll hit the chain.”
“Hard starboard!”
He turned.
The ironclad rolled so sharply that Lyra lost her footing. Cassian caught her against his side, and the two of them slammed into the helm together. The mine flashed past the bow, close enough to scrape sparks from the armor.
Then the chain detonated.
The blast lifted the ironclad out of the water. Cassian’s shoulder struck the canopy frame. Lyra’s hand clamped around his coat, her forehead hitting his collarbone.
Brant roared from below, “We’re through!”
Cassian forced the helm straight. The vessel crashed back into the sea and surged into the narrow mouth of the bay.
For three seconds, there was only the grind of engines and Lyra’s breath against his throat.
Then a metallic click sounded beneath the deck.
Cassian froze.
Lyra heard it too. “What was that?”
He reached under the helm and pulled a thin black chain from the emergency locker. At its end hung a small steel collar, lined with contact studs and stamped with the ironclad’s command seal.
Lyra stepped back. “No.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“I just saved your ship.”
“And I just saved you from being sold to the cartel.”
“You don’t get to put a collar on me because you’re scared I’ll leave.”
Cassian moved between her and the hatch. “You know the route. You know the mines. You know what’s waiting outside this bay.”
“I know enough to stay away from you.”
“Too late.”
She struck first. Her palm hit his chest, then her elbow drove toward his jaw. Cassian caught her arm and turned her into the bulkhead. His body blocked hers without crushing her, one hand braced beside her head, the other locked around her wrist.
Her breath came fast now. His did too.
“Get off me,” she said.
“Put the dial down.”
“Make me.”
His face lowered until his mouth was close to her ear. “I don’t need to.”
He hooked the collar around her throat.
Lyra went rigid.
“Cassian.”
It was the first time she had used his name.
He paused.
That tiny hesitation cost him. Lyra drove her heel into his boot, twisted under his arm, and reached for the collar clasp.
Cassian caught the back of her coat and pulled her against him. The metal collar clicked shut beneath her jaw.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
The command seal lit red.
“No,” she whispered.
Cassian kept his hand around the control key. “It’s a restraint, not a punishment.”
“Take it off.”
“Not until we’re clear.”
“You don’t know what it does.”
“I know exactly what it does.”
Lyra’s fingers slid over the collar. Her face changed behind the blindfold. The confidence cracked. The anger stayed, but something colder pushed through it.
Cassian noticed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The ship’s alarm changed pitch.
Brant shouted, “Captain! We’ve got a lock from outside the bay!”
Cassian looked toward the canopy. A red targeting mark appeared in the darkness ahead, fixed on the ironclad’s stern.
A harpoon launcher.
Lyra’s hand closed over his wrist.
“Take this collar off,” she said. “Right now.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t just a restraint.”
The control key in Cassian’s hand began to vibrate.
Lyra turned her blindfolded face toward him, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
“It’s a beacon. And whatever is aiming at us can see me through it. So if you activate the lock, you’re not keeping me prisoner—you’re telling them exactly where to—”
The collar gave a sharp electric snap around her throat.