As Vladim moved to turn the locks, I heard Genya whisper. "You definitely owe me a kiss after all this, Don't think I won't hold you to it."
I laughed lightly. "We'll see."
"There is no seeing, you will, if I have to be the one to do it then so be...
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WE SLUMPED BACK AGAINST THE RAILING AND scooted down until we were seated beside all together, exhausted and dazed. We'd escaped the Darkling, but we were on a strange ship, surrounded by a bunch of crazed Grisha dressed as sailors and howling like mad dogs.
"You alright?" Mal asked. I nodded my head and took in a breath, "You?" I asked. "Not a scratch on me," Mal said in disbelief.
The ship rode the waves at seemingly impossible speed, driven forward by Squallers and what I realized were Tidemakers. As the terror and thrill of the battle receded, I noticed I was soaked. My teeth began to chatter. Alina removed Mal's jacket from around her shoulders and put it around me, and at some point, one of the crew dropped a blanket over us.
Finally, Sturmhond called a halt and ordered the sails trimmed. The Squallers and Tidemakers dropped their arms and fell against each other, completely spent. Their power had left their faces glowing, their eyes alight.
The schooner slowed until it rocked gently in what suddenly seemed like an overwhelming silence. "Keep watch," Sturmhond commanded, and Privyet sent a sailor up into the shrouds with a long glass.
Mal, Alina, and I slowly got to our feet. Sturmhond walked down the row of exhausted Etheralki, clapping Squallers and Tidemakers on the back and saying quiet words to a few of them. I saw him directing injured sailors belowdecks, where I assumed they'd be seen by a ship's surgeon or maybe a Corporalki Healer.
The privateer seemed to have every kind of Grisha in his employ. Then Sturmhond strode towards us, pulling a knife from his belt. Alina's hands went up, and Mal stepped in front of us, leveling his rifle at Sturmhond's chest.
Instantly, I heard swords being drawn and pistols cocking all around us as the crew drew their weapons. "Easy, Oretsev," Sturmhond said, his steps slowing. "I've just gone to a lot of trouble and expense to put you on my ship. Be a shame to fill you full of holes now." He flipped the knife over, offering the hilt to me.
"This is for the beast." The sea whip. In the excitement of the battle, I'd almost forgotten. Mal hesitated, then cautiously lowered his rifle. "Stand down," Sturmhond instructed his crew. They holstered their pistols and put up their swords.
Sturmhond nodded to Tamar. "Haul it in." On Tamar's orders, a group of sailors leaned over the starboard rail and unleashed a complex webbing of ropes. They heaved, and slowly raised the sea whip's body over the schooner's side. It thumped to the deck, still struggling weakly in the silvery confines of the net. It gave a vicious thrash, its huge teeth snapping. We all jumped back.
"As I understand it, you have to be the one," said Sturmhond, holding the knife out to me once more. I eyed the privateer, wondering how much he might know about amplifiers, and this amplifier in particular.
