After considering a moment, Henry said, “If such a thing were possible, Blane could do it.”
“Then it doesn’t matter what we do. He’ll always find us, and he’ll overpower us no matter what.”
“You told the captain you could beat him using that sword,” he said.
“But I don’t know if I can,” she admitted. Saying it aloud seemed to make her losing the fight more likely, and she suddenly lost her appetite.
“Then it was a trick,” he said after a moment. “You just want the sword because you think it’ll get you out of here, and it isn’t about Blane at all.”
“No, that’s not true.” At least, she didn’t think it was true. She couldn’t look at him.
“Look, if you don’t think you can beat him, you shouldn’t fight him,” Henry said.
“You’d have to be brilliant to beat him,” she said, thinking back to the one fight, trying to pick apart his style. He’d been toying with her. It wasn’t enough for her to have a strong defense. She had to be able to counterattack. “He’s fast and smart—I tried to attack, but he always seemed to know exactly what I was doing, where I was going to put my sword, even before I knew, like he could read my mind. Henry, he’s really good.”
“I know I wouldn’t want to fight him. I couldn’t beat him. He’s never lost a duel.”
Jill had been in tournaments with fencers whose reputations preceded them, where the whispers passed through locker rooms and along team benches. She’s never been beaten, she’s never lost a bout. And if you listened to those rumors you’d already lost. This was the same, Jill thought.
As much as this was about skill and talent, this was a mind game.
The crew kept to the edges of the ship, against the sides, away from the heat and noise in the center of the deck. Tennant was still working, hammering at the sword, steel on steel. The noise of it rattled above the snapping of sails and splash of waves.
The ship rounded a spit of island as the sun set, turning the ocean a molten pewter color. Tennant still hammered at the sword, and Jill wished this didn’t have to take so long. It wasn’t just a matter of gluing one piece of steel to another—the tip would only break off again the first time she hit anything. Tennant had to reforge the blade. Get the steel hot enough that it became malleable, so that the two pieces could be hammered together, merged, making the molecular structure of the metal continuous. When he was finished, if he knew what he was doing, the break wouldn’t simply be mended—it would vanish, as if it had never been, and the blade would be as strong as ever.
Then she could fight with it.
Jill had been trying to sleep on deck—no one was lingering belowdecks, except the surgeon, who was still locked in his closet. No one was sleeping much, either. People kept looking over the water for the Heart’s Revenge. When the night turned still, with only the waves and sails as background noise, Jill needed a moment to notice, for the clanging of hammer on steel to fade from her ears. Tennant had finished.
She clambered to her feet and raced to the central deck. Tennant was holding the sword tip-down in the barrel of water. The fire in the forge was flickering out.
“It’s done?” she asked.
He glanced at her. Even in the cool breeze, his whole body was slick with sweat, his tan skin shining with it, his trousers soaked through. The scarf tied around his head, meant to keep sweat out of his eyes, was itself dripping. His shoulders dropped, weary, and his smile was weak. But he smiled.
“Not quite yet, lass. The blade needs an edge.”
Jill sighed. Behind them, the shadow of an island loomed, painted charcoal under the light of the stars and moon. The Heart’s Revenge was on the other side, presumably coming around to chase them down.
“There isn’t time,” she said.
“The Captain’ll keep us ahead of the dog, just you see.” Tennant left the sword cooling in the barrel, then went to sit down and take a long drink from a mug.
At dawn, she climbed the mainmast to keep the next watch. The island they’d passed in the night was a haze on the horizon; the next was approaching to starboard, and Cooper was plotting a course that would take them around the windward side of it.
Jill called down when the Heart’s Revenge came into view. All its sails were hoisted, a vast field of white gleaming in the rising sun.
“How’s it coming, Tennant?” the captain called. The smith was on deck, working to sharpen the blade, polishing the edge with a stone.
“Need more time, sir!” he called back. Their voices were distant, echoing. Jill felt removed from it all, drifting above the ships and the action. Now if she could just float away….
“Right, let’s keep the bastard running!”
The ship tipped until Jill was hanging over the water, and she tightened her grip on the rope. If she fell, she’d hit the waves instead of the Diana’s deck. The ship caught a better wind and leaped over waves. They were flying now. Despite all its masts and sails, the Heart’s Revenge was bigger, less maneuverable, less able to tack into winds and steer around the maze of islands. The Diana should have pulled ahead. They should have been able to outrun Blane.
But his ship kept coming closer.
Jill gripped one of the shroud lines and lowered herself hand over hand, balancing with her feet, fast and sure, not even thinking of it, so much more confident than she had been those first days. Almost like this was home.