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Raya stepped directly in front of her. The sword-wielding skeleton handed Amrita’s wand to him. He made a low sound like a growl as he slowly turned it over, examining it with careful attention. Amrita had the uncanny sensation that Raya knew exactly what he was looking at.

The examination lasted longer than Amrita was comfortable with. She sucked in a breath as he dangled it over the side.

For the first time since her capture, she was genuinely scared.

“Please,” Amrita begged. If he knew what it was, then he also knew what it would cost her to lose it. A wand could be replaced. But it could take months or even years to break a new one in. And even then, it was never quite the same. She was already so vulnerable here, the thought of her wand being tossed overboard made her queasy. Raya looked at her again, raising one thick brow.

“So, in addition to being a thief it appears you are also a witch. Tell me why I shouldn’t toss your wand overboard, prisoner?”

“My name is Amrita and I’ve already told you I mean you no harm.” Amrita tried to keep her voice calm and reassuring.

“You tried to steal my atlas,” Raya Tufan tapped out each word on the railing, with her wand. She was surprised it didn’t spark or try to fly back to her when this stranger handled it so roughly.

“I think…” Amrita swallowed. “I think the atlas is why I needed to come to Alexandria. I think I was meant to help return it to you.”

“You think?” the sea captain drawled into her ear. His voice, up close, had a unique texture to it. It was layered with smoke and gravel, and made her defenses go limp. She wondered whether he’d cast the compulsion charm on himself, or if it had been gifted. It was a good one. Like a subtly blended perfume. His voice also dripped with sarcasm. “It was so kind of you to go so far out of your way to bring it back to me. Especially when you were already planning to keep it for yourself.”

“I don’t trade in stolen goods, and it obviously wasn’t mine to keep,” Amrita said evenly. She kept her chin up. “I wasn’t looking for anything of yours in the library. But whatever that thing is, it recognized my magic and used me as an instrument to help find its way back to you.”

Something shifted in the hazel eyes. Not warmth. Recalibration.

“Your attempt to take it was timely,” Raya said. “I have been searching for it for many months. Callimachus did a fine job of hiding it from me. You must have some extraordinary magic to have found it.”

Amrita thought it more likely that whatever charms Callimachus had used to obscure the text from his contemporaries didn’t hold for time travelers. The book had not even been hidden in that last chamber. Buffalo had tripped over it.

The pirate was quiet for a moment, looking out at the calm water. The sun was fully up now, reflecting on the Mediterranean Sea in pale gold ripples that spread out in every direction.

“The scholars at Alexandria,” Raya said, with a careful evenness that did not conceal the hatred underneath it, “as I’m sure you know, have a habit of seizing what does not belong to them. They copy whatever they can get their hands on and keep the originals. They believe that to catalogue and preserve everything is their divine right. And in order to do so, they claim ownership over all written material.” A pause, then a frown. “It is not their right.”

“No, it is not,” Amrita agreed, thinking that there was a time in the past when certain men who ran the Society acted in a similar fashion. “It is most certainly not.”

Raya studied her for another moment. He waved a finger at the sword-wielding skeleton by her side and the skeleton slashed her hands free. Then he held out the wand, handle first.

Amrita took it.

“This is powerless on my ship,” Raya said. “Your magic is no good here. My ship is well warded against witches and sorcerers such as yourself. I am not a killer, despite what they say about me,” Raya continued. “So you may stay aboard, until we reach our next port. I have not decided where this will be, yet. Iberia, perhaps. Or the coast of Illyria. But until we get there, you shall be my guest. You will not attempt to use magic. You will not ask too many questions. And you will do as I say.” The hazel eyes moved to the owl, briefly, and then back to Amrita. “You deserve to live because you helped return what was mine to me. Whether or not that was intentional, you may remain because of that. Do you understand these terms?”

“I understand them,” Amrita confirmed.

“Good,” Raya said, and turned toward the stern. “My servants will show you to the guest cabin shortly. This is Nell,” he gestured to the skeleton with the sword and she bowed. “And this is Zara,” he indicated the skeleton with the seashells. “And Asha is the one steering the ship.” Raya paused before leaving. “I have my studies to attend to, but if you need anything you have only to ask Fortune, my owl steward, for assistance.”

Nell led her up to the cabin without ceremony. She was braced for a holding cell. A closet with a pallet on the floor. Something befitting a woman who had just been abducted, who was now, technically, a hostage.

The cabin was indeed small and plain. There was a narrow bunk built into the wall. The balcony with a view of open water felt like a small luxury. While there was no wardrobe, of which she had no need anyway, there was a hook for hanging things. A three-legged stool provided a place to sit. Amrita surveyed it with the grim pragmatism. She’d spent field training seasons in far worse accommodations. She made up her mind. She’d manage.

Then Zara arrived.

She came through the door sideways, because she was carrying such a large bundle of assorted items. First she produced a folded length of deep blue cloth. Then a small brass bowl. There was a bundle of dried herbs and a clay oil lamp, as well. She plucked three round, ocean-smoothed white stones from the collection in her ribcage. She set everything down on the bunk with great deliberateness and stood back to assess the room, the way a painter assesses their blank canvas.

Amrita watched her from the doorway.

Zara shook out the blue cloth, then draped it over the bunk. She smoothed it twice, stepped back, tilted her skull to one side, and smoothed it once more. She placed the three white stones on the narrow ledge near the window, arranging and rearranging them until they satisfied some internal criterion Amrita couldn’t identify. Then she filled the brass bowl with water from a small flask at her hip, floated two dried flower heads on the surface, and set the bowl on the stool beside the bunk. She waved a hand over the oil lamp and the wick lit. Lastly, she hung the herb bundle from the hook on the wall.

Then she turned to Amrita and placed her palms together. She bowed.

“Thank you, Zara,” Amrita said. “This is all very thoughtful.”

Zara’s coral bangles clicked together as she pressed both hands to where her heart would have been, clearly pleased.