My head hurts. Really bad.

“Pearce.”

“Wha…?” I try to open my eyes against the pain.

William is sitting beside me with a bowl and spoon.

“I wish you’d just fined me…” I mumble.

He grins, then winces in pain. “You need to eat.”

I groan, but manage to nod a little. William spoons something sweet and cool into my mouth.

“What is that?”

“I have no idea. They just gave it to me. Careful—it’s a little intoxicating.”

“Oh…” I keep drinking it, liking how warm and… floaty it makes me feel.

“How do you feel?” William asks.

“A little better…”

“Good.” He gives me another spoonful.

I smile at him a little. “I’ve decided you’re gonna be the death of me, Lock…”

“Lock.” He smiles. “I like that.”

I take another drink, things blurring a bit. “You’re too pretty for war…”

He blushes. “War doesn’t care about looks.”

“Mm…” I sigh, curling up into a ball.

“You need to finish this,” he says.

“Tired…”

“I don’t want it to go to waste. Our hosts are kind, after all.”

I close my eyes but open my mouth. He spoons more sweet liquid in.

“You like me,” I mumble.

He looks away.

“Could see it… on the boat…”

He puts the spoon down, then tips the bowl back and drinks the rest of the sweet syrup himself. I weakly hold my hand out until I can touch some part of him—it ends up being his knee.

We sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Why do you like me?” I whisper, my lips barely able to move.

“I don’t meet many good men.” His words are slightly slurred.

“I’m not a good man.”

“You’re alive. Full of life. Full of…” He trails off. “Full of hope, I guess.”

I can feel a tear roll down my cheek. “No. I’m not.”

“You sure fake it.” He chuckles. “You talked back to me so much…”

“Yeah…” I smile a little.

“Drove me crazy.”

“Good at that…”

He leans forward.

“Very good at that.”

“Mm.” I give him another sleepy smile. He smells nice. Like the flowers Father kept in his garden.

His hand finds mine on his knee. I turn mine over to hold it, then gently pull him closer.

He leans down, and I can see from his face that the sweet syrup is affecting him, too. I imagine it’s still on his lips. I part mine, just slightly.

He stares at me for a long moment. I hold his eyes as best I can—everything’s spinning just a little.

“Don’t ever stop talking back to me,” he says.

“Wasn’t planning on it, Captain,” I murmur.

“Good.” He takes his hand away from mine and returns to his own cot.

Why does that make me sad?

I don’t have long to contemplate before slipping back into sleep.

#

William—Lock, I like that name more—is there again when I wake. He doesn’t have syrup for me, this time. I feel my cheeks heat for a reason I’m not entirely sure of.

“Good morning,” I mumble.

“Good morning.” He’s wearing a loose, cotton shirt. I still don’t have anything covering my torso. I pull the light blanket up to try to rectify that.

“Have you… found out anything else?” I ask.

He glances at my chest, then clears his throat.

“We’re in some sort of strange… religious community,” he says. “They’re completely secluded on this island.”

“And they seem friendly?” I ask.

“Very,” he says.

“Well, that’s… good.” I try to slowly sit up, and actually manage it without blacking out. The blanket slides down. I see his eyes flick down to my chest.

I hesitate, then let the blanket settle at my waist. He looks back up at me and reddens.

“Good morning, young captain,” I say softly.

“Good morning,” he says again, equally softly.

I look him over, taking in his expression, body language. He’s not subtle. I just need to know how big of a hole I’ve dug myself into.

“I apologize. But art should be enjoyed,” he says.

A big one, then. That should bother me more than it does.

“We need to find a way off this island,” I say after a moment.

He sighs ruefully. “And so business once again interrupts art.”

“One should note that the work that goes into the art is often more artful than the art itself.”

He tilts his head. “Having seen the artist work, I agree.”

I smile a little. Genuinely.

Big, big hole.

I clear my throat and turn away, looking to see if I’ve been left any clothes. There’s a stack of light cotton articles at the foot of the bed. I slowly dress myself, one of my arms aching with a mass of blue and brown bruises. But I can tolerate it, so it’s likely not broken.

It’s nice to be in clean clothes. I can feel Lock’s eyes on me, but I try not to notice it too much. I’m not ready to head down that path—I probably won’t ever be.

“Ready to see what this is about?” Lock asks.

“Very ready.” I carefully get out of bed, glancing around. “This place is… strange.”

The entire… building, if it can truly be called that, seems to have been formed from enormous, leafy trees. Branches and trunks twist together to create walls, and beams of sunlight break through the foliage above us. It’s beautiful. And impossible.

The people are strange, too. They have leaves and flowers wove through their hair, and they’re dressed like characters from Shakespeare, in long, flowing tunics. I hesitantly approach one of them.

“Good morning, sir… Might I inquire as to where exactly we are?”

He turns and smiles down at me. That’s another thing—everyone here is very tall. Statuesque, even.

“You’re on New Valataur,” he says, his English slightly accented, but not in a way that I can place.

“Is that… in Connecticut?”

“Technically, yes. Off the coast,” he says, smiling. “But we’re not officially part of any colony.”

“What nation rules you, then?” I ask.

“None.” He grins at my expression. “We’ve been here long before the colonies were.”

I frown a little, but nod. “Thank you for providing us sanctuary after we were shipwrecked.”

“It was our pleasure. We’re simply glad you survived.”

“Yes, your… remedy has done wonders for us.” I flush slightly, remembering how loose my mind went after drinking that syrup.

“Good, good. Its effect on mortals is quite dramatic,” he replies.

I blink. “Mortals?”

He smiles and turns away. I don’t let him go, though.

“No, excuse me. You say mortals as if you don’t fall into the category. What is this place?”

“It is a refuge.” He turns back to me.

“From whom, exactly?”

“From the enemies who cast us out of our homeland, long ago.” He sits down on a rough-hewn bench, and pats the seat beside him. I hesitantly take a seat.

“Would you like to hear the story?” he asks.

“Of course,” I say eagerly.

He crosses his legs and leans back, grinning.

“Long ago,” he begins, “the Sylvan created the world.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. You’re a cult.”

“No. We are a people unique.”

I sigh, but wave for him to continue.

“They created many things. Birds, beasts, dragons, all on a plane set apart from this one. A world unique, with peoples unique.” He sighs. “We were one of them. The soul bound, in this tongue. And we were given great powers—the powers to manipulate the three fundamental forces of the universe: time, space, and soul.”

Then they’re insane. Wonderful.

“But they gave us too much power.” He shakes his head. “And so we were cast out of our eden and forced to dwell here, our numbers cut short.” His eyes glint. “And so we lived here for many years. And then these colonies were founded… and now, once again, we begin to hope that we can grow strong again.”

I tense. “How do you plan to go about that?”

“By rescuing people like you.”

I stand slowly. “And doing what to us?”

“Nothing,” he says reassuringly. “We simply want to give you our gift.”

“Gift?”

“Manipulating time and space.” He smiles. “Maybe even souls.”

“What does that mean?”

He pulls out a small glass bottle with a stopper and hands it to me. I take it, frowning.

“Our gift to you,” he says. “We will supply you with a boat and a supply of this serum. Go to wherever you were going. And the next time you get in trouble… drink that.”

I hesitantly pocket the vial. “Thank you…” I pause. “I never got your name, sir.”

“Quercus.” He doesn’t specify if that is a first name or family name.

“A… pleasure,” I say. “I’m Pearce, and my associate whom I arrived with is Lockland.”

Quercus smiles. “A pleasure for us, as well,” he says, then he stands and walks away, whistling. I return to Lock, my head swimming.

He’s standing with a group of the other people—soul bound, as Quercus called them—and is talking and laughing with them.

I clear my throat. “We were promised a new boat?”

The tall, stately people turn to look at me. I feel short, which is a very strange feeling for me. One of them smiles.

“If you’re so anxious to leave… yes.”

I hesitate. “Well…”

“We have places we need to be,” Lock says graciously. I shoot him a silent look of gratitude. I don’t trust these people.

They lead us down to a sheltered bay, where there are several boats—none as fine as ours was, but more than rowboats, nonetheless. They show us to one that is already packed with some supplies—dried meats, a few wineskins of water, and one box of those small glass bottles of serum.

“Come back when you need more,” Quercus says, winking at me.

“I don’t know how we would find you.”

“You’ll be able to find us.” He places a hand over my chest. “We can find you, after all, my son. We know your soul now.”

I swallow hard. “Well, that’s… mildly terrifying.” I awkwardly shake his hand and climb onto the boat.

“They can’t find us,” Lock says softly as we push off. “It’s all nonsense. They’re sweet—but it’s nonsense.”

“Of course.” I straighten myself. “I’m not a fool.”

“I know.”

I give a little nod, then pull out the vial they gave me, examining it. It’s full of a dark blue liquid that has a faint prismatic sheen to it.

“Curious,” Lock says. “Don’t drink it.”

I nod. “That’s what they said to do, though. The next time I make a mistake… drink it.” I shrug. “It’s probably poison…”

“Made a mistake, huh?” he asks, studying it.

“That’s all he said.” I hesitate. “Well. He also said something about… manipulating time and space and souls.”

He shakes his head. “Insane.”

“Completely.”

“But they saved us,” he admits. “And I’m going to be craving that syrup for years. I know it.”

I look down at the vial and hesitate. “Why do I want to try this so badly?”

“Because you’re daft.” He grins at me.

I grin back. “You can’t seriously tell me you aren’t tempted.”

“By mysterious blue liquid? That was given to us by strange religious zealots? Without a doubt.”

I chuckle and unstop it, careful not to spill, and raise it to my nose, but can’t really smell anything. “Strange. I thought it would have a scent.”

“You’re not seriously going to drink that, right?” he asks.

I give him a look. “Of course not.” I put the cork back in.

“Good. Because if you were going to do something stupid, I would have to, as well.”

“We can always split it.” I wink at him.

“Oh, I have plenty of stupidity of my own without your help.”

I laugh and pocket the vial.

We sail until we’re back in familiar waters. I manage to charter us back to the Brooklyn ports, and we dock before nightfall.

“We should get different clothes before we meet with Anna,” I say.

“You mean, you don’t want to continue wearing these fine tunics?” Lock asks.

“We look like we’re walking around in our nightclothes. Fashionable nightclothes. But regardless, no.”

“The problem is, we have no money,” Lock says.

I grimace. “Right. Well… we won’t look all that out of place there, anyway.”

Lock nods. I tie up the boat, and we move quickly through the darkening streets to the brothel where Anna works. We get a few looks and one jeer. I just ignore them. It’s hardly my fault my clothes were destroyed, after all.

I push open the door and step inside. Lock follows.

It’s dark inside, but down the hallway, the faint light of a candle shows. I walk toward it, shoulders back. I can hear some of the girls working in closed rooms along the hall, and pass a couple who lounge on a couch toward the end, exhibiting their wares. I give them smiles, but no more attention than that.

In the room at the end of the hall, Anna and a few of the other girls are sitting around a table, playing cards. They quiet as I walk in.

Anna stands.

I hold out my hands, grinning. “Darling.”

She steps forward, studying me—then raises her own hand and slaps me across the face.