The next hook was a spit of piles called Gray Salt, and we hit her before the spars could hear the whole sentence.
Isolde did not kiss gold this time. She drove the living hull across the white ship's bow and sheared the clean line Shen Yuelan needed for a sermon. The crack screamed. Men on Gray Salt's boom looked up and got a noise, not a name. Not yet. Vale went over in the mess of lines. Sael followed. I went because the thread yanked, and Elizabeth went because she had already chosen the hand.
Shen Yuelan met her at the rail.
No tea. No pin. Sleeve stiff with dried blood, mouth ready with the old name. She got half of it out.
Elizabeth did not use her eyes.
She caught the wrist that was dropping toward the crack and broke the motion with her weight. Shen Yuelan was house-trained and not soft. She drove a knee up. Elizabeth took it on the thigh and kept the hand off the gold. I put my palm on the seam while they fought and tried again to drink.
The mark bit.
