It wasn’t long before the Marchesa returned. Luckily, Lucia’s view of the emotional state of her ship—her flagship? It had to be—kept her occupied in the short interval. The thought of mutiny, once stoked, spread like a fire on an oil-slicked sea.
So, when Forteza entered with another man into her cabin a bare hour later, saying in a singsong voice “Well, pet, today is your lucky day,” she couldn’t know how right she was. The man beside her—a real beast of a figure—stepped forward and expertly undid her bindings. Lucia came to her feet unsteadily, but with a new fire racing over her skin.
Talia was here, or would be soon. And Forteza’s entire world was tilting away from her.
Lucia rubbed where the rope had cut into her forearms, feeling the blood return painfully to her limbs. Blinking, she recognized the other man with Forteza as a witness to the duel. The Commander General of the Commonwealth, Gregor Hawthorne.
“Follow me,” Forteza said shortly. Perhaps she was sensing the changing of the tide herself. Lucia did so, not immediately seeing any other way to kick against her captor.
The deck of the ship featured a number of crewmen milling about, doing their diligent best at avoiding even the appearance of keeping busy. Forteza snapped her fingers and a few of them slouched to attention. “Lower the gangway,” she said. “We have guests.”
The distant sounds of Black Harbor crowded in, now. The ship had never left port.
The gangway lowered, Lucia’s heart leapt to see the Duke ascend, Richmond only a half-step behind her. She was dressed in her full military regalia, even putting the Butcher to shame—at least in Lucia’s view. Still, there was a ghost around her eyes, a haunted look that made her seem decades older.
“Welcome to the Bloody Halifax, my fair Duke of Fallmire,” the Marchesa said smoothly.
“I thank you for so cheery a welcome,” Talia began, her eyes immediately finding Lucia, going to the marks of the bindings still present on her bare skin, assessing, calculating. “Is it common in your country to hold the wives of those you negotiate with as collateral?”
The question hung in the air for half a moment too long. The Butcher himself snorted.
It seemed Marchon took this as his cue. Lucia heard his cry from across the deck of the ship. The first mate raised his pistol and leveled it against the Marchesa.
For her part, Forteza did not blink, but eyed the man cooly.
“You’ve ruled as a tyrant over this ship too long, bitch,” he snarled, and fired—or rather, misfired—the pistol. The shot went wide, tearing splinters through the mainmast.
Forteza did not answer him directly, though she had jumped a fraction when he had actually pulled the trigger. Instead, she nodded to her companion. “Commander Hawthorne, dear?”
The Butcher—Commander General of the Commonwealth—rolled his eyes and pulled out his own pistol. He shot the first mate dead on the spot. No hesitation.
And there crumpled to the deck any hope of mutiny under the Marchesa, all witnessed by the Duke, her wide-eyed wife, and her manservant.
The Marchesa turned back to Talia as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Marchon slowly bled upon the planks of the ship, with none even to take him away.
“Collateral?” Forteza asked Talia, turning back to her question smoothly. “Oh, we’ve just been having a little fun.”
Talia sighed, closing her eyes for half a moment. She really was a taut wire strung over a weathered lute, waiting for just the right pluck before snapping. Lucia’s eyes softened.
“What do you want?” Talia asked in a flat tone.
“Let’s call it … a guarantee. I know what you’ve been doing, raising the rabble with tales of a Sable Prince, a hero of the people come in their direst need. I admire you for it, to tell the truth. But, really, Duke,” and the Marchesa simpered. “I can sense the tides of history shifting. I am not so proud to not know my place.”
“Get to the point,” Talia said. “You wish me to keep the Prince’s activities far from your own operations?”
“See, you are a smart woman.” And Forteza pushed Lucia forward, causing her to stumble before Talia caught her.
The Duke steadied the demon before saying, “Very well. Consider yourself an ally of the people, I suppose. Or whatever else you fancy. But be forewarned, as I will not be so amenable to such agreements in the future.”
In other words, keep your dirty claws off of my wife, bitch.
The thin wire of Talia’s righteous fury was ready to snap. But it held. For now.