“Benino,” Mia said.
“No,” Cloud replied.
“Bertino, then. You look like a Bertino.”
“No.” Cloud frowned. “And what the ’byss does a Bertino look like, anyways?”
“Tell me the first letter,” Mia demanded. “It’s B, I’m right about that, aye?”
“No clues, Dona Mia. I told you.”
“You must give me something,” she wheedled.
“I must give you nothing,” the captain said, raising an eyebrow. “I bet my bloody ship you’d not be able to guess my name, why in Trelene’s name would I help you?”
“You’re sick of the sea and want to settle somewhere green?”
“Pig’s arse,” the privateer scoffed. “You cut these wrists, I bleed blue.”
They were three turns out of Whitekeep and sailing on swift waves. Their destination lay through the Sea of Swords on the coast of Ashkah—the town of Last Hope. From that decrepit seaport, it’d be a trek across the Whisperwastes to the Quiet Mountain. Mia had no idea how Mercurio might be faring in the keeping of the Red Church, or how she might save him from their clutches. But though she’d not admit it to many, she’d loved that man more than any since her father. And now, more than any man at all. She’d be damned if she left him to rot.
The snaggletooth coastline of Liis stretched off to the south, the white cliffs of Itreya to the north, the Maid riding low on the rolling blue. The former Falcons of Remus kept themselves mostly to the bow, reveling in the feel of the sea upon their faces.
Sidonius struck quite a sight, his bronze skin gleaming in the sunslight, hair shaved to dark fuzz, eyes of bright baby blue. The big Itreyan always kept Mia in his eyeline if he could help it—his loyalty to Darius Corvere had seen him take Mia under his wing when they were both Falcons, and hadn’t diminished one drop since. With him aboard, it felt like she had another rock to set her back against. Her little brother might be an intolerable shit. But if Mia could’ve had a big brother, she’d have chosen Sid.
Wavewaker wasn’t shy about lending a hand on deck—like most Dweymeri islanders, he’d grown up around ships and knew the ocean like his own reflection. The former thespian towered over the crew as he worked, treating Corleone’s salts to endless songs in his booming baritone. He had a voice that could make a silkling weep, and Mia still felt guilt that she’d dragged him away from his lifelong dream of owning a theater. She silently vowed to see him return to it when this was done.
Bladesinger likewise knew her way around the Maid, but she kept to the bow, looking out at the rolling blue with dark eyes. All Dweymeri were marked with facial tattoos when they came of age, but every inch of ’Singer’s mahogany skin was covered in intricate designs—a legacy of her time studying as a priestess. Mia still found it odd to think of the woman praying in a temple somewhere. ’Singer was one of the collegium’s finest warriors, a marvel on the sands. Though the forearm wound Bladesinger had earned battling the silkling still seemed to be troubling her …
Bryn likewise seemed troubled, and Mia knew the source—the girl’s brother Byern had died on the sands but a few months back. The girl stuck close to Wavewaker, chatting and watching him work, and his presence seemed to keep the worst of her cares away. Bryn was Vaanian like Ash, hard as nails, the finest shot with a bow Mia had ever met—Mia was glad for her company. But she still feared this fool’s quest might end with Bryn and the rest of her comrades in the grave beside Byern.
Of the five Falcons, only Butcher pulled up seasick—but given he’d pissed into Mia’s porridge the first time they’d met, she felt that had a kind of justice to it. The big Liisian had never been the finest sword in the collegium, but what he lacked in skill, he made up for in heart, bluster, and stunning foulmouthedness. He kept near the port side, where his vomit had the least chance of blowing back into his face, cursing the goddesses and Wavewaker, too, who seemed most amused by his upset stomach.
All told, the former gladiatii seemed to be taking to life at sea quite well.
But elsewhere on deck, things weren’t quite as peaceful. Ashlinn and Tric circled each other like serpents waiting to strike. Though they stayed apart from each other now that Corleone had given them their own cabins, there seemed an even deeper tension between them since they’d berthed at Whitekeep. Mia still hadn’t reached a conclusion about her own feelings as far as Tric’s return was concerned, but Ashlinn was clearly a knot of suspicion and open hostility.
Mia and Mister Kindly hadn’t spoken to each other since they sailed from Whitekeep, either. He’d not ridden her shadow in turns.
Furious as she was about his betrayal, she missed him.
And so Mia stood with the Bloody Maid’s captain by the wheel, playing her new favorite game and glorying in the feel of cool wind on her face. After months in Remus Collegium or cells beneath arenas, even a breeze was a blessing. And trying to win the captain’s ship off him was better than worrying about the tempest brewing aboard it.
“There’s a storm headed for us,” Cloud Corleone declared.
“Aye,” she muttered, looking at the deck below. “I know it.”
“No, I mean there’s a genuine storm,” he said, pointing to a glowering smear of black on the eastern horizon. “We’re sailing straight into it.”
Mia squinted to where he pointed. “Is it a bad one?”
“Well, it won’t be breaking our backs by the look, but it’ll be a rough couple of turns.” The privateer flashed his four-bastard grin. “So if you want to take advantage of the bath in my cabin, Dona Mia, you’d best be about it quickly.”
“I might just do that,” she mused.
“Splendid, I’ll bring the soap.”
“Might I also suggest some splints for your broken fingers,” she said, giving him a sideways smile. “And some ice for your mangled jewels.”
Corleone grinned in return, doffed his feathered tricorn. He was as sly as a fox in a hens’ roost and crooked as a scabdog’s back leg. But despite his cheek, Mia couldn’t help but like the scoundrel. Corleone seemed to enjoy a flirt, but it was clear from his playful manner that this was simply a game for him, much as trying to guess his name was for her. The tale of his brother still hung in the air with the memory of Duomo’s murder, and looking into the pirate’s eyes, Mia suspected she’d made an ally for life.
“I’ll have the cabin boy start up the arkemical stove and run the water,” Corleone winked. “If you’ve need of someone to wash your back, just sing.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she laughed, raising the knuckles.
“Alas.” He pressed his hand to his heart as if pained. “That does seem the only option available, Dona Mia. For now, at least.”
“In every breath, hope abides…” Mia grinned.
She skipped down the stairs off the aft deck and on to the quarter. Jonnen was sat to one side, playing with Eclipse at their own favorite game. The boy would gather up handfuls of shadows and toss them across the boards, and Eclipse would pounce upon them like a puppy at a bone. Jonnen sometimes moved the thrown shadowscraps to evade the daemon’s jaws, and he’d laugh when she missed—though it seemed a laugh of genuine amusement, rather than derision.
He stopped playing as Mia came down the stairs, though, his smile vanishing. Drawing a deep breath, she sat down beside him, legs crossed. Ashlinn had gone to market at Whitekeep, spent most of their coin—but she’d found Mia a good set of leather britches, black and tight, and a pair of wolfskin boots. She’d tossed her leather gladiatii skirt overboard with a small prayer of thanks two turns back.
Best of all though, her girl had returned with …
“Cigarillos?” the boy said, eyeing her with distaste. “Must you?”
“I must,” Mia nodded, propping one at her lips and striking her new flintbox.
“My mother said only strumpets and fools smoke.”
“And which am I, brother mine?” she asked, sighing gray.
The boy watched her with lips pressed thin. “Perhaps both?”
Eclipse coalesced on the boards between them, placing her head in Mia’s lap.
“… YOU SHOULD NOT SPEAK TO HER SO, JONNEN…”
“I shall speak to her how I choose,” the boy declared.
“… DO YOU REMEMBER I TOLD YOU ABOUT THE LITTLE BOY I KNEW? CASSIUS…?”
“Yes,” the boy sniffed, eyeing the wolf sidelong.
“… HE ALWAYS SAID BLOOD STAINS DEEPER THAN WINE. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS…?”
The boy shook his head.
“… IT MEANS FAMILIA CAN HURT YOU MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE. BUT THAT IS ONLY BECAUSE THEY MATTER MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE. WHEN YOU SPEAK SO, THOUGH MIA DOES NOT SHOW IT, IT WOUNDS HER…”
“Good,” he snapped. “I do not like her. I do not wish to be here.”
Jonnen looked out to the blue waters rushing along their flanks.
“I want to go home,” he said.
“We’ll pass it in a week or so,” Mia nodded to the Itreyan coast. “Crow’s Nest.”
“That is not my home, Kingmaker.”
“… HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, CHILD…”
Mia tapped her breast and smiled. “Explains my empty chest.”
“… FOOLISHNESS…,” Eclipse scoffed. “… YOU HAVE THE HEART OF A LION…”
“A crow, perhaps.” She wiggled her fingers at the wolf. “Black and shriveled.”
“… YOU WILL KNOW THE LIE OF THAT BEFORE THE END OF THIS, MIA. I PROMISE…”
Mia smiled and took a slow drag, reveling in the warmth of the smoke in her lungs. Looking sidelong toward Jonnen. Brother. Stranger. He was clever, that much was certain: education from the finest tutors in the Republic, coupled with the fierce intelligence of Alinne Corvere and the cunning of Julius Scaeva. Watching the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, Mia suspected he’d grow up even sharper than she was. There was a cruel streak in him, learned from his father, most like. But there was a cruelty to her, too, she supposed. Jonnen was still her blood, her familia. The only kind she had left, unless you counted the bastard she was going to kill. And after all these years without one, she found herself aching for some kind of real connection with him.
“I remember the nevernight you were born there,” she told the boy. “In Crow’s Nest. I was barely older than you are now. The midwife brought me in to meet you, and Mother handed you over to me and you started screaming. Just … screaming like the world was ending.” Mia shook her head. “’Byss and blood, you had some lungs on you.”
Another drag, eyes narrowed against the smoke.
“Mother told me to sing to you,” she said. “She said even though your eyes were shut, you’d know your sister. So I sang. And you stopped crying. Like someone threw a lever inside your head.” She shook her head. “Damnedest thing.”
“My mother does not sing,” Jonnen said. “She dislikes music.”
“O, no, she loved it,” Mia insisted. “She used to sing all the time, she—”
“My mother is Liviana Scaeva,” the boy said. “Wife of the imperator.”
Mia felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. Pulse thudding in her temple. Despite herself, she felt her brows drawing together in a scowl. Breathing smoke like fire.
“Your mother was Alinne Corvere,” she said. “Victim of the imperator.”
“Liar,” the boy scowled.
“Jonnen, why would I—”
“You’re a liar! A liar!”
“And you’re a fucking brat,” she snapped.
“Villain,” he spat. “Thief. Killer.”
“Like father, like daughter, I suppose.”
“My father is a great man!” Jonnen cried.
“Your father’s a cunt.”
“And your mother a whore!”
It took everything Mia had in her not to raise her hand to him again.
“… MIA…”
She hauled herself to her feet, her patience in flames. Shaking with anger. Wanting to bite her tongue but afraid the blood would just fill her mouth and drown her. Talking to the boy was like bashing her head into a brick wall. Trying to crack his shell was like fumbling at a lock with ten fucking thumbs. She’d no practice at being a big sister, no talent for it besides. And so, as was usual, frustration unlocked the door and let her temper out to run free instead.
“I’m trying, Jonnen,” she said. “Maw’s teeth, I am. If you were anyone else, I’d have kicked your arse over the side for what you said just now. But don’t you ever speak like that about her again. She loved you. Do you hear me?”
“All I hear, Kingmaker,” he spat, “are lies from the mouth of a murderer.”
She took a deep breath. Head lowered, eyes closed.
“I hope you like storms more than you did when you were a babe,” she said, looking at him again. “There’s a big one headed our way. And if I hear you crying in your sleep, I’ll not come singing this time.”
“I hate you,” the boy hissed.
She flicked her cigarillo over the railing, breathing smoke.
“Like father, like son, I suppose.”
It wasn’t a bath so much as a brass barrel.
It was bolted to the floor in Corleone’s quarters—an en suite off the bedchamber, which in turn led off from the main cabin. Mia’s first thought when she laid eyes on it was to wonder where exactly the brigand was supposed to fit if she’d taken him up on his offer to bring the soap. She’d be able to squeeze in there with a little effort, but it wasn’t exactly palatial in scope.
This alleged “bath” had more in common with a bucket.
Still, the water in it was steaming, fed by pipes from the arkemical stove in the galley below. And as Mia stripped naked and sank into the heat, she understood why Corleone had indulged in such an extravagance.
“O, Black fucking Mother,” she groaned. “That is gooood.”
She dunked her head after some clumsy maneuvering and found if she hung her legs out over the lip, she could get most of her body submerged. Leaning back, she soaked a washcloth and draped it over her face. Lighting another cigarillo, she breathed a contented gray sigh, listening to the song of the sea outside.
“I could be a pirate,” she mumbled, smoke bobbing on her lips. “Avast, ye lubbers. Hoist the giblets. Stow the mizzen-whatsit, you pig-loving fuck-monkey—”
“Alone at last,” said a voice.
Mia dragged the washcloth away, saw Ashlinn leaning against the door. She wore a drakebone corset over her red shirt, leather leggings, and thigh-high boots. She’d bought some herbs in Whitekeep, washed the henna from her hair. It’d been let loose from her braids, rolling down her shoulders in golden waterfalls.
“Two isn’t alone,” Mia said.
Ash ran a finger down the doorframe. “I can leave. If you like.”
“No,” Mia smiled. “Stay.”
Ash’s face brightened and she slipped into the en suite, closing the door behind her. There was nowhere to sit, so she straddled the barrel instead. Plucking the cigarillo from Mia’s mouth, Ashlinn leaned down to plant a light kiss on her lips. She remained hovering close, their noses brushing against one another, ticklish.
“Hello,” Ash whispered.
“Hello,” Mia replied.
Ash leaned in and they kissed again, soft and warm and altogether dizzying. Ashlinn’s lips parted, inviting, and Mia felt the girl shiver as their tongues touched, light as feathers. She sighed into Ash’s open mouth, raising one hand to caress her cheek as their kiss deepened. Drowning in it, never wanting to come up for air, sucking Ash’s bottom lip as they slowly pulled apart.
Opening her eyes, she saw Ash’s face just an inch from hers. Their lips brushed together as the girl murmured.
“You kiss like you kill, Mia Corvere.”
“And how’s that?”
“With finesse.”
Mia smirked and Ashlinn kissed her again, again, again, a dozen whisper-light touches scattered across her lips and cheeks like rose petals.
“I missed you,” Mia sighed.
“How much?”
“Not entirely sure how to measure that,” Mia frowned. “Couple of feet, maybe?”
“Fuck you.”
“Bath isn’t big enough for that.”
“I hate you.”
“Strange. I hate everyone but you.”
“Sit up,” Ash grinned, kissing her again. “I’ll wash your back.”
Ashlinn swung herself off the tub so Mia could wrangle herself upright, rest her head on her arms, and lean forward. Ash sat behind, legs slung on either side of the barrel. Mia couldn’t see what she was doing, but she soon felt warm, soapy hands across her shoulders, the scent of honeysuckle and sunsbell in the air. Ash pressed her thumbs into Mia’s aching muscles, kneading the knots of tension like dough.
“O, Black Mother, that’s … fucking … good…,” Mia groaned.
She closed her eyes and let Ash’s hands shush everything away for a moment. Her frustration at Jonnen and her anger at Mister Kindly. Her worries about Sid and the others, the thought of what was waiting for them across the ocean in Ashkah. Mercurio and the Moon and his damned crown.
Ash was keeping quiet about Tric, too, even though they could both feel the question of him hanging like frost in the air. She was too smart to bring him up. To open that door and let it ruin the first moment they’d been alone since the magni.
Instead, Mia felt lips on the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
“You could always get out of the bath,” Ash murmured. “If it’s not big enough.”
“In a minute…” She winced as Ash’s hands worked a particularly tight knot. “Goddess … keep doing that…”
“You’re wound tight as mekwerk, love.”
“Hard work, being the most wanted killer in the Republic.”
Another kiss. A soft nibble at her ear as Ash whispered, “I can unwind you.”
Mia felt Ash’s hands slip around to slowly caress her breasts. Fingers running over smooth skin, setting it tingling. Mia’s breath came quicker, her belly thrilled, another shiver rolling right through the core of her. Goosebumps rose over her body, a soft sigh escaping her lips as Ash’s kisses tickled her neck, as the girl’s hands went roaming, one teasing her hardening nipple, the other tracing a long, agonizing spiral down. Down. Over her ribs, inch by inch along her tightening belly, tracing the cusp of her navel with whisper-light circles of flickering arkemical current.
“More?” Ash whispered, lips brushing her earlobe.
Mia wondered at the rightness of it. Some lingering guilt at the presence of the Hearthless boy on deck above, perhaps, or the fight she was in with her brother or the idea she should be indulging herself at all in waters this perilous. But Ash’s hand slipped below the water, and a fire rose up inside Mia, melting her misgivings as she felt the gentlest of touches between her legs.
Breathtaking.
Maddening.
“More,” Mia sighed.
She felt Ashlinn’s other hand rise, fingers entwining with her hair. Mia groaned as Ash pulled her back, upright, leaving her exposed, steam rising off her skin, her thighs quivering. Ash’s lips found her neck again as the hand between Mia’s legs began to move, firm, tight circles, strumming the tune her lover knew so well. Mia reached back, sighing, grabbing a fistful of Ash’s hair and pressing her girl’s lips harder against her neck. There was some illicit thrill in it; the feel of Ash pressed against her fully clothed while she was so utterly bare. A surrender that left her shaking.
“O, fuck,” she breathed, hips moving in time. “Fuck.”
“More?” Ash whispered in her ear.
Lips tickling her skin.
Teeth nipping her neck.
Fingers dancing.
“More,” Mia pleaded.
She felt Ash’s second hand join her first, in front and behind. Mia reached back, fingernails clawing at Ashlinn’s arse, grinding back between her legs. She felt Ashlinn’s fingers, stroking, kneading, singing on her lips and bud. Time frozen still and burning in the light of a black sun. Shapeless nothings spilling from her lips, eyes rolling back in her head as she was dragged ever higher by her lover’s touch, flying now, every caress, every movement pulling her up toward that dark immolation.
“Yes,” Ashlinn breathed.
“Yes,” Mia groaned. “Fuck yes. Yes.”
She threw her head back as she ignited, mouth open, every muscle taut and singing, every nerve aflame. Ashlinn’s hands kept moving, grinding, prolonging the shuddering, pulsing bliss. Mia cried out, pulling Ashlinn in against her, quivering and senseless, not enough air in her lungs, not enough blood in her veins.
Ash’s movements slowed, working a sweet and gentle torture until Mia reached down, pressed her hands against her and held them still.
“Enough,” she sighed. “Goddess … enough.”
She felt Ashlinn’s lips curling in a smile, another gentle nibble at her neck.
“Never,” Ash whispered. “Not ever.”
She stood up slowly, offered Mia her hand.
“Come with me, beautiful.”