TANWEN
Strange how the roll of the ship put me to sleep now. It had made me ill once, but at this point, the creaking boards, the lap of the sea on the sides of the Cethorelle, and the constant rocking were the best sort of lullaby. The only thing that felt comfortable and normal.
Except when I was startled awake in the middle of the night by the shouts of the watchmen.
It hadn’t even been a full day since we’d left Haribi.
I flew from my bunk and nearly crashed into Aeron, on her way to the cabin door. She strapped her sword belt around her hips. “Stay here, Tannie.”
“But—”
She cut me off with a look. “Thought you’d join in the fight?”
I hadn’t realized it before, but now that she mentioned it, footsteps were pounding above deck. If I strained hard enough, I could hear the ring of swords being drawn and the clash of metal against metal.
There was some kind of battle happening up there.
For some reason, I still followed Aeron out of the cabin, down the hall, and toward the stairs.
“Tannie, stay down!” Aeron didn’t bother turning around to shout her command.
“I can help.” I thought feebly of the wonky sword I’d made to convince Father I wasn’t useless.
Maybe I couldn’t help with that, but surely I could do something if we were under attack.
I ran up the stairs after Aeron and met an explosion of chaos.
The crewmen swarmed the deck amid a mob of total strangers—strangers in piecemeal sailing garb with glittering rings upon their fingers and more weapons on each of them than any one person had a right to carry.
Pirates.
Their ship rested alongside ours, and their grappling hooks were secured in our railing. We’d been boarded and attacked in the middle of the night.
Stars above.
Aeron crossed blades with a blond man about as wide as he was tall and carved from a solid block of muscle.
The man grinned as Aeron blocked another of his strikes. “You’re good! Pleasure to spar with you.”
Oddly, he looked as if he meant it.
Wylie fought amidships, and he looked bleary and mussed, like he’d been woken from sleep. His opponent was a Meridioni woman who looked to be about Cameria’s age and was nearly as beautiful.
Wylie’s strikes were hesitant, unsure, and the black-haired woman laughed. “This will be easy,” she said in accented Tirian. “Perhaps you will just hand over your spoils to me now?”
“Sailor!” Father blocked the woman’s sword stroke just before it would have cleaved Wylie. He then launched a counterstrike. The pirate lass blocked it but winced and drew back her hand.
Father spared Wylie a quick glance. “They’re playing for keeps, lad, and your chivalry won’t save your life.”
The Meridioni smiled again. “Ah, a true soldier.”
Father crouched a bit lower. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “But I will if you force me.”
“Tell me where your captain keeps his spoils and I will not force you. Unless you want me to.” She winked.
Was this woman flirting with my father? I resisted the urge to shoot a strand of fire her direction.
Father’s instinctual glance toward the stern led my gaze that direction, and sure enough, there was Mor. He squared off with a sandy-haired pirate, and I thanked the stars he’d ended up with this opponent and not the block of muscle Aeron was fighting. Because both Mor and the pirate had been disarmed and were trading blows with their fists.
Fire sparked in my gut as I watched Mor take a hook to the jaw. Before I could question if it was wise, a strand shot from my hand, so bright it lit up the deck like it was midday. The beam of light hit Mor’s assailant squarely in the legs, and he toppled to the deck.
The Meridioni crossing blades with Father froze. “What is this magic?”
“She’s just the creative one in the family,” Father replied as he exploited his opponent’s momentary confusion. He disarmed her swiftly, kicked her sword out of reach, and pinned her in a stranglehold.
Another woman’s voice cut through the din. “Schiva! Croy!” Tirian, not accented.
I found the voice’s owner—a blonde woman whose hair was a shocking shade of purple on the ends—and it seemed she had been about to go belowdecks. Maybe to look for treasure we weren’t carrying.
Unless, of course, the pirates were after our ancient strands.
The idea hit me like a block of ice. Could they be? Were they strand thieves, here to steal our cure?
But no, I realized. The Meridioni had been shocked by my beam of light. These pirates didn’t know anything about weaver gifts, let alone ancient cures. They were simply after gold we didn’t have. What would they do when they learned that fact?
Though Mor had been standing over his downed opponent with a dagger pointed toward the sandy-haired man’s throat, he suddenly abandoned his prize and approached the purple-and-blonde woman, disbelief written all over his face.
Her sword was drawn now, and still he moved toward her, his dagger useless at his side.
“Mor!” I shouted. What was he thinking?
But the purple-and-blonde woman lowered her sword. “Mor?”
He was now within striking distance of her. His face broke into a grin. “Venewth? Venewth En-Gorgyn?”
“Mor Bo-Lidere.” She laughed. “In the name of the taxes, I never thought I’d see the likes of you again.” Then her smile fell. “And certainly not sailing under Tir’s banner! Cethor’s tears, Mor, what’s happened to you?”
“Son.” Father was still holding the Meridioni woman—Schiva, I assumed—awkwardly around her throat. “Perhaps some explanation first?”
Mor raised his hands and told the crew to stand down. “It’s all right. These are my friends.”
“Friends?” Venewth raised an eyebrow as she placed a hand on her hip. “We’re his old crew.” She sheathed her sword. “Until he left us to chase after a lass.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Mor said, and I could swear I saw his ears turn red, even in the dark. “Hey,” he added, turning toward his downed opponent. “You’re new.”
The sandy-haired man climbed to his feet. “Croy Bo-Wyryck. I’ve heard a lot about you from Captain Venewth.”
“Captain?” Mor’s eyes went wide. “Well, look at you. What happened to Freith? Thought I left him in charge.”
Venewth snorted. “Aye. Caught him stealing from the plunder less than three moons into his stretch as captain. You should’ve known better than to hand him the captaincy.”
Mor sighed. “True enough. But I’d hoped for more. What did you do with him?”
“Shoved him overboard.” Venewth shrugged at my scandalized expression. “We were close to land. He swam to shore. Most likely.”
“Mor!” The blond block of muscle embraced Mor like they were brothers. “It’s been too long.”
“Gyth!” Mor turned to the rest of us. “Gyth was my first mate.”
“And now he’s my first mate,” Venewth cut in, “and this reunion has been swell, but it’s time we collect and be on our way. No need to shed blood or any more sweat.”
Mor’s expression hardened a little. “Venewth, we aren’t carrying any gold.”
“That’s a Tirian banner, isn’t it? Princess Braith’s by the look of it.”
“Queen Braith.”
Venewth cocked her head to the side. “So the rumors are true?”
“Aye, they’re true. And we’re sailing under the queen, but I assure you, this is not a typical royal commission.”
“Oh, come Mor. Surely there’s something aboard you might share.” Venewth held a dagger now, though I didn’t recall seeing her draw it. “For old time’s sake.”
Mor sighed long and low through his nose. “We have bread from Haribi.”
“That’ll do. Think of it as a tax on the queen.”
Mor held Venewth’s gaze, then signaled the crewmen to begin collecting some bread.
“What kind of royal mission is this, Mor?” Venewth asked. “Never took you for a queen’s man, so it must be important.”
“It’s not really a royal mission. It’s a personal one.”
“Should have guessed.” Venewth’s expression softened. “I really am glad you’re alive. You dropped off the map for a while there. We thought you dead.”
“Not yet.”
“Sorry to be pillaging your ship. Especially now that you’ve turned legitimate, and all.” Mischief danced in her eyes.
“It’s just bread.”
“And what is it you’re seeking on this mission? I doubt it’s bread.”
“Strands,” he said simply. “Important strands necessary to save someone.”
“Noble.” She glanced at her crew, the five she’d brought aboard the Cethorelle now laden with Haribian bread. “Well, we’ll be out of your way now. Sorry for the wake-up call.” She cast a sideways glance at me and winked. “Happy raiding, Mor Bo-Lidere.”