Kora and Alira helped Amaru up the wooden ladder into the watchtower by the sea. The elder had insisted that they meet Julara someplace quiet—and those were in short supply now that the surviving Stormborn had joined the pirate women in the Bay of Bones.
Amaru was a little out of breath from the walk around to the far side of the bay, but she was thankfully no more worse for wear by the time they were helping her up. And Alira, for her part, felt a kind of pride—a sad pride, she had to admit—in knowing that she and Kora were now in better shape than the older woman who walked with a cane. That certainly hadn’t been the case when they’d first arrived in the bay. Bed rest, and the Bone Pirate’s supply of healing herbs, had done them wonders, though Kora’s arm remained in its sling.
Julara came last up the ladder. The young woman hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d stepped off the lift beside the waterfall to start the walk here. She seemed genuinely glad to be away from the Pale Dawn, with its Throne of Bones and skull mask and everything else she had to do to keep up the lie that the Bone Pirate still held sway aboard her ship.
The tower wasn’t large—the four of them standing at different corners filled it well—but it held watch over the mighty sea gate that kept the bay hidden. Perched where the cliff of the bay and the cliff of the shore met—the open sea to one side and the great waterfall with its wonders on the other—the tower had a truly magnificent view.
There was a high stool in the tower, and Amaru took it. The Stormborn elder, after situating herself, tapped the point of her cane on the wood boards beneath their feet. It was a call to silence and attention. Not exactly necessary with no one else in earshot, but Alira supposed that old habits died hard.
“We must thank you and your people, Julara Skullborn,” the elder said.
There were many things Alira had learned in the days since she’d come to the Bay of Bones. That Amaru called the pirates “Skullborn” was one that still made her smile.
By her reaction, it also delighted Julara—in truth, just Julara—because the younger woman smiled. “We stand united against our enemy,” the pirate said. Then she nodded to Alira. “And we stand united with a common friend.”
Alira acknowledged the gesture with a nod, though she still found the pirates’ interest in Bela fascinating. In the past days, she’d learned everything the pirates knew of her old friend.
After the Black Crow was bombed by a Windborn airship, leaving Alira stranded alone on the shoreline, Bela had taken command of the floating wreck. She’d set sail with it, and she’d by chance come upon the Bone Pirate’s ship as they’d fought to take down that very same airship. The Windborn vessel had been destroyed, but Bela had captured the Pale Dawn and killed the woman who had been the Bone Pirate. This had made another young woman, named Shaesara, the Bone Pirate, because Bela had refused to take possession of the Bay of Bones for herself.
Bela’s refusal to seize what by all the rights of the sea ought to have been hers—her insistence that it was her duty to return with the Black Crow’s survivors to the High Matron—had become something of a legend among the pirates. They’d already heard of Bela—one couldn’t live in the Fair Isles and not know the story of Belakané, the Hero of the Harbor—but now they felt they knew her better than most anyone did. She was, in their minds, one of them. And because Bela had spoken often of Alira, that had made her something special in their eyes.
The whole thing was a little bewildering to Alira, but she wasn’t about to turn down the advantage it seemed to give her in negotiating for the safety and sanctuary of the Stormborn behind their walls.
“Your kindness was not expected, but it has been welcomed,” the elder said. “But we know it has not been easy.”
Julara seemed reluctant to speak of difficulties, but Amaru’s expectant stare made her talk. Alira knew the feeling. “We were already looking to be short rations for the season,” the pirate admitted. “Shaesara went with Belakané to Myst Wera to procure more supplies, but she did not return. We have heard whispers of some terrible event happening at the Spire. Magick and Windborn. We’ve even heard rumor that Shaesara was stolen away by the Windborn.” She shivered. “Anyway, we’ve made a few runs to the outer islands, which has helped, but I still had things measured pretty tightly.”
“And we’ve brought more mouths to feed,” the elder said.
“You brought some supplies, too,” Julara hastened to add. “And that stretches things out a bit, but … yes, it’s still a problem.”
“Not to mention housing us all,” Alira said.
“And trying to keep everyone from killing each other,” Kora pointed out. Many of the pirates were displeased at having strangers in the Bay of Bones, and many of the Stormborn, though desperate for their help, distrusted the pirates. It was a volatile mix that had already nearly come to blows in their days together. Just this morning, Kora herself had been forced to stand between two angry groups, holding out her one good arm, to keep them from coming to blows.
“All that too,” Julara agreed.
The elder traced small circles on the floor with the tip of her cane. At last, she let out a long breath and looked back at the Bay of Bones, with all its wonders. “How long would it take to build a ship?” she asked. “I know nothing of these things.”
“Months,” Alira said.
Julara’s brow furrowed. “Why would you build a ship?”
“We may need to leave these shores,” Amaru said. Then she tapped the point of her cane as if she were hammering something down in her mind. “No, we must leave these shores.”
Kora was aghast. “But, elder, surely—”
“Surely what, child? Surely we can wait around to die here?” The elder shook her head. “These Bloodborn will come. It’s only a matter of time. And when they do, these walls will not stand. We saw what they did at Anjel. You have seen what they can do with their magick. This place, too, will fall. It may take a long while, or it may be quick, but it will happen. Do you disagree?”
Kora wanted to object, but it was clear she had nothing to say. She hugged her bad arm to her side. She looked troubled.
“I’m sorry,” Amaru said. “I do not wish it so. This is our home. But right now … I do not think we have the strength to stay.”
“Where would we go?” Alira asked.
The elder turned to look out over the sea now. “I’ve never known another place, though I have seen ships enough to know they are real out there somewhere. Where would you have us go, Alira?”
Alira blinked. “Me? You’re asking me to decide?”
Amaru’s smile was kind. “Let us say an elder is asking a huntress for advice.”
Alira tried not to focus on why she—still young, still inexperienced, still new to the Stormborn, even—was the most senior huntress left. But in her mind, she saw Whéuri’s face anyway—the look of relief and release the older woman had in that final moment before Alira let go of the magick. It wasn’t comforting. But though the memory frightened her, Alira recognized that it was proof of exactly how desperate they were. The Bloodborn could destroy them, body and soul. And if they had to leave to survive that threat, who better to guide them than the one woman of their number who’d sailed the Fair Isles?
“It is a hard thing I ask of you,” Amaru said.
“It’s a hard thing to ask of us all,” Alira replied. “But I think you’re surely right. It’s not safe here. And even if it was, we have too many mouths to feed in too little room. We must move on.” Alira looked over at Kora. The younger woman’s expression was still troubled. “You and I came to Anjel hurt and lost, Kora. Its people welcomed us, and it became home. We can do this again. Where we go will not be Anjel. No place can be that. But in time, we can make a new place home.”
Kora took a deep breath. Gathering her strength and swallowing down other things she wanted to say, Alira suspected. “Where?” she finally asked.
“I grew up in the town of Ranhold on Myst Motri. I have family there, and I know they appreciate strong hands. It seems a place to start.”
“The Eye Open,” Julara said. She seemed thoughtful.
Alira nodded. “The symbol of the Blood Motria,” she explained to Amaru and Kora. “A banner emblazoned with the Sleepless Owl, or the Eye Open, gold on a blue field.” It was strange how foreign the image felt to her, and yet how close in memory. She hadn’t truly been gone that long, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
“And they will welcome us, these Motrians?” Kora asked.
“They call you the Rootless.” Alira allowed herself a smile. “You steal babies in the night.”
Amaru chuckled a little. “Is that so?”
“Stories told to children,” Alira said. “I do not think they will be hostile. Mostly curious, to see what is the truth behind the stories. As you all were when I came.”
“A Sleepless Owl,” Kora repeated. “The Motria are watchful, then?”
“Ever so. Good fighters too. They would welcome your strength.”
“You are not wrong to feel uneasy about leaving this place,” the elder said to Kora. “It will be difficult for everyone, each in their own way. But in making the decision, we must not waver. We must be true to what must be done.”
“When I close my eyes, I still see the cages,” Kora said. “At night, I still hear the screams. I know we can’t stay. I know it’s the right thing to do.” She took a deep breath, and she turned to look Alira in the eye. “Promise me this: even if we leave, it isn’t forever. We will avenge ourselves on these Bloodborn. We don’t leave this island to them. Not one more soul to their machines and their magicks. They must be destroyed.”
Alira thought of how she’d found Kora alone in the jungle as a child. She thought of what the girl had witnessed when the Bloodborn had taken her family. Alira had only seen the horror of what was left after it was done. It was bad enough, and she hadn’t had to be there to hear the screams and the begging and the despair. “I, too, refuse to lose even one more Stormborn to them,” she said. “That’s why we must go; staying here gives them so many more of us. But when we are stronger, when we are ready, we will come back. We will hunt them down, cut them out—no stone unturned, down to the root. I promise.”
“You’d make the Rootless real,” the elder said.
“I would.”
Kora’s face was grim but determined. “Then I will do what must be done. You can be sure of me. I’ll help the others see it too.”
“Myst Motri, then,” Amaru said. “How far is it?”
“Good weather and calm seas?” Alira pursed her lips, thinking. “A week, perhaps. Building the ship will take far longer.”
“Take the Crow,” Julara said.
Alira turned. “What?”
“The Black Crow,” she said. “She was the ship that brought you here. You and Bela. Makes sense for her to be the ship that takes you away.”
“But she is yours by salvage rights,” Alira said.
“She was Bela’s,” Julara corrected. “And Bela gave the ship to Shaesara when she left. We’ve kept her here, fixed her up enough to make her seaworthy, but I don’t know what Shaesara would’ve wanted done with her in the end. None of us does, I guess. But I think she would’ve recognized you as a friend of Bela’s and a worthy new mistress.”
“And will the other Skullborn think the same?” Amaru asked. “The ship has value.”
“They’d gut me quick as a plump fish if I were offering up the Dawn,” Julara said with a grin. “But the Black Crow is a loss they will surely accept, especially if it means getting rid of you lot and leaving more food for their plates. Their biggest question, I expect, will be how you’re going to sail her without a crew. Begging pardon, elder, but I don’t think any of you knows how to trim a sail.”
Amaru laughed. “No pardon needed. It’s quite true. You should come with us.”
Julara blinked. “Sorry?”
“Have you not been listening, child? You’re no safer here than we are. You must leave too.”
Alira stared at Amaru, wondering how far ahead she’d thought this through. She would’ve known there was at least one ship in the Bay of Bones. Whéuri and the senior huntresses had probably kept close enough watch that the elder likely knew there were at least two. From the moment she knew they’d have to leave Anjel, had this been her plan?
“I—I don’t think I could do that,” Julara whispered.
Amaru looked down at her from her stool, pity on her face. “I don’t think you can’t.”
“The bay is our home. Always has been. And we don’t have other places to go. No one in the Fair Isles would give the Pale Dawn harbor. No one would welcome the Bone Pirate with open arms.”
“It’s true,” Alira put in. “Nothing is as hated and feared as the Bone Pirate. Not even the Rootless. But this could be the way forward. The House Motria, for instance, has long been rivals with House Kubwa. Perhaps in exchange for safe harbor, you could offer up the services of the Pale Dawn to attack ships under the flag of the Grasping Hawk, while leaving the Open Eye at peace.”
“I am not the Bone Pirate,” Julara said. “It’s not my place.”
“The women here trust you to lead.” Amaru’s gaze was watchful.
“Because after Shaesara left, I was the only one who could read the accounts and keep stock. It’s not because they trust me at the helm. If I tell them all to go, I can assure you that someone will challenge me for the mask.”
“Enough for now to bring some supplies to your ship,” Amaru said. “And we will do the same for the Crow.”
“You can tell them you’re thinking of raiding the shipping lanes,” Alira added. “I imagine the hardiest of pirates will get excited about that.”
“They will,” Julara said. “A bed unmoved by the Mother’s breath—”
“Is no bed at all,” Alira finished. It was a truth of the Seaborn, who were only truly at home upon the sea. Was that still her? Who would she be in the weeks to come? Who would she be with what needed to be done?
“It’s settled, then,” the elder said. “Kora? Perhaps you and Julara can go to the Black Crow. Start thinking about what work is left to do. I’ll send Alira along shortly.”
Kora made a slight bow in acknowledgment; then she and the pirate were walking away.
“You want to say something,” Amaru said when they were out of earshot. “I can tell.”
“I just … I grew up Seaborn. But when you welcomed me, I became Stormborn. I left my old life behind, and I was at peace. I knew who I was. I knew what I was. Perhaps for the first time ever. And now …”
The elder drew circles with her cane again. “Now you’re uncertain who you are.”
“Yes.”
“You are Alira.”
“Alira what?”
The cane stopped. The elder looked up. “If I have learned you are anything, it is that you’re a survivor. Stormborn. Seaborn. Skullborn, if need be. You are Alira. That is all, and it is enough. It is what we all need right now. More than ever.”