Regarding the pirates one last time, she gazed out at the sea of misfits who had started as her worst enemies and grown to be her closest friends.
If she had bet on how she would feel the day she was set free of this lot, she would have lost more than her purse, and most assuredly her mind, for how unexpected this journey had turned out to be. Taking a deep breath in, she made to descend the ship when a slip of cold magic touched along her shoulder.
Turning, her eyes collided with those of burning blue.
Alōs stood beside Boman up on the quarterdeck, looking down at her. He was a splotch of ink in the bright morning sun wrapped in his black coat, his broad shoulders leading to strong hands that grasped the banister before him.
Alōs’s gaze consumed her from where he stood.
Everything in Niya’s body told her to go to him.
To run up there and embrace him so she could feel his strength between her arms one last time.
But neither of them moved.
Because neither of them could.
They were a sun and a moon separated by an endless moving sky.
So Niya did the only thing she could: she smiled.
Alōs returned it with a nod.
It was not the final farewell Niya had hoped for, but that was perhaps for the best.
The curt gesture was the last severing of rope tying her to the ship.
You are free now, his gaze said. Go.
And so, with determination burying deep her heavy heart, she did.
Niya turned and, without looking back, left the Crying Queen behind.
Months later, when restless hearts beat unchanged
CHAPTER FIFTY
The port was dark but not quiet. As were most sections of the city within the Thief Kingdom. Niya leaned against a post, gazing through her black eye mask into the dark and rowdy bar that was built along the harbor. It smelled of fish and fried food and patrons who cared more about their next drink than about their next bath.
Niya had found the Drowning Dog during one of her many strolls through this part of town.
The sea-weathered spirit den warmed her heart in a way she could not explain, except to say it reminded her of another place and time.
Arabessa and Larkyra, however, had not shared in her nostalgia as they’d followed her here tonight.
“We are meant to be at Macabris,” Larkyra had exclaimed on their walk, “because it is midweek, and midweek means we are meant to be at Macabris!”
“What do you even find so appealing about this establishment that you must visit it so often?” Arabessa had asked. “I hear they sell watered-down ale and spoiled spirits.”
Niya had quite plainly pointed out that neither of them had to tag along.
But that had only been met with more huffs and puffs and pointing out in return that this was meant to be a night out together.
So it was that the three Bassette sisters, dressed in the finest of disguises ever to grace such a dive as this, found themselves at the Drowning Dog.
And—despite rumors—learned quickly that their ale and spirits were certainly not watered down. In fact, they were quite liquored up.
“She may have unparalleled grace,” said Arabessa beside Niya as they watched their youngest sister balance on a chair’s back, her pearl disguise winking in the dim establishment. “But I fear all balance was lost after that fourth shot.”
“I don’t know,” mused Niya. “If anything, it might have her concentrating more.”
The bar erupted in cheers as Larkyra succeeded in jumping to her other foot, remaining poised on the edge of the chair’s back. She waved in triumph to where Niya and Arabessa stood at the far end of the bar.
But this extra task appeared too much, for in the next moment Larkyra fell over, landing on the wood floor with an oof.
There was a collective gasp around the room before—
“I’m fine!” Larkyra bounced up.
Patrons pounded their glee on tables; a few others handed her another drink.
“We should probably trade that with water,” said Arabessa.
“But then how will she ever learn to trade it herself?” countered Niya.
“And you both say I am the tougher sister,” tsked Arabessa.
“No, we call you the most annoying one.”
Arabessa shoved her with an elbow. “If anyone’s been annoying lately, I’d say it’s you and your gloomy moods.”
Niya set her jaw, not meeting her sister’s gaze. “I have not been moody.”
“No? Then why have you been taking most of your meals in your rooms the past few weeks?”
“Perhaps because I find the company of others trying lately.”
“Or,” suggested Arabessa, “you only wish for the company of the pirate variety?”
A new tension set along Niya’s spine. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ara.”
Her elder sister fell quiet as Larkyra bounded toward them, three mugs of ale sloshing in her gloved hands. “Ladies,” she called, handing them each a drink. “If we are to stand apart from the fun of this establishment, why are we here again?”
“Niya is moping,” explained Arabessa.
“No I am not!” she said, irritation radiating.
“Is this about the Crying Queen docking at port yesterday?” asked Larkyra.
“What?” Niya’s heart kicked over with a start.
“I thought you knew. Father said he was to have an audience with the pirate captain.”
Niya frowned. She most certainly had not heard this.
“When did he tell you that?”
“At breakfast the other day,” said Larkyra with a shrug.
“When you were most likely hiding in your rooms,” explained Arabessa.
Niya’s breathing grew quick, a new ache filling her chest. She was ashamed to admit it, but she had been secretly wishing to hear such news for weeks now, months even. A whisper that the notorious pirate ship was back at port. She’d even found herself searching the crowds during each of their Mousai performances, searching in the hopes of finding the captain’s searing blue gaze, his wicked grin that sent shivers of desire through her.
But as the days had passed, filling her again and again with empty hope, she had grown distant from her surroundings. Numb to the merriment of the palace parties, which usually employed such enjoyable distractions.
And she hated it.
Niya needed to get over whatever it was she was clinging to.
“He’s probably meeting with Alōs about their recent mission in the east,” exclaimed Larkyra.
“I heard they were able to help all those villages,” said Arabessa. “Give the lands back to the women who were meant to rule them.”
Niya drank in her sisters’ words, which set a deeper ache in her chest. One that was mixed with pride.
Over the months the pirates of the Crying Queen had become notorious for a different reason than thievery and sin.
Their ship had transformed into a mercenary’s, sailing to distant places—towns and villages rumored to be run by tyrants or whose people had been forced into indentured servitude—to free them. It had started as a way to repay their debt to the Thief King and return to his good graces but appeared to have extended into a full-time position. The pirates of course were rewarded handsomely for their efforts, but Niya had her suspicions that after their experience helping Esrom, they quite liked the taste of being on the other side of bad. Not that their actions were any less lethal. It took just as much brutality to slay monsters as it did to be one.
Niya understood this, of course, because she and her sisters were such creatures themselves.
“Niya?” asked Larkyra. “Did you hear what I said?”
She blinked over to her sister, her thoughts coming back to the rowdy bar. “Sorry, I missed it.”
“I asked if you wanted to play Split the Wood with us? We were invited by that group over there.” Larkyra pointed to a gaggle of rough-edged men and women disguised in a variety of patchwork masks. They threw sharp axes at shards of wood nailed to the far wall, cheers erupting when one of them was able to split the thin material down the middle.
“Sure,” said Niya. “I’ll join you both in a moment. I need to get some fresh air first. That last mug of ale isn’t sitting right.”