I’m making new memories.
Some men continue up to the third floor, where they’re about to find more dead. Others leave for the first floor. I follow the men upstairs first.
I reach the last one in line, covering his mouth as I kill him and catching him before he can land on the floor with a thud. The next one is too heavy for me to catch as he lands, so I flatten myself into one of the closed doorways as a couple of men look behind them.
“Shit!” someone says. “Find ’em.”
I’m not sure if he said Find him or Find them. Should I be insulted or flattered? I launch from my hiding place when someone passes by and slam his head against the opposite wall. I hear the hammer of a pistol being cocked back, so I turn the man, letting him take the shot.
I reach for another dagger before I let the body drop and throw it at the person holding the lantern. The light sputters out as they fall.
More footsteps pound up the stairs, bringing more lanterns with them, and I drop to the ground, as though I’m just another dead body among the mess.
“Where is he?” one of the newcomers asks.
“He vanishes like smoke,” someone from the first party says.
Definitely offended.
The men tread past me, and I hold perfectly still. One of my arms is looped over my head, concealing my long ponytail from discovery if anyone tries to look down.
A boot knocks into me, but I hold back a grunt as I wait for the newcomers to pass me by.
When they do, I descend upon them one at a time. Slitting throats. Bashing heads. Catching bodies. Kill. Repeat. Kill.
My hands are slippery with blood again. My front is covered with it from all the blood spatter. I dodge a swinging cutlass on my way to deliver an attack to another pirate. He blocks my first strike but doesn’t expect me to deliver a second one so quickly. It pierces his heart.
I spin as the man I dodged comes charging at me with his sword raised; I leap aside but land atop one of the fallen bodies, and my ankle rolls. When I land on my good leg, I pivot in place, ducking a slash and stabbing the man in the gut. I finish him with another slice to the throat.
Then the mansion is perfectly silent.
I rise, take a look around at the carnage. A throbbing pain lances up my leg when I try to put my full weight on my ankle. It slows me down as I retrieve all my daggers and find unmarred cloth to wipe them clean on. I scrub at my hands, though they’re still red when I’m done. Dried blood has worked its way into the creases of my skin. I sheathe my rapier and daggers into their respective holsters. I pull my braided hair out of its loose ponytail and redo it.
Then I search through the mansion until I find the servants’ quarters. Most have barricaded themselves in their rooms or hidden under their beds.
It takes some time, but I finally locate Miss Nyles’s room.
“These are for you,” I say, and I drag the two unconscious men from the kitchens inside, one at a time, ignoring the shooting pain in my ankle. Thankfully, the servants sleep downstairs; otherwise I wouldn’t have managed transporting them.
I pull out one of my daggers and hand it to Miss Nyles, hilt first.
The young woman looks between my dagger and the two unconscious brutes tied up on the floor of her bedroom. She takes the weapon offered to her.
“I suggest waiting until they’re awake,” I offer. “It’ll be better that way.”
Then I put the mansion behind me and sail home.
Chapter 2
THE SEA BREEZE IS warm against my skin as the ship lowers anchor just off the tropical shores of Queen’s Keep, an island gifted to the pirate queen by her siren mother. Initially, Alosa had wanted to name the island Alosa Island.
“I’m the queen. Why not name it after me?” she asked.
“Makes you sound just a tad conceited,” Niridia, her first mate, answered.
“Whatever. If a man named an island after himself, no one would bat an eyelash.”
“You’re not a man.”
“No, I’m far better.”
“Which means you’re too good to name an island after yourself.”
Alosa glared at her.
“Why not something more subtle?” Mandsy, Alosa’s best healer, offered. “Like Queen’s Keep?”
Alosa grimaced as though she tasted something sour in her mouth before turning to me. “What do you think?”
“Name it Queen’s Keep.”
“Ugh. Fine.”
I’m rowed to shore in a dinghy by a blessedly silent party. When I step foot on the beach, a gun fires somewhere in the distance.
It’s not necessarily a sign of danger. Someone could be at the firing range. Still, my instincts beg me to check it out, so I make my way toward where the sound originated. Palm trees line the sandy shores, but a well-worn path leads to the island’s center, where Alosa is still in the process of having her stronghold constructed. Builders are hard at work, hammering and sawing. I pass them by and hear another shot fired, this one followed by a whimper, and I pick up my pace.
When I arrive at the firing range, a peculiar sight greets me. There’s a man tied to a dummy some twenty paces off from where Alosa and Riden stand. A crowd has gathered, and I push through it to get myself a better view.
The queen cocks back the hammer of her pistol, takes aim, and fires. A bit of straw just above the man’s right shoulder explodes, raining down upon him. He shrinks away from it.
“That was the closest yet,” Alosa taunts, turning to Riden.
The smile he gives her makes her own grow, and I refrain from frowning. I liked Alosa better before she had a consort. Now she’s all dove eyes and too much laughter, and I have to put up with Riden at all hours of the day.
The pirate tasked with reloading their weapons hands him his pistol. Riden doesn’t take his eyes off Alosa as he extends his arm and fires.
The hat upon the restrained man’s head blows off, and the crowd applauds.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” Alosa calls out to him. “Or are you going to let me win this wager first?”
The captive rolls his lips under his teeth to keep his mouth firmly closed, and Alosa is thrilled. She accepts another pistol, puts her back to the target, and rests the gun atop her shoulder.
“Wait!” the man calls out. “All right, all right. It was Draxen. Draxen sent me to kidnap his brother and—”
Alosa fires, and the crowd gasps as the shot skims the fabric of the man’s collar, not even an inch from his neck. He faints from the ordeal, and Alosa doesn’t bother to turn around to see if she missed or not. She’s simply that good of a shot.
“Show-off,” Riden says to her.
“Don’t be a bad sport just because you lost. Now,” Alosa says, turning to the crowd, “who’s next?”