I’m usually patient with him, but I don’t have it in me today. “By all means, Enwen, waste your money, but if you step one foot into my treasury, I’ll toss you overboard.”
Mandsy sits cross-legged on the deck with some fabric in her lap. Looks like she’s working on a dress. Mandsy appreciates fancy things as much as I do. Niridia crouches next to her, chatting lightly.
Kearan rolls a barrel full of freshwater across the deck as a morning exercise. Sorinda sits in the shade made by the aftercastle, watching the crew on deck. I’m bored out of my mind, so I sidle up next to her.
“Kearan looks better,” I say.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Maybe you should talk to him.”
She turns her head to look at me fully. Sorinda often reminds me of a cat with the sleek way she moves. “Whatever for?”
“He’s not a drunk anymore. He has things to say.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t ever talk to anyone. Maybe it’s time you started.”
She turns away from me, peers over at Kearan again. “Talking isn’t necessary for me to do my job.”
“No, but you might enjoy it if you tried.” I move to stand. No one can change Sorinda’s mind. She follows orders better than anyone else on the ship, but when it comes to her personal life, she’s as closed off as a clam.
“Captain.” She halts me with a word. “I see everything on this ship. Instead of trying to engage me in conversation, you might consider talking to the person who you really desire to.”
Her line of sight changes.
To where Riden is chatting with Wallov and Deros near the bow.
“That is none of your concern,” I say, but Sorinda has already disappeared. I turn my gaze back to Riden.
“Ships in the distance!” Roslyn cries from the railing near the men. Though she’s not up in the crow’s nest, she’s clearly been keeping a lookout better than anyone else.
Heads turn toward the starboard side. Fingers point. Hands cover open mouths. Wallov rushes Roslyn over to the crow’s nest, so she can hide in the false bottom of her post.
The pirate king’s fleet has found us.
*
The fog has started to clear, and in the distance are twenty ships, the Dragon’s Skull at their head.
The air is deathly silent with not even a breeze to stir it.
I dare to hope they haven’t spotted us, but then a ship pulls forward, separating itself from the fleet, using sweeps to sail right for us.
“Battle stations!” I shout. “Prepare the cannons! Gunmen, to your posts! Load every musket and pistol on this ship! Move, move, move!”
Quick-running feet thud over wood. Muskets are passed around. Barriers are fashioned out of barrels, crates, and spare rowboats to provide protection from gunshots. Below, Philoria, Bayla, Wallov, Deros, and the others will be hauling out the gunpowder and cannonballs.
Niridia and I set up a station just behind the companionway. We have five muskets and five pistols between the two of us, all laid out on the ground. Ammo and gunpowder are within reach for reloading. Niridia is there to reload me and dole out orders when I give them.
Riden tucks himself into the space with us. “I’m a good shot. You’ll want me here—unless you have other plans for me?”
As the newest member of the ship, he hasn’t been given a station for battle.
Part of me wants to send him away just to be petty, but I remember the first time we met, when he used his pistol to shoot my own from my hand. He does have good aim.
“You can stay,” I say.
It’s Tylon’s ship, Death’s Secret, that approaches us. I find myself wishing that my own ship was equipped with sweep oars, but the Ava-lee was not built for carrying them. We’ve no way to run. Nothing to do but wait.
“Do we fire on them while they approach?” Niridia asks.
“No. Father would just retreat and then order the whole fleet to fire upon us. If one ship is coming forward, it’s because he wants to talk first. The rest of the fleet won’t fire to risk hitting their own ship, and I like our odds better when it’s one-on-one.”
“Talk first?” she asks.
“If the pirate king had only talking in mind, he would have sent his ship forward. Because this will turn into a fight and he doesn’t want to risk damage to his own vessel, he’s coming over on another.”
It’s at least a little satisfying knowing it’s Tylon’s ship I’ll be putting holes in.
Death’s Secret ceases its rowing when it’s perhaps fifty yards from us, angling itself so the starboard side lines up with ours, cannons to cannons.
My father is not hard to spot. He strides down from the aftercastle to stand on the main deck, as close to me as he can get. He has a belt slung over one shoulder, four pistols strapped across his back. A massive cutlass that would be a detriment to a normal man is sheathed at his side. He could take a head off with it.
My father enjoys looking fierce. As do I. Fortunately, I’d woken up in a bad mood today, and it shows in my clothes. My corset is black with a bloodred blouse underneath. I’ve tied my hair out of my face and wrapped a matching red bandanna over the top of my head. I look ready for a fight.
I stand opposite my father, nothing but water separating us.
“Where is she?” he says slowly, as though he’s barely keeping his temper in check.
“I missed you, too, Father,” I say in response.
“You will bring her over to this ship, lay down your arms, and surrender to my men.”
“I don’t have her. She swam away as soon as she was free of you. You can search this ship from top to bottom, but you will see I’m telling the truth.”
He nods to himself, as though he’d been preparing for this answer. “Then command your men to lay down their arms and surrender the ship.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
“Then my ship will tear yours to ribbons!” Tylon shouts. My father turns his head on him, irritated by the interruption.
“Tylon,” I say. “I hadn’t noticed you in my father’s shadow.”
His fair complexion takes on a reddish hue.
“You’re my daughter,” Father continues. “Surrender the ship and we’ll talk.”
I’m surprised by the offer. Of course, I know there will be nothing but a slow death in store for my crew if I order them to surrender. I can see it in his eyes. But the fact that he would try this when everyone on Tylon’s ship can hear him—it could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. I hadn’t realized how much my father depended on me and my abilities. He thinks he can break me if he gets his hands on me, force me to do his bidding once again. He doesn’t want to kill me, not yet.
But I will not fall into his hands again, and I sure as hell won’t let him get ahold of my crew.
Better to strike than to dodge. It’s one of the first lessons Father ever taught me.
I put a hand over my mouth and chin, as if I’m pondering his offer. “Niridia,” I say quietly. “Tell the crew below to fire the cannons.”