Page 68 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

“I’ll just tell them you’re the daughter of an experienced smuggler who is loyal to our cause and that the ship is yours.” Orayn smiled. “None of them are going to question me. They’ve all known me long enough to trust me.”

“All right.” Charis checked to see that her mask was firmly in place. “Let’s get out onto the water.”

Moments later, the crew of twenty-seven was assembled on the deck while Orayn and Charis stood on the quarterdeck beside the helm, facing the group.

“You all know why we’re here,” Orayn said, his deep voice rumbling through the night. “This is your captain. She might look young, but she makes up for it with a wealth of experience in both smuggling and the Montevallian war dogs. Her family is financing this crew. She has a few words to say to you before we get underway.”

Charis stepped forward, gripping the balustrade and looking out over the assembled group.

“Thank you for coming.” Her voice was carefully controlled. Soft enough to be slightly disarming, but cold as steel underneath. “Please know that your discretion is imperative. Choosing to join us means choosing to keep this secret, even at the cost of your own life. There are Montevallian spies throughout our city. If the enemy gets word that we’re searching for their fleet, they’ll turn against us instead. Should any one of you decide to betray us, I will personally hunt you down and make your death as slow and painful as you deserve.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words and the vicious sincerity in her tone sink into the crew. When she judged that they were all taking her seriously, she nodded to Orayn, and he stepped forward.

“The enemy fleet won’t be the only potential threat we face,” he said. “There are monstrous creatures roaming the seas, though most of them leave ships alone unless there’s blood in the water to draw them close. There are Blood Mists, as you know, and there are other smugglers who wouldn’t think twice about trying to board us, rob us of our cargo, and feed our bodies to the fishes.”

A few in the crew shifted on their feet as if anxious about this list of potential threats. Orayn raised a hand and began to tick items off on his thick fingers.

“If a sea monster gets too curious, we’ll trim the sails and leave that area. If a Blood Mist rolls through, we’ll do what we’d normally do on land when one comes in: lock ourselves in the cabins belowdecks and stay hidden and quiet until the shades within the mist dissipate in the morning sun.”

“How would we see a Blood Mist coming?” a woman with a long braid down her back and a strong, sturdy build called out. “You can’t tell that a mist is red when you’re out on the water at night.”

“Maybe not, but the shades aren’t quiet,” another woman answered from the front of the group. “The souls of those lost at sea make enough noise that you can hear them coming if you’re paying attention.”

“And we’ll be paying attention anytime we see fog,” Orayn said calmly. “As for the threat of other smugglers, we’ll have to assign some of our group to man the cannons while others are prepared for sailor-to-sailor combat on deck.”

A soft murmur rose from the group, and Charis raised her hand for silence. “Those of you who have any combat training, please remain in the center of the deck so we can assess your skill level. The rest of you see our first mate about your assignments. We’ll take two hours inside the harbor to learn our jobs and do our practicing, and then I want this ship moving out into open water. We will have a quiet ship when we leave the harbor.”

“You heard the captain,” Orayn called. “Get moving.”

Within moments, Orayn had assigned two sailors to study the maps in the captain’s quarters and chart their course for the evening. He had five people on the cannon deck learning how to quickly load, aim, and fire the weapons. The rest were tacking sails, hauling ropes, and scrambling to obey his every order.

Charis stood in the middle of the top deck with Holland, Tal, and four others who’d stayed to be assessed for their readiness to defend the ship with weapons. She already knew how skilled Holland and Tal were. That left the other four.

She studied them as she handed out swords with corked tips. A woman old enough to be her mother held the weapon like she had some experience with a blade. A man who looked to be in his early twenties seemed a little uncertain how to grip the hilt properly. Another woman around his age took the blade gingerly and admitted she preferred daggers.

The fourth volunteer, a boy who appeared to be Charis’s age, held his weapon in his gloved hands like it was an extension of himself. There was an ease to his stance, an immediate familiarity with the sword, that made her wonder if he’d ever done training with a swords master.

“Everyone choose a partner. Holland, you work with those three. You.” She nodded toward the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Dec,” he said quietly.

“You’ll be with Tal. I’m going to observe and work up a defense plan in case it’s ever needed.”

The others paired off and began practicing. Charis watched closely. She’d been right about Dec. He had experience with a sword, though Tal was better.

Tal was better than Charis, too, but she was working hard to close that gap. Or she had been before the announcement that she’d offered herself to the Montevallian prince had put such a strain on their friendship.

At first, she’d been frustrated at his apparent inability to realize that as the future queen she had to make decisions that weren’t going to line up with what she personally wanted. Then she’d been angry that he’d somehow made her want something with him in the first place—not that she even knew how to put a name to the wild, tender thing that ached in her heart when she looked at him.

But now . . . now she’d started to consider that it might not even be about the attraction that had blossomed between them. Tal had lost everything. He barely mentioned his family, but there was always pain in his eyes when he did. He’d once told her he dreamed about his old home and woke up expecting to see his family when he opened his eyes.

There was grief and bitterness in him, and the cause was King Alaric of Montevallo. And now the girl he’d taken an arrow for had offered herself to the enemy as a prize. No wonder he could barely look at her.

The best move would be to leave things as they were. Tal would keep protecting her until the threat was gone, and then they would simply grow apart. He would go back to her father’s employ, or perhaps join the weapons master to help with training. He’d meet a nice girl, tell her his secrets, fall in love, settle down, and get a new favorite cat.

It was the life he deserved. The life she ought to want for him.

She turned away from the sparring and moved to the railing. The thunk of ropes hitting the deck, the sharp slap of wind filling the sails, and the soft shush of waves scraping against the ship’s sides filled the air, and she closed her eyes as the dark chasm within her opened wide.

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