Page 110 of Vengeance of the Pirate Queen

The remaining man sneers at me, looking rather proud at the sound of that bell.

“What makes you think they’ll arrive in time to save you?” I ask him in his language.

His face falls as I charge.

Chapter 22

NOT A SECOND AFTERI kill him, the room fills with more Drifta. There are ten or so of them, each looking angrier than the last. I don’t recognize any of them. It’s impossible to tell if they know who I am, though I have a hard time imagining that they’d want to kill me any more than they already do either way.

There is the briefest moment of stillness, where I size up the newcomers. They look me over before turning to survey the six dead surrounding me. Hard to look innocent when blood covers my hands and clothes and blade.

I don’t give them the chance to move first. I pull out my pistol and fire, taking out the closest Drifta to me. Since I’ve no time to reload, I throw the weapon at another man. It clonks him square in the nose, halting his advance.

Then I run.

I bolt through the doors at the far end of the room and slam them closed. I slide one of my longer daggers through the handles of both doors to buy me some time.

Shots fire through the door, and I have to leap aside to avoid wayward bullets. I’m in the galley, and I land between two benches bolted to the floor. As I rise and race the length of the room, I hear bodies being thrown against the door.

They’re trying to break in.

I reach the kitchens, which is the last room on this level of the ship. There’s a cooking stove at the far end, washing basins surrounding it. Between it and me, there’s a kitchen island, a chopping center for the cooks to use. I manage to launch myself to the other side of it as the galley doors finally snap under the barrage of Drifta breaking through.

The island is what saves me. It forces them to come at me two at a time, one on each side of the island with me in the middle. I’ve got my rapier in one hand and a knife in the other, as I prepare to fight them two at a time.

The first man who runs at me on the left skewers himself on my knife. The man behind him practically shoved him onto the sword in his haste to reach the fighting. I let go of the knife and drop down to grab his cutlass instead so I can have a longer reach with my left hand.

I angle myself back a foot to keep everyone within my sights. I dodge and thrust simultaneously, stabbing one man through the gut while fending off the other’s blow. Flicking my wrist, I send the enemy’s cutlass flying across the island and slice the empty-handed pirate to ribbons.

The men waiting their turns push harder and harder, desperate to join the fight. One leaps atop the island, thinking to overpower me from above. I dodge a strike from the right, and that pirate’s sword goes charging between the legs of the man on the island, who then stumbles and land flat on his back. I stab at the first man’s now-exposed back.

They keep coming, each man thinking he’ll be the one to finally beat me. It’s truly astonishing the number of fights I’ve won because of male arrogance.

After another thrust into meaty flesh, I’ve no time to withdraw the sword before veering to the side to avoid an ax swinging downward. Above my head, pots and pans hang down from the ceiling. I grab a large cast-iron skillet, yank it off the hook, and swing. It clonks the ax wielder in the head, sending him sprawling atop the pile of bodies.

And then I hear a sound.

The clicking of a pistol.

The man atop the island regains his feet. I reach up for his shirt and pull him downward. He screams when the iron ball makes contact with his back instead of me, and I drop him with the rest of the corpses growing around me.

Blood gathers in puddles on the floor, smears under my boots, flecks on my clothing and skin, runs down my sword, and coats my hands.

A man charges me, dodging under my rapier and sending the breath from my lungs as I fall. He might have made some progress if we’d landed on solid ground. Instead, a dead body takes the impact, and with the leverage, I’m able to roll the pirate off me. I drop the skillet and go for another dagger now that we’re in closer quarters, raking it across his neck before I stand. Blood flies into my face with the movement.

They’re getting smarter as they watch me kill. More men climb atop the island at once. I throw a knife. It has just enough space to make one arc before embedding into one man’s eye. Then I’m forced back against the washbasin as five cutlasses shove at me at once.

I turn in a half circle, my rapier touching blade after blade, but there are too many. I knew this was a possibility, of course. That this mission might be the equivalent of me sacrificing myself.

Thisisit,I think. The moment when I meet my end. It’s how I always wanted to go. Dying for the sake of someone else. Dying for Alosa’s crew. Risking my neck so they have a chance of making it home.

But, for the first time in as long as I can remember, something is different about this.

It takes me far too long to realize thatIdon’twanttodie.

It’s terrifying as those words form in my head.

I’ve always been eager to reunite with my family. To do as much good as I could in the meantime and gladly go when it’s my time.

---