Page 1 of Take No Prisoners
Chapter 1
Efren
No pirate skirmish demanded Efren's attention more than a lover's spat between two sailors, especially when the ship languished beneath calm skies hours from land. The two arguing were the ship's wind weavers, and the ship lagged without their wind magic filling the sails.
The argument had escalated beyond them. The rest of the crew had taken sides and placed bets on who would come to blows first. Efren's bet was on Tovey, unanimous with the rest of the crew. Stan didn't have a mean bone in his body, which annoyed Tovey to no end. The spread covered the number of minutes before the inevitable first punch.
They weren't Efren's lovers, nor was it his spat, but it was still his business. They were his fucking sailors, and it was his godsdamned ship.
The ship could practically sail herself in such calm, but he called his substitute first mate to take the wheel in his absence. Olivia matched him in every way but her hair. Hers was black and tied back in a severe braid that pulled the hair at her skull so tight it was a wonder she could close her eyes beneath her tricorn hat. Efren had only a thin braid on the right to keep the strands free of his looking glass. The rest was loose and brown beneath his tricorn. His close-cropped beard hid the laugh lines around his mouth, while hers were exposed to the daylight.
They wore matching gray tailcoats and breeches tucked into black knee-high boots, a throwback to their time in the imperial navy. The rest of the crew wore more comfortable tunics and straw hats to keep the sun from their eyes, but Olivia could pass for a stranded naval officer from a distance. She kept up appearances for any imperial sightings. Efren couldn't disguise his water weaves from a seeker, but few enough imperial ships had one. They'd been lucky so far.
Olivia would make an excellent captain one day, but it had been five years, and still Efren didn't trust her with crew disputes. Nor did he confide in her the way he had in Vadim. That was far more Efren's fault, and his former first mate's, than hers, but nothing had burned him worse than being boarded and searched by the emperor's royal navy while Vadim had looked on with contempt. When they'd found no stowaways aboard, Vadim had requested clemency and spirited away with them, leaving Efren shaken, furious, and alone.
Five years had done nothing to temper his anger. Instead, it had sharpened to a fine blade. He rarely exposed that blade to his crew, but this morning's war of words between Stan and Tovey deserved a demonstration. Insolence of this nature would not be tolerated aboardStarlight Specter. All he had to do was catch their attention and point toward his quarters beneath the wheel, and they followed him with sheepish looks and downcast eyes.
"What is it this time, Kristov?" The captain used the wind weaver's formal name to show his displeasure.
The morning sun through the starboard windows had both sailors squinting as Efren leaned against the edge of his desk. It was either that or hold court from his bunk, and this was not the time to encourage them.
"He made a pass at one of the naval gits," Tovey said.
They'd overtaken a small naval vessel with a crew of five the day before. The ship's captain had dared to rush them and died for his actions. The other four had surrendered, begging transport to Glamiere, the country to the west, where they could flee the emperor's conscription. They were all weavers, not a seeker or suppressor among them. Weavers looking for freedom received free passage, while those who sided with the emperor died for their misguided loyalty.
The ship's log had mentioned a mining operation to the north, which had baffled Efren. Why was the emperor sending groups of five weavers at a time to mine ore from a rocky crag in the middle of the ocean?
"Said they should meet up in port and have a good time at one of the brothels." Tovey looked angry enough to spit deck nails, and he wouldn't meet Efren's gaze, choosing to stare at the floor between them.
"He's pretty," Stan countered.
None of their passengers could hold a candle to Tovey's northern good looks, in Efren's opinion. Tovey sported tanned white skin, eyes the color of the ocean, and hair like spun gold to his shoulders. Tovey had swayed townspeople in their favor at several ports with his gorgeous face and his lute. The man could even sing at a good clip, though his voice sometimes veered too sharp if he'd had too much ale.
"I'm pretty, you bastard." There it was, the veer to the sharp, both in pitch and in cutting insults. "You never take me to a nice brothel when we're docked."
"You always become a cross asshole as soon as the crow's nest hollers 'land ho!'" Stan was more of Tovey in every way. Darker. Taller. Broader. Older, though he still had the same physique as he had at eighteen, thanks to the amount of physical labor he did on deck. With earth as his primary element, Stan had no need to lift the ropes or haul up the anchor himself, but he always did.
"Maybe I wouldn't hate it so much if you made it worth leaving the ship."
"Gods own!" Efren shouted to disrupt the fast-paced sniping between the two. They could argue for hours like this, which was the reason they were in his cabin now. Efren put a stop to Stan's attempt to drape an arm over Tovey's shoulders by shoving them apart. "Either kiss and make up or don't, but this constant bickering has got to stop. Stan, do you want to keep shagging Tovey or not?"
"Well, aye." Stan's dimples were on full display from his grin. "He's pretty."
"Is that all I'll ever be to you?" Tovey asked. "Pretty?" He looked as mad as a wet kitten and made of claws.
"It's all that matters, ain't it?" Stan could be as dense as a barn door on a good day, and this wasn't a good day.
"We're done, Captain." Tovey snapped his gaze to Efren's with a nod of his head. "If I never speak to him again beyond the call of duty, it will be too soon."
Stan looked like he wanted to argue. He squinted at Efren and thought better of it.
"The next time we have this conversation, one of you will be finding a new ship."
Efren watched the emotions play across Stan's face as he first understood he'd lost his fuck buddy, and then that he'd lost his verbal sparring partner, and finally that his livelihood had been threatened.
"Well, shit."
Well shit, indeed.
