Page 2 of Take No Prisoners
"I'm sorry it's come to this, Captain." Tovey didn't spare a backward glance as he stomped to the door. He could be light on his feet when needed, but he used the weight of his steps to toll the death of his relationship with Stan. He'd only needed the one step, but he'd taken three. He put the exclamation point on it by slamming Efren's cabin door.
"I honestly don't know what happened." Stan's face crumpled, and he studied his boots. "I was just teasing him."
Efren slumped against his desk, dropping the mantle of captain. Stan was his oldest friend. They'd grown up together on Aquarion, raised on the outer edge of the empire in the time before weavers had become enemies of the state. Stan had been there for him after Vadim left. It was well past time to return the favor.
"Give him time to cool off," he said, surprised by the gentleness in his own voice. He was even more surprised when Stan pulled him from the desk and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug.
Efren gripped him by the shoulders and knocked their foreheads together, the same way they'd butted heads on the training grounds when they were kids.
Stan grinned in response. That was better than his earlier desolate expression. If Vadim were still here, he would have chided Stan with a death threat, and they would have laughed and parted ways.
Efren needed to stop thinking about Vadim. He was never coming back. It was time to move on.
Tovey and Stan might still have a chance, though, if they could work through their disparate love languages.
"Off the ship," Efren repeated. "The next time you try to work your shit out, I won't have it disturbing the crew's entire morning."
"Aye, Captain." Stan bowed his head and turned to the door.
Once he was alone in his tiny space, Efren sank onto his cot, also the seat behind his desk, and glanced through the star charts. They were close to port at Landale, Vadim's last known location. For four years, he'd stayed in the capital as Emperor Hugo's adviser. It seemed strange for him to be on the move again. Rumor had it the general had given Vadim his own naval ship and sent him off with a seeker to find more elemental magic weavers. The fucking traitor.
Efren reached for the cool comfort of the water. Even now, he could feel it kissing the sides of his ship, rocking her on her way to Landale. At first, Efren had wished for a more powerful element, like fire or lightning, but he'd been grateful for the calming effects of his water element over the last five years. He weaved a simple spell above his hands, casting water into a spinning circle he could look through like a barrel gasket. The spell rushed through him, filling him with calm as the light hit the stream of fast-flowing water and cast rainbows across the maps on the table.
They would know Vadim's plans in less than a day. They would dock in the dead of night with hopes of leaving by morning, depending on the news from their sources. He hoped they weren't too late.
∞∞∞
Niall
The whisper of the wind beneath the door called to Niall like a siren's song. He wished he was out on the town instead of holed up in the pottery shop. He'd been studying as an apprentice for ten years. Whenever he asked Master Othelio for a shelf to sell his own wares, Master would say he wasn't ready. Niall had heard apprenticeships in other lands were five years at most, but arguing with Master Othelio only resulted in tacking on more years of servitude.
The pitchers, bowls, and plates lining the walls were all Niall's creations, anyway. They had Master Othelio's special mark on them, but Niall had pressed that final detail into them with the branding stamp before firing them in the kiln. Everything from the clay itself to the color of the glaze was Niall's choosing. Master Othelio had little time to worry about such details these days. He was more preoccupied with the rogue weavers inflicting their magic on the land. Magic weavers were the largest threat to the empire's economy and safety, according to the emperor himself.
Niall's parents and most of their friends had been weavers in a time when weavers had been outlawed and called pirates. The empire especially frowned upon pirates who helped other weavers escape Embertide's oppression. Niall had a hard time believing any weavers, and especially pirates, were the vile oppressors Master Othelio detested. Master called him naïve whenever he suggested weavers might be trying to stay alive and free, just like everyone else fleeing the emperor's reach.
Niall tried not to think about weavers as he poured a little of his core into each bit of pottery. He also tried not to wonder at how much easier making pottery was without Master Othelio looking over his shoulder. Now that Master left him alone most days, the clay was more malleable in his hands.
Tonight, Master Othelio had sent a courier to share he would not return to the shop until early morning. That meant Niall had to sleep in the showroom to deter break-ins after hours. It didn't help that Master refused to install shutters to cover the glass windows when the shop was closed. Each week, the market was abuzz with tales of thieves in port who traded with pirates.
Niall's parents had been pirates, or so the navy's death weaver had claimed. General Coryn had come to Landale herself to see them hang alongside twenty other naval deserters when Niall was thirteen. Niall had been an orphan ever since. Niall's friend Klaus had loved hearing pirate tales after lights out in the orphanage. Klaus had recognized Niall from his parents' public execution, and they'd become fast friends.
Niall considered himself lucky to have a talent for pottery. His fellow orphans weren't as fortunate. Klaus sold his body for coin after the orphanage kicked him out at eighteen. He swore he'd rather turn tricks than work for the empire any day. He seemed to enjoy sex, which Niall found hard to believe. Niall had never had much interest in it, nor in anyone in particular.
Their other friends were gone now. Miysa had struggled against a cutthroat and died in the streets. Niall didn't want to think about the rest. They'd been like family. Now, Miysa had been dead for years, he hadn't seen Klaus in weeks, and he was alone.
He walked through the back storeroom for a cursory check after he moved the pallet of bedding into the showroom. Master would criticize him in the morning for putting it along the back wall instead of beneath the window, but he didn't want just anyone to walk by and see him sleeping there. His pajamas were threadbare at the seams and had a tear along the crotch. Master knew it was there because he'd poked Niall's backside through the hole once and laughed. He never gave Niall enough coin to buy a new pair, only enough to go to the market for food and the week's supplies to make more pitchers, bowls, and plates.
Klaus had offered to buy Niall a new set of pajamas the last time they met at the public baths, but then Klaus had disappeared. He'd come into a spot of money, or so he'd said, and things were looking up for him. He'd probably gotten himself killed, more like. Or he'd gotten so rich he couldn't be seen with the likes of Niall.
Still, Niall wished him the best. He hoped Klaus was on an island far north of Landale, somewhere the winter wouldn't find him.
Niall sank onto the pallet he'd placed against the wall next to the storeroom door, but sleep wouldn't come until he envisioned Klaus drinking from coconuts and having the time of his life.
Something woke him from his slumber. The room was still dark, without a trace of light from the front windows.
He heard it again, a jarring of the front window so hard it rattled in its casing. Niall wrapped the thin blanket around his waist to hide the holes and marched to the storefront windows. He couldn't see anything through them, even when he stood on the step-stool to see over the highest row of vases to the street outside.
Master Othelio had warned him against opening the door at night, but Niall was too tired to care. Someone had disturbed his slumber, and he was going to see who it was. If they had a knife, even better. Niall had grown up on a pirate ship. He knew how to turn a knife on even the most experienced cutthroat. Anyone looking to break into a pottery shop after dark probably wasn't a cutthroat, which increased his odds.
