Page 18 of Pirate Witch
The moment she leaves, the air is sucked from my lungs. My heart, which was beating a mile a minute from our kiss, turns heavy and sluggish in my chest. The ship sinks slightly lower in the water, as if the weight of her absence is a tangible thing. Watching the black speck of her figure disappear on the horizon is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. When this is over, and things are sorted between us, I never want to watch her fly away into danger without us again.
I know from the way the rest of the crew stares after her that they feel the same way. They mope around the deck for hours, eyes on the sky as we wait for the dreaded bird to arrive.
We don’t have to wait long. The huge, bronze and iron eagle lands in the middle of the deck with a flourish of artfully crafted metallic feathers. I might hate my uncle, but even I have to admire his craftsmanship. Castleman tech has always been the best, and this clockwork and crystal creature is no exception. Every transmutation circle has been painstakingly carved into the crystals which glow from the eye sockets. The beak is textured to look like the real thing, and when it opens, her voice is crystal clear.
“Bring me the head of the Shadow who destroyed the Claw. I want her dead. Starting now, you will donothingthat might interfere or otherwise delay your compliance with my orders. It’s time you remember who holds your leash.”
A short message, but no less effective. The sail drops without my conscious consent, and the ship starts to glide across the ocean, heading straight for Isablis. My crew turns to me with grim despair written across their faces, and I pray to the Goddesses for the first time in centuries.
NILSA
The flight is long, hard, and gruelling. The sharp wind steals the tears from my eyes and burns my cheeks.
I promised I’d stay close to the coast, and I do—for the most part. The only exception is when I reach a small town or village. Klaus can hide among the waves, but a witch on a broomstick is easy to spot. So I fly on the other side of the salt wall.
The soft glowing warmth of the crystal in my bag and the reassuring weight of the dagger strapped to my thigh keep the wraiths from coming close. There are a few nerve-wracking moments when the mist reaches up to touch my broom, but no spectral faces ever emerge from the mist. No red eyes glint and eye me like prey.
Klaus notices. I know he does. But he doesn’t bring it up in the rare moments when we allow ourselves a rest at a hastily thrown together camp on the shore. It’s a relief because I’m not sure I know how to even start explaining that I’ve made a deal with the wraith king, or that I possess a dagger that’s been enchanted with the soul of a dead high priestess and can actually kill the unkillable.
It’s doubtful he even understands the true threat of the wraiths, given that he’s lived his entire life in the ocean, protected by the salty waters. The sirens can’t have had many dealings with a species that abhors their natural habitat.
I know all too well how the threat of them is far too abstract until you come face to face with one. I don’t think I’ll forget Felicity’s horrific death until the day I join the Stars.
When the first tall, dark silhouettes of ships appear on the sun-kissed horizon two days later, I blink in surprise. Isablis is a port, like most of the surviving towns, but even then, the number of boats in this harbour is... excessive.
I skim closer to the ocean, looking for a sign of Klaus’s golden hair beneath the crystal clear water. The turquoise sea and soft pale sand of this part of the world is a far cry from the snowy, grey waters of Coveton, and I’m grateful for it when I spot my siren mate’s grey, sharklike tail weaving through the reef below.
He notices my shadow and flips, so he’s swimming on his back, gracing me with a lazy, inviting grin. Goddess, I almost want to dive underneath the waves with him when he looks at me like that.
But now is not the time to discover if my own lust can overpower my fear of the ocean. He must see as much from the expression on my face, because he flips back over and breaches the surface seconds later.
“There are too many ships,” I say, in place of a greeting.
He joins me in staring across at the bay, taking in the rows of anchored vessels with their sails reefed and flying identical black flags with gold crests. There are almost too many for the space, and several are roped together with men striding to and fro across the decks like they haven’t a care in the world.
There must be an entire fleet here.
Klaus grins, wiping a lock of soaking hair out of his face. “Looks like Val was right. We’ve found Cirio.”
“All of these are his ships?” I gasp.
“Technically, only that one at the entrance to the bay is Cirio’s.”
Klaus points to the largest ship of all, a huge beast of wood and cloth that has so many gun ports that I struggle to count them all. It’s a grand ship, the perfect vessel for a Pirate King.
“TheParlance.” Klaus almost sounds like he admires it for a second before he shakes his head, sending water droplets flying everywhere. “Boarding straight away is suicidal.”
“We don’t have time for pleasantries,” I argue.
“Then you’ll be blown out of the sky before we get close enough to show them your mate marks,” Klaus says, his voice annoyingly calm. “We find Cirio’s man at the docks and follow the etiquette.”
“Pirates have etiquette?” I snort.
“Piratekingsdo.” He gives me a soft, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, they won’t take long.”
I huff out an impatient breath and nod. “Fine. We do this the polite way. But if it takes too long—”
“Just trust me,” Klaus says. “Pirates are the opposite of bureaucratic. You’ll be standing in front of Cirio in no time.”
