1

As the dawn’s pale light cast its blade through the little attic window, Sai-Lin rose. She glanced at the girl who lay beside her, vulnerable but sound asleep, without fear. No longer was she a girl, but a grown woman, to whom no part about her own self remained unknown. Not thinking, Sai-Lin collected the rose gold bangs in her fingers, moved them away from the closed eyes, behind the sleeper’s ear, and exhaled a soundless sigh.

“If you even take my hatred from me, what else do I have left but death?”

The woman got up, dressed herself, and left the cabin, requiring no keys to pass. She walked through the still slumbering shack town, past the drenched drunkards littering the roads and walkways, sleeping away their stupor, and passed to the other side of the island. She came to the northeastern beach that spread before the mouth of the canyon. There, she stopped and cleaned her pipe, refilled it, and had a smoke, gazing idly over the uneasy cerulean sea, her mind somewhere else, in a different time.

At some point, a black-clad corsair with a mask appeared on the sand a short distance behind the woman. He dropped on one knee and quickly presented his business, nervousness in his tone,

“Captain, we got word from the mainland. Bad news; there’s trouble in Mescala. Loyd’s shop was hit. All the slaves ran, the gang house was burned to the ground. I hear Loyd himself was found hanged. Two days from there, another warehouse in Port Verdice was leveled the same way. Nobody got away. Must be imperial agents. They’re sure to come for the Lotus before long. Mr Mensigh asked for instructions. What should we tell them?”

The messenger fell quiet and braced himself for angry ranting and kicks. The boss never appreciated bad news, and it had never been quite this bad before. But against his expectations, against all he thought he knew about his employer, Sai-Lin listened to the disaster report without much of an expression. For a moment longer, she continued to smoke in silence, as if she hadn’t even heard.

“Send nothing,” she then replied. “I will sail for Verdice myself.”

“B-but Captain, what about the Council…?” the rogue stammered, dumbstruck by the unexpected declaration. “They’re sworn to sail against the navy. Captain Greystrode will want your ships! He will not allow—”

“—Such things do not concern me anymore,” Sai-Lin interrupted him with an air of nonchalance. “Let those urchins fight all they like. Tell the captains under me they’re free to decide their dying place at their own discretion. Fight or flee, I won’t be there.”

“Captain…?”

“Pass word to the Tiger’s crew. As soon as the sails are set, we’re off.”

“A-aye-aye!”

Without another word, Sai-Lin knocked her pipe empty, and the shore side breeze blew the ashes on her subordinate. Turning around, she departed for her ship, and was never again seen in Harm’s Haven.

2

Yuliana couldn’t recall the last time she had slept as late. Not that she had slept much at all, in truth. It was early into the fourth period when she awoke and found herself alone in her room. The candles were out, all was quiet. The air hung cool and still. The storm had passed and the sun was already high up above the jungle. There was no hint of there having been anyone else with her from the start, and never before had solitude seemed as arid to her. For a moment, she sat dazed, a sour taste in her mouth, and felt her lips.

Not even a word of goodbye, as expected…

Yuliana started to get up and felt a stinging, searing feeling in her groin. She was a tad feverish too, for going to sleep naked and sweaty. But even that vague discomfort she found mysteriously assuring. She spent a moment searching for her scattered clothes, got dressed, and replaced her button-less shirt with a flannel spare. While about it, her attention was caught by an unusual item discarded on the floor, which she was fairly certain was not hers, and picked it up.

It was a simple, short dagger. A curving, wide blade, with an ebony handle, and a snag sheath engraved of the same wood. Yuliana could remember well seeing the weapon before, tied on the sash of the pirate woman. She didn’t believe for a moment that such a tool had been misplaced by an innocent accident. It could only be called a vestige of compassion; not what a captor would give a prisoner, but what a woman would give her sister, guided by the foresight that came with experience. Yuliana hid the dagger behind her back, under her sash, fastened to the belt and went out.

Yuliana washed herself in a jungle stream and went to look for breakfast, while the town was gradually, with great effort, getting up and running after the nightly revelries. For the first time during her stay, she thought nothing of their slovenly activities. Not one word of condemnation for the lack of discipline came to her, and she barely even saw the struggling locals as she passed them.

Shortly after she’d had a bite to eat, Mr Smith came looking for her, at his Captain’s behest. He led her majesty through the jungle back to the weathered mansion, which awaited lonely and depressed, hidden from daylight by the foliage.

The other Confederates were away. They hadn’t spent the whole night in that sorry, dilapidated building, of course, but had carried out their morale-raiser party in the town alongside their subordinates, and had become scattered in the process. It was only a sense of debt—and perhaps penitence—which had brought the Prince back here the first thing in the morning, to have a private word with the Empress.

After all, there was a very real chance they might not find another opportunity.

Yuliana met the Prince in the same “throne room” as on their first meeting. The impression about him was anything but regal this day, as he slouched deep in his chair, pale and weary, shielding his stinging eyes from the torch lights.

“A busy night?” Yuliana inquired him in a sharp tone, coming to stand before his seat, sparing no effort for greetings. Despite how the nightly events had unfolded, she did feel something of a resentment for the man, for being so clueless about her pinch, and not even attempting to check up on her. After all, had it been any standard cutthroat to visit her cabin, she might not have been in the books of the living anymore.

“I’ve seen fairer mornings, aye,” the Prince forced himself to respond, missing the sarcasm in her voice, which she added to the list of charges against him.

For his honor, it should be stated that even in the midst of his inescapable drunkenness, the Prince had kept a close eye on the rogues, and had assumed he had full awareness of each of their whereabouts. He did not suspect any one of them might’ve been an imposter, although he didn't look all that closely either. The copious amounts of rum and other drinks he’d been made to take, and the various women demanding his attention without rest didn’t help his job much, despite the wealth of practice.

Not that this made Yuliana any more sympathetic towards him, if only on the contrary.

“Alas, I fear we have not the time to bemoan our lot in life,” the Prince shortly continued, in another unwittingly inconsiderate statement. “As you well heard, the decision’s been made. In two days’ time, we will sail to battle. No might on these waters can keep it from happening now.”

“Is that what the spirit in the bottle told you?” Yuliana replied, her voice growing even colder. “For all the vigor with which you evidently celebrated this tragic resolution last night, one might imagine it's just what you hoped.”

The Prince grimaced at her words.

“This isn’t about my hopes anymore, Yuliana! If we do nothing, the Navy will come here, hang every man and burn every house, and I dare not think what will happen to the women, children, and elderly. If the captains refuse to fly, then there’s no other way left but to stand our ground. I will not let these people be massacred because of a mistake I made.”

They certainly were united in spirit, even if not so much in conduct. For this, he had Yuliana’s pity, but not her heartfelt support.

“There are other choices,” she told him. “Take me back to my people. I will put a stop to it.”

The Prince made an exasperated sigh at her insistence.

“You can’t!” he told her. “You’re not being real, Yuliana! The Empress defying her own military, standing up for pirates? Pardoning criminals? They’d think you’ve gone mad! That we’ve somehow put a spell on you in your captivity, or worse! If you’re lucky, they’ll lock you up in a tower somewhere and never let you see the light of day again. In the worst case, they’ll simply kill you and blame your death on us! I know your Imperials and their methods. Nothing is sacred to these people!”

“As opposed to your people?” she dryly asked.

“Yes!”

Yuliana fell quiet and looked away with a bitter face. Perhaps he had the right of it. She could give orders. She could hand out punishment for disobedience—on paper. Miragrave would surely ever be on her side, but at the end of the day, it was her subjects who would judge her. The people wouldn’t accept fair explanations, they wanted results. And if the public opinion turned against her, then her life as a ruler was good as over. But what kind of a coward would stand by and do nothing, only to save herself?

“So you’ll go and sink the Navy instead?” she asked. “In the name of the ‘weak and oppressed’, you’ll destroy the fleet—your own people’s fleet—coming to end your self-serving anarchy? You’ll replace my Empire with your lawless Confederacy, which is entirely out of your control? I shall ever be the bird in your cage, while these rogues ruin lives out there in your name? Is that the future you wish for us?”

“No,” the Prince replied, his face growing dark. “It won't go like that.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I said we have no choice but to fight—not that we have to win.”

“What…?” His mysterious words gave no small surprise to Yuliana. She stared back at him with rounded eyes, brows furrowed. “What are you saying…?”

“We’ll sail to battle, aye,” the Prince explained. “And in that battle, we’ll be soundly defeated. Should it come to blows, I’ll sink every last one of the Confederate ships myself. No matter the means, down we’ll go, all together, to the bottom of the Numénn. It’s the innocent I want to spare; not all are so. Whoever picks up the sword shall die by the sword—I had braced myself for such an ending from the day I chose this life. And if our defeat is crushing enough, one-sided enough, complete and overwhelming enough, then perhaps it’ll sate the bloodlust of our foes, and they’ll stop there. If they believe they’ve got us all, then the people of Harm’s Haven may yet escape reckoning. At least, you shall have an easier time convincing them of that.”

“Prince…?”

“This is my atonement, Yuliana,” he told her, waving his heavy hand with an air of irony. “I built this...whatever it is. Raised it from the wreckage it had become under its own lawlessness. I thought I could fight fire with fire. Use them, even as I let them use me. I thought that the good I could do would outweigh all the bad. But the fire we've stirred burns too hot to match now. All we may do is cast ourselves right into it to put it out. I shall hope and pray that those who come after me may learn from my mistakes and avoid them.”

Seeing that he was quite serious and resolved to die, whatever grudge Yuliana had held for the man was at once gone, replaced by anxious concern.

“Please, let me sail out with you,” she requested again. “At least give me a chance to negotiate on your behalf, before it comes to bloodshed. I swear to you, I will find a way to turn this misfortune into something better, no matter what it takes!”

“No, absolutely not!” he refused immediately. “It won’t be a standard fare of sails, swords, and arrows out there. There is no telling what will unfold when dragon magic and the Empire’s terrible sorceries mix. No one has seen such a showdown in this age, if ever before. No. I will do my best to spare as many lives as I can and seek terms with the enemy. Ideally, it will end with my head alone. But I don’t hold much hope for clemency. I couldn’t guarantee your safety either, if you were there with me. Were anything to happen to you, it would truly mean the end of us all. Tratovia’s retribution would be terrible. Moreover, my own heart couldn’t take it.”

“But—”

“—Stay here and watch over the people!” the Prince interrupted her, raising his voice, and stood from his seat. “You are their only shield, when the Navy comes. It’s for them you should speak. They’ll have no one else left when it is time.”

Yuliana couldn’t easily deny his reasoning and fell quiet. But though the rational part in her could agree with his argument, her heart remained anything but content with this forced division of labors, as well as the intended result.

Was it so simple to tell who was guilty and who was not?

True enough, there were many among the pirates, who had earned their punishment.

Still, as her experiences in these past weeks had repeatedly shown, there was also a considerable number of sailors among these people, who were not cutthroats, or slavers, robbers, or assassins, but simple voyagers, who had only sought adventure at sea and had not one innocent life on their conscience.

Every ideal inadvertently attracted exploitation, but there were always those drawn to it purely for the beauty of it as well; souls who had yet to be embittered by life to the point of trading their dream for gain. They weren’t going to sail to battle for cruelty or coin, but to defend the values they believed in and the people they loved.

And what of those, who were neither idealists, nor villains? Those ordinary Johns and Jills, who had fled hard life, debt, and starvation by seeking employment at sea? Not all knew what they had signed up for. Without their contracts, they had no food or shelter, no conceivable escape, even if they wished for such. It was to elude death on land that they had sought this sanctuary, and now death was to be their final destination, regardless?

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It would’ve been easy to conclude their stories on a shallow platitude—“life isn’t fair!”—and assign responsibility of each man’s fate to himself, regardless of whether the conditions were in his power or not.

But Yuliana couldn’t accept such a conclusion. She was not a god and painfully aware of it. Not a Divine Lord—even if the vessel of one—not a hero, not remotely superhuman. The pompous title of the Empress aside, she was but a woman barely twenty years of age. Regardless, in her bosom burned the unceasing love for all life, and there was not one death that she didn’t mourn. She couldn’t merely stand by and do nothing, while hundreds of lives were bound for their doom.

There had to be a way yet to make a difference. And if there was, she would find it.

3

Most of the Confederate captains had already brought a number of ships with them, and ever maintained a level of readiness for battle, due to professional hazards.

Therefore, compared to the Royal Navy, who had to start the effort from virtually scratch, the corsairs were able to assemble a formidable fleet in but two hurried days. The quality and size of their crafts was certainly not comparable to the legal standards of shipmaking, of course, but each rowboat was heavily armed from stem to stern. Had they had a week more, they could have secured even more assets from their continental ports and associates, but they had confirmed news by now that the navy had already set sail from Efastopol.

Not an hour could be allowed to pass in waste. The battle had to be at open sea, a reasonable distance away from the Thousands and the sanctuary. There, the lighter pirate ships could take full advantage of their mobility, and the enemy wouldn’t easily break through to bring the battle to the island.

Those were busy two days. Bladed instruments were sharpened, shields cleaned, bows and crossbows honed. Local witches, shamans, and conjurers practiced their sketchy rituals. Clay urns were filled with flammable oils and resin, to be cast at the enemy ships. Battering rams were reinforced, new oars and masts sculpted, spare sails loaded, hundreds of miles of new rope spun.

In many ways, the coming battle was shaping up to become even more savage and chaotic than it would’ve been, had the secrets of gunpowder and good old cast iron cannons been known to the participants. Yuliana followed these preparations with wholehearted disapproval, refusing to take any part in it.

But she was not entirely without allies either.

“I’ll go with them,” Waramoti told her on the night before the departure.

“Are you sure?” her majesty asked him. “It’ll be no place for children out there, you realize that?”

“I keep telling you, I’m not a kid!” the bard cried, before regaining his seriousness. “It's got to be me, right? They’ll have no reason to refuse on the account of my personal safety. I’m but a humble artist, the lowest of the society’s lows, and no lord of importance. The Prince ought to take me aboard the Tempest without qualms. Once we make contact with the Navy, I’ll find an opening and see if I can’t pass a word to the Marshal. I shall let her know what’s going on, and that you are safe.”

“You do that and you’ll be the hero of songs yourself!” Yuliana answered him, regaining a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “And there’ll be no reward great enough for you when we get home again!”

“Book the Forum Magenta for me and we’ll have ourselves a deal,” Waramoti replied, ever confident in success, and the matter was settled.

The sun rose blood-red from the west the next morning, an ill omen of things to come, though the battle was still more than a full day away. Yuliana had slept little these past nights, though no one disturbed her sleep anymore. At first light, she accompanied Waramoti to the wharves, to see off the departing Tempest.

The Prince was late to arrive.

Meanwhile, although she had seen very little of them, the crew of the ship all waved at her majesty for farewell, wearing friendly smiles, even as they worked hard to finalize the rigging. As Smith had told her, the crew of the brig was only blood bonds short of a family. As a friend of their captain, Yuliana was a friend to them all, and they knew well her majesty’s circumstances—even if some of them were clearly reading a little too deep into her relationship with the Prince.

On his way to the ship, Quartermaster Smith paused to shake hands with Yuliana.

“It’s been an honor, your majesty,” he told her. “Remember us kindly, if you’d be so good.”

Smith knew the Prince’s intentions, of course, but even on the way to what looked like certain death, the man wore a wide smile, and fatherly warmth was in his voice. The idea of this being their last meeting shook Yuliana’s heart and her own smile turned hopelessly crooked and tearful.

“Please, Mr Smith, you have to survive,” she told him. “You and the crew. Be sure to do whatever it takes!”

“Aw, wipe those tears right up,” Smith replied. “Don’t go throwing no such pearls for a bunch of old swine. We don’t go gentle into that night, of this you can be sure.”

Smith went ahead and Yuliana remained standing on the pier, waiting for the Captain, wiping the corners of her eyes. But before the Prince, she found someone else standing nearby.

The girl with jade-green hair—not a girl, a dragon.

Erynmir gazed over the edge of the pier, down to the bottom of the cove, wearing an unusually solemn, subdued expression.

“Eryn?” Yuliana approached the girl. “Is something wrong?”

The dragon looked up at the Empress with exceptional unease on her face.

“Everyone’s actin’ weird,” Erynmir said. “Not the ‘three sheets to the wind’-weird; they’re sobered up now—but still not the usual! Eryn’s never seen ‘em like this before. The air's all off! What rubs 'em like that? Aah, it sends this ol’ gal up the pole!”

The girl shuddered and ruffled her hair with a frustrated grimace.

“Really?” Yuliana asked, surprised. “Have they told you what they’re going to do?”

“We’re off ta war—they keep sayin' dat,” the dragon replied, turning to Yuliana with a look desperate for answers. “But the devil's a ‘war’? Eryn’s ain't seen one before!”

“Ha—?”

The dragon girl’s words gave Yuliana a start. She knew Erynmir was young, for a dragon, but still clever and experienced by modest human measurements. Having been aboard a pirate vessel for years, Yuliana had assumed Erynmir to be better than familiar with battle.

But as she thought about it a little more, she soon realized her misconception.

Wherever the dragon appeared, there was no “battle” to be had.

No solitary ship, military or civilian, could pose any manner of a threat to the great wyrm, as proved by the ill-fated Thefasos. A true battle, a war, a conflict that held the chance of defeat, an all-out chaos where friendly faces perished left and right, without rhyme or reason, was something Erynmir had never experienced before. She did have a heart and feelings; it couldn't be guessed how such a tragedy would affect her. Only one thing was for sure. Whether a dragon, or a person, or anything in between, war was definitely not the place for the child of any living creature to go.

Overcome with pity and concern, Yuliana quickly knelt and caught Erynmir in her arms, tightly hugging the girl’s slender form.

“Oh dear! Don’t go!” she said. “You don’t need to find out!”

“What, what?” Eryn shifted, surprised, unsure of how to respond. “Now yer actin’ all weird, too! Ah? Eh!? Where does it hurt? Can’t be hangover, ye don't reek o' grog! Tho ye do sport the stench of fish and smoke; didya eat last week’s tuna, or what?”

Yuliana could say nothing, but continued to squeeze the girl, trying hard to think of a way to change this ill fate, which she had altogether failed to foresee.

Then, a voice interrupted them.

“—Eryn.”

Yuliana let go and turned to look at the Prince, who stood on the pier a short distance away.

“Why don’t you go ahead and scout the gathering place for me?” he suggested to the dragon. “See how the others are faring?”

Seeing the man behave no different from his usual self, Erynmir’s bright smile was quickly restored.

“Aye-aye, Cap’n!” she struck a salute and ran off. Jumping off the pier, Erynmir glided over the cove in her natural form, leaving the Prince and Yuliana quickly behind.

“You can’t take Eryn with you,” Yuliana grimly told him. “She’s still too young. She has no idea what’s coming!”

“I have no choice,” the Prince replied. “Eryn is our ace. If the men don’t see her, they’ll lose faith and desert us. The fleet will break apart before the first strike. They’ll be hunted down and destroyed, one by one, and the sanctuary will be left wide open. We have to make sure the Navy accepts our surrender, or there’s no meaning to any of this. It’s not going to work without her.”

“Then it’s not working at all! We have to try something else!”

The man answered her with only a tired shake of his head. Watching him, the sorrow vanished from Yuliana’s expression, overtaken by anger.

“I thought we were the same,” she told him. “We both sought to use power we knew was wrong, for the sake of changing the world for the better. I thought you were a decent person, only wearing the mask of a villain to oppose greater injustice. But it seems I was wrong about you. Before the Prince of Luctretz, you are a pirate—the King of Pirates. The things a standard human finds unthinkable, too loathsome for consideration, are ‘necessary’ to you. If only it’s within your reach, you’ll use anything to get your way.”

“Aye, that I do,” the Prince replied with defiance, taking a step forward. “A man has values until he learns of hunger and thirst. I’m sorry I have no endless faith in unlikely miracles, as you do. I have thoroughly tested my limits and know now to work by them—to achieve the results all may see, and which do not only exist in the rose-tinged confines of my pretty little head.”

He strode past Yuliana, who stood temporarily stunned by his unexpectedly spiteful retort.

“And what are those results!?” she recovered and shouted at his back. “Whether you do them for noble reasons, or selfish reasons, acts of evil are still evil! If you keep at it, even for good people’s sake, you’ll one day find that both you and those people are no longer so good, but mixed up in something hideous, with no way out! And the very purpose for which you chose to stain your hands is gone! Either you live and fall true to yourself, or admit that all you did was a lie. And then it would’ve been better to never get started.”

“No man’s perfect,” the Prince answered her, striding on. “Everyone has their sins to bear, some more so than the others. I’ve reconciled with the fact. Unlike you, I expect no better of them. Whatever they may be, saints or failures, I’ll save who I can, if only I can, and I’ll gladly sully my hands to do it. Any number of times.”

“The cost will be too high, the way you go about it!” she told him, chasting after him.

“At least I’ll pay it off my own pockets!” he replied with a dismissing wave. “Instead of going around asking everyone I meet for a loan!”

“Now you’re being childish!” she reprimanded him.

“Says a child!” the Prince said, stopping and turning around at the edge of the gangplank. “Now, as much as I’m going to miss these quarrels of ours, I’m going to have to say goodbye! So goodbye, Yuliana! I delighted in being so frustrated with you, for all it lasted!”

“If I seem frustrating to you, it’s because you’re much too stubborn!” Yuliana told him. “Had only you cared to listen to me even once this whole time, instead of merely dictating your will to me, like all men, we wouldn’t be in this mess at all!”

“Oh, is that right?” he retorted, leaning over. “Well, maybe the reason I’m not listening to you is because you are the single most naive, prideful, stubborn, stuck-up little princess I’ve ever met in my life! And I’ve met more than a handful!”

“I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed, outraged. “I won’t stand here and listen to a filthy pirate tell me about his handfuls!”

“Filthy—!” the Prince exclaimed. “Why, there’s no filthy spot anywhere on me! Yuliana, you’re going too far!”

“…….”

“……”

“…..”

“…..”

“….Pfft.”

Staring at each other for a moment, they both reached a sudden, simultaneous awareness of the ridiculous things they were saying, and burst out laughing, unable to help themselves, as poorly suited as the occasion was for hilarity.

“…I’m sorry,” the Prince said, wiping the corners of her eyes. “I suppose this is the wrong place to be arguing.”

“It likely it is,” Yuliana admitted.

“Please, for this one last time, have faith in me,” he told her, growing more serious again. “I will endeavor to avoid bloodshed to the end, on my honor. We will try to negotiate with the Navy first, and it’s nothing unreasonable I mean to ask of them. If all goes well, you’ll be on your way home in two more days, whether on my ship, or someone else’s. In the meanwhile, keep safe, Yuliana. I entrust the people of Harm’s Haven to you.”

“I’ll see they come to no harm,” she assured him in turn. “Meanwhile, do be careful, Prince. Your crew vowed to survive, don’t make them liars.”

“I’ll see to it they get back,” he replied with a grin. “Even if I have to die twice to bring them.”

Not even for a joke would the Prince include himself in their number. Yuliana frowned a bit sadly at his readiness to die, but found no words to talk him out of it, knowing any effort wasted. Words of encouragement or consolation she knew likewise to be empty before the uncertain future.

What else could she, but take the leap of faith and believe in his chances.

“Well, bon voyage,” she told the man, lightly patting his shoulder, and turned to leave down the pier.

“What, no kiss?” Waramoti asked in jest, leaning on the bulwark above, following their farewell scene along with the rest of the crew, who had all ceased work in favor of eavesdropping. They all looked rather let down.

“Nope,” Yuliana replied as she passed.

“...Why, I’d sooner kiss the arse of a dragon, anyway!” the Prince haughtily retorted, turning to walk aboard.

“Captain,” Mr Smith told him as he got on the deck, “I think that might be a tad too radical, even for a pirate…”

“What, not our dragon!” the Prince exclaimed. “By the Fey!”

The Jade Tempest hauled her anchor and lowered sails, catching the north-western breeze, and turned to glide gracefully out of the aquamarine cove.

Yuliana watched the ship go, waving after them until the brig was well out of view, and then left to head back to the town. She couldn’t well say she had no regrets whatsoever. She had briefly entertained the idea of diving after the ship and sneaking aboard, as the bard had previously done, but knew painfully well that the feat was outside her ability.

She followed the pier back to the beach sand, absorbed in her worries for the future—and suddenly realized that the way ahead was blocked. The cove was empty, the other ships had already gone. She hadn’t noticed anyone else walking about either, but had assumed all of the fleet to be gone by now.

The observation had evidently been mistaken.

In front of her stood a tall, bearded man in a dark coat, with four of his subordinates for company. He was rather easy to identify.

“Oh dear, looks like someone’s been left behind,” the old pirate told her with an unpleasant grin, his gold-patched teeth sparkling. “What an inconsiderate King we have! Thinks women have no place in war?”

“Captain Greystrode?” Yuliana replied, instinctively retreating a step. “How are you still here? I thought you left ages ago?”

“Well, knowing how...old-fashioned the lad can be, I had a hunch it might go like this. So I came to kindly offer you a helping hand, in the name of the modern man. It wouldn’t do for the guest of honor to be absent from her own party, after all.”

“What are you talking about…?” she asked, narrowing her gaze with unease. “What more do you want with me?”

“Oh, but this isn’t about me!” Greystrode exclaimed, taking a step closer. “It’s you! I thought you wished to see battle? A veritable Hel, unlike any other? Decks soaked crimson, sails lit ablaze, hulls broken, the clash of metal and bone, the wailing of the wounded, the screaming of the dying, the pleas of mercy, the curses, before they all go down in the unmeasured fathoms of the Numénn? Because if you did…then don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, you little cupcake. I’ll get you a front row seat.”

Greystrode raised his wooden hand, signaling his men to move.

“On my ship.”