Chapter Seven

Anastasia held herself very still, listening.

The free state was never quiet. There were always sounds pervading the wooden walls, from distant revellers carolling in the bars to creaking and groaning as water lapped the underside ofd the derelict ships. Avitus had never bothered to cast noise-cancelling wards, somewhat to her surprise, although she supposed his ears might not work right either. Or his nose. Her lips quirked at the thought as she listened carefully, satisfying herself there was no movement from above. Avitus was asleep … she hoped. Did he need sleep? She had no idea what he’d done to himself and the books hadn’t been much help. He didn’t seem to meet the definition of a lich and he certainly seemed to be warm and breathing, but it was impossible to be sure. She certainly didn’t want to touch him to find out.

She walked as quietly as she could, knowing she was committed now. There was no innocent explanation for the gunpowder she’d brought, or the way she’d placed it under a lantern in the workshop. He would know what she intended to do, if he saw it, and he’d kill her. Or worse. The haunted eyes of the slaves flashed through her mind, a reminder there were fates worse than death. She had no intention of letting herself be enslaved again, not like that. She was … she collected the money from the till, a handful of potions and some of the books, then carefully lit the lantern and watched the flame flicker and flare. Avitus had cast a handful of protective wards around his workplace, of course, but there was no magic in the fire. Just a candle and mundane gunpowder. She sucked in her breath, all too aware she was about to kill him – or at least fake her – death and turned away. There wasn’t time to think twice. She donned her coat, checked to make sure she was carrying the fetish, and opened the door. The wards hummed around her, but made no attempt to block her way. Avitus was more interested in keeping people out than in.

And he thinks I’m stuck here, she thought, tightly. Good.

She stepped outside, closed the door as quietly as she could, and then started to run. She had no idea how long she had before the gunpowder exploded, or just how big the blast would actually be … particularly if the explosion detonated some of Avitus’s more interesting ingredients and potions too. She’d been told some potions were dangerously unstable, to the point they’d explode if you so much as looked at them funny, and she had no doubt Avitus would brew the most dangerous recipes if he thought he could sell them. She had no idea what he’d done with the ingredients she’d prepared for him and scanning the books hadn’t given her any clues. Whatever it was, she just hoped it was explosive.

The darkness pulsed around her, forcing her to slow for fear of accidentally throwing herself into the dark waters below. She hadn’t realised how little lighting they’d be, after dark, or how treacherous even the safest of gangplanks could be in the darkness. A handful of lights illuminated the docks, rising and falling as waves brushed against the floating city … a flash of light, behind her, shook the gangplank, nearly making her lose her footing. She caught hold of the railing just in time to keep from falling into a watery grave, then forced herself to turn and look. A towering fireball was rising into the sky, casting an eerie orange light over the city … Anastasia felt a stab of guilt, despite herself, as she realised she might well have killed at least one person. Perhaps more. There hadn’t been anyone sleeping in the alleyway, as far as she’d been able to tell, but there could have been someone on the wrong side …

Move, she told herself. She could hear windows slamming open, people running to see what was happening … and determine if it posed any threat to them. Get moving, now!

She forced herself to keep going, feeling the ground rocking under her feet. It hadn’t occurred to her that the blast might sink the boat – or more than one boat. The free state wasn’t that solid … she swallowed hard, wondering just how many people she’d condemned to die. She was a princess, the heir to the throne, the living representative of continuous government … she had been told, time and time again, that her life was important, that she owed it to the kingdom to stay alive even at the expense of other lives, but … she had seen too many slaves on the free state, people who hadn’t had any choices in their lives. How many had she killed? The thought haunted her, all the worse because she feared she would never know. It could be hundreds of people …

Doors slammed open, dozens of people hurrying onto the streets. Anastasia told herself to be grateful, that they’d conceal her escape, as she made her way past them and down to the docks. The sailors were staring at the blood-red sky, some heading for their ships and others making their way towards the flames … she couldn’t tell if anyone was organising to fight the blaze or evacuate the surrounding sections or something, anything, other than letting the fire burn itself out. Horror ran through her mind as she realised she might have doomed the entire free state. If they didn’t have a way to quench fires before they grew out of control, they were in deep trouble. It wasn’t something she’d ever had to think about back home.

The pirate ship was surprisingly hard to see in the darkness, despite a light hanging from the prow and another from the stern. She hurried to the gangplank and walked up to the ship, two guards stepping out of the shadows to block her. They carried swords rather than wands, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. Their faces promised no mercy, if they thought she meant them harm. Or they thought she was vulnerable.

Anastasia pulled herself upright, and spoke with all the regal authority she could muster. “Take me to your captain.”

The two men exchanged glances as they realised she was a young woman. Anastasia braced herself, wishing she’d had more time to practice her command presence. Her father had once told her that half the secret of being in charge was acting as though you were, acting so firmly it was impossible for anyone to see you acting. Half was skill and half was experience … she knew she didn’t have enough of either. She reached for her threads of magic, readying herself to cast a spell. If she had to prove herself …

“This way,” the leader grunted.

He turned and stalked along the deck. Anastasia followed him, looking around with interest. A handful of crewmen were performing mysterious tasks with the rigging, their supervisor snapping orders Anastasia couldn’t understand. The ship was smaller than she’d realised, a handful of cannon glinting eerily in the darkness … she stumbled and nearly tripped over something hidden in the shadows, her escort sniggering like a small boy who’d discovered flatulence for the first time. Anastasia flushed and gathered herself, wishing she’d had a chance to master the night-vision spells. There had been hundreds of helpful charms in the books she’d seen back home, spells she could have learnt if she’d bothered to try …

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

She glanced back. The fire was already fading, the last embers glittering into nothingness. Avitus was dead – or thought she was. She hoped. The fetish felt hot against her bare skin … she hoped to hell it was just her body heat and not something more unpleasant. They paused outside a simple wooden door, the escort motioning her to remain where she was as he knocked and opened the door. Anastasia didn’t hear what he said, but he appeared to like the answer. He pushed the door open wide and motioned her into the room, patting her on the rear as she stepped past him. Her skin crawled. He was going to pay for that. Somehow.

The cabin was smaller than she’d expected, illuminated by a lantern and dominated by a simple wooden desk. The pirate captain stood as she entered, his eyes flickering coldly over her. He was dressed like an aristocrat – she couldn’t help thinking of the admiral – with long dark hair, a bushy beard, and beefy hands that bore the marks of a life spent at sea. There was a nasty-looking scar on his cheek, one he hadn’t bothered to heal. She had to admit it added to the air of looming menace. Avitus had been inhuman. The pirate was all too human.

His voice had an accent she couldn’t place. “Why are you here?”

“You’re looking for crew,” Anastasia said. “I’m here to sign up.”

The captain laughed. “And you think you can join my crew?

“I’m a sorceress,” Anastasia said, projecting all the confidence she could. A moment of weakness now would doom her. “I can earn my pay.”

There was a long chilling pause. Anastasia wondered, grimly, if she’d overplayed her hand. A trained sorceress of the first-rank would have no trouble finding employment anywhere she cared to look, which raised some interesting questions of precisely why she’d want to work on a pirate ship. The captain might assume she had tastes she couldn’t satisfy elsewhere … or that she might be weaker than she acted, perhaps a great deal less well-trained. She wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not, if looking weak would work better than appearing dangerously strong, but there was no time to worry about it now. If she didn’t get a place on the ship, getting off would be difficult. She had never learnt to fight. She didn’t even have a virgin blade!

“A sorceress,” the captain repeated. “Let us test you. What is my name?”

Anastasia blinked. What sort of test was that? She didn’t know his name and she didn’t know any spells that would tell her, unless …

She smiled. “Blackbeard?”

The captain roared with laughter.” No,” he said. The shift was so rapid she was left wondering if he’d faked the laugh. “My name is Captain. And that is how you will address me on my ship.”

“Yes, Captain,” Anastasia said. “Mine is … mine is Stasia.”

The captain’s eyes flickered, just for a second. “We’ll be leaving in twenty minutes,” he said, curtly. “If you want to leave, this is your one chance.”

“I don’t,” Anastasia said.

“Good.” The captain met her eyes. “There’s a ship making her way towards Beneficence. We’re going to take her by storm, if she doesn’t strike her colours when she sees us. You’ll get a share of the booty, once you prove yourself to be one of us. If you don’t, you won’t get a second chance.”

“I understand,” Anastasia said. The captain wasn’t making any attempt to sugar-coat his plans – and why would he? He was testing her, trying to see if there were lines she wouldn’t cross. And that meant … if he worked out who she was, or realised there were some things she really wouldn’t do, she was dead. Or worse. She dreaded to think what the crew would do. If half the bragging she’d heard in the bars yesterday was true, it would be a fate worse than death. “I won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t,” the captain said. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. “Maurice will take care of you.”

The door opened a moment later, revealing a young man who couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Anastasia … a man who looked dangerous, and far less controlled than his captain. His face was long and angular, his lips set in a twisted smile, his arms – uncovered by any shirt – covered in tattoos that made little sense to her. He wore a sword at his belt, but somehow she doubted he needed it. His movements were so quick she found herself wondering if he had non-human blood in him, although it was rare in the more civilised parts of the world. A chill ran down her spine as their eyes met. She knew, at a very primal level, that the young man was crazy. There was no hope of reasoning with him.

“Escort our guest to the ninth cabin,” the captain ordered, curtly. “See that she remains there until we’re underway.”

“Yes, Captain,” Maurice said. He had a high-pitched voice that managed to be as terrifying as the rest of him, light and breathy and very dangerous. “I’ll take care of her.”

He caught Anastasia’s arm and pulled her through the door. She gritted her teeth – he was strong – and let him drag her into another door, then down a flight of stairs so steep they were practically a ladder. The air grew thicker, stinking of human waste and tobacco and a dozen other things she couldn’t identify. She didn’t want to know what they were. The only illumination came from a handful of safety lanterns, hanging from the wooden walls. Maurice’s breathing grew louder as they passed a number of small hatches, so tiny she wondered if they were for children, and stopped outside a simple wooden door. Maurice pushed it open, then took a lantern from the wall and held it up to illuminate the room. A bunk, a tiny bed, a small desk and a porthole … the air was thick, disturbingly so. Anastasia spotted a chamberpot under the bunk and shuddered. The cabin would have to be cleaned before she could sleep in it.

Maurice hung the lantern on the wall, then stepped aside to allow her to enter … then closed the door and gave her a shove. Anastasia fell forward, finding herself bent over the desk and held in place by his hand. He was strong … he giggled as he pressed her down, his right hand keeping her down while his left struggled to lift her cloak. Anastasia tried to struggle, only to discover she could barely move. His hand slapped her rear, then yanked up her cloak. Horror ran through her. She was a virgin! She had to be a virgin on her wedding night! And he was going to take her maidenhead …

“Let me go,” she managed. His hands were clawing at her trousers. It wouldn’t take him long to pull them down, releasing the fetish at the same time. The gods alone knew what he’d make of that. “Let me go!”

Maurice giggled, ramming something into her rear. It took her a moment to realise it was his manhood, hard and ready. “That’s what they all say.”

His hands pulled at her belt. Anastasia gritted her teeth, forced herself to focus, and cast a spell. A small flame appeared between them, small and yet hot enough to burn … Maurice yelped, stumbling backwards and tripping over, his head cracking against the wooden door. Anastasia straightened, trying not to show any fear – or how much the spell was draining her as she pulled her cloak back into place, then turned … the fire dancing over her palm. The heat pulsed against her bare skin, the warmth slowly turning into pain. She was sure there were ways to make sure she wasn’t burnt by her own fire, but she didn’t know them. There was no time to check the books either. She schooled her face into a blank mask, hoping his fear would make it harder for him to think clearly. Avitus had done her a favour, of sorts. She wouldn’t have been able to hide her agony two weeks ago.

Maurice looked as if he wanted to inch backwards as she leaned closer, the fire dancing over his palm. There was nowhere for him to go, no space left … she pressed the fire until it was nearly touching him, the heat threatening to burn his skin. His legs were trapped in his trousers, his manhood no longer erect … she would have laughed, if things hadn’t been so dire. He could have escaped if he hadn’t dropped his own trousers!

“Trying to rape a sorceress?” Anastasia forced her voice to drip contempt. “You’re a special kind of stupid, aren’t you?”

“I …”

Anastasia pushed on. Flame was dangerous on wooden ships. If she accidentally set fire to the ship …

“You are nothing to me,” she hissed. “I can do anything to you, anything at all. If the captain didn’t need you …”

She stepped back. “Get out.”

Maurice stumbled to his feet, his eyes never leaving the flame. He’d cut his leg when he fell, Anastasia noted, leaving blood on the deck. She could use that … probably. Maurice tried to look dignified as he pulled up his pants and fled, but she could see his terror. He’d wet himself … she wrinkled her lips in disgust. That was going to be a nightmare to clean up. She closed and bolted the door, then sagged as the last of her magic faded away. She’d been lucky. She hadn’t realised how much stronger he was until it had been too late, and then … she retched, painfully. He had come within inches of invading her body, of violating her so roughly she might never recover …

The deck shifted beneath her feet. The ship was casting off, heading out onto the open waves … she shuddered, helplessly, at the thought of the horror to come. If Maurice had been willing to try to rape a crewmate, what would he do to a helpless captive? She didn’t want to know.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire, she thought numbly, as she collected his blood. But this time, I am no longer helpless. And I am on my way.