by Clare Sager
For anyone who’s ever been told they were too much.
For everyone who’s ever mistrusted themselves.
Well-behaved women seldom make history.
Laurel Thatcher Ulrich
Contents
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1. Punishment
2. Venatrix
3. Hunting the Huntsman
4. Blackwood
5. Victory
6. In the Tides
7. Rumour
8. Quiet Work
9. Setting Sail
10. The Clue
11. A Prize
12. Veritas
13. Taken Aback
14. Control
15. Miscalculation
16. Space
17. Adjustment
18. Nassau
19. On First Name Terms
20. A Warning
21. Friend or Foe?
22. A Royal Visit
23. Poor Etiquette
24. Stolen Time
25. Shell & Shipwreck
26. Wonder
27. Treasure
28. The Observer
29. Celebration
30. The Cave
31. Changing Course
32. Weakness
33. Cinnamon & Soap
34. Wordsmith
35. Nassau Now, Nassau Then
36. Long Live the Queen
37. Stay the Course
38. Albion Bound
39. The Welcome Party
40. Arresting Weather
41. Home & Hearth
42. The Song of the Pirate Queen
43. Bloody Reunion
44. The Notorious Lady Vice
45. Interference
46. Iron & Irony
47. On Wilder Seas
48. The Plan
49. The Honeymoon
50. The Dream
51. A Visit
52. Fog
53. In Hiding
54. The Full Extent
55. Cruel Iron
56. Limpet & Barnacle
57. To Hide in Plain Sight
58. In the End
Author Note
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Acknowledgments
Also by Clare Sager
About the Author
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Before she was the Pirate Queen Lady Vice, she was 18-year-old heiress Lady Avice Ferrers.
Read to the end to download your free copy of Across Dark Seas today and set sail on an epic adventure.
Punishment
At the bow of the ship’s boat, Vice stood and surveyed the island she’d chosen. A hill rose at its centre, and a slender stream carved a line through the rainforest, so they’d have fresh water. Sun beat upon the curve of a white sandy beach. If they were smart, they’d light a signal fire there, attract the attention of some passing ship.
If they weren’t, they’d die.
There were plenty of ways to die on an island like this. Scorched by the sun. Thirst. Starvation. Poisoned by a tasty-looking manchineel. Or the simple violence of one-time colleagues turned competition for food and water.
“Why do you listen to those animals?” The former captain’s gruff voice rose behind her.
She sighed and rolled her eyes, turning to him.
He huddled in the boat with his surviving crew. Even torn, his blue coat, so like a Navy uniform, must have been baking in this sun, but he kept it on. Maybe he was clinging to some sense of order. The fifteen men around him eyed her from beneath lowered eyebrows, mouths set, some with bloodied noses or cut foreheads.
Between them, ten of The Morrigan’s crew sat at the oars, backs to her. Beyond, at the little craft’s tiller, Perry raised her eyebrows at Vice, a grin making her teeth flash bright against her sun-beaten skin. She was enjoying this almost as much as Vice. It wasn’t every day you got to maroon the officers of a slave ship.
“Those animals?” Vice said, shaking her head. “Tsk, tsk, captain. That’s exactly why you’re in this mess.”
“I’m in this mess because you’re a pirate, but I thought even the notorious Lady Vice would put the wellbeing of her own countrymen above some foreign slaves.”
“My own countrymen understand Albion outlawed slavery centuries ago. My own countrymen understand that owning another person is an affront to the fae and they’d never court such disaster as pissing them off so bloody royally. The moment you took slaves on your ship, you ceased to be Albionic, in my book.”
Never mind the fact it was plain wrong to claim to own another person – the way he spoke, he’d never understand that. She stood over him, looking down at his miserable face. “And away with your damn scruples flew any leniency I might have shown you for the sake of our shared country.”
The muscles in his jaw rippled, seething.
This might require some intervention.
With a breath, she opened her fae-blooded gift to the rolling sea beneath them. The tide pushed its way towards the small island. A current drifted across the shore. Further out, beyond their ship, The Morrigan, anchored a hundred feet away, a stronger current streamed northwest.
It was an extension of her, or rather she an extension of it – it was far larger, far older, far more than her, just another creature in its domain.
Lips thinning, nostrils flaring, the former captain surged towards her.
How predictable.
Bracing, she pulled on the current, stilling it for a second. The boat jolted, and the former captain stumbled, landing on his knees and the fists he’d intended for her.
“Oh, please do” – she drew her fae-worked pistol and aimed at his head – “please give me an excuse to splatter your brains all over your crewmates.” She pressed the muzzle into his forehead and smiled. She wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, but he didn’t need to know that.
Chest heaving, he glared up at her. His shoulders slumped, and he sank back in place with the rest of his men.
“Pity.” She returned the pistol to its holster and hurried along the current. It was light work to move the little boat, and the sooner they were rid of this lot, the better.
A few minutes later, thanks to her gift and the rowers, they bumped against the sandy beach.
Vice jumped out, sighing at the cool water on her feet and legs, the rightness of the sea’s touch. With a firm grip, she held the boat steady and jerked her head towards the island. “This is your stop, gents. Get out of my boat.”
The slaver-ship’s officers exchanged glances, then looked at her, the rowers, then Perry. Yes, they outnumbered the pirates 16 to 12, but they’d be damn fools to try anything unarmed.
Maybe they needed a reminder. She narrowed her eyes at Perry and gave a little nod.
As Perry rose, her pale blonde hair fought to escape its plait, swishing in the wind. That combined with her broad cheekbones and air of calm gave her the look of a Varangian queen, despite her diminutive height. She lifted her chin. “Get out, dogs!”
The officers jumped at her throaty voice right behind them. As they looked over their shoulders, she drew her cutlass. The steel glinted as coldly as her eyes.
The pirates stood and brandished their oars like boarding pikes. Vice drew her pistol for good measure, waving them off the boat.
The officers scrambled out, splashing into the water, casting fearful glances between the pirates.
“Much obliged,” Vice said, smiling her most winning smile as she bowed with a flourish. Perry threw them a duffle bag of supplies and waved.
Vice nodded in approval. Whatever the law might say, she wasn’t a monster – she’d packed rope, a few tools, and canteens of fresh water to give the men a chance to live. Who knew? Maybe they’d see the error of their ways.
And maybe she’d grow gills to go with her sea magic.
Still, these men had bought and sold people. The fae would disown them and that was punishment enough. Elusive as the fair folk were, without their favour, who knew what bad luck might find these fools? They were damned.
The longboat crew turned the vessel around, angling back towards deeper water as the former captain and his officers splashed to shore. Soaked breeches dragging her down, Vice clambered into the boat and resumed her spot at the bow.
The Morrigan bobbed gently in the waves, awaiting their return. Alongside, the slaver ship, a pot-bellied brig, pitched to and fro.
She sighed. This little excursion to maroon the officers had made her almost a captain, albeit of the longboat, but once they were back on The Morrigan, she’d be under Captain FitzRoy once more. Not literally – they’d stopped doing that months and months ago – but she was under his command, and that was enough to chafe. She wanted to set her own course, to –
“You might have taken our ship,” the former slaver captain bellowed across the waves, “but the days of Lady Vice are numbered!”
She scoffed. Everyone’s days were numbered. Some just had fewer than others.
Smiling brightly, she turned and waved. “Not as numbered as yours, marooned dog!”
“Enjoy it while you can.” Even from this distance, his eyes smouldered with hatred. “The price on your head is 1,000 guineas. Maybe your crew should hand you over themselves.”
She stuck a finger up at the slavers, before turning and grinning at Perry. “1,000 guineas? That’s more than doubled. I’m going up in the world.”
Chuckling, Perry shook her head and adjusted the tiller.
Pulling her tricorne hat low against the harsh sun, Vice fixed her gaze on The Morrigan. With a bounty like that, someone had realised her worth.
Shame not everyone did.
Pursing her lips, she pushed their boat through the waves a little faster than necessary, the effort burning her muscles and making her stomach growl.
It had been her idea to chase the brig into the wind where it would be slowed, and she’d led the boarding party. She knew how to catch a prize and captain a ship, damn it.
Maybe now FitzRoy would realise that and finally grant her the captaincy he’d promised.
Maybe that pot-bellied brig, ugly and clumsy as it was, would be hers.
Venatrix
It was a week’s work to get the fat brig repaired and disguised – ready for sale, not for Vice’s captaincy. But at least she’d managed to persuade FitzRoy to split the proceeds with the men and women who’d been enslaved.
Up in the shrouds, her sigh mingled with the breeze as they pulled into Port Royal’s harbour, skirting as far from Fort Boudicca’s guns as possible. She’d helped trim the sails to bring them in slowly and prepare for anchor, and now she wrapped one arm around a line and leant out, fingers reaching for the wide sky.
Beyond the ships docked at numerous wharves, the city rose. Stone, brick, and timber buildings housed taverns, brothels, craftsfolk, tradesmen, warehouses, workshops, cooperages, and the homes of rich and poor alike. As its three forts and barracks suggested, the city was a stronghold for the Albionic Navy. Perry said this had once been a pirate haven like Nassau, but now Port Royal had, for the most part, gone legit.
As they drew closer, the bustle of voices and work joined the constant shush of the sea. The shrill cries of parrots pierced the air as they flew between palm trees and nests tucked into the stonework of waterfront towers. Distant music drifted from somewhere – most likely one of the many taverns.
Legit didn’t necessarily mean boring.
Maybe she’d get some time on shore leave for a spot of fun.
That was assuming their disguise as The Three rather than The Morrigan held long enough to let them stay …
Eyes narrow, she scanned the ships already here, watching for old enemies to avoid or potential targets they might follow out when they left.
The slaver brig bobbed behind, its fat hull just as slow and stiff as she’d expected. She almost felt sorry for Bricus running it. The first mate had a contingent from The Morrigan plus the former slaves, so plenty of hands, but the thing looked uncontrollable.
Much as she hated to admit it, FitzRoy was right – it was no pirate vessel. He’d promised they’d take a fast, sleek creature for her to captain. Something fine and low-profiled with –
“Ooh.” The sound breathed out of her.
A small ship sat in dock. She was three-masted and shaped like a frigate with raised decks to fore and aft, but at only 90 feet long she was far smaller than any frigate Vice had seen. She wasn’t much bigger than a schooner, and a touch shorter than The Morrigan.
At that size and fully rigged with such a sleek hull, she’d be fast. 11 knots, maybe more? And that was without any help from Vice’s gift driving the current onward. What was this beauty’s name?
She leant further into the wind, lifting her spyglass, just one foot and one hand keeping her tethered to the shrouds.
On the hull painted in gold, Venatrix. Huntress.
Oh, Lords and Ladies. Something like that. That was a ship of beauty. A perfect vessel for piracy.
A perfect vessel for her.
How had she ever even thought of captaining that slaver brig when something like the Venatrix existed?
Skin buzzing with excitement, she tucked the spyglass away and hurried down the shrouds. She jumped the last few feet to the deck and compressed into a low landing.
Perry pulled up short as Vice blocked her path. She raised one eyebrow, lips pursed to one side – her withering look as Vice liked to call it. “What’s got you so excited?”
“Did you see that – that” – what to call it? – “I suppose it’s a miniature frigate? The Venatrix.” She grabbed Perry’s shoulder and pulled her to the rail, pointing to her intended “Isn’t he gorgeous? I think it’s love.”
Perry snorted and pulled the spyglass from her. “You, talking of love? Never thought I’d see the day.” She scanned the ship, a sound of approval in her throat. “He cuts a mighty fine line, I’ll give you that. You could fall in love with a worse fellow.”
Vice fished in her pocket for a cashew nut and tossed one in her mouth, munching as she watched the moored ship.
There had to be a way they could take the Venatrix. FitzRoy could be persuaded, surely. He’d been prickly recently – something had soured his mood, maybe the continued elusiveness of Drake’s treasure, maybe something else. Maybe it was the fact he wasn’t laying anyone currently, since their liaison had ended half a year ago.
Maybe she could use her feminine wiles to persuade him – he had to be susceptible after such a long drought.
“What’re you grinning at?” Perry nudged her in the belly with the spyglass, releasing it into her grasp.
“If we take that ship” – another nut in her hand, she gestured to the Venatrix – “the Captain will have to give it to me.” The slaver wasn’t suitable for piracy, but the Venatrix? “It’s perfect – the start of FitzRoy’s own fleet.” She flashed a grin and popped the cashew in her mouth.
“Hmm.” The skin around Perry’s eyes crinkled, and she looked away to the Venatrix again. “You want to captain it? You think you’re ready?”
Chewing, Vice frowned and searched Perry’s profile. What did she mean by that? “Of course I’m ready. I’m brave, bold, clever – my idea to chase the brig into the wind worked like a charm, didn’t it?”
“But what if it hadn’t worked? What was your back-up plan?”
She laughed and clapped Perry on the shoulder. “Back-up plans are for people without confidence in their first plans. And for people who can’t command the waves.” She winked and glanced down at the froth forming against their hull as they glided into place between a wharf and a tall brigantine.
She didn’t really command it, not any more than a person commanded their arm to rise and fall. Command was what one
person did to another. It was for things that were separate. She and the sea were one.
“Anyway,” she said, putting her arm around Perry’s shoulder and squeezing her close, “FitzRoy’s been promising me long enough, we just haven’t found the right ship, yet. Well, if that isn’t the right ship, then I don’t know what is.”
It was going to be hers, she could feel it in the tides.
“But you don’t know the first thing about it, about whose it is. I thought you didn’t like attacking the Queen’s ships – it has a whiff of the Navy about it to me.”
“Here’s Barrels, let’s find out. Ahoy!” She waved at the pot-bellied docker, throwing him a broad smile and then one of The Morrigan’s mooring lines.
Glancing up, he barely caught the line in time but smiled back anyway. “Nearly got me, miss.” He touched his forelock as if he didn’t know her, but used the gesture to wink without anyone else on the bustling docks seeing.
Miss. That meant there were people around he didn’t trust. If he’d called her Vice, it would have been around port within an hour that Lady Vice, notorious pirate, was here.
And in a place like Port Royal, not every pair of ears was friendly. Here, they had to operate in disguise as a merchantman – they’d covered half The Morrigan’s gunports and name and had raised their white sails, rather than the black.