Ebba-Viva Fairisles: Immortal Plunder (Pirates of Felicity Book 1)

by Kelly St Clare

  What point was having a big ship like Malice, and a life of adventure, if everyone you loved was dead and gone? What was the point of exacting revenge on another crew? Her fathers made her happy, Felicity made her happy—and if having those meant she had to give up other pirate things, Ebba could do that.

  Except that realization had come too late. Now they’d be in danger for the rest of their days. The adventure had no end in sight, and Ebba wished she could be transported back to that moment on Maltu when she’d entered the alley after Swindles and Riot. That choice would forever haunt her.

  She dashed away a tear.

  “Ye think this ain’t worth the trouble?” Grubby asked her with a peculiar expression, tilting his head to the dynami.

  Ebba glared at the tarnished silver cylinder in her hand. It had a shallow groove on one end, and intricate markings all along the side. The other end was rounded, like a doorknob.

  She had no idea how having super strength solved their predicament. “Aye,” she said scathingly. “It’s a piece of junk.”

  Grubby dropped his arms from her shoulder, though not before kissing her on the temple again. “Then ye toss it right out to sea. Ye toss it out to sea and we can be done with it if ye wish.”

  He turned from her and made for the ship again.

  Plank, Peg-leg, and Locks passed her silently. Cosmo followed their example, casting her an uncertain smile, tired circles under his eyes.

  Alone on the beach, she stared down at the dynami.

  The moonlight shone down on the object, and Ebba leaned forward, squinting at the swirling movement underneath the dynami’s surface. She reared back, recognizing the white-pearling undercurrent swirling below the brass. Just like the mountain apple.

  She paused, recalling that Kahree had said the selkie had guarded the cylinder for over seven hundred years. Something that had to be guarded that long was precious, perhaps. But it also meant trouble.

  Ebba ran her forefinger over the swirly letters running vertically down the middle of the cylinder. She assumed the word etched there was dynami. In her eyes, the dynami had only brought them pain, except for Grubby figuring out he was part selkie. While not so long ago she’d begged for trouble to provide some excitement to her day, now danger was the last thing she desired.

  Her eyes fell on the cylinder. Ebba wanted their lives to go back to normal, even though that was no longer possible with Pockmark hunting them. But if she didn’t toss the dynami into the water would they be even further from regaining their previous lives? Somehow, inexplicably, Ebba knew they would. If she didn’t throw it away, Felicity would be dragged into more chaos, whether of the pirate or magical variety, simply because they were the new guardians to this thing.

  Yet to toss away the swirling magical cylinder would be to force Grubby to break an oath to his selkie kin.

  “I was sent to come and get you for dinner,” called Cosmo from down the beach, making her jump. “Your fathers are too scared to come themselves.”

  Ebba blinked. How long had she been standing staring at the dynami in her hand? And why hadn’t she already thrown it?

  “Are you all right?” Cosmo came up and took her free hand.

  She gazed down at their intertwined hands. “Just a bit banged up and feelin’ sorry for myself, but I’ll be okay. I just. . . Cosmo? Did ye ever make a mistake that made ye feel life would never be the same? One ye wish more than anythin’ ye could take back?”

  Cosmo was silent as she watched the waves gently tumbling onto the shore.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m familiar with that feeling.”

  His voice rang with truth. Was he thinking back to his dead prince and burning ship? Or did some other past choice plague him?

  “I made a right mess o’ things,” Ebba admitted. “I put everyone in danger.”

  “That makes two of us.” He squeezed her hand, and she was glad the darkness hid her warm cheeks.

  She slipped her hand free. “Hey, ye read books. Do ye know what ‘dynami’ means?”

  He looked at her, eyes shadowed by the night. “It’s a word from the old tongue,” he said. “Yes, I know the meaning.”

  Ebba resisted the urge to touch her beads for comfort, but couldn’t help the shiver tracking up her spine. “What does it mean then? Spit it out.”

  “Power,” he said, shrugging his unwounded shoulder. “Dynami means power.”

  Power? Ebba shook her head. “What are we meant to do with power?” She had no idea. But there was a cruel captain who shouldn’t have any more of it.

  She looked out at the sea and tightened her grip around the blasted treasure. She couldn’t break Grubby’s oath to his kin. Despite the bad things that had happened while finding the dynami, parting with the plunder seemed like a failure on some level, if only because there was a chance the cylinder would somehow fall into Pockmark’s slimy hands after their efforts.

  Ebba hoped she wouldn’t have reason to regret yet another decision.

  Stomach clenched with nerves, she tucked the dynami into her belt, and resolutely turned away from the lapping waves.

  She faced Cosmo, smiling broadly at him. “What’s for dinner then, prince slave?”

  Thank You For Reading

  I hope you loved IMMORTAL PLUNDER! Book two releases October 11th. Pick up your copy of STOLEN PRINCESS here.

  If you’d like to connect with me and receive exclusive bonuses, go ahead and subscribe at:

  https://www.kellystclare.com/free-gifts/

  Acknowledgments

  In your childhood, did you ever wish to read a dire pirate quest? I’m sure I can’t be the only one. The concept of pirates enthrals most fantasy readers. After all, those savvy seafarers are the epitome of swashbuckling adventure and untold danger, and of intense romance and heart-plunging magical encounters.

  As a teen, I wanted to read of dubious moral compasses, and of gasp-worthy high-stakes. I certainly wanted to read a series full of quirks and complexities that would suck me in for hours on end. While there were many books that helped to fill this yearning for a magical quest (thank you Deltora Quest, Protector of the Small, Harry Potter, and The Inheritance Cycle), Waikanae Library in New Zealand never did stock the pirate series I wished for. I would know. The beanbag in the young adult fantasy section was mine.

  Eventually, I became an author in order to write the stories I wished to read. Apparently, wishing for the existence of books is an uncertain business without instant gratification. In late 2016, Ebba and her crew came to me in the middle of the night in what I can only describe as a cursing explosion of a pirate version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

  My first conversation with Ebba went along the lines of:

  “An anti-hero?” I asked her. “Oh, and spoiled. Do you want anyone to like you?”

  “Nay,” she said. “I be a pirate, ye flamin’ soft landlubber bugger.”

  And so it was decided.

  The next month was a blur of obsessive planning, an array of felt-tip pens, A3 pages, and furious typing. The Pirates of Felicity took shape. The Exosian Realm with all of its hidden creatures, nooks and secrets wasn’t far behind. For the better part of two years between the writing and release of other series, I would steal a guilty moment with my pirates whenever possible, lost in their antics as though I’d never left.

  What I’m trying to say is that this series is entirely selfish.

  Except, as I’m typing my husband has reminded me that all my books are selfish [please see reason for becoming an author]. But this series feels extra glorious and selfish being the first series I’ve written in entirety before releasing book one.

  Where was I? So far I’ve only acknowledged my past and present self. Good start.

  When writing acknowledgements, I always, always think of my husband. The extra things Scott does so that I can answer the constant knock of creativity is something I’m overwhelmingly grateful for. He has heard about these pirates for years and has always given m
e the utmost interest and support. His support even extended to climbing the rigging of a 17th century merchant ship while we were pitching in the middle of the sea and reporting back on how it felt. Sorry, husbutt!

  To Scott, I say:

  Yer beard be orange,

  yer feet be cold,

  yer snore be loud,

  but yer heart be gold.

  Next, to my swashbuckling manuscript team:

  Beta Readers

  Jill, Kate, Philippa, Jennifer

  Editor One

  Melissa Scott

  Editor Two

  Robin Schroffel

  Proofreader

  Patti Geesey and Dawn Yacovetta

  Map Illustrator

  Laura Diehl

  Cover Designer & Illustrator

  Amalia Chitulescu

  What an incredible team. Readers of my acknowledgements will know that the majority of these women have been with me for years. I don’t live in the same country as a single one of them. We range from the United Kingdom, to Europe, to the United States, and New Zealand. I love to travel, and it’s exciting that people from all over the world help my stories to get shelf ready. Each of you helped to breathe life into my pirates. I’m so thankful for your feedback and expertise.

  A special mention to Endeavour and its crew for answering my one million questions on the workings of a 17th century vessel. And to Sally for doing the same.

  To my family and to my friends, thank you for asking, ‘How are the pirates going?’ for the last two years. Thank you for spreading the word, for being understanding of my numerous deadlines, and for coping with my vague and delirious contributions to conversation. Thank you for keeping me humble by introducing me during parties as Kelly the Arthur. In particular, a tip of the hat to Carly and Adam (for Game of Thrones Catan and Cob-loaf nights), Ash (for being a stellar someone who I’m completely at ease with) and Ellen (for thinking of me when I don’t think of myself). To all of my Kiwi family and friends in New Zealand, you are probably unaware of this, but you never cease to remind me of what’s important.

  Thank you to my readers, and my Kelly St Clare’s Barracks reader group, for being so patient with all my ‘I’m writing a secret series’ tweets and posts. If I have to keep a secret, I’m afraid you’ll hear about it. From the bottom of my heart, words can’t express what your support of my selfish stories means to me.

  And finally, because I want to bring this back to me, me, me. Thank you to Childhood Kelly who lurked on the beanbag in Waikanae Library. That was our author apprenticeship, we just didn’t know it. And now, here is your pirate story, you whiny bugger. Also, save your money, girl! What are you thinking buying all those clothes and shoes? If you’d learned back then, maybe I’d know how to control myself now.

  Happy Reading,

  Kelly

  About Kelly St. Clare

  When Kelly is not reading or writing, she is lost in her latest reverie.

  Books have always been magical and mysterious to her. One day she decided to unravel this mystery and began writing.

  Her works include The Tainted Accords, The After Trilogy, The Darkest Drae, and Pirates of Felicity.

  A New Zealander in origin and in heart, Kelly currently resides in Australia with her ginger-haired husband, a great group of friends, and some huntsman spiders who love to come inside when it rains. Their love is not returned.

  Also by Kelly

  The Tainted Accords

  Fantasy of Frost

  Fantasy of Flight

  Fantasy of Fire

  Fantasy of Freedom

  The Tainted Accords Novellas

  Sin

  Olandon

  Rhone

  Shard (2019)

  The After Trilogy

  The Retreat

  The Return

  The Reprisal

  The Darkest Drae, Co-written with Raye Wagner

  Blood Oath

  Shadow Wings

  Black Crown

  Pirates of Felicity

  Immortal Plunder

  Stolen Princess

  In the Wild Treasure Hunt

  Did ye notice this image at the start o' Chapter Seven? IMMORTAL PLUNDER be part o' the In the Wild Treasure Hunt with K.F. Breene, Leia Stone, Jaymin Eve, Shannon Mayer, and Hailey Edwards. More info be sailin' yer way soon. To make sure ye see these details, join my Facebook group HERE. If ye ain’t there, follow me on Instagram HERE.

  Bonus Chapter

  Stolen Princess

  Ebba slammed the bilge door behind her, ensuring her secret would remain a secret for a little while longer.

  Skimming across the main deck of Felicity, she vaulted over the bulwark and onto the only wharf of their hidden sanctuary, Zol. The crew of Felicity and their tag-along, Cosmo, had been holed up on Zol for a whole month. A month of coconuts and rocking hammocks and gently lapping waves. A month of bawdy singing and laughing and ship repairs.

  Ebba was ready to pull her dreadlocks out. Retirement sucked barnacles. And they pretty much spent their life sucking. She’d die if she had to be retired for too much longer—not that they had much of a choice, after everything.

  Spotting Cosmo reappearing around the curve of the shore, she jogged down the pier to meet him, her various beads and adornments rattling as she did so. Cosmo was the only reason she hadn’t gone up in a wisp of dullness the last few weeks.

  “Oi, prince slave,” she hollered in greeting.

  He lifted his head and smiled wryly.

  His amber eyes fixed on her with their usual intensity. His gaze had unsettled her for a good long while, and still did if she was too close to him when the orbs snapped onto her, but that was Cosmo; whatever he focused on, he focused on with riveted attention, always fascinated to learn every single thing. Ebba suspected one day his skull might explode. It couldn’t be healthy to learn too much. Where did it all go? A person couldn’t fit endless mangoes into a basket without them spilling out or getting squashed. But Cosmo and her father Barrels seemed to manage adding mangoes all the time, which made her think their baskets were bigger than other peoples’ to begin with. A slight pain stabbed over her temple, and she put the matter aside.

  She eyed Cosmo’s bare chest, pleased to note the ex-servant looked harder than he used to. There were even muscles in his uninjured arm and torso. They’d saved him after Malice killed his master, Prince Caspian, and the entire navy crew he’d been traveling with. Suffice to say, he’d been as soft as any mainlander when they first took him in. Still was, mostly.

  His fist was clamped around a dripping tunic.

  “Ye haven’t been washin’ again, Cosmo?” she asked incredulously. “Ye just washed yesterday.”

  He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “Yes, Mistress Fairisles. I wash every day.”

  She fell into step beside him as they made their way farther up the shore. “But why? Ye just get dirty again.”

  Cosmo’s softness wasn’t any secret. He’d grown up on Exosia, a place where they never ventured into the sun or got their hands mucky. Clearly.

  His tone was dry. “I do believe that’s the point.”

  Ebba looked at him sideways. “The point of what?”

  “The point of washing each day is that you get dirty each day.”

  She shrugged. “The point of washin’ each week is that ye get dirty each week.”

  Quiet laughter spilled from his lips. “As always, Mistress Fairisles, your logic makes a bizarre kind of sense.”

  She patted him. “Don’t ye worry, Cosmo, we’ll be curing ye of softness soon enough. Won’t be long afore ye’ll only take monthly washes, like Grubby.”

  Cosmo winced—a delicate wince as though he didn’t wish to offend her by showing his full reaction. It was another thing she’d learned about the Exosian servant; he often muted his real response or thought for a few seconds before he spoke, as though dampening what he really believed. Seemed an odd thing to do. She couldn’t remember pausing to think for more th
an three seconds in her life. But then, she was a pirate, and he wasn’t—yet. If Ebba could convince him not to return to Exosia for another few months, he might get close to pirate status, but that wouldn’t happen if their crew continued hiding in Zol eating coconut stew and coconut mash, and drinking coconut tea.

  Cosmo rubbed his shoulder and, forgetting to mute his expression for once, grimaced.

  “Shoulder painin’ ye?” she asked. Six weeks ago, wooden debris caused by gunfire from Malice hit Cosmo in the left shoulder.

  He smiled apologetically, though what in the Free Seas he felt sorry for, Ebba didn’t know. “It is taking a long time to heal,” he admitted. “For a while I was certain it was getting better, but. . . .”

  She turned to him, searching his face. One thing about soft people: their skin was smoother than the spokes of a ship’s wheel. Cosmo had a natural regal bearing to his features and posture. She was never sure whether it was that, or his russet hair, now curling slightly at the ends, which drew her eye. His amber eyes snapped to her own moss-green gaze and she blinked several times.

  “But what?” Ebba prompted him. Was his shoulder getting worse?

  He glanced around, probably checking for her fathers, and then lifted the hand that had been rubbing his shoulder. She peered at the exposed bronzed skin, no longer white after weeks outside, noticing a black mark. “Ye said ye’d washed.”

  “I did. That’s what I’m talking about. I don’t know what it is.”