The Pirate's Lady

by Julia Knight

  “Remorians.” He glanced up shyly at Holden. “Sorry, but when you shot the Master, they all became free, all those slaves—you remember what that was like?”

  Van Gast suppressed a shudder at the memory of the bond on his wrist, in his head. Only for a few minutes, and he’d been lucky. For those bonded all their lives until now, freedom—true freedom of mind and thought and soul—was too big, too…too everything for them to cope with. Some couldn’t. A few of his new crew sat below decks, not speaking or moving, unable to take it in. Others had taken their own lives or, drunk on freedom and a newfound rage they didn’t know how to control, killed each other in knife and pistol fights.

  “There were several Remorian ships in Estovan’s docks when that happened, and others in the area,” Guld said. “They…well. Chaos, like I said. There’s been at least two riots, and the Yelen guards have been hard put to control everything. That’s not all though. There’s a price on your head.”

  Van Gast preened. “When isn’t there? It’ll do them no good, they’ve never managed to catch me. They don’t even know what I really look like.”

  “Yes, but still—”

  “Still nothing.” All this talk was making Van Gast fidgety. He’d had enough of being cooped up, enough of these gray Remorian clothes, enough of Holden being sensible. “Is she here?”

  Guld blushed at the question everyone had danced around all this time. “I don’t know yet, Van.”

  “Well, sodding well find out.” Van Gast started pacing again. “In the meantime, chaos, you said. Guards overworked. Riots. Perfect for what I have in mind. Come on, Holden. I feel a powerful need to steal something.”

  * * *

  Van Gast watched the delta islands slide closer as the ship scudded toward Estovan under a clear sky. The glass dagger was back in his hands—one reason for playing bones, it kept that dagger and all its reminders off him. He stroked the hilt with his thumb and held it up to the light. The etchings on it were intricate, delicate as spider webs and more impressive when shared with a pair. Olar wedding daggers—to prove you married for love not gain. Each new bride and groom drank the oil and stabbed each other in the heart. If they married true, they lived. If not, a short and unexpectedly chaste wedding night followed.

  This dagger no longer had a pair, yet it was empty of the oil it should have held. Josie had left it for him, weeks ago now. A sign, and almost all he had of her.

  Holden’s wife, Ilsa, stepped up to the rail beside him and he shoved the dagger away. Ilsa leaned against the rail. Not long ago, on the day her mage-bond had come off, she’d leaned over the rail and laughed at her newfound freedom, at seagulls and salt spray and the wind in her hair. Since then… They’d all found it hard, all the ex-slaves, but Van Gast thought it was worst for Ilsa. Before that day, she’d never met anyone who hadn’t been bonded, a slave to their Master’s will. Never left Remoria, never seen the ports that bustled and hustled and shouted their way into your blood like wine. She seemed to have shrunk, bit by bit, since the bond had gone.

  She watched the first of the islands slide past, little more than sandbanks that the lookout called to the helmsmen. Never in the same place twice, not in this stretch of the delta. They could have gone along the main course of the river, but that would be more stupid than even Van Gast was willing to risk.

  Ilsa’s soft voice made Van Gast jump, startled out of his own thoughts. “What’s it like, Estovan?”

  They passed the dead skeleton of a fishing boat caught on a bank, and the smell of brackish water and too many people crammed into too small a space wafted their way.

  “What was Remoria like, really?” Van Gast watched her carefully, noted the nostalgic twist of a lip.

  “Peaceful. Clean, beautiful. Soulless. But my home.” She turned dark eyes on him, and the sadness there made him wish, just for a heartbeat, that she could have been left there to her life. But there was nothing in Remoria for her now. “I wish—I wish sometimes I had my bond back on, and so did Holden. At least then I knew. Who I was, who he was, what we had together. Now I don’t know anything, except that I know nothing. I feel so alone. Before I always had a link, to Holden, to everyone else through the bond. And now he’s so—so—”

  She broke off and wiped a shaky hand over her eyes.

  Van Gast floundered at this part, out of his depth. Crying women always made him feel guilty, even when he hadn’t done anything wrong. Which wasn’t often, granted. The hardest thing was that everyone on this new crew looked to him, made him feel as enslaved as they had once been. He alone knew how to be free, how to live without constant instruction, rules, chains.

  He patted her hand, feeling awkward and stupid. “Estovan is nothing like that. It’s—it’s glorious and chaotic and smelly and vibrant and dangerous and colorful and fucking wonderful.”

  He laughed at the look on her face, but at least he’d taken her mind off her misery. “Look, Ilsa, it’s as hard for all them as it is for you, only they have to try to keep a bold front too. You know, be men about it. Holden wants to make you happy, I know he does, but he daren’t show you how fucked up he is. It’s going to take some time, but you’ll figure it all out in the end—who you really are, what you want. You’re going to have to be bold. And with Holden being such a serious moaner, as tied up in knots as that rope over there, you might have to take the lead.”

  She looked at him as though he’d just suggested she walk naked over hot coals. “Me, I can’t—I don’t know how.”

  Van Gast smiled to himself, thinking just how different Ilsa and Josie were—and seeing perhaps just why Holden had once got his head turned by Josie, who knew what she wanted and when she wanted it, who was freer in the mind than a flock of birds. And why Ilsa was a better bet for him, in the end. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  He rummaged in one of his numerous pockets. “Look, here you are. A few gold sharks. Be enough to buy yourself something pretty, or something you’ve always wanted. I promise you, if you’re happy, then Holden will be happier. Just for once, do something for you.”

  She stared down at the money, then her gaze was drawn to Estovan, the city proper just now visible—stuccoed walls blazing in the sunshine, a vast seething humanity seemingly camped on its doorstep, the haze of cooking fire smoke dimming everything, washing the city in charcoal so it looked almost attractive. Almost.

  “Van, I heard some of the crew talking about Josie and—”

  Van Gast’s heart stuttered, even at the mention of her. “Never mind about Josie, or what the crew say. Gossip worse than fish wives, sailors do. Never mind what anyone says, understand? You’re a rack now, you do what you want, when you want it, and screw everyone else. You know what it is you want?”

  Her gaze slid to Holden as he came up the stairs from below, flicked back to Estovan before she settled on Van Gast. “I think so.”

  That was better. No tears now, but a hesitant smile, a wondering in her eyes as she considered.

  “Good,” he said. “Now you go and get it and don’t let anyone stop you, all right? You can get anything in Estovan, anything at all. Everything’s for sale and that’s enough money for quite a lot, because everything is cheap here. Life, death, Kyr’s mercy, everything.”

  “Anything?” Ilsa’s smile widened into brilliant, bringing a scowl from Holden as he approached, but Ilsa hugged the money to herself and stared out at Estovan again.

  Chapter Three

  Rillen waited in his chamber, looking down over the licensed docks, the tightly controlled area around the palace where he’d lived his tightly controlled life. Sun glinted off the sea in the harbor, struck the well-tended ships of the licensed merchants—fat-bellied ships that wallowed, slender ships made for fast trading of small but precious things, all sorts of ships in between. The gunships that protected the slower traders lay to outside, a fair protection for ships and harbor alike.

  The broad avenue beneath Rillen’s window, shaded by lush trees, was filled with mercha
nts and their wives, all agog about the special trade reception Urgaut had announced. A rearrangement of trade, now the Remorians were no longer a force to be reckoned with but a helping power behind Urgaut. New opportunities, new alliances to replace the old. A reception like that was like setting a dead seal in the water and waiting for sharks.

  All below him was calm and ordered, thick with chance, rich with potential and not his. He intended to try to use the coming opportunities to rectify this. If he could get Van Gast dead at the same time and blame it all on him, so much the better.

  A discreet knock sounded at the door, and at his measured “Come in,” the door opened. He didn’t turn.

  “Do sit.” He waited while skirts rustled to a stop, and pictured her face—pert and rather attractive, with dark flashing eyes and a mouth that was alive with possibilities. She wouldn’t be smiling now though.

  He waited and waited, imagining her squirm and sweat. Making her make the first move. In the meantime he studied the avenue and the merchants and considered what changes he’d make when he was head of the Yelen.

  “You asked to see me?” she said at last.

  He suppressed the smile that wanted to stretch his lips. He still didn’t turn. “I did, yes. You offered very much for your uncle’s release.”

  “A more immoral man would have taken it,” she said, too quick, too glib. He couldn’t be flatter-slicked that way.

  He laughed under his breath. “No, it just wasn’t what I wanted. But I have a task for you. A chance to earn your uncle’s release by getting me what I do want.”

  Her voice came, trembling, but she tried to master it. “Name it.”

  “Van Gast. I want you on his ship. I know you’ve racked before, so it shouldn’t be a problem for you. I want to know his weaknesses, what he’ll do anything to get or anything to avoid. I want everything you can find out about him. And I want your silence on the subject. If anyone but me knows about this arrangement, your uncle is as dead as tonight’s dinner.” Finally he turned and looked at her. She didn’t look anywhere near as pert and attractive as she had. Her skin was gray, her hair lank and her eyes were raw and red from crying. Her mouth, instead of alive with possibilities, was set in a cold hard line of fearful hate. “Understood?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Kyr’s mercy, girl. You want to get on a rack ship, you’ll need to look better than that. You get me Van Gast, and your uncle will be free, just think of that.”

  “But how—”

  He waved away her question. “His ship’s just coming into the delta. How you get on is up to you. I don’t really care. Van Gast has quite the reputation with the ladies. Use that, if you can pretty yourself up enough. Just give me everything you can, and as soon as you can. When I have his head, you have your uncle. Deal?”

  She blinked back more tears but took a shaky breath and managed a nod. “All right. I know a place or two.”

  “Good girl. Report to my sergeant when you have anything. You can go now. And I’ll be watching the ship myself, so no funny ideas.”

  She wiped her eyes and left, looking ragged and worn. He hoped she’d make an effort. Currently she was the best hope he had, though he hoped for more.

  * * *

  Holden slid into his quarters and eased the door shut behind him, thinking, maybe even hoping, Ilsa might be asleep. Instead she sat in candlelit dimness in front of a small mirror he’d managed to find for her, brushing her hair.

  He hesitated but sat on the bed behind her. Somehow it was easier to talk to her reflection, as though he could pretend she wasn’t real, just another one of his dreams. Dreamed dreams big enough for the world, Josie had said about him once, long ago before he and Ilsa had been bonded together. He had that dream now, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He was drowning in freedom.

  He watched in silence as the brush swept through Ilsa’s chestnut swing of hair, unsure what to say, what to do. He wanted to say something, to breach the silence, the wall between them, but he couldn’t find the words. He suspected neither could she.

  Freedom seemed to come with complications at every turn. His crew were jittery with it, and he was barely hanging on himself, but his complications were different. He’d been practicing doing everything one-handed and found it easier than he’d feared. He’d come to terms with being able to make a decision for himself, or had made a start anyway.

  But Ilsa—she was his wife, and he didn’t know how to talk to her, what she thought, how they were supposed to do this. All their lives, their thoughts had been under the command of the mages who ruled the Remorians with magic and a silver bond that ate into your skin, your head, your soul, and told you what was right, what was good, what to think, to feel. Even their marriage had been arranged, another order to obey, to love each other.

  Now that was gone, the Master and the bonds blown away with a bullet from Holden’s own gun, and he didn’t know how to be a husband. He didn’t know how to be anything, except a sailor. The Master had bonded them together, and in that bond they’d found something, yet now it was gone she seemed to grow further from him every time he looked. So he and Ilsa shared a bed because they were married, because they’d once been bonded together and had shared a bed and more besides. But now they each lay alone in that bed, separated by a gulf of ignorance, of not knowing, of fear at that unknowing.

  Holden didn’t know whether he loved her, or whether he just thought he should because he’d once been told to. He didn’t know if she loved him, or why she stayed when there were other cabins, other beds. Maybe because she’d been told to. He wanted to find out though.

  He looked at her in the mirror. So pretty, he’d thought when the Master first presented her to him for his wife, so pretty but for the blankness behind her eyes, the lack of self that the bond caused. The blankness was gone, and she was still pretty, more than pretty. Her copper-bronze Remorian skin glowed in the candlelight, seemed sheened with gold, smooth and soft and waiting to be stroked. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to. She’d been told to love him, and had. Maybe now she had no love for him. Maybe the way she followed Van Gast about, the way her lips didn’t turn down when he was around, was Holden’s answer and he couldn’t bear that. He wanted to ask, to know, but dared not for fear that she’d say it was true.

  “Ilsa.” His voice startled him and made her jump. He didn’t know he was going to speak till he did, didn’t know what words would come tumbling out. The right ones, he hoped, that would make everything better. “Ilsa, I can sleep in another bed if you’d prefer. If it would make you happy.”

  The brush stopped its sweeping and she stared at his reflection in the mirror. Her lips parted but she said nothing, only stared at him with wide, startled eyes. Finally the brush started again, no longer slow and languorous but with short, vicious bursts.

  “Ilsa, please, talk to me. Tell me what you want.”

  Her dark eyes were afraid again. She’d seemed so happy, so free when the bond had first come off, when her mind had become her own. He wished she could have stayed that way. But he thought she struggled with it more than he did, with the world and her own thoughts too big for her head.

  “Ilsa, do you want to stay? In this cabin I mean, with me. You don’t have to, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, not anymore.”

  She turned her face from him in the mirror. One shoulder twitched, maybe a shrug, maybe a shiver. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know what to do, to think anymore. I’ve lost myself, lost everything I was. I lost you too, when…they took you from me. Do you understand? I’ve nothing left of the life I knew. Not even the same man as my husband. All I have left of my life is a gray dress and a scar on my wrist.”

  Holden reached out a hesitant hand for her shoulder and remembered his own panic when Van Gast had cut off his hand in order to cut off the bond at his wrist. How he’d floundered and given in and gone back to ask for another. Asked to be a slave again, so that everything would be normal,
so he wouldn’t have to deal with all the thoughts that flooded his brain. Ilsa hadn’t had that chance. Holden had to help her by being strong for her, make her see it was better.

  “I understand how hard this is for you, for all of us. I just want you to be happy.”

  She turned away from his gaze in the mirror.

  They went to bed, lying almost close enough to touch but with worlds between them, unspoken wants a barrier as strong as steel. Holden lay under the sheet and stared at the dark ceiling, letting the movement of the ship lull him, the familiar sounds. The faint wash of water against the hull, the creak of ropes, the calls of the lookout as he sounded the depths in the dark. Guld’s hesitant words as he used his scrying magic to see the sandbanks before they were beached on them. The whisper of Ilsa’s breathing, the smothered sound of her secret tears and his own heart, wishing he dared to hold her, soothe her, kiss all her fears away as he had once, when they knew they belonged to each other. Wishing he knew what she wanted, that she wanted him. That he could make her happy.

  * * *

  In the relative cool just past dawn, before the glaring sun rose to burn off the mists that crept over the Est River and coiled in the streets like cautious thieves, Van Gast gave the order to tie up. He leaped off the ship before the gangplank reached the jetty, ignoring a shout of protest behind him. For the first time in maybe ever he was glad to be ashore rather than afloat, back among people and places he knew instead of on a ship crewed by ex-slaves, their minds still bound by a lifelong habit.