The Pirate's Lady

by Julia Knight

  “Yet you want guns now.”

  Brimeld’s shoulders hunched in a massive shrug that seemed to fill the small space. “We’d be fools not to, wouldn’t we? I’m sure we could make you plenty of money. And your council too.”

  Very nice, very slick. “Then how do you propose we start?”

  Again the shrug, but Josie sat up straighter, her eyes always on Rillen behind half-closed lids.

  “Two things, I think. You need a recommendation to the council. It happens that now is a good time, and delegations are being accepted for a special reception tomorrow evening. So much has changed with the demise of Remoria.”

  Rillen saw this didn’t come as a surprise to Josie at all. He suspected she’d known about the reception and had been angling for just that invite. In fact he’d been depending on it since he’d read their missive. “I can issue an invitation for you and your retinue. A personal audience with the Yelen to discuss terms. For a small consideration.”

  Skrymir sat back as though offended, seemed about to offer some word of rebuke, but Josie’s soft hand on his arm, a knowing look, stopped him. “I’m not fond of the wine, Brimeld. Would you?”

  Skrymir slid his gaze toward Rillen, still playing offended, but he got up and left for the bar.

  Josie leaned forward in her seat, giving Rillen an ample view of what her dress displayed at the cleavage. Demure and provocative at the same time. “My husband isn’t the negotiator, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Born to a duke doesn’t make concessions easier to handle, not for someone like him. It’s all about honor and your given word, to the Gan.”

  “So he leaves it to you?” Rillen’s laugh threatened to escape and he was hard put to clamp down on it. “Well then. A small consideration. An introduction to how business works here. Sadly, we are not all honorable like the Gan. At least, not unless money changes hands.”

  Her sudden grin was infectious and Rillen found he was mesmerized by the way her fingers lingered on the rim of her glass, soft and slow as she stroked around the rim. She moved the fingers down to his hand, featherlight but with a hint of promise. “Oh, neither am I, particularly. How small would this concession be? And what does it guarantee us?”

  He matched her grin with one of his own, played her at her own game. Let her think she had him. “Very small, for you. A hundred golden sharks, payable now. For that, the means to get into the reception, and a personal introduction to my father, the leader of the Yelen. Maybe some assistance in negotiating.”

  She couldn’t hide the twitch of her lips. “Our trade advisor said this might be necessary. It’s all so different here.” She slid a small purse out of a hidden fold in her dress and handed it to him. He hefted it and didn’t bother to check. He didn’t need to—these two needed him, were dangling their bait in front of him. They wouldn’t blow it now by swindling him before he was on the hook. Instead he reached into his own tunic and pulled out a thick card. The front was decorated in swirling script in the most expensive of green inks. Far too ostentatious, but that was his father for you.

  It took only a quiet word and a moment for a waiter to bring a pen and inkstand. In the space reserved for it, he wrote in a bold, flowing hand. Lord Brimeld, Lady Amana and retinue. The retinue was important. If Lady Laceflower was right, if Josie and Van Gast ran their scams together, he’d be there. In the palace, at the reception. The “trade advisor” she’d mentioned perhaps. Or possibly Haban’s niece would bring more information, a better way to catch him. Either way, Van Gast captured and displayed as a prize or scamming his way in, he would be just where Rillen needed him.

  A sprinkle of sand to blot the ink and he handed the invitation over just as the big brute Skrymir came back.

  “Hand this to the guards at the gate tomorrow night, and I shall await you eagerly.” For once, he was truly speaking what he felt.

  Chapter Twelve

  Holden sat and stared at Tallia in the brig. He’d tried everything he could think of to get her to talk, short of hurting her or possibly kissing it out of her. He didn’t like to think of either those two options. All she would say is “It’s not me.”

  The afternoon wore on to evening, humid and dark in the hold, but Holden kept trying. Van was too itchy to try, too dependent on his little-magics, too full of purpose now he had his time to meet Josie. He’d all but forgotten about Tallia, thinking her safe if she was brigged, that they could let her go, dump her on one of the far delta islands when they set sail.

  Holden couldn’t forget her. He couldn’t do anything about his thoughts either, not now he’d broken through Ilsa’s ice. All he could do was try to work out, in his own way, who was the danger to them. Guld was scrying, talking to other mages, seeing what he could discover. Van Gast had gone ashore, careful and quiet, for him, to see what was what, dig up what he could.

  Someone knew something, somewhere.

  Holden had chosen Tallia. Yet she would say nothing, only look at him with something like regret. Finally he got up to go, back to his quarters and a hope that Ilsa was still as she had been, that he could forget Tallia and the way she looked at him, her smile and how easy she was to be with. As he stood, the door above him opened and someone came down in the dark in a swish of skirts.

  Gilda, all dolled up in finery fit for a lady.

  “Yes?” Holden asked when she merely stood and glared at Tallia.

  “A wonder you haven’t thrown her off the ship yet,” Gilda said.

  “Why should I?”

  “I saw her going into Van’s cabin. It was her that left that note.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before? And what do you know about a note, Gilda?”

  She huffed at him and flicked her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head, as though he was simple. “All the crew are talking about it, about how it was a trap for Van Gast. When they told me, I knew it was her. I saw her going in. Didn’t I, Tallia?”

  Tallia looked stricken, her hands twisting in her lap, her eyes wide with distress.

  “Did you?” Holden asked. “Did you put a note in Van’s cabin?”

  She blinked back tears and nodded. “But not—”

  “See, I told you!” Gilda’s smug smile seemed branded on her face. “Her that’s trying to get Van killed.”

  “All right, that’s enough. Thank you Gilda, you can go.”

  Go she did, with a sneering swish of her skirt. The clump of her shoes sounded over the deck, changed pitch as she went down the gangplank. Leaving the ship, again. Probably off to find herself a tumble for the night. Damned racks. Never would do as they were told. Holden had begun to wonder just how Van Gast had managed any kind of order with his previous all-rack crew. Serve Gilda right if they sailed before she got back.

  Holden looked back at Tallia. No jiggling, no bounce. Still as a millpond, with her hands jammed under her arms and her hair falling over her face. He crouched down in front of her and resisted the urge to reach out.

  “Tallia, did you?”

  “She told you so, didn’t she? Yes, I left a note. Yes, I was in the square. No, I’m not trying to get Van Gast killed. Why would I?”

  “I don’t know. Why would anyone? Because he stole something from them, that’d be the usual reason, I should think. What did he steal from you, Tallia?”

  She hunched further in on herself and spat out her words. “So you believe it then. Fine, believe it. Believe your wife has had a sudden change of heart for no reason. Believe Gilda has nothing to hide. It wasn’t me.”

  After that she wouldn’t say another word to him, only looked at him with reproach so that he began to doubt himself. Finally, when it was clear she would say no more and wanted him gone, he went to his cabin.

  Ilsa was still awake, lying in their bed. He slid in next to her, and she welcomed him with a smile. “Did you find anything out?”

  He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to talk to Ilsa about Tallia when he knew he shouldn’t be thinking of her as he did. Not with Ilsa next
to him, not with her warm and welcoming now. But she asked again, so he said “Gilda says she saw Tallia go into Van’s cabin, and Tallia admits she left a note there. Only…”

  “Only what?”

  Holden shifted awkwardly. “Only I don’t think she’s the one trying to get Van killed.”

  “But she’s admitted the note. Van says she makes him itch, and he knows trouble when it’s here. Poor Van.”

  Holden’s sharp glance caught the dreamy look in her eyes when she said that last. “Yes, poor Van.”

  Her lips twitched into a smile he didn’t recognize as hers. Something else behind it, someone else. The real Ilsa coming through perhaps. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

  “You don’t want to think it was her because you like her,” she said.

  Was he that obvious? He might like Tallia too much for his own good, but he was going to squash that. Maybe Ilsa was right, maybe that was the only reason he wanted to believe her. “No, that’s not it. I do like her, maybe it is her that gave him away, but—she reminds me of someone, I just can’t think who.”

  “Oh, I think so.” The ice between them was back, but Holden wasn’t sure why or how, until Ilsa spoke again. “She reminds you of Josie.”

  With that, she turned her back on him, her shoulder cold again. He’d taken great pains to make sure she didn’t find out, that his foolishness not hurt her. Josie…that one night had been utter stupidity on his part, hoping his dreams might come to life, believing her when all she wanted was for him to not kill Van.

  He turned on his side to watch Ilsa as she pretended to sleep. Ilsa couldn’t know of that guilt of his, but maybe she was right and it was Josie who Tallia reminded him of. He wasn’t sure how—in looks they were opposites, with Josie pale and fair and Tallia with her nut-brown skin, her dark hair and black eyes full of life. Yet there was something and maybe it was that reminder that made him hesitate.

  That reminder too that made him want, ever harder, to make it up to Ilsa, even if she never knew why. He fell asleep watching her, wishing he knew what to do, what he’d done to make the ice come back. Afraid he knew the answer.

  When he woke up, Ilsa was gone.

  * * *

  Van Gast came out of the sixth inn knowing no more than when he’d started. He didn’t think anyone had recognized him—he doubted his mother would recognize him as he was, in rags, barefoot, his hair a tangled mess and with a day’s growth of beard where usually he was meticulously clean shaven.

  No, no one had recognized him, but no one seemed to know anything either. Guld hadn’t managed to find Josie or Skrymir either aboard the Queen or anywhere in the city. If they were in disguise, then maybe they were staying in an inn, which had led to this evening’s fruitless work. He hadn’t found them, or any word of them. A few rumors of a Gan ambassador, which Van Gast could only assume was why Skrymir had been wearing mail and Josie was in the prim dress. Even those rumors were shadow thin.

  A waste of a night, perhaps. Perhaps not. His little-magics were burning a hole in his chest, and the distraction from that, from everything, was welcome. He didn’t want to be on his ship, watch Holden agonize over whatever it was that was eating him up, have Ilsa following him around like a lovesick parrot and making Holden scowl with it. Didn’t want to wonder why Tallia wanted him dead, and what plans were afoot to get him that way.

  A traitor on the ship. That was the real reason he was out here. A ship was home, but one he didn’t feel safe in anymore, a home that made his little-magics itch even worse.

  Here he could enjoy himself, while away the hours before he saw Josie in the best way possible—by stealing everything he could find. That always cheered him up. Already he’d managed to gain three full purses, a necklace and, oddly, some women’s underwear that had been lurking in some merchanter’s pocket.

  He was idly trawling the plaza for more handy pockets to pick when he saw her. Gilda, all dolled up and in a dress that only just managed to contain all her extravagant charms. What was it with rack women taking to wearing dresses all of a sudden? Not to mention what the fuck was she doing off the ship when all the crew were confined aboard. He slipped through the human tide and left no trace of his passing—although another man would soon find all his money gone.

  All he could think of as he followed her through the crowds was a familiar feminine voice saying “The man in the green shirt.” The sound of bones rattled around his head. Find the lady, win a prize. The itch had started when the new crew had come on board, and he’d thought it was Tallia. It was Tallia, some of it, he was sure, and he was glad she was safe in his brig. Something about her made him itch, but Gilda moving through these crowds, dressed to impress…that made his little-magics burn. He tried to remember her voice, what she sounded like, but he’d not spoken to her since she’d joined his crew, and it had been months since he’d so much as passed the time of day with her.

  She entered the dark tunnel that led to the Godsquare, casting a furtive look over her shoulder that had Van Gast ducking behind a stall, before she disappeared into the gloom. He shouldn’t follow her. There were Yelen guards in there, and at least some of them knew what he looked like now. All of them were likely keen to make ten thousand sharks, along with every other person in the city. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He grinned to himself and followed her in.

  The Godsquare was full to bursting in the cooler night. Throngs of people moved erratically, from stall to troupe of jugglers to temple. Van Gast just about managed to keep Gilda in sight as she crossed the square, still looking over her shoulder every now and then. Definitely up to no good. Well, she was a rack. Maybe even more up to no good than usual.

  Van Gast’s itch grew as she left the square, heading toward the more upmarket end of the city, into broader streets with proper shops rather than stalls, shaded by trees and cooled by fountains. His disguise wouldn’t get him much there—he’d as like be grabbed by a guard for making the place look messy if he went too far. Still, the crowds here were enough that he could still follow without her seeing him, and without attracting too much notice, if he was careful.

  The streets opened out into broad avenues lined with feather trees and rich merchants’ shops, quality enough that each had at least one bodyguard on the door. Van Gast could feel them watching him as he passed. What was Gilda doing here? Nothing she should be, that was certain. He risked getting closer as this last avenue widened again into a small square. A fountain in the center, Kyr’s Palace to one side, and ahead, right where Gilda was headed, the entrance to the licensed docks.

  No getting in that way without a stamp, or the personal invitation of the Yelen. No way in for a rack of any description. Van Gast had tried it once, when he’d been younger and stupider, before he’d met Josie and found the joys of a good con, a distraction and a twisty plan to go with it. He still had a small scar where the bullet had grazed him as he dove round the corner.

  He loitered near the entrance to Kyr’s Palace, close enough he could hear Gilda when she spoke. Close enough he knew the voice that had given him away in the square, and hear her say, “I’m here to see Rillen.”

  * * *

  Rillen waited impatiently for his Lady Laceflower in his rooms, watching over the avenue as the night waned to a pale, pearly gray. One more day, that was all. One more day and he’d have Josie at the least, hopefully Van Gast too. Then Old Toady would be dead, and so would be the two worst racks along the coast.

  Lady Laceflower came along the boulevard, elegant, graceful and so very devious under the watery morning sun that was just now rising to burn off the mist over the river. Almost as devious as he was, and he was starting to think this time it wouldn’t be a battle but an unexpected alliance.

  Something different about her now, he thought as he opened the door for her. A confidence that intrigued him, a sly look that brought his smile. He ushered her to a seat and poured hot mint tea, his heart lurching. No, he hadn’t expected this, but he welcomed it.

  He sat nex
t to her, close enough to touch, close enough to startle her. She soon settled and cast him a gaze from under her eyelashes, one that made his heart lurch even further. Made him wonder who had the upper hand in this war.

  “It went well then?” she asked.

  “Very well. Josie and Skrymir will be at the reception this evening, along with their associate, a Mr. Ibsen. Van Gast, I assume?”

  She set her tea down. “Van Gast, indeed. Josie was aboard last night. He—well, he thinks she’s after something big. Like the Yelen perhaps?”

  “But he doesn’t know?”

  She shrugged, a smooth movement that showed off just how snug her dress was. Rillen reached out and traced a finger along her bare shoulder. So different from the others, who seemed to die at my touch, to wither away from it, to scorn it. Instead, her smile softened as his hand reached the tender nape of her neck.

  “No, not truly. He’s trusting in her, because he has to if he wants her back. And he wants her back. Fool—he can never trust her. Besides, he doesn’t know who it is that’s against him. He’s got some girl called Tallia in his brig, thinks it’s her who betrayed him in the square. Was it?”

  Rillen pushed away the sweep of her hair, watched the faint breeze waft the little tendrils that curled around her neck. Again she didn’t shy away or cringe. “I know Tallia. Best place for her, the little witch. Maybe Van Gast will get Josie,” he said. “But not for long. Then we’ll have what we want.”