The Pirate's Lady

by Julia Knight

  Even Josie stopped her struggling and stood, mouth agape, at the sight that greeted them.

  The stone-flagged chamber was ten times the size of the cells. Every corner was crammed with riches—piles of coins, golden statues, pearl-edged, filigreed jewelry to dazzle the eye, chests of rare and hideously expensive spice-wood that scented the whole room with the aroma of wealth. Atop one pile sat something Van Gast recognized through the haze of his memory—a diamond the size of his fist, his biggest ever booty from a single haul. A theft that had started this whole sorry mess.

  Rillen flipped open one of the chests, and sapphires winked out at them, emeralds greener than cats’ eyes, rubies the color of blood. Rillen scooped up a handful of emeralds and let them dribble through his fingers.

  Haban stood wide-eyed, fingers twitching and mouth moving silently as his little-magics calculated the worth of the room. His gaze slid to Van Gast. “Worth more than this whole city and everything in it.”

  “Quite right.” Rillen’s shark-grin grew wider, his eyes flatter. “And you’re going to steal it.”

  Josie’s sudden laugh split the tension from the air. “Steal it? What, and get shot by your guards? Why would you want us to steal it?”

  “Because you’re going to escape. Oh yes, I’ll let you go. But while you’re escaping, there is one important thing I want you to do. A little job for me. In return, I might let you keep some of this.” Rillen dribbled more emeralds through his fingers and stared at Van Gast. “Very soon now, a man will come down here, having been told by his guards that you’ve escaped the cells and breached his strong room. A fat old fool, he is, thinking himself so clever. But while he can run a good trade, his mind is ever on the money, on the gold. That’s all he cares for. And you’re going to kill him for me.”

  Josie narrowed her eyes and flicked an appraising glance around the room. She shook off the guards and Rillen made no protest, so she walked among the splendor. Picking up a trifle here, a precious stone there before she put them back. Finally she stood in front of Rillen, relaxed but ready, her confidence like a shield, and stared up at him. Van Gast had to smile—if the cuffs and shackles hadn’t been plain, you could have mistaken her for the one with the upper hand in this deal. Balls out, every time, that was his Josie. Her mouth hooked up into her lopsided grin, and Rillen wasn’t in line for delight. Robbed or killed, that was what she’d be thinking, and this had been her goal all along. This room, this wealth.

  “You know, you could have just asked nicely.”

  Rillen laughed, a spiteful sound like needles jabbing, and he grabbed her chin, held it tight when she tried to jerk away. He nodded at a guard to come and hold her as her hands came up. Van Gast made to move, an automatic step forward, hands groping for a gun that wasn’t there.

  A single word, “Stop,” and he froze. All his muscles seemed made of ice. He tried, fought against it, but each try sent the black lines inching along his arm, brought a spasm of pain that lanced his head with steel. Josie shook her head, a miniscule movement, and he stopped trying, stopped fighting. For now.

  Pain flowed out of him, draining his will and strength with it. He’d bear it though, as she once had, bear it long enough. I swear, if it means you’re safe. I promise on my conniving little soul. You did it for me, I’ll do it for you. To the end, Josienne, to the end.

  When Josie was subdued to Rillen’s satisfaction, he leaned forward, his face pushed to hers. “Because I didn’t need to ask, and I don’t deal with racks, I use them. Here, have this.” He shoved a purse of clinking coins down the bodice of her dress and patted them home. The evil look Josie shot him didn’t bode well for him if she ever found him once out of her chains.

  Rillen threw other pouches to Skrymir and Haban, and the guards made sure they stowed them in their clothes. Josie caught Van Gast’s eye, and he could see his own thought mirrored there—this looked worse and worse, a twist of the direst kind. Yet she tipped him one of her sly winks, and the hot coal in his chest subsided a little. Josie couldn’t be conned. She had the twistiest mind of anyone he’d ever met. Yet the bond that throbbed at his wrist, that even now tried to shroud his thoughts in fog…

  Rillen came between him and Josie, blotted her out with his shark-face. “And one for you, Van Gast. Find somewhere for it.” Van Gast fumbled the pouch into a pocket in his breeches, unable to do anything but obey the voice the mage had told him to. He could maybe have fought it, but for what? Not now, he must bide his time.

  Rillen took his pistol out and handed it to Van Gast, butt first. “I wouldn’t try shooting anyone but who I tell you to. The bond wouldn’t like that, and I understand the pain is unbearable. Sergeant, you know where to take the others. Van Gast, you’re coming with me.”

  The others didn’t go quietly. Skrymir managed to knock out one guard and break the arm of another by his sheer weight and the hammer blows of his meaty fists. Blood from the hastily dressed wound on his shoulder mingled with theirs and dripped to the floor, but Skrymir didn’t seem to notice. Josie brought a screech from a third as her foot connected solidly with his balls. Only Haban, emaciated, subdued and gray where once he’d been expansive, laughing and dark as midnight, went willingly.

  Rillen snatched a gun from a stricken guard and shoved it in Van Gast’s face. “You go, or I blow his head off. The guards will set you loose down by the river gate. I suggest you get going, quick as you can.”

  Skrymir stopped, guard dangling from his hand, watching Van Gast with appraising eyes. He’d sworn his oath, to serve Josie, to protect her. An oath on his soul. Van Gast didn’t need to say anything, they just shared a look, and Skrymir put the guard down, almost gently. His solemn nod was enough. He would keep her safe if it killed him, on his oath, on his soul. It was enough.

  Josie stilled and cast a despairing look at Van Gast. “Fight it, Van, you fight it with everything you’ve fucking got.”

  Words seemed to evade his tongue, flitting through his mind before he could grasp them, but he had to. He had to fight it, as she’d done. He had to get her safe, or as safe as she could be. Skrymir would do all he could to keep her from harm. Van Gast forced the words out in a whisper past the choke of his throat. She’d be safe, but not for him. “Run now, Josie love. You take his gold and run. Trouble bone says so.”

  She shook her head, her hair flicking about her like feathered waves, but Rillen cocked the pistol, shoved the cool barrel right into his cheek.

  “Run, love, and live.”

  She opened her mouth—to protest, to scream, to shout bloody murder, he didn’t know, but Skrymir took her arm, whispered in her ear. She stayed quiet then, but her mouth twisted into a bitter line. She made no protest when the guards hustled them out of the strong room, but kept her eyes on Van Gast as long as she could. Then she was gone, and it was only Van Gast and Rillen, with Ilsa wide eyed, licking her lips as though what had happened was a tasty treat that she savored.

  “Very good, Van Gast,” Rillen said, in the sort of tone some people used on dogs. “Now, I want you to shoot my father.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Holden followed Tallia down a dark and winding corridor, fitfully lit by guttering lamps that seemed to enhance the shadows rather than dispel them. They came to a doorway, shadowed and unkempt-looking as though no one used it much.

  “This will get us nearer the cells. But, Holden, how are we—”

  “We’ll think of something.” It was strange how the fear—of the guards, of Rillen, of being hanged from Oku’s wall by a nail through his wrist—wasn’t stopping him. Before, when he’d been bonded, his whole life was fear. Yet this was different, this was fear that made his heart thud in short, hard bursts, fear that made his hand tingle, that made him feel alive. Fear that made order, straight lines, comfort out of shadowy chaos. The tiles on the floor, the orderly pattern soothed him, but not to numbness as he’d once let them. His eyes followed the pattern and let his mind free, to think, to hope, to plan. To let the joy/fear th
rill through him. Now he saw why Van Gast did this, why he lived his life as he did. He found he was grinning.

  “How far to the guards, do you think?” he asked.

  Tallia looked at him as though he was mad, but her smile was back, the bubbly bounce of her step. Almost as though she knew something he didn’t, which was not only very likely but not comforting.

  “Not far. Look, Holden, I want to get them out as much as you do, but stop a minute. No one has ever escaped the Yelen. Not ever. Josie had a plan, and it’s gone wrong. She was never supposed to be in the cells, or not like that. Only Van, playing his part. It’s gone wrong, and that maid in the kitchen confirmed it. She said all of them are in the cells, even Skrymir. That’s not part of the plan.”

  Holden was tempted to believe her, tempted to think the way she looked at him meant something, but the weight of Ilsa was heavy on him.

  Tallia pushed open the door on squealing hinges that set Holden’s teeth on edge and his heart to hammering. He tightened his grip on the sword and wished he still had his other hand for the pistol. Instead he’d had to trust that to Tallia, one reason he kept behind her.

  This corridor was better kept than the last, lit with many lamps that banished all shadows. Yet the prospect of it was gloomy, somehow, a weight on the shoulders, a press on the mind. Holden was sure he heard muffled screams echoing through the walls.

  “The guards will begin beyond the door at the end. Many guards, I don’t know how many. And all rabidly loyal to Rillen.” She said no more, but stood and watched him with a wary look.

  No plan in mind. None of Van Gast’s fearsome confidence. No fighting, biting Josie to help him. If this were a game of bones, he’d have just rolled Dead Man’s Hand. What would Van do?

  Holden grinned again. Easy. Van Gast would say “Fuck it, let’s do it.” It made everything so gloriously simple.

  His hand was slick with sweat so he had to keep adjusting his grip on the sword, but he opened his mouth to say it—just as the door at the end opened. Tallia grabbed his tunic and ducked down a side corridor.

  A murmur of voices came toward them, the jingle of swords in scabbards, of mail armor. A trio of guards passed, and then, beyond any expectation, Skrymir appeared. He was stripped to his breeches, in the midst of turning to someone behind, but he caught Holden’s eye. Nothing in his face changed, nothing to give away that Holden was there, but he said something over his shoulder in a brutal language Holden didn’t understand. He’d heard it before though—Gan, and only two people he knew spoke it.

  Then Josie came into view and slid her gaze his way. She winked at him and mouthed, “Quietly. Ready?” Before Holden could even nod his acceptance, she’d kicked out, taking a guard on the knee and by surprise. Half a heartbeat later Skrymir brought his double fists down on the head of the guard in front of him, sending the man sprawling and unconscious.

  Another three guards appeared from behind Josie, pistols drawn and ready to club her down or shoot her. Until Holden pulled himself together and leaped out, sword at the ready. They wavered for a moment, one of them staring behind as, from the sound of it, Skrymir patiently pulled someone into small bits. Their hesitation, no matter how brief, was their undoing. Tallia smacked one on the back of the head with the butt of the pistol and Holden, grinning like he was out of his mind, took one through the throat with his sword. The guard fell to the ground with a gurgle, just as Josie took out the third.

  “I love a good diversion,” Skrymir said and clapped Holden on the shoulder, hard enough that Holden almost fell to his knees.

  Holden’s breath came in great gasps—he’d had no chance for fear, only heart-racing thrill. The sword trembled in his hand, because the fear came now instead, only it was different. Less paralyzing, accentuating the burst of his blood.

  Josie and Tallia embraced and exchanged a few quiet words that Holden didn’t catch. He didn’t need to. The way they were just confirmed what Tallia had said was true—Josie had sent her to leave a message for Van. If that was true, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Ilsa wasn’t brainwashed, or kidnapped or anything else. It had been Ilsa who had betrayed Van Gast and Josie, got them in these cells. His wife.

  His gaze traced the patterns on the floor—order, there was comfort in order, in the patterns. He could find no comfort there, not for this, not today. His wife had done this, because of one stupid mistake of his. That he’d believed a lie because he wanted to, because he’d dreamed of freedom too long and wanted it too much.

  “Holden?” The soft voice was Tallia’s, penetrating the gloom of his thoughts. “Holden, we can’t stay here. We have to go, quick.”

  “Go where?” There was more he wanted to ask—Sisters? How could they be sisters?—but the questions tangled over each other and stayed unsaid.

  Skrymir nodded at the two women, and they went on, back toward the cells, sneaky and quiet as they could be with their bells, looking around corners, into alcoves. It took a moment for Holden to recognize Haban as he sank, gray and gaunt, against a wall.

  “They bonded Van,” Skrymir said. Holden only now noticed the wound to his shoulder, leaking blood and the dressing half off, but Skrymir seemed to shrug it off. Inhuman. Holden had thought it of him before. “I don’t know exactly what that bastard Rillen’s planning, but he’s going to use Van to do it. Josie’s, well, Josie’s mad bent on getting Van back.”

  She would be—she’d been through worse, much worse, to try to save Van Gast before. Been through all Holden could put her through. “Where is he?”

  “Still in the cells when we left.”

  A formless howl reverberated along the corridor, a sound of pain and fear that speared Holden where he stood. He knew that sound, and it curdled all the thrill in his stomach.

  “You think we can get in?”

  “No. But she’s going to try anyway.”

  “Wait—just make them wait. Did Rillen say anything about what he planned?”

  Skrymir tried a shrug and winced at the movement. “He wants Van to shoot someone who’s on his way here. We were a plant—racks trying to steal what’s in the strong room, which is right enough, we were. Someone would come because of it. Rillen was going to let us ‘escape,’ no doubt supposedly with the loot, but I suspect a bullet in the back of the head was all we’d get, somewhere nice and quiet. We’re in the middle of a coup, I’m thinking.”

  Van would shoot someone, under the order of the bond. Someone would die in the guise of racks escaping a theft, and then Van Gast would hang on Oku’s wall.

  “Come on.”

  “Holden, wait. Ilsa—she was there too. With Rillen.” Skrymir wouldn’t look at him as he said it.

  “I know. I’ll deal with that later, if I can. First we need to get Van out.”

  Skrymir nodded miserably and they caught up with Josie and Tallia. Now that he knew about Van, Holden could see it in her—a tenseness, a sense of her being coiled like a spring and ready to go off. A hint of fear in her eyes, where he’d rarely seen fear before. He didn’t know what to say, if there was anything he could say, and he couldn’t bear the look of her, of confident, sassy Josie with a lost air. Yet still, despite that, maybe because of it, she looked more ready than ever to kill someone.

  Instead he kept his eyes on Tallia. “The reception—if someone was coming from that way, someone important, which way would they come? Where would Rillen hide an assassin?”

  She didn’t need more than three heartbeats to work it out. “That way.”

  Josie ran, almost before Tallia had pointed, her bells rattling furiously, her mouth grim and her hand tight on a pistol she’d stolen from the guards.

  “Wait!” Holden called, but there was no staying her. Skrymir ran after, stumbling and leaving spots of blood in his wake, Haban ghosting after him, silent and gray. Holden had no choice but to follow. Tallia’s hand stopped him, and he looked down at her, at the irrepressible nature of her, even now.

  “You were telling me the truth,” he said. �
�Ilsa…” He couldn’t finish that thought.

  She reached up on tiptoe, brushed her lips on his cheek and said, “It’s all right. As long as we make it right.”

  What was it about her that made him feel like this, like he was a better man when she was there? He couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t matter—it only mattered that she did. Ilsa was gone, left him and done this to those he cared about. His duty to Ilsa was done.

  He took Tallia’s hand and they ran after Josie and Skrymir in a jingle of bells.

  * * *

  Van Gast struggled to keep his feet as Rillen dragged him along. He’d tried to fight it, tried to dig in his heels, tried to raise the gun to shoot Rillen and maybe give Josie and Skrymir some time. All he’d got for his efforts was pain enough to blank his mind, make his muscles turn to water, bring a scream out from the depths of him. He could barely stand on his own, and so Rillen dragged him.

  Ilsa walked with them, a curious look on her face as she watched him, like a hawk watching a mouse—interested in a detached sort of way.

  They reached an archway that looked much like any other, except it was hung with beaded strands like a curtain so that movement was obscured unless you looked closely.

  “Here.”

  Rillen shoved him into a wall, and Van Gast sank against it. He tried to ignore the throb of his wrist, the burn of the black lines of poison that worked their insidious way up his arm every time he tried to stop, to fight, to go against the bond. At his elbow already. If he gave into it, let the bond take him, they would fade, and so would he, become a hollow shell with the face of Van Gast. Fuck that. If he fought much more, if they reached his heart, he was a dead man.

  Dead man—that rang faint bells in his head, but Rillen didn’t give him a chance to follow the thought.

  “Here he comes,” Rillen said, the flat shine of his eyes like looking into a mirror. “Here he comes, and you’ll shoot him, kill him for me. Bring me all Estovan and a host of stolen gold too. Look, the fat one.”