“What did she say?” someone shouts.
Locke leaps up, drawing me to my feet and lifting our joined hands. “She said yes!”
The explosion of cheers from the crowd rivals the boom of cannons, the thunder of storms, or the roar of the ocean. In their partly drunk state, the citizens of Ravensbeck are easy to stir into a frenzy, and they rush the platform as the musicians launch into a jubilant melody. Locke and I are separated, adrift in a whirling sea of jovial faces and shouted congratulations. And if most of the pirates choose to congratulate us in rather coarse terms, I don’t mind, because most seem genuinely pleased with the end to Locke’s story. The fallout and the complications will come later—for now, I allow myself to be whirled into the merriment and the music.
The party goes on for hours, with Locke’s household servants bringing out a seemingly endless supply of drink and food, followed by a stunning display of fireworks. Next there’s a raunchy performance by a group of talented dancers from a northern isle. The Pirate King can be cruel and vengeful, but he knows how to dazzle and indulge his subjects.
The fine shoes I’m wearing eventually rub my feet raw, and I slither out of the maelstrom of sweaty dancers. I’ve been partnered with a dozen different guildmasters, King’s Ravens, and pirate captains over the course of the past hour, and my cheeks ache from smiling and being pleasant to each one. They were all surprisingly respectful—or perhaps not so surprising, since Locke and his friends were always dancing nearby. If anyone dared disrespect me, the retribution would have been swift and merciless.
Slinking into the gardens, I find a tiny bench in an alcove, which is probably unoccupied because it isn’t really large enough for two. I ease off the offending shoes and wriggle my toes into the soft grass with a sigh of relief.
My bench is deeply shadowed, but the garden path beyond is bathed in white moonbeams, with the faintest orange tinge from the lights of the party.
As I massage my toes, my ears pick up faint voices, drawing nearer. My natural caution recedes as I realize they’re women’s voices, and I draw in a deep breath, wondering if I should speak to them.
“—no idea why,” one of them is saying. “There are plenty of women here in Ravensbeck, or in other pirate ports, for that matter. Women who understand the life, and the sea.”
“Who is she anyway?” adds another voice. “She has noble airs, but she’s not much to look at.”
“Must be magic between the legs, is all I can figure,” chortles a third woman. “She’d have to be, with those tiny tits of hers, and that spotty skin. I got my share of the sun’s kisses, to be sure, but I’ll be damned if I’ve seen skin as mottled as that wench’s face.”
They pass by without noticing me, without knowing how their words lacerated my joy and left me bleeding out on the bench.
I wrap my stomach in both arms and bend over, sucking in sharp breaths, trying not to burst into sobs.
A long shadow falls over me, cast by moonlight, and I jump, my stomach diving with dread—but it isn’t the women, or Locke.
Kardon stands on the path, eyeing me. He’s wearing a trim black coat that sweeps down to his ankles, and a loose red cravat at his throat. He could pass for any gentleman from Ivris, except for the odd cut of his clothing, the red gleam of his eyes, and the weapon-studded belt hanging from his hips. Trickles of scarlet smoke issue from his pockets, where his hands are concealed.
“Ruen sent me to keep you safe until he can come join you,” he says.
“Oh.” I try to slow my frantic breaths, but I can’t, I can’t—
“Did something happen to you?” Kardon asks, frowning.
“Just some women—saying things—it’s silly.” I bow over, my face crumpling, trying with all my might to hold in the sobs. They swell inside me, tight and painful. When Kardon crouches and holds out a handkerchief, I burst.
“I’m used to the comments,” I say through the sobs. “Honestly, I can handle it. I can. I’ve endured this kind of thing for years.”
“Doesn’t make it any less painful.” He straightens again, watching while I use the handkerchief.
“What do you think of this? Of me being Pirate Queen?” I force a broken laugh. “What does that title even mean?”
“There has never been a Pirate Queen,” says Kardon. “So it means whatever you want it to mean.”
I squint up at him. It’s difficult to read his eyes, since he’s silhouetted against the moonlight. “I can see why they call you the smart one.”
He chuckles. “Mostly they call me the annoying one.”
I giggle-snort into his handkerchief.
“Ruen came back different this time,” Kardon says, sobering. “I’m not sure if the changes will destroy his empire or strengthen it—but I think you’ll be good for him.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Well then,” he says with deadly coolness. “You and I will have another sort of conversation.”
A shiver traces my spine. “I like you.”
