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As the ship came closer, its flag caught the wind, waving for all to see. Beneath it, a red scrap fluttered to match their own.
Sorasa Sarn did not lend herself much to happiness. It unmoored her, too bright to understand. But it bloomed in her chest, riotous as a field in spring. Even her eyes stung as a true smile split her face, pulling so wide she thought her skin might tear in two.
The sun was up by the time the Temur vessel drew close, shining an odd pink light over the calm waters of Mirror Bay. The Temur were not a seafaring people, better suited to the high steppe and their famed horses. But they showed no fear as they leapt from their ship, swinging across the open space between theTempestbornand their own galley. Even the ambassador, gray-haired as he was, made the daring jump.
Sigil landed right beside him, still pale from the dungeons, her armor streaked in soot. But she grinned wide and white, a sharp contrast to her copper skin.
Before Sorasa could stop her, the bounty hunter lunged, her boots hammering the deck. The assassin braced for impact, two muscled arms wrapping around her to lift her clean off her feet.
The crew of theTempestborn, as well as Meliz, watched with eyes narrowed against the rising sun. They looked on the Temur with curiosity, if not trepidation.
Embarrassing as the display was, Sorasa loosened a little in Sigil’s grasp, allowing herself to be held, even if she would not return the gesture.
“He did the stupid thing, didn’t he?” Sigil laughed, putting Sorasa back down again. Her black eyes flashed over to Dom, who kept close to the rail lest he lose his breakfast over the side.
Sorasa gave a huff. “Of course he did.”
“And?” Sigil said, a dark brow raised.
“The Queen lives,” Sorasa answered, “but she may be short a hand.”
Sigil gave a raking scoff, low in her throat. “She’d be short a head if I were there.”
Beneath her, Sorasa felt her cheeks go hot again, and not from the light of the sun. She blinked, turning her face away from the wind, letting it blow her hair forward to obscure her shame.
She should be dead, she thought, cursing herself once more.
When she turned back, Sigil was still staring, concern in her gaze. Despite her warrior frame and taste for fighting, the bounty hunter had a bigger heart than all the rest of them put together. And it made Sorasa’s skin crawl.
“It seems there is no end to strange folk aboard my ship,” Meliz called out, stepping into the fray. She wore nothing to mark her as captain of the ship, just an old shirt and breeches, her dark hair in a loose, thick braid.
Even so, the ambassador saw the way she walked the deck, as if it were a kingdom and she its king. He gave her a short bow, and his retinue followed.
“We will be more comfortable below,” Meliz added with a winning smile, her grin charming and even seductive. But Sorasa saw the hard edge beneath.
As she saw the pirates on the deck, busy in their duties. But a few inched toward the rail, eager toexplorethe galley alongside their own. Sorasa wagered the Temur would be short some cargo before the morning was out.
Meliz went ahead of them below deck, lighting lanterns and shooing sailors out of their hammocks. She waved their group to a low table, nothing more than stacked crates surrounded by empty barrels for chairs.
Ambassador Salbhai sniffed at the interior of the pirate ship. He was still dressed for a courtly feast, the rose-gold chasings of his blacksilk reflecting the weak light. Like many politicians, he appeared small among his warriors, but Sorasa knew better than to underestimate a Temur ambassador. Especially one with a Born Shield bodyguard looming behind him.
Sigil slid onto a low stool, her long legs nearly doubled over, while Meliz took a spot against the wall. She folded into the shadows well, content to listen and watch. Dom elected to stand, positioning himself behind Sorasa.
Salbhai glared around the makeshift table, his look shrewd.
“The Empress Rising,” he spat, shaking his head. “She makes enemies as easily as she breathes.”
Sigil’s easy smile lit up the lower deck better than any lantern. “Perhaps Erida has finally made too many. And the scales will tip against her.”
“Not so long as the Spindles still burn holes in this realm,” Dom growled.
From across the table, Sorasa studied the ambassador, weighing his reaction. His grave, polite manner folded into an annoyed expression, and he swept a hand as if to dismiss the Elder. A brave act indeed.
“More of this Spindle business,” he said, glaring again. “Is it you who filled my daughter’s head with such nonsense?”
A jolt went down Sorasa’s spine. She sat up straighter on her barrel, doing her best to keep her expression blank and unreadable. Even so, she could not help but glance to Sigil out of the corner of her eye.
Sigil went red, her cheeks flaming. For a moment, she seemed more like an embarrassed child than a deadly bounty hunter of great renown.
