Page 149
Safira whistled to her crew. “In there. All of them.”
Pirates moved at once. The kneeling Templars were hauled to their feet in pairs and marched, stumbling, across the snow. One Templar tried to buck Kerem off his shoulder; a pirate behind him simply kicked the back of his knee and he crumpled with a grunt.
“Strip ‘em,” Safira called. “Leave nothing but the clothes.”
“Keep them breathing,” Idonea said. “Every one of them goes in alive.”
“And stays in,” Safira added. “And gags.”
Kerem tore a linen sheet into bands and knotted a dozen.
Safira stood over the kneeling Grand Templar. The other Templars had been hauled into the terrace house already; he was the last. Her pistol was holstered, she'd not drawn it for him.
"Look at me," she said.
He did, but there was no recognition in his face.
"Two years ago you boarded a vessel in the Zorya passage. The Crescent Wren. You hanged her crew from her own rigging. Eleven of them. They were carrying witches you had marked for the College, and the captain had refused to give them up."
She crouched, so they were eye to eye.
"I am not going to kill you," she said. "I considered it. I have been considering it for two years. I want you to know I could have. I want you to carry that for the rest of whatever life you have left. Eleven names, Grand Templar. I am going to send them to you in letters, one a year, on the anniversary of the hanging. The first will arrive at the Temple before midwinter. You will not know which of your readers gave it to you. You will only know it has arrived."
She stood. "Walk him in."
Two of her crew hauled Marcin to his feet. He didn't speak and didn’t fight the cloth when it came; he held Idonea’s stare instead, and she made herself not look away as the band lay white against his jaw.
“Make sure there is no fire,” Idonea said. “But get them blankets.”
A few witches helped the pirates.
The pirates found an ironwood hatstand and wedged it through a pair of door handles to form a bar; chain slung around that and padlocked it. Someone fetched iron nails. They hammered the windows closed from the outside.
Safira prowled the perimeter once more, eyes hawkish. “That should hold some days.”
“Keys?” Kerem asked.
Safira twirled them on one finger and threw them into the snow.
Idonea pressed her bloodied palm against the door. A quiet smear of Current that would prickle her skin if anyone forced the lock from within.
They weren’t leaving yet. Not quite. The airship hung lower again, ballast grumbling, but the Crows worked at deck level now.
Safira clapped Idonea on the shoulder. “Get some rest. We can watch.”
“You don’t have to leave?”
The captain shook her head. “I’ve got injured. The Republic won’t send a ship after us too quickly.”
“Thank you,” Idonea said.
Safira gave a nod. “Rest, doll.”
Idonea touched Lysander on the arm as she walked by and paused at the ruined cottage. She wouldn’t be sleeping there.
Lysander pointed to Alcaeus’ house. She nodded, and Lysander moved first, his stride slow. She fell into step beside him, close enough that if he faltered, she could brace him. Lance skittered overhead, his wings folded tight, keeping low like a shadow unwilling to drift too far.
The square behind them remained alive with motion. Pirates patched wounds and carried the injured towards makeshift pallets beneath the airship’s ropes.
