Sarva
Early Redwind

A sword had never felt so good in Csilla's hand. This particular blade was her favorite, not just because of its perfect balance and grooved handle, but because of the throat its steel was pressed against at that moment.

The Scarlet Maiden had docked in Sarva only an hour ago, and Csilla hadn't even had time to order a pint of ale before she saw Flynn Gunnison eyeing her from a corner booth in the back of the tavern. He was either incredibly stupid or his balls were made of brass. Either way, he was a dead man. All it took was a snap of her fingers, and the group of Maidens yanked him into the back alley and forced him onto his knees in front of her.

Outside, in the lane between two buildings, a rotting pile of trash in the corner had grown to epic proportions. Shutters dangled from windows at awkward angles and forgotten garments hung from clotheslines strung between the buildings. Smoke from stale tobacco lingered in the air, scratching at Csilla's throat. A rat skittered by but she didn't tear her gaze away from the traitor at her feet.

"Well, well, well," she mused, shifting her weight onto her hip as she gazed down at him. "Tell me why I shouldn't slit your throat, Flynn Gunnison."

If she inched her sword up higher, she could cut off the smirk that tilted at his lips. But then again, those lips might be the only redeeming quality about him—when they were sealed tight, or pressed against her collarbone. Csilla banished the last thought from her mind. Flynn didn't have to speak a word to get under her skin. He was there, scratching at the surface, just by gazing at her with that spark in his sea-colored eyes. A strand of hair fell loose from his hair tie, its shade reminding her of wet sand.

"I could give you many reasons as to why you shouldn't kill me," he replied. His voice was smooth and warm but his grin was full of mischief. "The question is, which one do you prefer?"

"Don't play games with me," Csilla spat out. She curled her fist so that her sword angled dangerously against the artery in his neck.

Flynn swallowed as his eyes drifted down the steel. "Play games with you? I would never." Lies. Everything he said was a damned lie.

"Why are you here?" With each word, she pressed the blade farther into his skin. All it would take was one sliver of movement to make his blood spill, then his dead body would be forgotten like everything else in the cluttered alley.

"The Incendian king has issued a bounty for you. They've sent the best Scouts from the Obsidian Palace." His eyes watched hers, waiting for a reaction, Csilla was sure. The Scouts were rumored to find what they were searching for. Always. No matter what stood in their way. The thought of them hunting for her made her stomach turn over, but she gave Flynn no inkling that his words frightened her. He continued, "It is safe to assume that he did not find Rhoda's escape tricks very entertaining."

Rhoda snorted from behind Csilla. "They're lucky that I let most of them live," she retorted. Csilla didn't need to turn around to know that Rhoda had crossed her arms over her chest.

"The key word there is most," Flynn replied, glancing around Csilla. "Not all survived the wrath of your blade."

"Would you like to feel my wrath?" The sound of Rhoda unsheathing one of her daggers echoed in the dark alley. "I'd be more than happy to give you a taste."

"I've already tasted your sister's lips—"

Csilla's fist cut off his words, her knuckles colliding with his face. "Enough!" she commanded. Her cheeks warmed as she took in Flynn's cocky blood-toothed grin. She inhaled a deep breath, trying to hold her now-shaking sword steady as she placed it against his neck once more. "So, Incendia has a bounty out for me. What does this have to do with you? Why are you here? Did you track us? What in Sisters' name do you want from me?"

"Slow down." Flynn dragged out the words. "I am but one man. I can answer but one question at a time."

"Maybe we should be like Incendia and feed him to the Brothers of Flame," Nara said. Murmurs of agreement rose from the other Maidens, including a snort from Serafina. "The molten men would burn away that sarcastic smile of his."

"But I haven't gotten to the best part!" Flynn whined, his eyes shining at Csilla like a pup.

"You have ten seconds," she said quietly. "Rhoda, count." She glanced over her shoulder at her sister, who nodded with a devilish smile. Csilla bent forward, letting her face linger dangerously close to Flynn's. She whispered so that only he could hear, a promise between two lovers. "I don't care if you're one of the pirate fleet or that you captain the Anaphine. If you don't spit it out by the time Rhoda gets to ten, then I'll cut out your tongue before I kill you."

Somewhere in a forbidden place in Csilla's heart, she hoped she wouldn't have to fulfill her threat.

He smirked the same smirk that had drawn her to him the day they'd met as children during recruit training. "I recall you loving the things I did with my ton—"

But he always had to ruin everything with that mouth of his. Csilla pressed the blade farther into his skin, shifting just enough to draw a line of blood.

"One!" Rhoda started.

Flynn rolled his eyes before taking a deep breath. "Incendia issued your bounty the day after your escape."

"Two!"

"Scouts have been ordered to kill your crew on sight and—"

"Three!"

"I swear, she is counting too fast." Flynn's eyes narrowed.

Csilla shook her head. "You're wasting time. Ticktock, ticktock."

"Four!" Rhoda yelled again, her voice rising in excitement.

"They've been ordered to bring you back alive," Flynn continued.

"Five!"

"To make an example out of you."

"Six!"

"Come on, Rhoda! That wasn't a full second!"

"Seven!"

"I left Port Barlow the moment I heard so that I could warn you." Flynn's eyes searched Csilla's face, but she revealed nothing. He hadn't answered every question yet, and she enjoyed his squirming.

"Eight!"

"What else?" Desperation poured off Flynn, which was exactly the emotion that Csilla wanted to see. Make him feel the same thing she had when the noose was around her neck.

"Nine!"

"Did you track us?" Csilla prompted.

His response was a slur of words, but she caught every one. "I headed here because we all come to Sarva to celebrate!"

Csilla lowered her sword. He was right: even the Scarlet Maiden had docked in Sarva to celebrate Csilla's escape from death.

"Damn you, Csilla!" Rhoda shrieked. "I wanted to see you cut out the bastard's tongue!"

"Another day," Csilla said. A secret flood of relief washed over her.

Flynn wiped the blood streak from his neck and straightened his spine. "The Sea Sisters must favor me today."

"The only thing that favors you today is pure luck," Csilla replied.

"How is that ankle of yours, by the way?" Flynn asked, tilting his head to the side as his eyes trailed down her body. Always the master of distraction. "Does it still hurt?"

Yes, it still hurt, and she tried her best to hide her limp, but Csilla wasn't going to admit that to him. It was his fault that it hurt in the first place. She had attempted to let it heal properly, but staying in bed and hiking her leg up while she watched her crew do all the work for her didn't sit well in her gut. A useless pirate was a restless pirate.

She sheathed her sword and crouched in front of Flynn. Reaching up, she adjusted the crimson scarf that she wore over her blind eye. "Where are the Scouts now?" she asked, dropping her voice an octave.

"They're in Sarva," he replied. His voice was smooth, as if he hadn't panicked just a few moments before.

Csilla's gut twisted. It was a trap. Another damned trap. Her hand snatched his vest. She tightened the leather in her fist as she pulled him forward. "And where are your men?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. If one of her girls died because of him—she couldn't even fathom the pain she would make him endure.

"Right now, one of my men is taking out the snipers that have their rifles pointed at Rhoda."

Csilla shoved Flynn to the ground as she spun around toward the Maidens, who all jolted to attention. Her heart stopped as her eyes locked with her sister's. "Rhoda!" she screamed, her agony rippling through the air.

But instead of gunfire, there was the comforting sound of men choking on their own blood. Movement above the alley caught her eye, and her gaze trailed up to see two bodies falling from the rooftops. They landed with a thud on the ground, blood pooling across the stones. On the bare skin of their forearms was a branded emblem of flame and sword—Incendia's.

"You're welcome!" called a voice from above. Even in the night's shadow, Csilla recognized the smug smile of Arius Pavel, Flynn's first mate.

"I hope this means you can reconsider your quest for vengeance against me?" Flynn mused. "After all, I did just save your sister's life."

"Correction," Csilla replied. "Arius just saved Rhoda."

"Details, details. I hope you—"

Flynn stopped, hearing the same sound that made Csilla perk her head up. Squawks rang through the air, signaling the gulls' arrival. Two white birds swooped down, quieting as they reached the two captains. Small, rolled parchments were tied to their legs.

The last time Csilla had received a message by gull, it was the scribbled note from Flynn that lured her to Port Barlow. The memory of the excitement she'd felt at his summons was now stained with regret at his betrayal. Her fingers trembled as she untied the twine and let the parchment unravel in her palm. She read the written words over and over, not fully understanding their meaning until the fifth or sixth time. Then it hit her, so sudden and fierce, she almost fell to the ground.

Flynn's eyes lifted to Csilla just as she let hers drift to him. Their pieces of parchment held the same words—the words that repeated in her head as they both watched each other silently.

Captains of the Fleet,

The King of Bones is dead. The Trials will begin at Crossbones on the eve of late redwind. Captains must be present with their first mate before the starting pistol or must forfeit their claim for the Bone Crown and the golden throne of Cerulia.

A hearty celebration for the late King Rathborne will be held in three nights for any crews close enough to make port in Baltessa. Crown officials will assume control of governing duties until a new King of Bones is chosen.

—General Lockhart

Csilla took notice of Lockhart's choice of words—King of Bones, not Queen of Bones. There had never been a queen of the Cerulian Islands or the pirate fleet. It should've been the last Storm, the woman with legendary blood in her veins who ran away on her wedding day, never to be seen again. If these men wouldn't allow a woman to sit on the throne by blood in her veins, then Csilla would take it for herself in the Trials.

"Well," Rhoda prompted, her voice holding an edge. "What does it say?"

"The king is dead," Flynn replied while keeping his eyes fixed on Csilla.

"What? How?" Rhoda's voice rose an octave. "An heir? Did they ever find an heir?"

"The message didn't say how he died. And no, they never found the Storm, so how would they find the heir?"

The alley suddenly felt too narrow, the air too thick. She hadn't smelled the pile of trash before, but now its stench poisoned her stomach.

"She's got to be out there somewhere," Nara said over Csilla's shoulder. "No one can disappear without a trace like that. What if they had a child? What if that's why she ran away?"

"She most likely died at sea after she stole one of Rathborne's ships." Flynn stuffed the parchment in the pocket of his pants. "There's no heir. The note also said—"

Rhoda rammed her knee into Flynn's side. Csilla grimaced at his groan, but Rhoda shrugged. "What? He deserved it." She ended his sentence for him, stealing the stage for herself. "What did the rest of the note say?"

"The Trials begin in two moon cycles, on the last day of redwind. The throne will seat a new bloodline come frostfall."

The Trials—the dangerous hunt created by the first king, the Captain of the Storm, for this very purpose. The last Trials were held nearly a century ago, a Rathborne captain from the Wavecutter taking the crown and blessing the kingdom with a line that produced plenty of sons over the generations. Until their line dried up.

The words washed over Csilla like cold water, bringing her to life, filling her every sense. She suddenly had much more energy than before. She could do anything, slay anyone, with both eyes blinded.

"The other captains must know by now," Nara said, pacing the alley. "They'll all stake their claim for the Bone Crown. Csilla, do you realize? If you compete in the Trials and win, you'll be the first pirate queen the world has ever seen, the first Queen of Bones."

"The Scarlet Maidens will become a true legacy," Rhoda mused, but only Csilla heard her next words as she muttered them under her breath. "It should have been me."

The Scarlet Maidens burst into excited chatter. Serafina and Rosalina were huddled close, their whispers curiously unheard by the others. Some whispered behind the backs of their hands. Nara had suddenly gone quiet, making Csilla ever so curious as to what was running through her mind.

The most frightening part about it all was that she was blind to the opinions of the ladies in the alley with her. They were all so different—a sea of different colors and shapes, varying strengths and weaknesses, a mixture of soft hearts and sharp glares. While Csilla put complete trust in Nara and the twins, she still wondered whether other Maidens would rather have Rhoda standing in her place. They all knew her older sister desired to be captain more than gold or the richest tobacco in the islands. They'd also all witnessed Rhoda beat the hell out of her during a duel on the deck of the Scarlet Maiden.

While the words of the written message ignited an array of reactions among the Maidens, they only sparked a deep fear inside of Csilla. Failure seemed to follow her like her shadow. She'd failed to escape capture in Port Barlow. She couldn't keep her mother alive when she fell ill. She didn't know why, but she glanced back at Flynn, who was already observing her reaction. She found herself wondering if the same doubts also ravaged through his head.

Not that it mattered.

"It looks like fate is on your side today, Flynn Gunnison," she said, rolling the life-changing parchment paper up and stuffing it into her coat pocket. "You live to die another day."