Baltessa

Early Rainrise

Sleep didn't come often for Csilla Abado, and when it did, it was riddled with dreams she didn't want. They were a plague that she couldn't be rid of, reminding her of everything she'd lost and couldn't get back. There was no cure for dreams in this world, but if there was, she'd gladly take it.

Anything to keep her from revisiting her sister's death over and over again.

Csilla's mind was in a fog as she sat slouched on the golden throne. She could hardly stay awake as she held court, listening to the troubles of the people of Cerulia, most specifically the ones who dwelled on the capital island of Baltessa. She'd heard the woes of a merchant whose ship had sunk during a violent storm. Two brothers squabbled over who should receive the inn that their family owned after their father had passed away. A farmer and his wife from Macaya shared that their crops were dying and they couldn't figure out why. Another man had lost his son to Incendian Scouts and hadn't seen him since. Csilla promised to help each of them, as a good queen would do.

It was still odd to think of herself as that—a queen. The weight of the Bone Crown on her head was a constant reminder of the responsibility that rested on her shoulders.

As she waited for the next civilian to come and be heard, she surveyed the throne room she had grown accustomed to. The room stood taller than the masts of the Scarlet Maiden; golden chandeliers lit with candles hung down from the roof. The floor was marbled with one red-and-gold woven rug stretching down the very middle from her throne to the doors at the end. She remembered visiting the throne room when she was younger and back then, the windows lining the walls had always been closed. On Csilla's first day on the throne, she requested that they all remain open, letting the sea breeze roll in and help her feel a little more at home.

Crown officials were seated in rows before her in their black robes. They'd never held a sword, but their weapon was knowledge. They were men and women who'd spent their lives learning the history and ways of the world, who knew the workings of a queendom and were there to provide their knowledge or guidance if Csilla so needed. Csilla didn't know most of them by name, but she did know the man who sat off on his own, polishing the handle of his whip—General Lockhart, who wasn't a crown official, but more of a counselor, and one with whom she didn't always agree.

Tapestries depicting the flags of the pirate fleet hung down on either side of the room. Her ship, the Scarlet Maiden, had a crimson flag, woven with a skull with roses in its empty sockets. Beside it was a black flag for the Iron Jewel, the fabric complete with a skull and two crossed blades. On the other side was the flag for the Anaphine, faded blue with smoking pistols, and lastly, the Wavecutter, its flag gray with a sword between two curling waves. The brown flag of the Bonedog had also once hung from the rafter, but since Dominic Rove's betrayal, it had been torn down and tossed into the sea.

Csilla's attention kept falling back to the Anaphine's flag, her thoughts trailing to the captain of the ship, her heart sinking each time. She hadn't seen Flynn in nearly two moons since he'd left with Kane to try to find Dominic Rove. Truth be told, she missed his crooked smile and his sand-colored hair that he had trouble keeping tied back. She missed his touches on cold nights and his kisses under the warm sun. She missed him like she missed the sea.

"Do you need to take a break?" Nara asked, placing her hand on Csilla's shoulder. Nara was always there—during court, during training, during her darkest moments when Flynn wasn't there, and when the terrible dreams had started a moon cycle ago. Csilla wasn't sure what she'd do without her first mate, her dearest of friends. Nara's voice was quiet enough so that none of the crown officials overheard. "You look like you need a break."

Csilla sat up straight on the golden throne and rubbed her face. "No," she answered. "I'm fine. I just had trouble sleeping."

"Again?" Nara stepped slightly in front of the throne and turned to Csilla, concern curving her brow and narrowing her smoky eyes. A strand of her silky black hair fell in front of her face and she smoothed it back into place. "This is the third time this week."

"It's the dreams," Csilla admitted. Just the thought of them pricked Csilla's spine. "They always start differently, but end the same—with my sword in Rhoda's gut. This time, she started to flake away, like she was burning from the inside out, until nothing was left but her bones."

"Csilla"—Nara took a step forward, quieting her voice—"you feel guilty about what happened to your sister, but you have to know it wasn't your fault. She wasn't herself. She was consumed by Magnus's whispers. In actuality, you helped set her free."

Csilla turned back to the flag of the Scarlet Maiden. Wasn't it her fault though? Their grandmother had appointed Csilla as captain instead of Rhoda. Would she be proud of what Csilla had done? Was this the legacy her grandmother had hoped for? Now, because of Csilla's sword, there was only one Abado left to carry on the name.

"Summon the next speaker," Csilla said. If she'd still worn her red scarf over her white eye, she would've pulled at the edges, making sure her imperfection was covered, but she hadn't covered her blind eye since her return from Crossbones. Her fingers went to her gold rings instead, spinning one absently on her pointer finger.

"Are you sure?" Nara asked, noticing Csilla's fidgeting. "I'm certain the people wouldn't mind if—"

"Please." Csilla stopped her. "Let me think of something else for the moment."

"I understand," Nara said, stepping back to Csilla's side. "Let the next speaker in."

The guards at the end of the throne room opened the doors, allowing a man to step through. He slowly hobbled forward with his cane. The silver hair on his head was cropped short, but his braided beard stretched down his chest. Silver rings lined his ears and black tattoos peeked through the holes on the sleeves of his brown shirt. He looked to have surely sailed the seas with the fleet in his younger years.

"Queen of Bones," the man greeted her, his voice raspy. He came to a stop before the steps of the throne, his back to the crown officials behind him. "I am honored." He bowed his head and moved to lower himself to his knees, his cane wobbling.

"Please stand," Csilla said, unable to watch the man struggle for the sake of ridiculous formalities. "Tell me, did you once sail with the pirate fleet?"

The man stood a little straighter, though he still hunched forward, his weight on his cane. "I did," he said, pride strengthening his voice. "My name is Cenius Smyth and I was once a Son of Anaphine. I believe I knew the father of your betrothed before we lost him during a kraken attack."

"Oh." Csilla almost choked on her words. "Flynn Gunnison and I . . . we are not betrothed."

"My apologies for assuming," Cenius said, casting his gaze to the floor.

"There is nothing to apologize for," Csilla told him, softening her voice. "What has brought you here today? What can I do to help you?"

"Well, you see . . ." Cenius rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly nervous. "It's my wife. We lost our son, Samuel, to an illness many, many years ago when he was just a boy."

"I'm so sorry to hear about your loss," Csilla said. "I've lost my mother . . . and my sister, but I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child."

"Thank you. Although the loss nearly tore us apart, we have healed some over time. But recently, my wife became plagued by these dreams of him." Cenius glanced around as if trying to find the right words. "She says they're the most vivid nightmares she's ever had and it has gotten to the point where she is afraid to go to sleep at night."

At the mention of the dreams, Csilla's spine went rigid. "These dreams, when did they start?"

"Around early frostfall. She often jolts awake in the night, screaming our boy's name." His pale face grew paler then. "One night, a week ago, I woke up to her sobbing in her sleep. When I rolled over in our bed to comfort her, I couldn't move because of what I saw."

"What did you see?" Csilla leaned forward, elbows on her knees. She fiddled with one of the gold rings on her finger.

Cenius gripped the knob of his cane so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His voice trembled. "At first, I thought a man had broken into our home, but then I realized this was no man. It hovered over my wife, a black hooded cloak waving even though there was no wind. Looking at it, I'd never felt so . . . hollow inside. Like someone had snatched my hopes and wishes right out of me."

Csilla shook her head. She'd thought that maybe hearing this man's story would somehow give her an answer to her own dreams, but it seemed that he was having wild dreams of his own. "Cenius, you and your wife have been through—"

"I know what it sounds like," Cenius interrupted. He quickly put his fingers to his mouth and cleared his throat. "But I swear to the Sea Sisters that I saw a dreamwraith stealing my wife's soul as she slept. I'm afraid if this continues, I'll lose her completely."

Csilla shook her head. Impossible. The crown officials behind Cenius turned and whispered to each other. General Lockhart suddenly stopped polishing the handle of his whip and tucked it into his belt. Dreamwraiths were locked away in Limbo with other nightmarish creatures—where they should be. Unless . . .

Csilla remembered the night before the coronation, when she'd found Lorelei out on one of the palace balconies. Lorelei had been terrified of a power that she believed rested within her, but never showed any clues to its existence aside from a flash of gold sparks in her lightning-blue irises when she'd awoken from her death. Since then, Limbo had been on Csilla's mind—what had happened while Lorelei was there and what were the consequences of bringing her back through?

Was this one of them?

"Thank you, Mr. Smyth," General Lockhart said, rising from his chair. "I promise you that a group of crown officials will look further into your claims."

"But my wife," Cenius said, his voice quivering. "What about my wife?"

"I'm afraid that we cannot help with your wife," Lockhart said. "There are more pressing matters the queen must attend to than myths."

Cenius nodded solemnly, defeat sagging his shoulders as he turned to hobble back to the doors of the throne room.

"Wait," Csilla called out to him. He slowly turned back to face her. "You served Cerulia, so it's only right that we try to help you. Please, let one of the guards know where we can find your home, and I will personally send some officials to witness your wife's dreamwraith."

Surprise lit the man's features before his lips curled into a smile. "Thank you, Queen Csilla. Your grace knows no bounds."

He turned back toward the doors as Lockhart ascended the steps to the throne.

"You shouldn't give in to fantasies," he reprimanded her, his face stern beneath his salt-and-pepper hair. "You'll waste your time trying to please every citizen, instead of focusing on what really matters, like those damned Incendians."

"General," Csilla said from her throne, craning her head to look up at Lockhart with a cynical expression. "Did you forget that last redwind, Magnus narrowly escaped Limbo? Investigating this man's claims isn't too far-fetched, I would assume. Unless you have a good reason why we should not help a man who once served the fleet, I see no problem in using the resources we have available to try to provide him with a solution."

Lockhart clasped his hands behind his back and gave her a curt nod. "As you wish, my queen. I was only trying to keep you from possible distractions. Cerulian traders are reporting higher numbers of Incendian brigs encroaching on our waters. It's only a matter of time before they launch a full-scale attack. With all of Rove's extra ships now gone, we would surely be outnumbered, even with the royal fleet at our command."

"Then we will need more ships."

"But constructing one ship alone can take two years and we need at least ten more. We don't have that kind of time."

Csilla motioned over a scribe, a tall woman with long honey-
blond hair. "I need the scribes to create a pamphlet to be distributed among the Coin District stating that any merchant willing to give their ship to the fleet will be rewarded handsomely with gold, and their landlords paid off in full." The scribe's quill flitted across the scroll she held. "We will stock their ships with guns, cannons, chain-shots, and stronger sails. Should they want to join the fleet and sail their own ship, they will be welcomed indefinitely."

"With an offer like that," Nara said from beside Csilla, "we might obtain more ships than needed."

"Is there anything you'd like to add, General Lockhart?" Csilla cocked one brow at him.

He cleared his throat. "N-no, I think you covered it well."

"In that case," Csilla said, rising from the throne, "I'd like to head to the training grounds and check on our recruits. I've heard that we have some truly talented prospects—"

Suddenly, the doors at the end of the throne room burst open. Csilla's heart climbed up her throat. Perhaps the attack against Cerulia had come early, or someone had brought terrible and urgent news with them. She was able to breathe a sigh of relief when she recognized the ragtag group that walked in. Her favorite face was among them and even from the distance, his crooked smile sent her stomach fluttering.

"Aye," he said, his sight set only on her as he left the group behind to cross the throne room. "You're here."

"Flynn," Csilla said. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "You've made it back in one piece, I see."

He bounded up the steps, his sea eyes sparkling at her, his sandy hair coming out of its tie like he'd run all the way to the palace to see her. The collar of his cream-colored shirt was unbuttoned and his vest had seen better days. He was a mess, but a mess that she'd come to adore. Just how much, she wasn't sure she'd ever tell him.

Flynn stopped a pace away from her. "Did you miss me?" he asked, smirking as if he already knew the answer.

Yes, she wanted to say.

"I've been terribly busy." Csilla glanced away from him, watching as the crown officials began to disperse. Perhaps if she seemed distracted, he wouldn't see through her and straight to the way her heart raced at the sight of him.

He stepped closer then, his hand lightly touching her waist, his fingers lingering on her belt. "Strapped and ready for a fight, even with a crown on your head."

"A pirate should be ready for anything," she replied, taking another step closer until her leathers brushed against him. She was so close now that she could smell the sea on him.

"Aye." His voice was almost a whisper. "I've missed you."

"I—" Csilla stopped herself, heat rising to her cheeks. "What's brought you all back so soon? You weren't due to return until mid-rainrise."

The smile from Flynn's face fell and Csilla's heart fell with it. She should've returned his sentiment. She should've said something instead of changing the subject.

"We ran into a bit of a revelation," Flynn said. "I'll let Kane fill you in on what we sailed upon."

Csilla glanced away from Flynn and at Kane, who was making his way up the steps to the throne. His black hair framed his face, his eyes darker than Csilla had remembered. He didn't glance her way and instead looked around the room as if searching for something or someone.

He asked one simple question, but his voice sounded strange, a slight panic to his tone. "Where's Lorelei?"