Chapter One
The sunshine that beat down upon the sands and palms of Vadamerca was at once both blinding and scorching. The cool wind that came in off the sea that surrounded the island was a welcome balm to the residents, and to fifteen-year-old Ayia Ellaster, squinting up at the clear blue sky.
Turning away from the clouds, the side of her hand pressed against her forehead in an attempt to shield her eyes from the dazzling sunlight, she stared across the water toward the mainland. At this distance, it was just a hazy shadow on the horizon; as was the fading longboat that had taken her from the Water Barrows near the town of Adarach to the closest shore of Vadamerca.
The captain had refused to linger and it was difficult to blame him: Vadamerca was a pirate island with brutal reputation.
Ayia hadn’t ever suspected she would travel here herself, but she needed the assistance of the pirates to get to the Azure Isles where her true target lay, and, along the way, she needed, somehow, to convince the eldest son of the island’s govenor to return with her to Taral. The queen wanted control over the pirates, and for once she and Ayia were in complete agreement: the pirates had to be brought to heel; they’d become too dangerous and this was the only way to accomplish that.
Turning away from the sea, she headed off the pier and into the city itself.
Vadamerca was unlike any other city in Siasma, and it wasn’t just because it was run by the pirates that lurked around and within the Azure Isles, the Bay of Morvan, and the Meeri Sea. The fact was that, other than the Desert of Alakat, it was the last free bit of land in the whole of the country, and even then the desert was losing the war the queen had been waging against them since she took the throne.
Shaking these thoughts from her mind, Ayia turned her attention to the town.
Brightly colored buildings had been constructed atop the white sand. The paint on many of them was peeling, but that was to be expected of a village surrounded by salt water: the wind was continually spraying that mist against them, making their upkeep more difficult than it might’ve been otherwise.
The people that populated the town were just as weatherbeaten as the buildings.
Everywhere she looked, she saw the sunburnt faces of men and women wearing tricorns, frock coats, and buccaneer boots, all in desperate need of patching up. There were several taverns along the main avenue, all of them with raucous music and drunken patrons spilling out their front doors.
Ayia couldn’t keep the grin from her face.
Vadamerca was full of life in a way Taral would never be; in a way Lament hadn’t even been: the citizens here weren’t afraid of being found out.
They were free.
She couldn’t believe that she’d never considered the possibility that these people were no more evil than the inhabitants of the desert were, than the inhabitants of Lament had been. They were just trying to survive like everyone else.
Perhaps they wouldn’t have even been pirates at all were it not for the queen and her embargo on the island forcing them to resort to violence in the first place.
However, despite this, it very much seemed like the residents of Vadamerca were thriving instead of just surviving. Everywhere Ayia looked, there were merchants both in stores and in stalls, shouting about their wares to passersby. Ayia had no money, but she wished she did; the weapons and clothing they offered were better than her own.
Then again, she wasn’t sure she could ever use a weapon that hadn’t once belonged to Haylen. It felt like a betrayal to do so.
It was her fault that Haylen was dead in the first place. She would never feel any differently, not for as long as she lived on this earth. This was the only penance she could place upon herself.
Again, she shook herself.
She was supposed to be looking for Bastian Sirenen, the son of the Pirate Lord, not thinking about her past.
Ayia turned her eyes to the signs hanging from the buildings that swayed in a wind that made the air taste like salt. She squinted against the sunlight, trying to read the names of the pubs, searching for the one that was for The Singing Skull. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that the paint on the signs was peeling too, and only half of every building’s name was shown clearly.
In the end, it was the skull painted onto the sign, still mostly visible despite the chipping wood, that was the only reason she found it.
The smell of unwashed bodies accompanied by the sounds of drunken singing reached Ayia’s senses long before she crossed the threshold of the building. It was all she could do to keep her nose from wrinkling in barely concealed disgust. The last thing she wanted to do was offend a whole island of pirates.
The interior of The Singing Skull was just as derelict as its exterior. The floorboards were coming up, splinters protruded from every wooden surface, the rafters were draped in cobwebs, and none of the tables nor the plates and flatware laid upon them appeared to be clean. There wasn’t a single chair that Ayia could see that wasn’t occupied, and, judging by the slurred, bawdy singing and the pints of ale on every surface, everyone in the building was very drunk.
Spotting Bastian Sirenen wasn’t difficult; he sat on a trestle table near the bar, lute in hand, surrounded by patrons. It was his voice that was loudest, carrying across the whole tavern, commanding everyone’s attention, including Ayia’s.
And how could he not?
He was tall, this trait plain even when he was sitting down from the way his long legs curled up on the table’s bench, one even stretched out dangle over the edge of it. His hair, parted down the middle and shaggy with curls framing his face, was tawny in color, shot through with very thin, very subtle streaks of gold. His white skin was tanned and weathered, save for his cheeks, which were rosy from inebriation. Ayia couldn’t see his eyes; they were closed, and when he did open them, she was too far away to make out the color. The only sign he was more than just another patron of the pub was the brown leather armor and matching gaunlets he wore, both decorated with gold filigree. Even the way he carried himself held a kind of charisma that no one else within the building’s four walls seemed to possess.
It was impossible to take their eyes off of him.
There was no other way to describe him: Bastian Sirenen was beautiful. Ayia knew he would’ve turned the heads of all the other girls, and even many of the boys, at the Citadel as well as her own.
Standing in the corner of the tavern, dimly lit despite the brilliance of the sun outside, Ayia bit her lip, consumed by sudden nerves. She knew already that it wouldn’t be easy convincing him to follow her back to Taral. Even if she made him go by force, an entire island would unite behind his abduction. It would be all out war between the pirates and the armies of the capital.
The only option to prevent this was to make him come willingly, and Ayia had no idea how to accomplish that.
The song concluded to applause that echoed throughout the tavern and Bastian stood on the table he was sitting on to bow theatrically, once in each direction.
Ayia took advantage of the celebrative chaos to approach.
To her complete surprise, Bastian’s eyes locked on her the minute she started moving, watching her as she moved across the tavern and through the crowd. When she reached him, he grinned and said, just loud enough for her to hear, “I was wondering if you would come out of the shadows.”
In one graceful movement, Bastian leapt from the tabletop to the floor, landing mere inches from Ayia, before easily stepping around her. He bent slightly as he stepped around her to say into her ear, still quiet, “Follow me.”
Ayia obeyed, spinning on her heel to trail Bastian from the main dining area to a corridor she hadn’t noticed until now that led to the lavatories and a set of stairs. She’d just stepped into their shadow when Bastian’s arm shot out, slamming her against the wall by her shoulder and pinning her there with his arm across her neck.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know exactly who and what you are, little Swordsinger?” The words were hissed out between his teeth, his face, full of rage, mere inches from her own. “The queen isn’t the only one who has her spies, Ayia Ellaster. You have all forgotten how formidable the pirates of Vadamerca truly are.”
Ayia struggled against his grip, black spots appearing at the edges of her vision from lack of air, but it was uselesss. Bastian was bigger than her and still his strength surprised her. All she managed to accomplish was getting her arm inbetween his and the wall just enough to be able to breathe.
“I just need passage,” she lied, the words coming out strained, “from here to-to the Iridescent Shores.”
This wasn’t a lie, but Bastian didn’t need to have his suspicions confirmed; he didn’t need to know that he was her assignment too.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
“And who is your unfortunate victim there, little Swordsinger?” Bastian went on, leaning in further, refusing to let up even a fraction.
“If you truly do have spies in the Citadel, as you claim, then you know I can’t tell you that,” she replied, her brow narrowing.
For a moment, there was only silence between them, punctuated by the sound of their heavy breathing. With a grimace and short gasp of fury, Bastian, at last, pushed off from her, making her head her head against the wooden wall of the tavern. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a heavy breath.
She watched as he tilted his head up toward the ceiling. It took her a moment to realize that he was actually looking up the set of stairs.
“Very well,” he said eventually, but it took him several minutes more to finish his sentence: “I will have to tell my father.”
His hands were shaking. Ayia’s brow creased.
What did Bastian Sirenen, the Prince of Vadamerca, have to fear?
Blinking, he pulled himself back from whatever reverie he’d fallen into and glanced at her. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward the stairs. The edges of his lips pulled upward in a smile, but his eyes were dead.
