The Pirate's Wish

by Cassandra Rose Clarke

  “Of course,” Mama said stiffly. Then: “Anything you see in the holding bay, that’s the best we got.” She pointed off to the corner. “Got some Empire rugs there, that thick enough?”

  “Ah,” Jeric said, winking, “a pirate with taste.”

  “Shut up, Jeric.” I threaded through the treasure and peeled one of the rugs away from the stack – a small one, the sort they lay in front of shop entryways. Jeric took it from me and slid it under the first starstone like he was scooping up a spider. When he lifted the carpet off the ground, he sucked in his breath and clenched his teeth, and his eyes widened with strain. The starstones pulsed, twinkling like stars.

  When he was done he slammed the lid down over them, blinking out their light. Then he collapsed against the wall, breathing heavy.

  “Don’t ask me to do that again,” he said.

  Mama got one of the big Tanarau fellows to carry Naji to the rowboat. I followed behind with the box of starstones. It was lighter than even an empty box of that sort should be, as though it held negative space. Naji was limp as a rag doll in the crewman’s arms, his head lolling back. Papa’s crewman took Naji over in a Tanarau rowboat and I stayed close by in my own, not letting Naji out of my sight.

  Jeric yi Niru didn’t say a word as we crossed back over to the Nadir.

  Naji slept for seven days.

  He didn’t move, didn’t roll over, didn’t moan like he was having nightmares. He just lay there, tattoos glowing. Queen Saida put him up in one of the garden houses, which she said were always used for convalescence – I let her cause she called off her fleet when we headed back to Arkuz, and Papa and Mama and the Tanarau went free. And when I insisted, she brought in one of her palace wizards to hang the garden house with protection spells, just in case the magic cloaking Naji from the Mists weakened while he was sleeping.

  The garden house was one big empty room full of sunlight and the scents from the garden. Sheer curtains hung over the windows to keep the bugs out and at night I could hear noises from the jungle, the rackety screeching of animals, and noises from the palace, too, music and laughter, women’s voices trailing out into the night.

  I did what Mama said, and put the salts under Naji’s nose. Still he slept on. Queen Saida sent in a physician and then a wizard. The physician showed me how to drip water into his mouth so he wouldn’t die of thirst, and the wizard told me it wasn’t necessary.

  “The magic’s keeping him alive now,” he said.

  “That don’t make sense.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “It’s magic.” He sighed and pressed his hand against the scar on Naji’s chest, the scar that covered his heart.

  I stared at him, my face blank, still not understanding.

  “Magic is tied to the human body. Some people have a little, some people have a lot.”

  “Some people have none at all,” I said.

  The wizard smiled. “Fewer than you would expect.” He sighed. “The stones make the magic inside us swell up, multiply. It chokes out everything else, all the light of life.” He paused. “Your friend is quite strong. Most blood-magicians are. But even so, his survival is… unusual.”

  “Will he ever get better?” My voice quivered like I was about to start crying but I told myself: no, no you will not cry in front of strangers. In front of anyone.

  “I don’t know, sweetness.” The wizard leaned forward and looked at me real close. He was old and wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and kind. “I’ll read through my books, and see if I can find anything, alright?”

  I nodded, even though I knew he wouldn’t find anything.

  After a while I took to laying my hand on Naji’s heart the way the magician did, so I could feel it beating faint and far away. I sang old Confederation songs to the beat of his heart. The song for lost love. The song for strength and for health. The song to stave off death.

  For seven days, I didn’t leave the garden house. Marjani brought me food and sat by my side, unspeaking. Queen Saida paid her visits and offered condolences. The magician returned with books and scrolls, none of them with any information to help.

  Jeric yi Niru came on the fourth day, stepping into the garden house without knocking. I mistook him for Marjani at first, confused by worry and sleeplessness and the fuzzy sunlight pouring in through the curtains.

  “The hell do you want?” I said when I realized my mistake.

  “To come see,” Jeric said. “I spoke with the palace magician. In all my studies, I never heard–”

  “Get out!” I hurled a leftover breakfast plate at him. My aim was off. It banged against the wall and clattered to the floor. “He ain’t some experiment for you to poke and prod.”

  Jeric yi Niru lifted his hands in the air. “I never thought a pirate would let her emotions get in the way–”

  I sent a coffee cup flying through the air. This one shattered across the floor into pieces.

  “Get out,” I shouted.

  “Don’t you understand?” Jeric asked. “The starstones were my treasure. I studied them for years at the courts, long before you were even born. The magic in them – the power – if the assassin was able to survive their touch, I may be able to–”

  I was on my feet, my knife in my hand, my hand at his throat. Jeric yi Niru stopped talking, just stared down at me.

  “You want to stop this line of thinking,” I said.

  Jeric yi Niru didn’t say anything even though I could tell from the expression on his face that he wanted to.

  “I ain’t interested in helping develop Empire weapons, which I’m assuming is what you’re after–”

  Jeric sneered. “I don’t care about the Empire. Why is that so hard for you to understand? The Empire banished me to service on the sea. I don’t want to help them. I only wish to examine Naji to help myself.”

  I glowered at him and dug my knife a little deeper into the skin of his neck. Three drops of blood appeared, and Naji’s magic suddenly flooded through me. I hadn’t felt any connection with Naji since he fell, but now there was a rush of coldness in my thoughts, a black-glass desert, a song in a language like dying roses, calling out for help.

  I dropped the knife and stumbled backward across the room. Jeric laughed at me, but when I fixed my glare on him his laugh dried up like saltwater in the sun.

  “I’m not letting you touch him,” I said, shaky.

  “I can see that.” Jeric lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “I only thought I’d ask.”

  “The answer is no. Now get out.”

  He didn’t. He just watched me from across the room. I forced my concentration on Jeric, trying to ignore the terrifying, icy rush of Naji’s thoughts.

  “When you’re older,” he said, slowly and carefully, “you’ll understand what it is to have a life’s devotion.”

  I stared at him, taking deep breaths.

  “You were right, by the way.” He gave a short nod. “I was sent to sea because of the stones. There’s a Qilari merchant who made his home in Lisirra. He owned a pair. I befriended him just so I could study those starstones. But studying wasn’t enough. I wanted to own them.”

  “They really were your treasure,” I snapped. “Thief.”

  “You have no room to talk, Ananna of the Nadir. No room at all.”

  He was right about that. I took a deep breath, bracing myself against Naji’s thoughts, wishing Jeric would just leave.

  “But you’re right. I did steal them. It didn’t take long before the authorities captured me.” He sighed, wistful. “I was sentenced, and here we are. I never once touched the stones directly. I was too afraid. And I never thought I’d have the chance again, until I heard you and the captain speaking about them after you captured my ship. That’s the entire reason I joined with your crew in the first place.”

  I stared at him. For once he didn’t look mocking or smug.

  “That’s mad,” I said. “Look at Naji! Look at him.” I jabbed my finger at his body, unmoving on the bed. Jeric
gazed at him without expression. “You want that to happen, go chase down the Tanarau. I’m surely they’ll be happy to oblige a snakeheart in his suicide attempt.”

  “I don’t want that,” Jeric said.

  I glared at him. But he didn’t say anything more, just turned and left.

  I closed my eyes, relieved to be alone except for Naji. Even though Jeric’s fresh blood was gone, Naji’s thoughts still swirled up with mine, cold and shadowy. I could feel him, distant, indistinct. But alive. Alive.

  I curled up beside him on the bed until the thoughts bled away.

  On the seventh day, the assassins came.

  There were three of them, all dressed the way Naji had been when I first saw him in Lisirra. Black robes, carved armor, swords glittering at their sides. They didn’t cover their faces, though.

  “Who are you?” one of them asked in Empire when they walked into the garden house.

  “Who the hell are you?” I shot back, even though I recognized their clothes. Still, I grabbed Naji’s cold hand and squeezed it tight.

  The first assassin narrowed his eyes at me. He was from the desertlands, like Naji, though he didn’t look like Naji at all. Older and not as handsome and no scar. The other two looked Qilari.

  “You aren’t saving him, keeping him here,” the desertlands assassin said. “He needs our magic.”

  “And you shouldn’t care if he lives or dies,” one of his companions added.

  I didn’t let go.

  The desertlands assassin stepped up to me. My breath caught in my throat, and I kept my eye on his sword even though I knew if he wanted to use it I wouldn’t be able to get away. But he didn’t attack me. He kept his movement slow and steady, and put a hand on my forehead like he was feeling for a fever. I jerked away at his touch, but he grabbed me by the arm with his other hand and held me in place.

  “You’re scared of me? I’m no different from him.” He leaned in close, looking me in the eye. I didn’t turn away. I bet he could hear my heart.

  He dropped his hand, pulled out a knife. I jerked out my own knife and pressed myself against the wall. One of the Qilari assassins laughed.

  “This isn’t for you,” the first assassin said.

  He picked up Naji’s hand and cut a line down his arm. A thin trace of blood appeared on Naji’s pale skin. I got another rush of thoughts that didn’t belong to me – black-glass deserts and cold cold winds. The assassin glanced at me.

  “Don’t worry, little girl. This wound will heal.” Another smile. He dipped his finger in Naji’s blood and then licked the blood away, neat like a cat. He closed his eyes.

  “Oh,” he said. “He failed to mention that.”

  The Qilari assassins stirred. “Mention what?” one of them asked.

  “He blood-bonded.” The first assassin looked over at me, still cowering against the wall like a little ship-rat. “With this one, it seems.”

  The Qilari assassins exchanged glances.

  “Ah,” one of ’em said. “That explains her unnatural devotion.”

  “My devotion ain’t unnatural!” I shouted, in spite of myself. “And besides, I’d be helping him even if we hadn’t shared bl–”

  The desertland assassin held up one hand and my voice left my throat and I was filled up with silence. “There’s no need to explain yourself. I know about the curse and the foolishness with your kiss.”

  Something heavy landed in my chest. I didn’t say nothing.

  “And I know this foolishness was one of the tasks.” The assassin sighed. “He certainly dawdled long enough.”

  “What?” I stepped forward, whole body tensed. “What do you mean, dawdled?”

  The assassin looked at me. “Ah, the joys of dealing with the uneducated–”

  “I know what the fuck the word means. I don’t understand why you–”

  “I commanded him to break the curse,” the assassin said. “I thought he did well, managing the first task so easily.” He sneered at me. I sneered back. “Unfortunately, the cause of the first task resulted in him taking too long with the others.”

  The sneer disappeared from my face, and the assassin laughed. The cause of the first task? My kiss? I understood what the assassin was implying, but I didn’t believe him. Naji didn’t love me back. This assassin was making fun of me. I was certain of it.

  I lifted up my knife and lunged at him.

  A blur of shadows and the two Qilaris had me pinned to the floor and the desertland assassin had my own knife at my throat.

  “You knew that wouldn’t work,” he said.

  “Get off me!”

  He lifted the knife up off my skin by a fraction. “You need to step outside now,” he said. “My associates and I have work to do.”

  “Are you gonna kill him?” I asked.

  “A true Jadorr’a welcomes death.”

  “I ain’t a Jadorr’a.”

  “Yes, but Naji is.” He pressed the flat side of the knife against the left side of my face – the same as Naji’s scar. The metal was cold, colder than ice. “Although I’m not going to kill him. He still has work to do.” He dropped his knife. “Now leave.”

  The assassin grabbed my arm and yanked me back, hard enough that my feet lifted off the ground. He put his mouth against my ear. “You shouldn’t care for him so.”

  “Let me go, you Empire ass.”

  The other two drew their daggers. I stopped struggling.

  “Love is a wound,” the assassin said. “Neither life nor death.”

  I wanted to tell him to shut up, but I figured I better hold my tongue. He smiled at me, showing all his teeth.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, girl,” he said. “Speak. I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Love is a wound?” I said. “Sounds like something a killer would say.”

  “So you must understand my metaphor well.”

  His words slammed into me, and for a moment I faltered, thinking about Tarrin bleeding in the desert. Then I kicked him, hard, in the shin. He laughed and dropped my arm, and the two Qilaris lifted me off my feet and dragged me, kicking and struggling, out of the garden house. I slammed my feet into one of them, right in the hip, before the door swung shut and I landed face-first in the soft grass.

  “Are you alright?” The voice was speaking Jokjani. I spit out dirt and looked up. One of the palace soldiers, his eyes wide with fear. “They wouldn’t let me go inside. I tried–”

  “Ain’t your fault.”

  The soldier pulled me to my feet. I smelled mint.

  A few moments passed, and the smell grew stronger, drowning out the rainy scent of the garden. Bright blue light seeped out of the house’s windows. The soldier positioned himself between me and the house, gripping his dagger tight, and I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to do that for me, but I was too tired to try and get the words right. Plus it reminded me of Naji, and I was afraid if I spoke then I would cry.

  A chill crept into the air.

  I stepped away from the garden house and sat down beneath a banana tree. I kept seeing Naji stretched out on the bed, unmoving. I kept hearing his faint, slow heartbeat. And then the scent of mint flooded through the garden. It plunged me backward in time, till I was facing down Naji that first night, when he could’ve killed me easier than a bug, but he didn’t.

  Don’t cry, I told myself. You’re a pirate. Don’t cry.

  But I did anyway. The palace guard came and patted me on the shoulder like I was noblewoman crying over a suitor. I snarled at him until he went away.

  The assassins stayed in the garden house for a long time, long enough that the afternoon rains came and went, that the sun sank into the horizon and turned the sky orange, that the soldiers changed places, the first one scuttling off into the palace and leaving another man, older, more grizzled-looking, in his place.

  I didn’t move from my spot beneath the banana tree.

  The assassins came out of the garden house one at a time, their robes swirling around their feet, th
e armor gleaming in the thick orange light. They ignored the soldier and walked up to me.

  “We need your help,” the desertlands assassin said.

  I glared at him. “Need my help how?”

  “You don’t seem to understand much of anything, do you?” he asked. “Perhaps if I inserted more profanity–”

  “Just answer my damn question! What do you need my help for?” My heart was pounding. “Is Naji dead?”

  “Your blood-bond.” The assassin looked like he’d just swallowed a scorpion. “It seems we have use of it.”

  “What?”

  He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me up close. “It’s not a difficult concept to grasp. We were unable to pull Naji out. We may be able to do so with your blood. It seems your bond was helping keep him alive.”

  I stared at him.

  “I’m not explaining all this to you, girl. I saw he had enough of you in his blood when I cut him – I was testing for the curse but got that nasty little surprise.”

  “Not so nasty,” I snapped, “if it means you’ll get to save him.”

  The assassin scowled at me and dragged me back into the garden house. I let him. I didn’t think it would work, but I let him.

  “Stand here,” he said, lining me up at the foot of Naji’s bed. The floor was covered in rust-colored markings, and the air smelled like blood. One of the Qilari assassins bolted the door shut and they both stood behind me. I could feel their eyes on the back of my neck.

  The desertlands assassin pulled out his red-stained knife. “Hold out your arm,” he said.

  I was shaking. I didn’t want to let him cut me, but I didn’t want Naji to die, neither.

  “I know you want him to wake up,” the assassin said, sneering a little. “I saw it when I cut him.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Would you let yourself die to save him?”

  “Ain’t nobody wants to die,” I said, and I knew it wasn’t a proper answer.

  The assassin moved up close to me in a blink. Another blink and he’d stretched my arm out over the bed. I thought maybe I should struggle.

  Another blink and he cut me.

  The cut was long and deep and this time Naji’s thoughts flooded over mine so deeply I stopped being in the garden house and started being in the black-glass desert. It was empty except for the wind. I shivered in my thin Jokja dress and called out Naji’s name. My voice echoed out across the emptiness. I took a hesitant step forward, and my knee slammed into something invisible, and invisible hands grabbed my arms and pulled me back.