Ebba-Viva Fairisles: Stolen Princess (Pirates of Felicity Book 2)

by Kelly St Clare

  “I want to leave Malice,” he said softly.

  It wasn’t the kind of soft that equated to weakness. She wondered how many people had discovered that fact too late.

  Plank cocked his own pistol. “Do ye now? That be fish shite. Ye had yer chance to leave Malice when ye were our guide on Neos. But instead, ye ran back to Pockmark like a little cub eager for daddy’s praise.”

  Jagger’s jaw tightened and took a step forward. “He had a hold over me.”

  “What hold?” Plank pressed.

  “My family.”

  Ebba blinked and lowered her pistol. “That’s why ye scurried back to Malice?”

  Jagger’s eyes lingered on her, darting from her eyes to her mouth and back up. “Aye. He’s held them over me for a long time.”

  Grubby made a sympathetic clucking noise in the back of his throat, and Peg-leg shot him an exasperated look.

  Ebba exchanged a long look with Plank before asking Jagger, “Yer family be on Neos?”

  “Aye,” he said again. “I grew up in the tribes there.”

  Ha! She knew it. Jagger had a tribal tattoo covering his upper chest from shoulder tip to shoulder tip, but he was white where the tribespeople were usually dark-skinned. He’d been raised there but not born to tribespeople. That explained how comfortable he’d been in the Neos rainforest—and the tattoo. He must have been adopted.

  But could Jagger have been good all along?

  . . . If someone had her fathers, Ebba would do whatever was necessary to free them.

  Like now.

  She remembered what they’d seen on Neos during the trip here and opened her mouth. Plank gripped her shoulder and squeezed tightly. Glancing up at him, Ebba caught the warning in his eyes and shut her gob with a click of her teeth.

  A peek at Jagger told her that he watched their exchange with glinting silver eyes.

  “He no longer has yer family then, boy?” Peg-leg asked.

  Jagger glanced away. “They be dead.”

  Ebba sucked in a shocked breath. As did Cosmo and Grubby. But Jagger couldn’t know Ladon had taken over Neos, could he? Malice never traded on Neos; they stuck to the islands where the plunder was larger. Which meant. . . . “Pockmark killed them?” she asked, horrified. Her heart thudded at the thought of Barrels, Locks, and Stubby in the same position.

  The pirate ignored her question. “I’ll show ye where the rest of yer crew be if ye take me to Neos.”

  She released the hammer on her pistol and tucked both pistols back into her holsters before stepping back to join Cosmo. After their first time on Neos, she hadn’t thought her fathers would ever trust the younger pirate again, but they were doing their wordless eye-talk thing that told Ebba they were contemplating the offer.

  Cosmo watched the scene before him in the same way she watched Peg-leg cook when he was in a bad mood. His eyes were on Jagger, who still took pains not to glance in the direction of Cosmo at all.

  “Do ye know him?” Ebba whispered in his ear. Cosmo jerked and broke off his stare.

  “What?” Cosmo stalled. “No.”

  Ebba quirked a brow.

  “I assure you, I don’t,” he repeated. “But I rather get the feeling that he knows me.”

  “How, though? He be a pirate. He won’t’ve ever been to Exosia. Did ye perhaps meet him on Maltu?”

  Cosmo’s amber eyes focused on her. “He isn’t the kind of person you’d forget, is he? I may be mistaken, but I do not believe I’ve met him.”

  Her fathers were nodding.

  “Ye have yerself a deal, Jagger,” Plank said, extending a hand. “We’ll let ye travel with us until we pass by Neos again.”

  Were they forgetting about Ladon’s snakes? “What about—?”

  “Ebba, sorry,” Cosmo interrupted her. “Do you think you could help me to the rowboat?” He wavered on the spot.

  His words distracted her enough to catch a frantic look from Peg-leg. Red rushed into her cheeks as she realized mentioning that they’d only be able to toss Jagger into the water around Neos and not deliver him to the shore might not be a great idea. She felt Jagger’s eyes on her and turned, ducking under one of Cosmo’s arms. “Of course. Ye be dead on yer feet.”

  The trip to the soothsayer’s had taken his strength.

  “Cosmo,” came a thoughtful voice.

  She glanced at Jagger.

  “That’s what they call ye?” the pirate asked Cosmo, expression smooth.

  Cosmo cleared his throat and gave a tight nod. “Yes, it is.”

  They stumbled a few steps away from the others before Peg-leg’s call followed her. “We’ll be headin’ into Febribus to get yer fathers, Ebba-Viva. Ye take Cosmo to the ship.”

  Ebba whirled back, hearing Cosmo hit the sand behind her. Oops, she’d let go of him. “Nay. No way,” she blurted, crouching by Cosmo. “I’m comin’ with ye.” She wasn’t staying behind. If they were splitting into three groups, she’d be part of the one retrieving her missing parents.

  Plank groaned. “It be too dangerous, little nymph.”

  Too dangerous. Were they serious? “I’m comin’. Whether ye take me with ye or whether I sneak after ye.”

  “Who will help Cosmo?” Plank asked her, eyebrows arched.

  Ebba slid a glance to where Cosmo had rolled onto his back, trying to regain his breath, and she patted his cheek. “Peg-leg,” she announced. “Ye said that Peg-leg had trouble in Febribus way back when. He should be the one to remain behind.”

  “So did Grubby,” Peg-leg said.

  “Ye be a smidgen more noticeable than Grubby,” Ebba said, then she eyed Grubby’s happy and toothless smile and wondered if that were true.

  “Ye need to stay put,” Plank said.

  Ebba peered at Jagger, who watched the exchange with interest. If all her fathers went into Febribus, she’d be by herself again. Her cheeks burned fiercely due to Jagger’s presence, but she didn’t hesitate to whisper, “I don’t wish to be alone,” in a low voice.

  “Ah, little nymph,” Plank said quietly. “Ye’d be with Cosmo. That ain’t alone.”

  She stared at her father wide-eyed, beseeching him to understand that wasn’t the same. What if they never came back? Plank stared back for a long moment before casting looks at the others.

  He turned back to her and sighed heavily. “Aye then, ye can come. Peg-leg?”

  Peg-leg limped past Ebba, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll remain at the ship with the lad.”

  Ebba’s stomach lurched as he helped Cosmo stand and aided him to the rowboat.

  “Sorry for droppin’ ye,” she called after them.

  Cosmo waved weakly with his good arm. He’d be all right.

  She made after Grubby and Plank, rushing past Jagger, who stood on the same spot. She tensed, expecting some sneering insult over what he’d just witnessed—her begging to not be separated from her fathers. Pleading with them like that made her feel small even though the alternative was worse. Most other pirates would pounce on that weakness; the pirate with six fathers and a tiny ship who was scared to be alone. She knew her fear over them leaving was stupid, but she couldn’t help it.

  Ebba paused as she drew closer to Jagger. Closer than she’d been when pointing a pistol at his head. He was two heads taller than her, and it struck her that his body always appeared coiled to spring. Why was that?

  She lifted her moss-green eyes to meet his. His eyes searched her face, and she wondered if he had any idea what was running through her skull—because she couldn’t glean a thing from his face through the curtains of his flaxen hair.

  A wry smile played on his lips that didn’t soften his gleaming eyes. He tilted his head after her fathers. “After ye.”

  Nine

  Ebba didn’t know who the governor of Febribus was, but they sure did a shite job of keeping the place presentable. The roads were covered in smashed glass and broken rum bottles. Potholes dotted the space so regularly she was hard pressed to walk two steps together on s
mooth ground. The trunks of the sparse trees either side of the path they’d taken into the town center were slashed and missing random branches and limbs.

  The smell of smoke drifted through the darkness from scattered campsites far into the tree line. Shouts and singing rose from the depths of the sparse foliage, and the high-pitched tapping of bottles speared through the night, creating the illusion the pirates holding them were far too close.

  They continued, and an indiscriminate buzzing began. As the trees thinned and the path widened into a cobbled street, the buzzing swelled. It was the sound from pirates in town, Ebba realized. She drew closer to Plank on her left. Mmm, he was warm.

  “Scared?” a voice mocked.

  Ebba jerked away, looking up into Jagger’s face. Sink her, it wasn’t Plank. “I ain’t scared,” she snarled, her cheeks warming. “But ye should be if ye plan to double-cross us again.”

  “I didn’t double-cross ye,” he countered. “I told ye I would guide ye to Neos. No more, no less.”

  “Ye new pirates,” she withered. “Ye don’t have a damn shred o’ honor about ye.”

  “I be thinkin’ I’m older than ye by at least two years.”

  Ebba bristled and lifted a fist to sock him in the gut.

  “Little nymph,” Plank said in a warning voice. “Up here with me.”

  She glared at Jagger, who was looking at her clenched hand with a wide smirk across his face. She wiggled her fingers to hold his attention and booted him in the ankle.

  Snickering at his grunt of pain and the general success of her maneuver, Ebba hustled to Plank’s side.

  “I saw that,” her father said in her ear. He paused and muttered, “If ye have a shot like that again, go for the bony part on the side o’ the ankle. That’ll have him rememberin’ for days.” He straightened and carried on walking.

  Ebba grinned.

  Sparse trees soon gave way to rows of double-storied wooden houses. The haphazard buildings extended before them for as far as the eye could see. Thirty feet separated the two rows, and the area was filled entirely with people—pirates. Not a single door hung right on its hinges; instead, all of them hung askew as though one slam away from falling off completely. Red, blue, and dark green glass lay scattered like a crust over the dirt road, trampled deep by the jeering throngs. A high-pitched drumming pulsed through the gathering like a heartbeat.

  “There be so many people,” Ebba whispered to Grubby as they edged through the crowd. She was never afraid to voice her worries to him. She was excited to be here, but she hadn’t expected it to be so . . . rowdy. She was used to space and certain sounds and movement, not this shoving, bawdy throng.

  “I’ll protect ye, Ebba,” Grubby said. “Ye just stick close to me now.”

  Ebba shook away her apprehension, determined to soak up everything she could while they were here.

  They squeezed through the drunken crowd.

  Light from the bordering buildings shone across the road, breaking up the black night. Just as many people seemed to be drinking inside the regular saloons and taverns as there were on the dirty streets. A window exploded in a shattering wave of glass to her right as a man was thrown clean through it. Laughter roared from within the building.

  She was surprised there was still a window left intact.

  “Eyes ahead,” Jagger whispered in her ear. “Don’t notice anythin’ ye don’t want noticin’ ye.”

  Ebba heeded his advice and faced forward, reaching to take hold of the back of Grubby’s old tunic. He reached back to pat her hand.

  The number of pirates continued to increase as they weaved through the crowd. The space constricted until squeezing wasn’t enough, they had to shove too. Sweat from the heat of so many bodies rolled down her temple, and she felt tiny amongst all the half-dressed men and women looming over her.

  A man with golden teeth appeared in her face, leering. “Who do we be havin’ here then?” His dilated pupils lifted to the solid presence at her back and he reared back, muttering hasty apologies. “My apologies, Licks. Don’t make nothin’ of it. I didn’t be knowin’ the wench were yers.”

  Ebba stilled. “What did ye call me?”

  The man darted nervous looks at her. Jagger was still silent behind her, close enough that his heat reached her through their clothing. She took half a step away, a shiver running up her spine.

  The terrified man startled suddenly as though seeing her bandana and weapons for the first time.

  His eyes dropped to her chest. “What are ye?” he asked in consternation. “Ye don’t look like no wench around here. Ye look like a pirate, but ye’re a woman.”

  “I’m a pirate,” she yelled in his face over the noise. Why was the concept so damn difficult to understand? Fury seared through her body.

  A hand landed on her shoulder, keeping her rooted to the spot.

  “Leave,” Jagger said over her head. “Afore I decide to mention this slight against Malice’s second-in-command to Pockmark.”

  The man disappeared in the time it took her to blink.

  “I’m a pirate,” she repeated for the benefit of the pirate at her back.

  She made to move again but stopped in her tracks. Where were Grubby and Plank? She turned side to side, heartbeat pounding.

  Hands rested lightly on her hips. “I don’t know who ye think ye’re foolin’. But a pirate ain’t all ye be.”

  His words didn’t register. “Where be my fathers?” She twisted to peer at Jagger’s bronzed face. “Where are they?” She whirled back, wildly searching for them.

  Jagger’s hands left her waist. “Up there—keep walkin’.” Ebba did, stumbling slightly, obeying Jagger’s small nudges to adjust direction every so often.

  Her thundering heartbeat didn’t calm until they reached the others. Her fathers had paused beside the railing of a bustling saloon, in the mouth of a dark, stinking alleyway. Each of them sagged in relief when they caught sight of her. They wouldn’t have intentionally left her alone with Jagger. Ebba exhaled slowly at the sight of them, her chest loosening.

  Jagger strode into the alley, and her back immediately cooled. She, Grubby, and Plank shifted into the shadows and grouped around Jagger.

  “This is where I leave ye,” he said, placing a hand on the hilt of his cutlass.

  Plank stared at him. “Ye said ye’d help us.”

  “I said I’d show ye. If ye screw this up, I need to keep my options open.”

  If anything, Jagger’s answer seemed to relieve Plank. Ebba pursed her lips, realizing her father hadn’t trusted Jagger’s true motives until now.

  “Where are they?” Grubby asked, peering into the depths of the alley.

  “Next saloon on this side,” Jagger said. “Riot and Swindles be guardin’ them. They’re tied in the cellar.”

  “How do we know ye won’t go squealin’ to Pockmark when our backs be turned?” Ebba asked him.

  He tilted his head to look at her, lips curving. “Ye don’t. But ye have my word that I won’t run to Pockmark and alert him o’ yer presence.”

  Ebba gave him a once-over, unsatisfied with what she saw. Too tall and too savvy for his own good. “Aye, and the way ye twist words, that likely means ye’ll just crawl to him.”

  His smile widened, and her temper, which hadn’t fully abated since the leering man earlier, crept up her throat. “Why’d that man call ye Licks?” she asked.

  Jagger’s smile dropped, and his reply was short. “It be my pirate name.”

  She’d meant why was he called that. Probably because he licked Pockmark’s boots clean at night.

  “Come on, little nymph,” Plank said. “Be on yer guard. The others need our help.”

  Ebba glared at Jagger, ignoring the heat that flooded her face as he wiggled a few fingers at her in a wave.

  She followed her fathers back into the streaming crowds of the streets of Febribus, thoughts focusing on her missing fathers and on the cold dread in her stomach at what they might find.

&nbs
p; “How much for a tumble?” Plank slurred, feigning drunkenness as he stumbled into a golden-haired woman in the saloon entrance. The woman was just on the other side of youthful; face caked with white paint and cheeks bright red with rouge.

  “More’n you can afford, handsome,” the woman purred with a coy smile.

  Ew.

  Ebba tripped on a rolling bottle as they passed through the half-unhinged swinging doors. She fell into the clammy arms of another rouged woman. She glanced at a heavily perspiring upper lip and blurted, “How much for a tumble?”

  Grubby extracted her from the woman’s bosom, and Ebba turned away with a sigh of relief. Close call. She didn’t have any coin.

  They wound through the packed saloon. Broken glass shone on the scuffed wooden floors, and dusty bottles of grog lined the shelves behind the long rustic bar across the room. “How’re we goin’ to get into the cellar?” Ebba whispered in Plank’s ear.

  He surprised her by grinning. “How d’ye get anythin’ done in a saloon, little nymph?”

  She shrugged. She’d never been in a saloon. A tavern, aye. But this place didn’t appear to have any rules.

  Plank winked. “By startin’ a fight, o’ course. Ye and Grubby go stand by the door to the right o’ the bar and wait for me.”

  She and Grubby eased through the drunk masses toward the bar. They’d only just reached the wooden bench when she heard Plank shout, “Ye thievin’ son o’ Davy Jones’ bootstraps, ye stole my gold!”

  Cursing chaos erupted.

  A bottle narrowly missed her left ear, smashing against the wall behind the long bar in an explosion of green shards. Ebba squealed and dodged a second. Grubby hauled her toward the right end of the bar, nearly pulling her arm out of the socket when a stool flew past them, colliding with a shelf of bottles against the wall. A fist swung at her face, and Ebba jolted, lashing out a fist.