Those steel-colored eyes went wide as a smoking Elizabethian war cutter bore down on the crowded city streets, racing recklessly through the air.
They’re not supposed to fly in town, she thought. Why…
Then she saw who was at the helm, and her eyes went wider still.
Even from far away, she could see Esmeralda’s grin.
She could also see the two sloops and several other cutters as they gave chase and opened fire, crowded city streets or no.
People screamed and fled, packed streets turning to a panicked mob as the shadows of low-flying ships fell over them. Cursing, the Lady Bellamy threw the satchel’s strap over her shoulder and leapt onto the marble lion statue beside her. She climbed a paw, stuck one hand in its mouth, then the other in its eye. At the very last moment, she pulled itself onto its head as Esmeralda clipped the stony creature’s face, tearing off the white marble muzzle and ripping away the safety railing along the port side of the small warship.
Bellamy tumbled aboard, skirts over corset to the floor of the cutter, filling the air with profanity. “Are you insane?” She snapped. A cannon shot whizzed by, a half dozen feet from her face, and she glared back at the pursuing ships. But most of her ire was reserved for her companion. “Where’s Jone?” she demanded.
Taking one hand off the wheel for an instant, Esmeralda pointed to the rear of the deck where a battered, bloody, one-armed Jonelise lay crumpled.
“By the Seven Dead Gods and the Abyss itself!” Bellamy shouted, darting to the fallen woman’s side. “You were supposed to take care of her!”
“I’d like to see you do better!” The pirate pilot snapped back over her shoulder. “She picked a fight with the wrong Dragon!” Wood exploded next to Bellamy’s face as an enemy artilleryman improved on his aim. With a quick word and gesture, Bellamy summoned just enough magic to thump him in the chest with a burst of air. Combined with his ship’s velocity, it sent him flying from his perch and off the side of the pursuing cutter, falling to his sudden end on Lisboa’s cobblestone streets and buying them a few more moments.
“Jone! Jone, can you hear me?” The girl’s skin felt like it was on fire, and she was dangerously pallid. Bellamy cradled her in her lap, disregarding the bloodstains it was certain to cause.
“So hot…” Jone stirred, murmuring, but her eyes remained closed. Bellamy winced when the young swordswoman gestured with her bleeding stump. “Arm’s on...fire…”
The Lady nodded. “He used magic on her?” she called to her companion.
“Yeah! It worked like you said it would! Now shut up and let me fly!”
Muttering under her breath, she focused on Jone instead. “Here. This should help.” Peeling back the long, damaged glove, Bellamy lined Jone’s arm up properly with her body, and pressed the two securely together. After a moment, the flesh started to sizzle and smoke, the magic Jone had eaten sealing the wound shut, as it no doubt already had done with her other injuries. A moment more, and all that remained was a garish, hideous burn scar where the young woman had once lost an arm.
As a bonus, the heat contained just under her skin skin no longer felt quite so hot to the touch, like it was about to ignite.
Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief—and promptly swallowed it whole as she raised her head to look around. “We’ve got company!”
“Three to my six, I know! Not a problem!”
“Plus three frigates taking off from the docks, eight o’clock!” Bellamy calculated Esmeralda’s curving, evasive route; it looked like they’d pass by the speedy war vessels before they could fully get underway. They were built for more speed, endurance, and firepower than the stolen, medium-sized cutter though.
“Got it! Gonna lose them in the clouds!” Under Esmeralda’s skilled guidance, the cutter shot through the air, damaged golden wings fluttering frantically, steam engine belching gas as it worked itself into the red. Lisboa fell away beneath them as they cleared the mainland, leaving only endless sky. The smaller ships wouldn’t dare follow them much further.
That may work, Bellamy thought. Then the specter of doom cast its long shadow across them. “But what about that?” she shouted.
Ahead of them, the Golden Hand broke free of the last of its moorings, damaged but functional, the fastest war vessel of its kind in the whole of the sky-realms. It wasn’t lining up to fire on them as they approached, or even as they passed—The Drake was far too familiar with Esmeralda’s piloting skill to make those bets.
He was preparing to give chase, a contest they couldn’t possibly win.
Bellamy made to summon her magic, but she knew full well she didn’t have enough followers left alive to challenge The Drake—not and walk away. Or even slow to him down for long. “Jone, Jone! Wake up Jone, we need you!” But the poor girl’s head lolled on her shoulders; she struggled weakly, seeming in the grip of nightmares. She alone could protect them from Sir Francis’ evocations, but not if she were unconscious. Besides, it seemed her new nature could only absorb so much stolen power without expressing it again somehow; it was completely possible that devouring too much magic at once could simply kill her once more.
The Lady Bellamy cursed virulently. That was the problem with ancient rituals: never enough documentation.
The cutter ducked beneath the Hand, skimming so close to its hull that Bellamy could have spat on it. She could hear distant musket fire, but there was no real threat in it. Not yet. “What are we going to do? We can’t outfight or outrun the Hand, not in the open sky!”
“I’m thinking!” Esmeralda replied, the muscles in her neck and jaw taut with stress.
Back on the mainland, a tremor rumbled through the mass of floating earth. Bellamy tensed, an instinctive reaction to what was coming.
“I’ve got it!” Esmeralda crowed triumphantly.
Their stolen vessel shot from beneath the Hand, staying beneath the angle of the guns, bolting directly for open sky.
“Are you mad?” A musket ball pinged off the deck a few feet away, a shot so lucky the musketeer should have signed up for the lottery. Ignoring it, Bellamy drug Jone’s heavy, limp body over to the stairs that led to the cutter’s shallow belowdecks. “This ship’s too small, too open! You’re going to broil us alive! There’s no way—”
“Do you trust me?” Esmeralda snapped a glance over her shoulder, teeth bared in a grin.
“Do I have to answer that?” Bellamy retorted, the humor a veneer to conceal her fear.
“Just trust me!” Esmeralda reiterated, turning back toward the bow, leaning forward over the wheel. “You and me, this isn’t how our story ends!”
Bellamy curled up with Jone, her back to the cabin door. There was nothing either of them could do now; the cards were already dealt. They could only see how they fell.
A roar of wind from behind heralded another fireball; The Drake didn’t have the same limited angle of fire as a mounted cannon.
Beneath them, the clouds peeled back, offering a glimpse into the Abyss no sane person would take. A massive torrent of boiling hot steam shot upward, gusting around the rocky curves of the mainland.
She tensed despite herself, glad that Jone wasn’t awake to see the gambit, almost wishing she wasn’t, either.
The cutter shot forward, Esmeralda once more coaxing every bit of speed from the stuttering, smoking engine. The steam curtain roared into the heavens, slapping aside Drake’s flame like a toy ball and extinguishing it. The massive airborne wave barely clipped the back end of their vessel, the air growing searingly hot around them for a brief instant. Then the ship spun in dizzying circles as it was flung high into the sky—away from Lisboa, away from the mainland, away from the occupying Elizabethian army.
And most importantly, away from Sir Francis Drake.
- - -
Jone drifted in and out of consciousness—how many times, or for how long, she had no idea.
Sometimes, she could hear the Voice, but never clearly enough. It seemed like it was talking a lot more tha
n normal though. She hoped that was a good thing. Its company soothed her though she never would have admitted it.
Once, she heard her two companions, talking about memory, magic, Drakes, and plans; she tried to hold still and listen, but she only succeeded in falling back asleep.
Another time, she felt the pull of the cold, heavy chain around her neck; someone was holding her necklace aloft, but their rhythmic words made no sense. The Lady Bellamy, she thought? That scene faded to black as well.
In between skirting the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness, there were always the nightmares to serve as companions. And the memories, disjointed and strange.
Sometimes, they were both at once.
Finally, a cool, soft wetness brought her to her senses: a cloth on her forehead. Had she been sick? “There you are,” said Esmeralda’s familiar voice. Jone smiled, though she couldn’t pry her eyes open. “Glad you’re back with us.”
“Me too,” Jone mumbled, reaching for the woman’s arm. Her own arm felt strange. Hadn’t something happened to it? She couldn’t remember. I’m tired of not remembering things. “I can’t stay, though…”
Esmeralda paused. “What do you mean? There’s plenty of time to go after Drake. You know, with a plan, and help, and stuff like that.” She could hear the easy smile in the other woman’s voice. And perhaps some worry as well?
Jone shook her head clumsily as if her body was still remembering how. “No, I mean…” The thoughts flitted away, and she had to wait for them to come back together on their own. Why was it important, again? “I figured it out. You’re pirates, criminals. It’s…not right. I can’t be…a part of it.”
Silence fell, and when it lifted, the other woman’s tone was icy. “I like you, Jone, but there’s a lot of things you just don’t get. So let me fill you in. You’ve been gone quite a while. If things were ever black and white like that, which I doubt, they’re not anymore. Where you see criminals, the common people see heroes. The only men and women with the guts to stand up to The Drake and Elizabeth. You know, kind of like how to the people of Acadia, you're a hero, and to the people of Elizabethia, you're a terrorist, a symbol of insurrection. You should think about that.”
A chair scraped, wood on wood, as the woman stood. “People like Bonnet, Dieu-Le-Veut, or Delahaye? My dead colleagues? They died at the hands of people like Drake, fighting for freedom. Just like what Sam and I are fighting for right now.” Her voice was hot anger now, instead of ice. “There’s no good side, no bad side, no law or order. There’s just them, and us. And like it or not, you’re one of us now.” Jone tried to force her eyes open, tried to sit up, tried to speak, but didn’t manage any of it before the door opened, then slammed shut again.
Eventually the door creaked open once more, a shaft of bright sky cutting across the room, bringing a little more warmth with it. Jone could dimly make out the Lady Bellamy ghosting into the room.
“You shouldn’t worry about her temper,” the lady announced, claiming the nearby chair. “It too shall pass.”
Jone rolled toward her, reaching out, trying to sit up, but Bellamy was there immediately, gently pushing her back down. “There’s no need for that, Jone. You need your rest most of all.”
Jone shook her head, catching the woman’s hand as she started to withdraw it. “Sam, please,” she said, her voice wavering, pleading. “I need answers.”
The Lady Bellamy shook her head, gently. “You need food, and rest. But I suppose you deserve answers as well.” She rang out the wet cloth, mopping Jone’s forehead with it. “So we’ll start slow, and, I promise, as soon as you’re strong enough to handle the truth…you can have more than your fill of it.”
Her smile was a dim white crescent in the dark, but the pirate’s knowing steel eyes glittered. “After all, there is much to be done.”
>>>End<<<
Thanks so much for reading!
The author has comments on the next page for you, but you can also
Continue Reading in book two:
Knight of Arcadia!
From the Author
I hope you enjoyed the introduction to this world and its characters. This novella series was originally written for a Kindle World, but with the death and disbanding of Kindle Worlds, the rights found their way magically back to me.
And I’m glad. What I wrote here, the setting, the characters, they honestly found a place in my imagination and my heart. I’m extremely happy to be able to re-work and re-publish these stories, as well as continue them in the future if others enjoy reading them as much as I do writing them.
So who is Jonelise, really? What is her full purpose, and can she truly trust her friends and newfound lovers to lead her to it, instead of using her to fulfill their own designs? What’s the deal with the weird voice in her head? And can she balance her own identity and her relationship with two deceptive pirates, while trying to accomplish the nearly-impossible?
Continue Reading in book two:
Knight of Arcadia!
If you enjoyed the ride, you can also pick up my gritty urban fantasy series, Dying Ashes, or my wife’s more light-hearted werewolf novels here, both linked below.
And don’t forget to leave us a review and subscribe to our mailing list for free books and updates on our upcoming stories. You can also get free stories and more from our Patrons Only Library on Patreon where you can get all the insider details.
Further Reading from Darksbane Books:
Dakota Shepherd Novels
Awakened (#1)
Hunted (#2)
Driven (novella #2.5)
Blooded (#3)
Dakota Shorts Vol. 1 (#3.5)
Risen (#4) - SOON!
Fallen (#5) - TBA
Dying Ashes series
Dead Girl’s Ashes (Dying Ashes #1)
Recommended: Five of Five short (Tales from the Ashes #1)
Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes #2)
Recommended: Homecoming short (Tales from the Ashes #2)
Heart of Ashes (Dying Ashes #3)
Recommended: Trouble on the Green short (Tales from the Ashes #3)
Dreadful Ashes (Dying Ashes #4)
Recommended: Haunted Motives short (Tales from the Ashes #4)
From the Ashes (Working Title - Dying Ashes #5) - Coming Spring 2019
www.DarksbaneBooks.com
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Shei and Rune, my little family.
Thanks to the people that invited me and encouraged me to give this whole thing a try; it escalated from “I don’t think I’ll like this” to “I adore this story” rather quickly. And it also taught me a bit about writing to boot. :]
Thanks to our Patreon supporters: David Nields, Abi Grey, BK Dobbs, Cheryl Bowen, Claire Smith, Hans Watts, Paige Abendroth, Ross Grant, Susan Wilson, and everyone else who’s ever supported our dreams, big or small.
And, as always, thanks to our fans, old and new, email subscribers and most importantly, readers. You make this shit work. Thanks Fan!
About the Author
Annathesa Darksbane loves writing books her readers can't put down, which you may or may not have figured out already. As a storyteller with over twenty years experience and quite a few published titles, there's nothing she'd rather be doing, even though she's done everything from engineering to game design and Aikido. When not writing, she loves studying martial arts, philosophy, psychology, and the future of cutting edge science.
If you want more thrilling, diverse urban fantasy, sci-fi, or fantasy, visit www.DarksbaneBooks.com for our upcoming releases—and nab some free books and short stories!
Copyright © 2016-2018 by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane.& Shei Darksbane
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the Un
ited States of America.
First Printing, December 18, 2018
Darksbane Books
DarksbaneBooks.com
Cover design and illustration: Shei Darksbane
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people and events are coincidence.
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