by Susan Grant
A desperate, primal wanting for air.
Something clamped around her shoulders. There was a gushing explosion of water, and then she was splashing, fighting, yanked up and out and thrown onto dry land.
Gut-wrenching convulsions, then pushing, hard pushing on her chest. A man’s angry voice. “Breathe, blast it. Breathe.” And finally she was retching up lungfuls of rainwater into the mud, tears streaming as Reeve held her head and hair. His hand stroking her cheek, his gaze aglow. “Whatever they did to you can’t be forgiven,” Reeve was saying as he swaddled her in his coat. “But you’re going to have to learn to forgive yourself. You’ll not escape through suicide, girl, I won’t let you.”
It wasn’t suicide. It never would be. Her people, her prince, needed her. She was sobbing then, wishing there was a way she could make this beautiful, patient man understand that she didn’t need the water to die. She needed it to live.
THE MUD OF HOME CAKED Val’s boots as she slogged along a path from the docks where she’d been sentenced the entire day. Aye, sentenced, she thought, rolling her aching shoulders. Her heroics during the freighter incident had made her the toast of the village—for about a week. Now it was back to training as a raider. Being dirt-bound at dock meant fixing balky equipment and mending armor, off-loading old supplies and getting the Varagon ready for the next raid. Pirates lived in a constant state of alert—never knowing when the next opportunity would come. They always had to be ready.
The scent of cedar was sweet and strong. Ancient, rain-heavy branches sagged, hulking shadows in the fog already billowing in to replace the day’s soaking rains: a typical Artoom springtime evening. The closer she walked to the village center, the louder the merry music and the more she could smell the savory scents coming from under huge tarps sheltering the revelers. The wet weather sure hadn’t dampened the spirits of her people and the arriving clans. Val wondered what the big men from the vast and open plains of Parramanta would think of her snug, ever-damp planet. Mostly, she wondered all day what one particular man from the Parramanta would think, and what it would be like seeing him again, outside the freighter.
Hervor splashed along at her side. “I’m hungry.”
“Aye, me, too.” The scent of baking pies made her mouth water. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to where a group of women took shelter under a dripping overhang to prepare the treats. Val called to them. “Hoy! Are you saving them all for the feast tonight?”
“We always got extra for our raiders,” one of the women called back, sending one of the children darting across the street with two paper-wrapped hand-pies.
As the little boy watched in awe, Val and Hervor tore off the wrappers. Val lifted the pie to her mouth and inhaled before biting in. The crust was flaky and warm, the inside syrupy and sweet: slow-cooked lamb mixed with early berries picked by the village children from the shrubs on the sides of the dunes along the shore. There were fewer pies baked recently and more dried and stored foods to eat—conservation of resources, her father said, in light of the reduced profits coming in—but the gathering had changed all that for the moment, bringing back memories of her early childhood when there was plenty and the clan was prosperous.
Blue clan could not have hosted the event alone. Luckily, the guests arrived with almost every item imaginable to contribute. It was one more thing their people had in common: pirates loved a good party. Midwinter batches of moonshine had recently been decanted and were already flowing by the sounds of laughter and loud talk.
“Ayl!” Despa’s voice tinkled through the fog like music as she spied the raider in a group also returning after a day’s labor. Ayl’s lover was a healer popular for her concoctions with a business right on Main Street.
“He’d better run.” Hervor laughed. “Or he’ll find himself helping her out in the shop. She’ll be open late tonight I bet, making money hand over fist with all the clans in town. Selling rocket booster to the raiders.”
“Rocket booster, aye.” Val snickered. Sharken was mixed in food and drink to boost a man’s sexual passion. Its side effect of giving extra energy made it popular during celebrations. Despa’s private blend was the best and the most potent. “Not that you’d know anything about that, eh, Herv?”
“Hells, no,” he denied with a curse. “I’ve no need for boosting.”
Despa dropped the herbs she’d been rinsing, her smile joyful. Her rare blond hair fluttered like the lush hem of her long skirts as she ran to Ayl and lifted his arm, tucking herself underneath it. She fed him a treat she’d fished from her pocket. Homemade and delicious, Val was sure, thinking of the tasty pie she’d just eaten that also was made by a kitchen-capable female, something else Val bypassed learning to become a raider. Ayl seemed to resist Despa’s attentions at first, then gave in, drawing her close and saying something that made her laugh. They veered away from the group. Ayl was kissing the girl, his hands squeezing her bottom, before they’d even disappeared behind the flap of the front door of the shop.
Awkward, Val glanced away. “I don’t know why he keeps trying to bed me when its clear Despa loves him. He must feel something for her.”
Hervor’s grin was wry. “Aye, the flarg-wad probably does, but it isn’t the L-word you’re thinking. Lust, it is. He’s just biding his time until you come to your senses.”
“I hope he likes biding time because that’s all he’s ever going to do when it comes to me.” She gave her skiff mate an affectionate push and headed home. In the distance the camp dogs barked at something beyond the wall of trees in the direction of the docks where starship thrusters echoed hollowly in the mist. Was Sethen finally home? Her parents seemed to expect her elder brother’s return at any moment. As usual he hadn’t passed along the status of his ship and crew, frustrating their father to no end. But it was Reeve and some strangers approaching.
As he walked closer, she saw her friend’s mouth twisted in an expression of annoyance she knew well.
He was escorting Nezerihm.
Luxurious wraps swathed the mine owner’s gaunt frame. His thick, steel-gray hair was brushed cleanly away from his forehead and knotted at the base of his neck with a zelfen and gemstone band that matched the heavy clip holding the wrap around his shoulders. That clip was worth more than some clans’ fleet of ships. Flaunting his wealth to make the pirates hungry for it, she thought. History said that the mines used to belong to all in the Channels. Then Nezerihm’s family moved in from somewhere unknown and took over running the operation. At the very least the pirates should have insisted on a share of the profits.
Her people might be crafty and resilient but they weren’t known for their business sense, Val thought with a wry frown. And maybe they were fools to allow Nezerihm to come to Artoom to eavesdrop. “He’s not one of us,” she’d tried to persuade Conn, but he wouldn’t listen, arguing that excluding the man would have made him suspicious and defensive: “Girl, I’m remaining hopeful Nezerihm will cooperate to ease tensions amongst us pirates. Best everyone sits down to figure out a way the clans can hunt for him without stepping all over each other’s toes.”
We wouldn’t have to worry about that if we had control of the mines, Val thought, watching him walk closer.
Nezerihm looked miserable. He hated Artoom’s weather and never passed up the opportunity to complain about it. Dark circles made perpetual smudges under the man’s pale eyes. He looked as if he lived in a cave. Aye, under the surface guarding all his precious ore.
Then the mine owner recognized her and waved. Val had to force away a small chill at the sudden eye contact.
“I see Artoom has welcomed me with another one of your lovely spring days, Valeeya Blue.” His teasing tone sounded sprightly and friendly, and at odds with his effect on her. “Has your father saved any moonshine to warm my bones?”
“There’s moonshine and food aplenty.”
“I plan to partake—as soon as I’m refreshed from my journey.”
She stepped aside to let Nezeri
hm and his cronies pass. Reeve hung back for a moment. He wore a look of distaste she didn’t have to ask about to understand; then he sidled up to Val, his gaze softer. “She’s doing better. The slave girl.” No one knew what else to call the girl they’d rescued from the freighter, and she refused to answer to any names. “No more trying to kill herself. I don’t think she ever intended to.” He paused as if trying to sort it all out. “She just wanted to be in the water. Wanted to breathe it, or something. Crazy.” A shrug gave the impression he thought the girl was silly, but his expression gave away his curiosity about her, and his caring. “She hasn’t tried again.”
Val nodded in relief. Reeve had taken on the girl as his personal project. Was it because he felt responsible for her, or because he was falling for her?
He brightened. “I take her every day to the cedar baths. She’s been happy as a clam. Those hot springs seem her personal vision of the Ever After. She’d live full-time in the bathhouse if we let her. Mama’s too busy trying to fatten her up to allow it.”
“Lucky her. Your mama’s cooking is my personal vision of the Ever After.” Val laughed. Then their focus shifted back to Nezerihm and his cronies. Reeve lowered his voice. “He’s angry. Nezerihm. He says the Surebloods want to push all the clans out of the way, and even him. I heard him talking. He even said it to me.”
“He told you that?”
“Aye and more. He says the Surebloods are making him the scapegoat for their raid crashing. Citing ‘misunderstandings’ as their excuse for stealing everyone else’s share. He said we Blues had better not trust them.”
“What do you think?”
“I think Nez is an ass.”
“And the Surebloods?”
Reeve seemed torn. “I want to trust them. I’ll tell you that, Val.”
Nezerihm’s group now realized Reeve had lagged behind. They turned and looked at them, Nezerihm’s expression tight, suspicious.
“Hey, I gotta go,” Reeve said and jogged away to catch up with his charges, leaving her pondering Nezerihm’s accusation and Reeve’s doubts. Blue clan was wary and justifiably so. They were inviting their enemies into their camp, notably the Surebloods. But who was the real enemy—the other clans or Nezerihm?
The group vanished in the foggy streets, leaving Val awash in uncertainty. Had Conn done the right thing by agreeing to this gathering?
No. Don’t let yourself be swayed by Nezerihm’s gossip. Mistrust and infighting, for all the years Val had been alive, the pirates had known no different. Now Dake Sureblood, young and blunt and sure of himself, had burst forth with his ideas of working together and swept her father along for the ride. It had given Conn new life. He hadn’t been this happy and energized since before losing his hand.
She wouldn’t let Nezerihm steal that away.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Val hurried home to get ready for the dance. Getting to know Dake Sureblood better had become more than simply a desire to socialize with an exciting, attractive man. It was a personal act of rebellion against a manipulator who wanted to quench her father’s dreams.
DAKE STRODE THROUGH THE soggy streets of Artoom with his contingent of clansmen. He felt like a predator released from a cage after being poked with sticks all day. All the clan captains, senior raiders and elders had spent the day locked away in meetings. They’d argued more than they’d bargained, and he’d been the focus of much of the anger, but he’d not let anything push him off the path he’d come here to clear.
A group of Calders passed by, loud and boisterous. More pent-up energy, Dake thought. It was going to prove volatile once mixed with moonshine. As part of the rules of the gathering, no one bore arms except for security. Weapons or no, there’d be fighting later—there always was.
“Hoy, Sureblood!” Their leader, Kel Calder, cupped his hands around his mouth and roared across the street. “You may be bigger than me, but give me a few slugs of that famous Blue moonshine and I’ll teach you a lesson or two for your little misunderstandin’ last month at Forfeit Moons. Aye, a taste of my fists will do you.”
“If you’re still wanting to trade fists after you get drunk enough to get your courage up, Calder, come find me. If you can stagger in the right direction.”
The Calder started toward him, but was held back by his men. He guffawed. “Boy, I could beat you hog-tied and hungover.”
Boy. All the clan captains called him that. He was used to it by now. All of them were old enough to be his father, or even grandfather, but if they didn’t respect him, they wouldn’t have spoken to him at all. Stories of the freighter attack had spread far and wide. The tales had been exaggerated and embellished, already turning to legend. His rescue of Val and the gratitude Conn Blue showed him because of it, coupled with the general sense of tragedy surrounding Tomark’s death, had boosted Dake to his rightful place amongst the pirate leaders. Except, he was still “the boy.”
“Drink hearty, Sureblood,” the Calder cried. “I’ll be looking for you.”
He’d best look elsewhere. Dake had different plans.
He glanced around for signs of Val. Holed up in her father’s meeting tent all freepin’ day, he was sure that at some point she’d appear. No trace of her.
Now he’d need to concoct an excuse to see her, he thought. Surely, he’d dropped enough hints of interest to her father. Val had been on his mind when his mind was best focused on clan matters and a fragile new truce. She’d given him the fever, that girl had. Why had his virtual monk-dom been fine a month ago, hells, a week ago, and now it chafed like uncured leather?
He was going to have to do something about it.
And about her.
Tonight.
Dake and his men rounded the corner. Yarmouth elbowed him. “Look. You’ve got a female admirer.”
Dake whipped his gaze around, hoping to see Val. One of the Blue elders, the female raider named Malta, waved to him from under a sodden awning where a crowd was beginning to gather.
“Since you’re all set for the night, boss,” Yarmouth joked, “that leaves me free to hook up with the clan captain’s daughter.”
“Not if you don’t want to be skinned alive—”
“Ah, you wouldn’t do that, boss. You like me.”
“—and fed to Merkury.”
Yarmouth’s mischievous grin grew wider. “So Val’s hands-off, eh?”
“Everyone else’s hands, aye, except mine.” That was, if Dake didn’t lose out competing for her attention. After all, she was a beautiful girl as well as the clan captain’s daughter, with a hells of a lot more to her than even that. Aye, like a smart mind for planning and nerves of steel under pressure, and the guts to stand up to him. She was everything he valued in one hot little package, the perfect match for him. Dake would just have to win her over, that was all there was to it.
“Boss.” Yarmouth’s elbow jabbed him again. “She’s getting upset.”
“Huh? Who is?” Dake peered around. Impatient, Malta motioned him closer. Oh, her. What could she possibly want? The elder had been nothing but chilly to him, scowling at him nearly the entire day of talks with distrustful brown eyes.
“Well, we don’t want to upset the lady, do we?” Dake sauntered up and leaned a hip against the edge of the bar.
“Moonshine,” she said, shoving a glass of pink-tinged clear liquid at him. “Family recipe. Unlike other families, my folk brew only once a year—midwinter. Best stuff on the planet, and don’t be letting anyone else tell you otherwise.”
She poured another small glass for herself, held it up. And then paused. “Are you going to join me or not, Sureblood?”
“Aye, I’ll join you.” He was surprised at the thaw. One minute the old pirate was growling at him, the next she was purring. He emptied the contents of the glass into the cup hanging from a lanyard around his neck.
Malta’s brow lifted. “Our glasses aren’t good enough for you?”
“These cups are a Sureblood tradition. We use them wherever we go, even
at home.”
Malta’s raptorlike eyes took in every detail. “Etched like your armor.”
“Less chance of swapping someone else’s spit that way. You always know your own cup.” Dake tapped his cup against her little glass, carefully, so as not to spill any of the potent liquid.
“Strange traditions you Surebloods got,” she complained and lifted the glass…then paused again, faking him out.
Dake had almost taken a swallow, his mouth coming close enough to inhale eye-watering fumes. “Are we going to have a drink or not, Elder?” he growled.
“I’ve got to make the toast first, boy.” She observed him with a critical and yet mischievous expression. “To the new clan leader of the Surebloods—not quite as much of a cocky bastard as I thought.”
Then she clinked her glass to his, drained it and slammed it down on the bar. Dake did the same seconds later, dragging the back of his hand across his lips as the liquor scorched down his throat. “Tasty,” he said and winked. “Best on the planet, I hear.”
“Finally!” Malta cried. “Truth uttered from the lips of a Sureblood.” She cuffed him on the side of his upper arm and waded away through the gathering crowd.
Some of the women there sent him sassy glances full of promise. Others were too frightened to make eye contact. He searched their faces for the one he wanted to see. No sign of Val.
Well, hells. In days he’d be leaving, and who knew when he’d ever have the chance to cross paths with her again. If he missed her, he’d have to come up with an excuse for another gathering on the heels of this one. He sagged back against the wall, slightly numbed by the one swallow of moonshine. It was one freepin’ strong brew, he had to admit.
Yarmouth matched him slouch for insolent slouch, his hand wrapped around a cup brimming with ale. “Are my ears still stuffed up or did Malta call us liars, boss?”
