Amelia shook her head, suddenly noticing how pale her own skin was compared to that of most of the people around her. The blazing suns of the Hub certainly darkened complexions, but it wasn’t her fault where she’d been born.
The dance ended to a round of applause, and Templegrey strode over, beaming. Another overture sounded, and Amelia felt Liam’s hand at her back.
“It’s a couples dance, darling. Care to join me?”
She meant to step forward, but a nervous pit in her gut held her fast. Did she really want to step out in front of all these fake people and possibly make a fool of herself? All the smiles and laughter around her suddenly seemed so false, and every eye that passed over her seemed to carry judgment. Were there already whispers circulating about this “Ms. Virtue” with her pale skin and common accent?
Liam had turned and was looking down at her. “Amelia? Would you like to dance?”
This was supposed to be a wonderful moment, full of fun with her beloved. But she felt only heaviness. He was looking at her with new concern, she noticed, and she didn’t want to make a scene.
“Let me watch one more time,” she said, “just to go over the steps in my head.”
“I’ll guide you,” he said with a smile.
“Dance with Ava,” she blurted. “Show me how it’s done.”
Liam straightened in surprise but didn’t press the issue any further. He turned to Ava beside him.
“Lady Templegrey, may I have this dance?”
A brilliant smile lit up her face, but she glanced questioningly at Amelia.
“Go ahead, Ava,” she said. “Get him warmed up for me.”
Liam took Ava’s hand and together they walked out onto the dance floor. Final moments passed as the last of the couples found a place, and then the music started. As one, the dance partners swung into motion, the lilt of the music slowly building to a merry cadence. Amelia watched as Liam glided through the motions, his powerful form graceful and smooth. He smiled contentedly as he led Ava through a series of twirls that Amelia recognized from her hours of practicing on her own. She felt herself shifting on the spot, anticipating the dance’s next move, recognizing the beats of the music even if she didn’t know the tune. She watched Liam’s hands, noting how he led with one and supported with the other, and she suddenly longed to have him so close to her. When the dance finally concluded, she knew she was ready.
Liam and Ava returned amid the applause, and Amelia pushed Swift out of the way as she reached out to Liam.
“Lord Blackwood,” she declared, “I care to dance.”
He laughed and took her hand, but paused as the music faded to silence. Glancing toward the entranceway, he cast her an apologetic look.
“I think our host is about to greet us,” he said. “Have patience for a few minutes, darling.”
Amelia looked through the crowd and caught a glimpse of the elder Lord Brightlake standing at the top of the steps. Silence descended over the assembled guests.
“My lords and ladies,” Brightlake said, his voice amplified around the vast room, “thank you all for coming, and welcome to my humble home.”
Polite applause spilled forth, and Amelia tugged at Liam’s sleeve.
“How long do these speeches last?”
“Anywhere from five minutes to an hour—I hope you can hold it.”
She smacked him playfully.
Lord Brightlake had begun to speak again, but Amelia couldn’t quite understand him. There was another sound, a sort of rhythmic metal banging, in the background. Was it pots from the kitchen? The banging grew louder and mixed with a rising murmur from the guests. The cadence of the banging was familiar, and Amelia suddenly realized what it was: marching soldiers. She glanced up at Liam, who was staring toward the entrance with a grim expression. Rising up on her toes, Amelia strained to see.
Lord Brightlake turned as a troop of soldiers spread out to occupy the raised platform. Their swords were sheathed, but their breastplates and helmets were dull and well-used. Amelia had seen enough tavern brawls broken up to know that these were no ceremonial guard—these soldiers meant business.
As the last of the soldiers halted, forming a wide half-moon around Lord Brightlake, another figure emerged through the entrance. He was very tall, with sandy-blond hair over a handsome face that was locked in a sneer. He wore a Navy uniform with the rank of captain.
“Oh, blessed stars . . . ,” Amelia whispered, taking Liam’s hand.
“What’s he doing here?” he muttered back, before sharing glances with Swift.
“I’m surprised he’s still allowed to wear that uniform,” Swift growled.
Brightlake stepped back in shock as the Navy captain strode to the edge of the steps and spoke, his voice carrying to the far walls of the ballroom.
“Lords and ladies, my name is Captain Lord Silverhawk, and I am here tonight on grave business.” He paused as astonishment rippled through the crowd. “It is my sad duty to declare that the Brightlake estate is bankrupt, and that their assets are to be seized in order to pay their debts.”
Amelia heard open gasps around her, noting true horror on the formerly composed faces around her. The guests stood in absolute silence.
Lord Brightlake, red in the face, finally managed to find his voice.
“How dare you, sir! You have no right—”
Silverhawk’s sword was out and thrust through Brightlake’s heart in a single, swift motion. The blade protruded from his back for a terrifying moment, then sliced out. The old lord stood frozen in shock, then collapsed. The only sound in the vast room was the thud of his body against the stone floor and a crack as his head struck down. The silence was broken by the anguished sob of Lady Brightlake. She ran forward, stumbling up the steps to collapse over her husband. The younger Brightlake pushed forward but was forcibly restrained by the guards.
Silverhawk pulled out a cloth to wipe his blade, then sheathed it and faced the crowd.
“I am here,” he announced to the room, “with the authority of the Imperial laws of bursary.”
“The what?” Liam whispered.
“Oh no,” Templegrey breathed on Amelia’s other side. “Suns and stars protect them.”
“I am assuming ownership of this property,” Silverhawk continued, “effective immediately, and you are therefore now my guests.”
His face split into the most horrible smile Amelia had ever seen. He gestured broadly across the entire room.
“You are welcome to stay and enjoy the music and refreshments that have already been paid for. But I kindly ask that you not bother the new Lord Brightlake, as he will be quite busy for the next few hours.”
He strode over to where the younger Brightlake was still held by the guards. With a curt gesture toward the entrance, Silverhawk bid Brightlake to follow. They departed, surrounded by soldiers.
Liam turned to Amelia, his gaze taking in Swift and Templegrey. “We should leave. Now.”
“I can’t believe,” Templegrey said slowly, looking ashen, “that he just did that.”
“It’s never done that way, ever,” Liam agreed, obviously shaken as well.
“All the more reason,” said a new voice, fast approaching, “for us to take our leave immediately.”
All eyes turned as Lady Riverton strode up. Her eyes were hard, but Amelia could only guess at the strategies she was no doubt already calculating behind their dark depths.
“I have the information I sought,” she continued, “so the mission is complete.”
“To the carriage, then,” Liam prompted, squeezing Amelia’s hand before releasing it and turning to go. She stepped in beside him and heard the others follow.
“What’s he even doing in uniform?” Swift repeated. “I know for a fact his ship was a wreck when we pulled her alongside.”
“Removed from command,” Riverton clipped, “but still commissioned on half pay. I suspect Lord Silverhawk has been causing nothing but trouble since his only useful distraction was take
n away from him.”
“I hate to think we, and our entire ship, were just a ‘useful distraction’ for a lord,” Swift spat.
“I never would have guessed the Brightlakes were in such hard times,” Templegrey said. “I might have reconsidered when the young lord asked me for a loan.”
“He did?” Liam asked, turning slightly even as he kept up the pace. “He asked me the same.”
“And me,” Riverton added.
“Well,” Amelia couldn’t stop herself, “maybe if he’d just explained the situation for real, instead of yabbering on about hunting trips, you might have understood.”
“That’s not the way it’s done,” Liam replied, with little conviction.
“More importantly,” Riverton snapped, “estates are not seized of an evening. Nor are lords executed summarily in their own homes. There’s something more going on here, and we want no part of it.”
Amelia needed no further encouragement, ignoring etiquette and hiking up her hem as they hurried up the steps. They passed through the arched corridor and back into the great hall. Soldiers loitered in front of every doorway, and four of them stood guard at the main entrance to the house. Their eyes scanned Amelia and her colleagues, and one of them stepped forward, politely raising his hand.
“Forgive me, my lords and ladies,” he growled, “but I must ask you to identify yourselves.”
Liam was in the lead, so he responded, calmly listing everyone, including noble titles and military ranks. The soldier seemed indifferent, until Liam identified the captain. All the guards stiffened slightly in their stances, and any idle expressions vanished.
Liam caught the shift. “Is there a concern?”
The guard nodded to one of the others, who hurried off down a side corridor.
“No concern, my lord. But there may be a slight delay.”
Riverton stepped forward, interposing herself directly between Liam and the guard. Amelia couldn’t help but smile. The captain was not one to hide behind any man.
“Any delay,” she said with a tongue of ice, “is a concern to me. My officers and I need to return to our ship.”
“I’m sure it will be but a moment, my lady,” the guard said, holding his ground. “But I have my orders.”
“From whom?” she demanded.
“From me, Sophia,” boomed the voice Amelia had once upon a time grown to despise and now suddenly feared.
She didn’t turn, but she heard Captain Silverhawk stride past her. He took a stance directly in front of Riverton, glaring down at her from his great height. His hand rested casually on his sword.
“When I saw the guest list I noticed your name,” he sneered, “and I remembered that we have unfinished business.”
“I did exactly as ordered, sir,” Riverton countered, chin jutting out. “I took your cousin as a member of my crew.”
“And then insulted him.”
“If you consider locking up a man for attempted mutiny an ‘insult’ then yes, I suppose I did.”
Silverhawk glared at her, but Amelia saw more cunning than true anger in his eyes.
“I should have you stripped of your command,” he said.
“I’d like to see you try,” Riverton countered.
Silverhawk’s gaze ran down and up Riverton’s form, then shifted to take in Templegrey. Amelia didn’t see the usual gleam of lust from a man sizing up a woman, though; there was something else in his gaze.
“You’ve apparently done well for yourself, Ava,” he said suddenly. “An Imperial gown for a young sublieutenant is a rare sight indeed.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Templegrey said quietly, dropping in a quick curtsey as her face reddened.
“And the loyal executive officer . . .” Silverhawk’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Liam. “Still pulling strings in the background, Mr. Blackwood?”
“I serve my captain to the best of my ability,” Liam replied, “as I always have.”
Silverhawk’s fist lashed out, striking Liam in the jaw. He stumbled backward, steadied by Swift.
“That’s for my cousin,” Silverhawk stated, rubbing his knuckles. “Learn your place, you insolent cur.”
“Yes, sir,” Liam said, straightening but keeping his eyes down.
Amelia kept her clenched fists at her side, just waiting for the order from Riverton to take this idiot down. But the captain stood impassively.
Silverhawk took a deep, satisfied breath, his eyes passing blankly over Amelia as he surveyed the group. Finally, he turned to Riverton again.
“This isn’t over, Sophia. I suggest you board your old tub of a ship and start running, as fast as you can.”
Riverton met his gaze, then lazily examined the soldiers blocking the door. “May I go now, sir?”
Silverhawk waved for the guards to stand aside, then strode away without a backward glance.
Amelia followed the others out into the warm air, forcing her fists to unclench as the adrenaline surged through her.
“Why didn’t you just punch him back?” she hissed, reaching up to inspect the shallow cut on his cheek. Before anyone could answer she voiced her own frustrations. “Because that’s not ‘what’s done’?”
“No,” Liam said, stopping short and pulling her to a halt. The others followed Riverton toward the carriage. “Because I would have been arrested without question and tried in the Imperial court. You think all this,” he waved at the magnificent Brightlake manor and grounds, “is impressive? This is a cottage to someone like Silverhawk. This is the estate of a midlevel lord. Silverhawk is a high lord, meaning he’s one step removed from royalty. He exists in a world you can’t even conceive of. There is no law that can contain him, but he is very capable of using the law against anyone who crosses him.”
“That isn’t right,” she said. “Sounds like someone needs to take the law into their own hands to deal with him.”
“We may deal with pirates and criminals all the time, Amelia,” Liam said, his face darkening, “but we shall not become like them.”
She frowned. “It seems Lord Silverhawk has no qualms becoming like them.”
“And do you want to become like him?”
She spat on the steps in disgust, grabbed her dress, and strode off to catch up to the others.
The carriage was just pulling up as she arrived. Riverton and Templegrey boarded efficiently, and Amelia ignored the offered hands as she pulled herself up and in. Liam was close behind her and Swift brought up the rear. They took their seats, staring at each other with an intensity Amelia had come to know well, and to welcome.
“XO,” Riverton said, “send out the recall for our crew. We sail on the next large tide.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liam replied.
“Propulsion,” she said to Swift, “cancel any maintenance, and go to one hour’s notice to sail.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Doctor,” to Templegrey, “ensure you have an adequate supply to counter the headaches and sickness we’ll have from a drunken crew. There will be no layabouts.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Quartermaster”—the captain’s gaze burned into Amelia—“ensure we’re fully stocked for at least forty-five days.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said automatically, even as her mind started to run through the provisions she’d already ordered, and what space she had in the holds.
“I confirmed the location of the pirate ship Black Hand, barely two days’ sail from here, and there may be truth to the rumor that Dark Star is personally on board,” Riverton announced after a moment. “I intend to strike with all haste.”
Amelia sat back in her seat as the carriage jostled through the town. The voluminous folds of her dress smothered her legs and she suddenly couldn’t wait to get back into real clothes. Looking around the carriage, at her officers in their finery, she could tell by their expressions that they felt the same. It was time to get back to where they all belonged.
Chapter 2
Liam Blackwood sta
ggered as he left his cabin, caught off guard by a sudden pitch of the ship’s deck. The armor plate of his knee clanged against the bulkhead, and he fought to steady himself as the ship rolled. Daring was sailing hard athwart a stiff solar breeze. She was making good time, but the ride was less than comfortable.
Pulling his cabin door shut he eased himself forward, adjusting to the added weight of his armor, and the saber and pistols on his belt. The gauntlets made grabbing for handholds challenging, and he had to adjust to the restricted movement under the polished black breastplate. It had been many weeks since he’d last donned his fighting gear, but the extra bulk was like an old friend and as he shuffled toward the bridge door ahead he settled himself. He clung to the door as Daring pitched violently again, then swung it open.
The swirling light of the squall outside cast dancing shadows over the deck as he stumbled forward to grab the nearest console. It was currently unmanned, but several paces ahead he could see the regular bridge crew closed up. Commander Riverton was seated in her port-side chair, the officer of the watch stood at her central console, and the clutch of sailors hunkered at their sailing helm, lookout and weapons controls forward, the coxn keeping firm watch over them all.
It was unseemly for the executive officer to appear unable to handle a storm, and Liam barely paused before staggering forward again to grip the corner of the central officer of the watch console.
Sublieutenant Charlotte Brown was at her usual station, feet planted firmly on the deck and hands gripping her console. Her dark hair was tied up in an efficient bun and her young face scanned her displays with keen intelligence before turning to face him. Her complexion was decidedly pale, with even a touch of green, but her voice was as confident as ever.
“Ship is at battle stations, XO, five minutes to estimated intercept.”
Liam looked up through the clear canopy of the bridge, at the dazzling view of the Hub off to port and the wisps of nebula gas streaking past the ship. The squall was playing havoc with this corner of the nebula’s tendril, he could see.
Dark Star Rising Page 3
