Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  “You know a lot about griffin saddles for a prince,” said Kate. “I would think you would travel by royal yacht.”

  “I have flown griffins many times before. I was officer in the Estaran army,” said Thomas.

  “Why Estara? You are Freyan,” Kate said.

  Thomas reached across her shoulders and began to sort the straps. “Put these over your shoulders and attach them here in the center of your chest. These go around your legs.” He cinched the straps tight.

  “To answer your question, my mother is Estaran. I was raised in that country,” Thomas continued. “She believes a king should have military training, and through her influence, I obtained a commission in the Royal Estaran Army. I have never set foot in Freya.”

  “Then why do you want to be king?” Kate asked.

  “Who says I do?” Thomas returned.

  Kate stared at him. “Don’t you?”

  Thomas handed her the helm. “Put this on. Make sure it’s fastened tightly.”

  “We’re ready to go,” Phillip said, hurrying over. “I have arranged to keep the griffins as long as we need them.”

  He tossed the scrip to Thomas, who deftly caught it and placed it in the griffin’s saddlebags.

  “Do we have any money left?” Thomas asked.

  “A little,” Phillip said, grinning.

  Thomas strapped himself into his saddle and waited for Phillip to mount and secure himself to his own saddle. Phillip put on his helm and raised his hand to indicate he was ready. Thomas looked over at Kate, who nodded and raised her hand.

  Thomas leaned forward, patted the griffin on the neck.

  “We are ready when you are,” Thomas said.

  The griffins carried them to a large empty field, cleared of trees and rocks, specially designed for the use of the griffins for taking off and landing.

  The griffin on which Thomas was riding took the lead. The beast glanced back at him. Thomas braced himself. The griffin crouched down, then sprang off the hard-packed ground, propelling itself upward with its powerful leonine hind legs. The enormous wings caught the air and the griffin soared low across the field, circled, and started to rise.

  The other two griffins followed the first, while Little Dimitri watched to make certain they got away safely, before hurrying back to his house.

  The griffins continued to circle, gaining altitude, before flying off to the southwest, heading for Freeport. Thomas looked down to see the fort ablaze with light. He caught a glimpse of the stark, skeletal black shadow cast by the gallows in the middle of the courtyard, and then the fort and the gallows were behind him. He and his friends were flying over the inky blackness of the harbor into the Breath.

  Thomas looked back at Kate, silhouetted against the stars. Most first-time griffin riders hunched over the beast’s neck, clutching its feathers in terror, but Kate was accustomed to flight. She sat upright and faced forward, with nary a glance back at the fort or the gallows. She is putting the horror behind her, he thought, concentrating on her crew, going to save Olaf, who was waiting for her.

  She is a remarkable woman, Thomas thought. Not like any woman I have ever known.

  Of course, no other woman he knew had threatened to shoot him. But that was not all that made Kate different. Most women were attracted to him because he was a prince. Whereas Kate seemed to feel that being a prince was a blot upon his character.

  He remembered her blunt question. “Why do you want to be king?”

  Despite his glib answer, he had been giving the matter serious thought. He owed that to Phillip, who had made him realize that his country, Freya, was in trouble. The crown prince had been killed in a tragic accident; his only child had died. The queen was past the age to bear more children. Only two heirs were currently in the running.

  “The queen favors her sister, Elinor,” Phillip had said. “The Freyan people can’t stand her. She is married to a Rosian merchant, lives in Rosia, and is a devout follower of the detested Rosian church. The other candidate is the queen’s bastard half brother, Hugh. Sir Henry is urging her to choose Hugh, but that will be a long slog, for the queen hates him.”

  Thomas had the best claim to the throne dating back almost two hundred years to King Frederick, who had been deposed by his brother, King Alfred, who had died on the field of battle. His wife and his children had fled to Estara where the Stanford family had remained in exile until Thomas’s mother gave birth to a son. Since that day, Constanza had schemed and plotted to restore the Stanford family to the Freyan throne.

  The Freyan newspaper loved him, affectionately calling him “Prince Tom.”

  “But Sir Henry refers to you only as the ‘Pretender,’” Phillip had said dryly.

  The queen’s spymaster, Henry Wallace, had sent Phillip to spy on Thomas, but Phillip had since come to believe that Thomas was the true and rightful king. He had confessed the truth to Thomas and now the two were firm friends. And Phillip’s faith in Thomas had begun to awaken Thomas’s faith in himself.

  Phillip knew a great deal about the sad state of his country, especially the economic problems Freya faced following the war. He and Thomas had spent much of their time devising plans for reform that sounded very good, especially after the fourth glass of port.

  But those plans were based on some far distant future. What would happen if Queen Mary were to suddenly drop dead tomorrow? Thomas would face a daunting challenge if he wanted to press his claim to the throne. He might be “Prince Tom” to the Freyan people, but neither Hugh nor Elinor would give up without a fight.

  Hugh had long wanted the throne, according to Phillip, and he had the backing of Sir Henry and his faction. The queen and her faction supported the queen’s sister, Elinor.

  King Renaud of Rosia was currently backing Thomas, due to the influence of the Countess de Marjolaine. But there were those in the Rosian court who were urging Renaud to side with Elinor.

  Then there was his mother, Constanza, and her plots and schemes. She spoke of armies marching into the Freyan capital to seize the throne by force. Thomas did not often argue with his intrigue-loving, volatile mother, for he did not want to have to endure tears, recriminations, and thrown crockery. He had made it clear to her, however, that he would not be party to overthrowing the queen.

  The death of Queen Mary could draw the largest two kingdoms in Aeronne into war, for Rosia would be quick to take advantage of a perceived weakness in Freya. Thomas had heard captains in the Rosian navy talking about it when they thought he wasn’t within earshot. Freya would be plunged into civil war, torn apart by competing factions.

  Why did he want to be king?

  The truth was, he didn’t, and who could blame him?

  Thomas sighed. He’d much rather run away with Kate and be a pirate.

  SIX

  Securely strapped into the saddle on the griffin’s broad leonine back, Kate was grateful for the chance to rest and try to recover from the shock of her ordeal. She was in the state of exhaustion in which reality seemed unreal and dreams the only reality. Her eyes closed of their own volition, and once more she was back in that bleak jail cell waiting with dread for the hangman.

  She woke, sweating and shivering, to find herself safe and free, on griffinback, flying through the starlit night to save her crew.

  As she had told Thomas, she was their captain. She was responsible.

  She had made the decision to remain in the Aligoes even after she saw the Dragon Brigade and the Rosian “Rum Fleet” blockading the Trame Channel. She had put her ship and her crew in harm’s way. She had fled Freya because she had feared she would be implicated in the murder of the dragon, Lady Odila. Kate had returned to the Aligoes to prove her innocence to Dalgren, who had parted with her in anger, believing her to be guilty.

  The men who had signed on with her as privateer’s-men had known the risks involved. She believed she had done everything possible to save her ship. The only reason she had not gone down with Victorie was because she had been on shore,
desperately trying to free the fouled anchor. She had tried to rejoin her ship, to sink with her crew if she couldn’t save them, but she had been captured and forced to watch Victorie vanish into the Deep Breath.

  She had heard what sounded like the ship crash-landing on one of the many islands. She had reason to think some of the crew had survived. If so, they would be waiting for her to save them.

  “I am coming for you,” Kate promised Olaf and Akiel and the others. “Please, just hold on a little longer.”

  And suppose I do save Olaf and Akiel and the others, Kate thought to herself. What will we do then? She was destitute, had no warship and therefore no letters of marque, and no patron. Sir Henry suspected her of murder and had probably put out a warrant for her arrest. She had even lost Dalgren, who had gone back to Rosia to face charges of desertion.

  Fight for your dreams, Stephano de Guichen had told her.

  “What’s the use?” Kate asked dispiritedly.

  She dozed off again. This time her dreams were not of war or prison. She was a child on her father’s ship, the dear old Barwich Rose. She was standing at the rail, moodily tearing up a hunk of bread that should have been her breakfast and throwing the pieces into the murky depths of the Breath.

  Her father had lost everything last night. He had gambled away a month’s worth of savings, a month’s worth of work. In that moment she hated him, detested him. She decided that at the next port of call, she would run away. She would go back to her beloved Barwich Manor. She would live in the abandoned house, eating rabbits and squirrels. No one would find her. Ever.

  A hand clapped Kate on the shoulder. She looked up to see her father, giving her his usual cheerful, disarming smile.

  “Here now, girl,” said Morgan. “Why the glum face? So I lost money at the gaming tables last night. There’s always more where that came from. Like they say, the world floats on money as a ship floats on the Breath. If there’s no money in my purse now, what does it matter? There soon will be.”

  Morgan rested his arms on the rail and gazed out into the Breath. “In the meantime, we have blue sky and a lovely day for sailing. We have our ship. We have our friends. We have the horizon, and beyond that, our fortune awaits.”

  The griffin made a sudden banking turn and Kate jerked awake. The dream had been very real. She could almost feel the touch of her father’s hand and see his smile. He had come to her for a reason.

  “The Barwich Rose,” Kate said, speaking the words aloud, feeling the warm moisture of her breath on the inside of the leather helm. “I still have the Barwich Rose!”

  She and her crew had hidden the old ship from the Rosians in the jungle, hauling her ashore and hiding her in the thick vegetation. Her only worry was that the Rosians had discovered the ship and destroyed it. She tried to remember everything that horrible captain had said to her. He had not spoken of having destroyed her other ship and he was the type to have gloated over it.

  As Morgan would say, I am alive, she reflected, and that, she realized, was more than she had reason to expect only a few hours ago. She had friends: Pip and Thomas. And even though Thomas was a prince, he did seem to have some sense.

  Kate glanced at the two men, flying alongside her. Phillip was slumped forward in the saddle, asleep. Thomas was awake, enjoying the flight. He sat a griffin well, tall and upright, one hand lightly grasping the reins, the other on his hip. He rode the way Kate imagined he did everything: with confidence and an easy grace.

  She could not see his face, hidden behind the helm, but she could picture his smile, his lips slightly parted as though to drink in the night, his blue eyes alight with the thrill of the adventure.

  She remembered the look in those blue eyes when he had found her in that prison cell, seen her wretched and frightened, bald, bruised, and bloodied. She had seen pity and horror in the blue eyes, followed by anger and determination.

  “I have come to save you.”

  He had risked his life to save her, and she had repaid him by being offensive and insulting.

  I was shocked to see him, that’s all, Kate rationalized. When they had said good-bye, she had never expected to see him again. Why would she?

  She and Thomas had met by chance when he and Phillip had tried to steal the lucrative cargo she had just stolen from the Braffans—a fiasco that had almost ended in disaster. They had survived, said good-bye, and parted.

  But she had found herself thinking about him often after that, particularly his striking blue eyes, black curly hair, and bold smile. Kate had no idea who he was, for he had refused to tell her his name. She had fondly pictured him as a daring vagabond, roaming the world in search of adventure.

  She had discovered the truth from Sir Henry. Thomas was not a vagabond. He was a descendant of King James I of Freya with a claim to the Freyan throne. And he was engaged to be married to a Rosian princess.

  Kate had been outraged, vexed, and disappointed. She had been vexed at Thomas for being a prince. Vagabonds were at least hardworking, while princes were arrogant, indolent, puffed-up dandies who did nothing useful. She was outraged at him for being engaged to a princess at the same time he had looked at her with admiration and warmth. And she was disappointed in herself, for having let herself daydream about his striking blue eyes.

  Kate had resolved to forget him after that, and she had almost succeeded, mainly due to the fact that she had more urgent matters on her mind, such as being framed for a murder, losing her ship, captured by the Rosians, and almost hanged as a pirate.

  But then, in her moment of despair, Thomas appeared in her jail cell to save her from death, just like some prince in a fairy tale.

  And Kate was vexed and outraged and disappointed all over again.

  She was thinking about him, absently gazing at him, when he suddenly turned his head to look at her, as though he had been thinking of her.

  Kate flushed in annoyance and hurriedly turned her head away. She was sweating in the leather helm and she took it off so she could run her hands through her hair, only to feel her bare scalp, a cruel reminder, she thought with a pang, that she didn’t have any hair.

  She had always mockingly disparaged her own hair. Her mother, whose hair had been spun gold, had termed the color of Kate’s hair “dishwater blond” and Kate had laughingly called it “dirty dishwater.” She realized now she had been secretly vain of the luxuriant blond and mahogany curls that had once framed her face.

  The surgeon had shaved off the curls to sew up the cut on her head. She had watched in a daze as they dropped onto the deck, where they lay soaking up the blood and the muck. The daring, reckless Kate of the dirty dishwater curls had lost her ship and her crew and had nearly gotten herself hanged. She was now Kate of the shorn head and she had been given a chance to redeem herself.

  All very well, but she writhed inside when she remembered Thomas entering the cell and seeing her bald and bloodied.

  True, he had held her tightly in his arms moments later, but she could well imagine that he had embraced her out of pity, as well. She couldn’t think of any other reason. He was, after all, engaged to be married to someone else.

  The rushing wind felt good. Kate closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation.

  “Are you all right?” Thomas called, raising his visor.

  Kate opened her eyes and saw him looking worried.

  “Fine,” she returned, irritated.

  She put the helm back on her head so she didn’t have to look at him—and he could not look at her.

  The stars were starting to pale, and the Breath was brightening from gray-black to rose-orange. Kate could view her surroundings. The griffins were flying over the Trame Channel, a narrow stretch of empty sky that flowed like a river between the myriad islands of the Aligoes, cutting a wide swath that was easy to see from the air. Kate realized with excitement that they were close to Freeport, and home.

  She searched the sky for the dragons of the Dragon Brigade. They would have no reason to suspect three people rid
ing griffins. Travelers were common in the Aligoes, and news of her escape could not have reached the naval fleet this fast.

  Still, she kept close watch, both for dragons and the Rosian ships that had been patrolling the channel. Thomas and Phillip had said they had been with the Rum Fleet in Maribeau. Kate figured that the Rosians might leave a frigate or two behind, just to keep watch. She saw a merchant ship and several island hoppers, making early-morning runs, but that was all.

  The griffins started their descent.

  Kate recognized the jagged peak of Mount Invicto in the distance and knew precisely where she was now. She and Dalgren had often flown this route in the early morning, practicing when they thought no one would see them. Dalgren had lived in a cave near the summit of the mountain. The dragon Coreg had his dwelling underneath.

  Kate had forgotten about Coreg when she had confidently assured the griffins that there were no dragons on Freeport. If the griffins caught sight of him, they would refuse to land. They might be angry and carry her back to Maribeau in a huff. Kate wondered if she should mention him and decided to keep quiet. Coreg never ventured out during the day. Indeed, she was one of the few who knew that a dragon had been living on the island for about ten years.

  Kate looked from Mount Invicto to the vast expanse of the Breath that was Freeport Bay and kept eager watch for the small town of Freeport, whose bright-colored stucco houses and shops lined a single dirt street facing the bay. Her eyes dimmed when Freeport came into view. She had never thought to see it again.

  As the griffins descended, they started peering about for a safe place to land. Kate raised the visor on her helm and leaned over to speak to her mount, who swiveled its head to fix her with a beady eye.

  “Keep flying due south until you reach a lighthouse,” she instructed. “There you will head west. About three miles inland is a large open field where you can land. I can guide you.”

  The griffin relayed her instructions to the other two griffins and they continued south and eventually soared over the town. Only a few people were in the streets this early, going to their farms or opening up their shops. No one paid much attention to them. Griffin riders often visited Freeport to conduct business with Greenstreet and Coreg.