“How can I do that?”
“Seek out the Father’s priests.”
Petran moaned. The captain shifted his gaze to his son.
The Father’s priests. Wasn’t one set of worshippers as bad as another? “What will they do?”
Once more, the captain fixed his dark gaze on Arkenn’s. “Keep you alive. Or they’ll try to, but that’s the best deal you’ll get.” He rose and patted Arkenn’s shoulder. “Good luck, little mage. Safe journey.”
He trod toward the door. Before he closed the panel behind him, the captain added, “And if you cannot stay safe… run.”
Chapter Seven
Petranstoodondeck,resting his elbows on the taffrail. Mist kissed his face while salt air filled his lungs. In the distance, the vague shape of E’Skaara’s harbor scarcely registered—three days later than initially planned, thanks to crew members recovering from the attack.
They’d lost six of their crew of fifty-seven, buried at sea. Another eight might never be fit for duty again.
Smutje and a few others would stay with the ship while the rest of the crew went ashore in E’Skaara.
E’Skaara, one of the few ports they could safely use and be seen as small merchants, as long as they tended to business, left without lingering, and no one asked too many questions about the damaged hull. They’d filled their cargo hold with legitimate goods, like Frescian ale and Amalgari silk, which hid less-legal items they’d offer to private collectors.
The thwack of hammers and rasp of saws in the background occasionally drowned out the squawking birds reeling overhead. How amazing that Petran escaped the battle with only a scratch. Odd, the wound that his shipmates swore had been life-threatening appeared to be a deep scar, but he’d never been injured there before, and he hadn’t had time to heal from more than a glancing blow…
Footsteps approached from behind him. He stiffened, relaxing again when a familiar three-fingered hand settled near his elbow. “It’s a fine eve, my son.”
Son. How little Petran heard the word these days. In front of the crew, the captain called Petran by name or merely barked orders. Though he sheltered Petran in some ways, he tried to be fair to all who sailed aboard theSeabird.
“Aye, Da.” No need to look around. His father wouldn’t address Petran so within hearing of the crew.
“Yer mum used to love eves like this on our farm. Cool and clear. A perfect way to end a day she called them.” A note of wistfulness crept into Da’s voice.
“Do you miss her still?” This time Petran did look at his father, quick to register the change in expression talk of Mum always brought.
“Aye. A woman like no other was yer mum.” Da gave Petran a fond smile. “You look more like her every day.”
They remained quiet for a long time, staring out into the distance. “Petran, I don’t think I ever told you how proud I am of the man you’ve become.” Da spread his hands, indicating the ship. “This is no life for you. You deserve so much better. I promised yer mum—”
“That I’d become some kind of grand gentleman. That’s not me, Da. I’ve no regrets. I wish you’d let me join the crew in truth.” What would Petran do on land when he’d spent so much time at sea? Climbing masts, setting sails. Those were things he knew. What kind of life would he make on land?
“No!” Da softened his voice. “No. You’ve got good things coming to you. You’re too good of a man for a pirate.”
“You’re a good man.”
Da shook his head. “I was a good man when I was with yer mum. Now?” His weathered brow furrowed. “Now, I’m a pirate, watching over my shoulder whenever in port, scanning the horizon for hunters come to put an end to my thieving ways.” He grinned and dropped the lid over one dark eye in a wink. “They gotta catch me first.”
“No one is fast enough to catch theSeabird.” Petran himself witnessed many who’d tried. They’d all failed. A memory flashed in his mind: him, on deck, arms spread wide, bringing the wind to the ship’s sails.
Wind the other ship didn’t benefit from.
Da’s smile fell. “Luck’s been with us. But luck is a fickle thing. One day here, one day gone.” He placed a hand on Petran’s shoulder. “Make me the same promise I made to her: that you’ll be an honorable man with an honorable profession.”
This same argument. Why today? “I’d make a decent life for myself aboard theSeabird.”
“No, son. This life is not for you. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I want you to remember yer da and yer mum loved you.”
For the first time since he’d been a small child, Petran asked, “Tell me about my mother.” Before, his father grew tight-lipped about all but the smallest memories.
A dreamy smile crossed his father’s face, so at odds with the usual scowl worn by Captain Jaed Three-fingers. “You’re of age enough to know the whole tale. I came ashore near E’Skaara late one night, fetching cargo from a smuggler. Although obviously a lady of quality, I found Rosemary out alone, walking the beach beneath the cliffs unchaperoned. Her hair was like starlight and shimmered under the moon’s glow. She wasn’t afraid of being alone or of me, though I must have been a sight, ragged pirate that I was.” He ran his gaze up and down Petran’s body. “Was scarcely past your age, I reckon. She said she needed to get far from the city. I figured she’d run from an abusive mate or father. So I took her aboard the ship, claiming she was my bond mate.” His smile faded. “Once we reached Q’Dara, she told me she must go.” One side of his mouth lifted. “Damn near broke my coal-black heart. When she set foot on the docks, she glanced back over her shoulder and asked, ‘Well?’ I left the ship that very day, taking nothing but the shirt on my back.”
