“He has a son,” the traitor said. “So high“—he held out a hand to indicate Petran’s height. “Light brown-colored hair like the captain’s.”
Oh, if Petran had the woman’s knife to slit the bastard’s throat. He’d never killed a man. Yet. But it wasn’t a hard and fast rule.
To keep a promise to his dead bond mate, Da spoke. “He lies. My son died of cholera two fullmoons past. We buried him at sea.”
Even now, facing his own death, Da sought to protect Petran. Petran glanced around the square. There had to be some way to create a diversion, let his father slip away.
Yet his father didn’t even fight.Fight, damn you, fight!
He’d been in worst situations than this and walked away relatively unscathed.
Petran pressed onward, but the jostling crowd wouldn’t let him by. The sun sank farther below the horizon. For the first time ever, he didn’t look forward to the coming of night, with its abundance of stars and cool breezes. He hid behind the horse-drawn wagon.
A diversion. What could… Stepping back, he smacked the horse’s broad rump. The horse started, plowing straight through the crowd, empty barrels tumbling off the cart it pulled. Spectators scrambled out of the way.
Keeping low, Petran darted behind a water trough, then into the shadow of a building. Slowly, slowly, he wended his way through the crowd. Tuning out the screaming and flailing of the man trying to calm his horse and bring the wagon under control, Petran made his way to his da.
“Father,” he hissed from behind a stack of crates.
His father’s eyes widened. “No. Go!” he mouthed, whipping his head back to the front.
“Da?”
No answer.
“You there!” A man bore down on Petran.
“Go!” his father mouthed again.
Petran ran, dodging people, jumping over a dog, slipping and nearly falling in a patch of something he didn’t want to think about.
A hand grabbed his arm. “No! Let me go!”
Another hand covered his mouth. “Shh,” the woman from earlier said. “If you want to live, keep quiet. I told you to leave. You don’t listen very well.”
Not the first time Petran had heard those words.
“We’re here now. Leaving will draw attention.” She pulled Petran to her side and removed her hand from his mouth but kept one arm around him. “If anyone asks, I’m Auntie Addie, got that?”
Petran gulped, slowly nodding. The crowd had calmed. Maybe someone caught the horse.
Three nooses hung from the gallows. A man in black led a group of three pirates to the platform, hands tied behind their backs. Another strapping man, big and hairy as a bear, dropped nooses over their heads. The pirates didn’t say a word, and the hangman didn’t ask for their last thoughts. The first pirate spat on the platform, the strapping man who’d propositioned Petran a few hours ago.
The second man… Petran’s heart fell. Smutje. Without the cook, the injured stood no chance. The bastards probably killed them in their bunks.
The third young man moved his lips, eyes closed and tears dripping down his face. He wasn’t even Petran’s age. They’d spoken a few times on deck. The boy joined the crew after his parents’ deaths left him no choice. Poor thing deserved so much better.
Couldn’t Da do something? Could Petran? He slowly raised his hands. “Auntie Addie” grabbed his arm, hissing, “No! Have your senses left you? The Lady’s priests would descend like wolves. Have you a wish to join your pirate friends?”
Petran stared wide-eyed at Da. So slowly Petran barely caught the movement, Da, moved his head back and forth, mouthing, “No.”
Damnation! What was the use of having power if Petran couldn’t use it to save those he loved?
The man standing with the traitor said, “By the power vested in me as magistrate of E’Skaara, and in the witness of a priest of the Father, I sentence you to death for piracy.”
The trapdoors opened beneath the pirates’ feet. With a ghastlythunk, they fell. Smutje, Old Willie, the new cabin boy they’d acquired three fullmoons ago. These were Petran’s family.
“Auntie Addie” turned Petran into her side, hiding his eyes with one hand. “You’re doing well, love. I’m sorry you have to see this.”
