Joslyn saw the Captain’s severed hand still curled around his sword a few feet off, and stepped between it and the Captain’s gaze. All around them, the surviving crew members had begun the grizzly business of heaving the corpses of both pirates and sailors into the hungry mouth of the ocean.
“Wait,” Joslyn said. The art of the sword master was death, but Joslyn did not abide by executing weaponless men who had surrendered. “Keep them as prisoners,” she told the Captain. “Turn them into a magistrate when we arrive in Paratheen. The Wise Men will want to gain what information they can on the movements of other pirates in the area.”
The Captain squinted at her, thinking.
“The Empire pays well for knowledge of its enemies,” she said.
“Alright.” To the sailors, the Captain added, “Strip them bare and tie them up to the mast foot.”
The sailors nodded and led their captives away.
The Captain turned back to Joslyn, studying her. “You fight like a gladiator of Fesul and carry yourself like an Imperial noble.”
Joslyn said nothing.
“Who are you?” the Captain asked.
“I told you,” Joslyn said. “I am a veteran of the Imperial Army.”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve taken on ex-soldiers as guards before. They fight like regular men. You… you are something different.”
Joslyn only shrugged.
“Gather your things from the hold,” he commanded. “For the rest of the voyage, you sleep in the first mate’s quarters. He can take one of the dead men’s hammocks.”
4
~ THEN ~
“Don’t. Breathe,” Tasia whispered without turning her face. In her peripheral vision, she could see Nik’s outstretched hand twitch just slightly.
The sun was setting over the palace gardens, and the two of them had finished their supper in a hurry so that they could run outside while there was still a little bit of light left. This time of the evening, while there was still some sun remaining, and while the early warmth of summer did not yet carry the stifling weight it would a few months hence, was the best time to see the rabbits. They liked to come out at this time of day to hop around the edge of the pond to have a meal of clover and grass.
Burke, one of the palace gardeners, hated the rabbits. He complained that they were little better than rats with long ears, and that they had a habit of nibbling at his favorite flowers, which, in his estimation, made them even worse than rats. Burke could often be seen tramping about this part of the gardens, cursing the rabbits in a colorful and creative litany, trying to disperse piles of their droppings so that no highborn man or woman would happen to step on one, and spreading poisoned vegetable scraps that he hoped the rabbits would eat.
Tasia and Nik, ages nine and seven, could also be seen tramping around the same part of the gardens, finding Burke’s poisoned vegetables and removing them carefully with a hearth shovel they had “borrowed” from the kitchens.
For the past three weeks, they’d been trying to tame the rabbits, crouching in the short grass with handfuls of (unpoisoned) vegetables, hoping to tempt the animals near enough that they might eventually eat directly from their hands.
Tonight, Tasia feared the thundering of her heart would surely give her away. With those long, silky ears constantly flitting back and forth, big brown eyes enormous and fearful, the rabbits could probably hear Tasia’s nervous excitement from ten yards away.
But the children had been out in this part of the garden almost every evening since the sun started to last beyond supper time, and the rabbits had apparently grown used to their presence. One particularly courageous fellow hopped forward a few paces, sniffing at the air between him and Nik while Tasia held her breath for so long that it was a wonder she didn’t pass out.
The one getting closer to Nik flicked its ears, trying to detect anything amiss. In the breezeless evening air, the drone of insects, the chorus of tree frogs, and the sound of Tasia’s heart were the only things the rabbits could likely hear; all three of them were familiar sounds. Nik’s lips were pressed together so tightly that it seemed it took every bit of energy he had not to shout,
“Look, Tasia! This one’s getting closer! He’s finally going to do it — he’s finally going to eat out from my hand!”
Out of irrepressible excitement, Nik had shouted something just like that last week, terrifying all of the rabbits and sending them diving into the safety of the bushes. This week, he had learned his lesson. He did not speak and, like his big sister, looked like he was holding his breath.
So it was not Nik’s voice that crashed through the silence, clanging dissonantly against the frogs and insects and Tasia’s heart. It was a different, deeper voice, one that made Tasia’s pulse spike even higher than a rabbit eating from her palm could have.
“Children! What are you doing?” the voice of their father boomed from the other side of the pond. Like a rabbit, Nik leapt from his crouch straight into the air, spilling bits of celery and broccoli and clover as he did. The bunnies scattered immediately, racing away from the children and the Emperor’s voice as fast as they could manage.
Tasia dumped her own handful of rabbit treats and stood more slowly, brushing her palms together before looking at Nik, then at her father.
Nik was breathing hard, as if he had been running, and gazing at his father with a guilty expression.
Tasia sighed. Why did Nik always let himself get so scared of Father like this? They hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Earlier in the week, when they’d been caught tossing Burke’s poisoned vegetable scraps into one of the kitchen fires, that had been… well, if not “wrong,” then not exactly “right,” either. But this? Just making friends with the rabbits? Why did Father always have to be so stern about everything?
“Nikhost. Natasia,” he said from his place on the other side of the pond. “Come here.”
Nik trotted in Father’s direction obediently. Tasia walked without hurrying.
“What were you doing?” Father asked again when they were both close enough.
“We were… feeding the rabbits,” Nik said, lowering his gaze. “Or trying to.”
Tasia nodded her agreement.
“You cannot do that.”
“Why?” Tasia challenged. “Because Burke doesn’t like them? Because they eat his flowers and get into the vegetable garden?”
“No,” Father said. “Not because of that.”
“Then why?”
Tasia desperately wanted to stamp her foot and cross her arms against her chest, but the last time she’d done that in front of father, he’d had one of the chambermaids spank her with a willow switch.
“Because,” Father said, “wild creatures need their fear of mankind. If you take that away from them, they are defenseless. You don’t want Burke to kill them, do you?”
Tasia narrowed her eyes, suspecting a trick.
“Well?” Father said.
“No,” Nik said, shaking his head vigorously. “We tried to tell Burke not to. We’ve been scooping up his poisoned vegetables with the ash shovel — ”
Tasia shot her younger brother a deadly glance, and his mouth snapped shut.