One
Claiming
Hair as black as a moonless night absorbs every ounce of the crisp early evening sun. Voluminous curls bounce under a wide brim hat decorated by a single silver feather. The woman, made of the stark combination of smooth curves and particularly sharp features, parts her cherry red lips in a wide toothy smile. My stomach drops.
Small grains of white sand strain through my fingertips as I tense. My tongue is tied up with confusion. I look between Lincoln and the girl whose sword rests under his chin. The blade sparkles. A reminder of how close the potential of death is.
Women in various arrays of flowing linen tops, corseted vests, leathers, and buckles stand behind her, their hands all settled on their weapons. I pass my gaze from one to the next. Daggers. Short swords. Long swords. Axes. And is that a flail? I don't examine any one of them too closely. No, not with the way they glare.
I don't need to study them to recognize how human they are. Rounded ears, weaker heartbeats, and very clear aging. If I had to take an educated guess, we are being held hostage by a group of women in their... sixties? An agile sixty.
Wrinkles form in her sun kissed skin, dotted with freckles, as she speaks in a deep voice rich with what I would call an almost western accent. "Who are you? And why are you on my beach?"
Lincoln opens his mouth to respond but the woman snatches him up by his hair and he begrudgingly follows. The woman who stands closest to Lincoln's captor points her axe toward me and motions for me to stand. Her hair is blonde but grey streaks through her short blunt cut. Sea-green eyes watch me with such ferocity I'm sure they’re meant to cut right through me.
"Actually, don't say anything," the first woman says. She fans her attention up and down Lincoln's frame, frowning drastically at the large scabs slicing across his back.
"Filthy thieving Fae." The blonde spits at my feet.
"I think we are getting off on the wrong foot here," I start, the axe rising to tilt my chin. "My name is Briar. That is Lincoln." I lift my hands slowly in surrender. The group both flinches and takes a half step forward at the small motion. "We mean no harm."
"Ya think we can believe that so easily?" She tips her head, setting everyone into motion.
The blonde lowers the axe. With one long boney finger she points the direction Lincoln and her leader are headed. My heels teeter much more aggressively in the sand than they had even when I was running through the snares of the forest beyond the mansion of the Shadow Court.
It may be best if we stay quiet for now. Learn what we can about them, first. I realize Ziko has also taken an inventory of their weapons and now, injuries. Some of the women walk with limps. A few are totally without the entirety of a limb. It appears the lucky ones are only missing minor things like a finger... or two.
"Why would you wear such contraptions as those." The blonde points to my feet.
"Well," I wobble with each step, mumbling under my breath. "I wasn't intending to come to the beach today."
Beyond the white sand of the beach is a tangle of brush, thorns, and tall intertwining trees. The beach remains empty, with the exception of our small caravan trudging through the high sands. I watch every step the woman takes as she walks behind Lincoln, guiding him. She moves with a fluid grace that most humans only have from incessant muscle memory.
Walking this beach, her beach, holding someone at sword point, and leading this gaggle of women isn't new or even so much as occasional. How many times has she done this? How many people walk away from her?
Lincoln catches it before I do. My attention focused more on the people rather than most of our surroundings. As the beach curves we're able to see around the large boulders of a looming cliff that hides a weathered ship with its bow buried in the shore. A long mast with a small crow’s nest sports a black flag with a bleeding heart.
That can't be good.
Pirates. Lincoln speaks to me with certainty. Human pirates.
Do you think we've landed ourselves in some foreign part of the human realm?
No. Not at all. They wouldn't know us as Fae if we had.
Relentless sun beats down on our backs as we walk in silence. The ship grows nearer. A sense of doom weighing against me with it. How many realms held the human race that I was not familiar with? What sort of civilization are these people living in?
Foaming waves slap against the old boards of the landlocked ship. A single ladder hangs off its edge, dangling down into the shallowest part of the water.
"Ah, I'll go first. Johanna, make sure he goes up without a fuss. If he complains... remind him that what he values most dangles at an optimal position while he climbs." The leader dips her head at the blonde, holding her hat to her before her thick worn boots beat against the wide wooden rungs.
"Yes, Captain." Johanna hovers between us, allowing another crew member to step up behind me.
In moments the Captain scurries onto the ship. She leans over the edge waving the rest of us up. Her barrel of laughter reaches down to us on the shore.
"You. Lincoln." She mocks my plan accent as she says his name. "Up the ladder."
Lincoln's hands grip the rope that holds it all together. Half a thought passes through his mind about how easily he could tear this ladder into bits. He looks back at me for only a few seconds before he starts up the rungs. The wood clatters against the ship as he moves. The ropes groan in protest against his weight.
"I can see why the two of you are together." Johanna sneers with a chuckle. "Prettiest ass I've ever seen."
I sway as she jostles me with the tip of her elbow. Pressing my lips together, I try to hide a small smile. I mean, she does have a point.
The pirate likes your backside, Lincoln.
I'm not surprised. He reaches the top of the deck, pulling himself over the edge of the railing. His form slips completely out of sight. I have yet to see another man. I'm surprised they aren't all drooling at my feet.
That's an awfully arrogant thing of you to say.
Johanna allows a few more members of the crew up the ladder before me. They scurry up it quickly and without a sound. Making it the three women and my Lincoln on the deck.
Mine.
The single word, an angry claim. Fire forages through my veins. The word repeats again and again. Mine. Mine. Mine. Air travels constricted through my throat and into my burning lungs. My muscles beg for movement. My mind pleases itself with the idea of rushing up this ladder and tossing every woman right off this ship and sailing away where no one else can touch him.
Briar. Lincoln's voice is firm.
I blink and Johanna's axe is poking my back in demand.
"I said, move!" she growls.
Now is not the time. Lincoln starts.
The time for what?
Every single one of the pirate’s heartbeats sounds loudly in my ears. It takes everything in me to focus on gripping the rope and pulling my body up. Even pinpointing Lincoln's voice in the rattle of my mind is a fight.
I heave myself up another step. Their heart rhythms beating with a fragility I used to know all too well. How easily could I plunge my hand into their chests and rip out their dainty little organs? How simple would it be to end this entire crew?
We need them. They're our only clue to figuring out where exactly we are and how to escape. Play nice. Claiming me now will only make this harder on you.