I pass over the question before she can answer. Her brows pinch together as I speak. "Started when she was only seventeen. She adopted orphans, only girls, and they rode the waves of the sea destroying merchant ships in their travels. But from what I've read, she was killed by a royal ship sent to hunt her down by the King and Queen of that time."
"Ah, fftt," she blusters, "I was not killed off by no royal ship! They chased us, until my ship fell off the edge of the earth and we landed here." Beatrice's knuckles turn white as she grips her cup.
"Well, they are all just stories. The name Beatrice Ann was never actually recorded in a history book." I bite my lip.
"We made history!" Beatrice hisses, exchanging a glance with Johanna.
"So you're telling me that you really are the pirate of legends?" Lincoln says, in almost a bored tone. "... centuries old? And utterly human?"
"You are deceptive,” she says slowly, "We have not lived for centuries. Merely years. But I AM Captain Beatrice Ann. Every member of my crew has been adopted, saved from their watery graves and pathetic lives aboard various merchant ships. I destroyed well over two-hundred royal ships!"
"Spies." Johanna puts emphasis on each S. "How else would they know this information?"
"I'll take this feud to the queen of this realm!" Captain Beatrice threatens as if that holds any sort of meaning for Lincoln and I.
She can't be real. She's human. She'd long since be dead.
Some things can exist without explanation. Lincoln's thoughts echo.
I have half a mind to send him a dirty look and break my stare down with Beatrice who's turning red in anger, but a rapid knock sounds at the door. Johanna moves without command cracking the door to answer.
"They're here," a whispered voice says, some version of panic making their pulse skyrocket.
Beatrice snaps her head toward the door. In a flurry of movement, both her and Johanna kick at a few boards in the wall that pop open to reveal new weapons. Dark dangerous weapons that I immediately recognize.
Iron.
The sword and axe get dropped into the hidden storage and both of them arm themselves with wicked blades cut from the deadly material. The captain points her iron sword at us.
"I guess we'll see where your loyalty lies. If you're being honest, then I wish you best of luck in surviving the incoming raid."
Then Captain Beatrice Ann and her first mate Johanna burst through the door. Their presence replaced only by the sound of a roaring battle cry.
Two
Lost To History
Boots clomp in an angry stampede all over the main deck. The sound of swords sparking off of one another rings like battered wind chimes. Lincoln and I bolt out of our seats. My hand reaches for his as we peek out the cabin door.
Large grappling hooks cling to the ship’s rails. Pointy-eared Fae spill over its edge and into the frenzy of waiting humans. Colors flicker behind their backs like waving flags tethered to their backs. Fae growl at the iron cuts that bite the flesh harder than they should and push forward nonetheless. Humans scatter about, forming a perimeter around us and the stairs that lead down into the ship to the right of the cabin.
A few Fae stand before the humans. Bright and sparkling, their wind-blown flags rise up behind them. Not flags... No.
Wings.
Some of them are tattered at their edges, other's wings are sliced and scarred. More Fae rise up over the edge, but don't use the long ropes to pull them to the waiting human army like the others did. They hover over the entire ship with wings beating to create a strong tornado of wind.
Some wings are the red of freshly drawn blood, others are a crisp blue of a star filled night. Vibrant fuchsias and striking chartreuse, every Fae holds a different blend of color in their wings.
"Barnabus! Call off your goons or this will be the last time you try to steal from me!" Beatrice's voice calls out.
Barnabus. Lincoln thinks, his thoughts striking at recognition of the name. There is a longing in his gaze too as he watches the Fae do what he hasn't been able to do himself in years. My own wings lay curled against my skin underneath my dress, twitching.
"You know that name, don't you!? Just as I could recall Beatrice's," I say as I kick at the same boards the Captain and first mate did. The hidden compartment easily pops open and I pull out the captain's long sword. I hold it steady in my hand. My attention drifts to his back, to the scarred stumps along his shoulder blades. I don't let myself look long.
Lincoln's throat bobs. He looks from me to the Fae that scurry onto the deck ripping at the humans that stand prepared for the attack.
"It's not a good thing," he finally amends. Carefully, he slips his hand over mine and pulls the sword from my grip. "I'm trained to use this. You are not."
"And we are going to do something about that aren't we?" I growl and pluck the axe from its hiding spot.
"Of course," he smiles. "But for now, you stay behind me."
"Beside you," I step up next to him, lifting my brows.
"Beside me."
"Now just to confirm, we are fighting off the Fae right? Not the humans?" I spin the axe like I'd watched Johanna do. It's blade whistles through the air and accompanies the sound of the weapons that clash only yards in front of us.
"We'll help the humans. But I'm not sure if that's the right choice just yet."
"Well, we are about to find out."
Three Fae, nicked with long jagged scars, break through the line of humans entangled in battle. They fly over the combat that rages above my head. Blood dots the deck and I can't be sure which race it belongs to. The tang of their mortal blood and Fae magic fills my nostrils. It's almost hard to breathe.
A new sort of claiming races through me. The humans, they're mine. They're my past, they're the old Briar, brittle and feisty. No one is going to hurt them, unless it's me claiming Lincoln as mine.
The Fae's steps stumble as they lower to the floor. Their heads tilt in unison as they flick their gazes up and down us. We're just like them. Mostly. My own wings flicker behind me, moving with the breeze, lifting up off my back.
"Shadow Fae," the one in the middle sings. "You are far from home. How did you filthy mixed-bloods get on this ship?" Only he doesn’t say ‘filthy mixed-bloods’ as Cordelia would. It isn’t an insult when it comes from his lips.
"Move out of the way!" Another demands.
Lincoln's answering replay is a swift arch of his sword that sends one of their own blades clattering to the ground. The Fae breathes through his teeth and chases after the weapon. But the other two, they lunge.
A line has been drawn. And we are not on the same side as these Fae.
One Fae does not have any weapons in his hands, just a swirling magic that glitters against his fingertips. Lincoln advances on the one that still holds his sword. Neither have iron blades, but their feet still dance while their swords collide with sparks. Other fighters clear a path as the chorus of their duel rings out. A few humans getting knocked out of the way while they're distracted by Lincoln and I's alignment.
The last hovering Fae charges for me. I dart to the side but his blue fingers grab my free wrist. Ice-like glaciers of arctic frost spread from his tight grip, making the blue of my veins more prominent. My skin stings like a burn. I scream and bring the axe down on the Fae's hand. The metal cuts into his wrist but he moves quick enough I'm not able to break through the bone.