Captain Edom continued, “We hope, in return, you’ll show us your own finest quality goods.”
Miren stiffened, not sure why she heard that as a threat, but already her Crescent Bay neighbors were surging forward, inviting the traders to their booths, insisting that theirs were the best hand-sewn gowns or the thickest fleece throw rugs.
Miren’s fishing knife nudged her hip, light and useless like a child’s toy. She felt she would more likely cut her own finger accidentally than successfully defend against these men.
Kesia made to approach one of the traders, a lumbering man with a sharp jaw, but Miren snatched her arm and held firm. Kesia glared.
“We can come back,” Miren said. “I want to visit Etela’s first, before the bread gets stale.”
Kesia rolled her eyes. You are cynical, she signed.
“Come on. We probably can’t afford their wares, anyway.”
Miren pulled until Kesia relented, and they continued down the main road.
Just as expected, the smell of bread and butter wafted over the warm breeze. Miren smiled as she spotted the baker leaning out of her window. “Good morning, Etela.”
Etela’s thin face wrinkled with a smile. “Hello, ladies,” she called. “I see we have a few new customers today.”
“Are they?” Miren asked. “I mean—” She came closer and murmured, “Do you think they mean well?”
Etela frowned. “They seem to. We should assume they’re peaceful until they prove otherwise.”
Kesia signed, Do you have bread?
“Of course I have bread, silly girl!” Etela said cheerily. “This entire village would revolt if I did anything else with my life.”
Etela produced two large loaves of bread. Kesia held out four copper coins.
“Oh no, my dear.” Etela waved her hand as though offended. “These are gifts for you.”
“Etela,” Miren said. “That’s not necessary—”
“The two of you have done an amazing job keeping that lighthouse going without your parents, and you were always the least troublesome children in the village. I don’t think your mother would object to a couple loaves of bread.”
Miren glanced at Kesia and suppressed a sigh. “Thank you, Etela.”
Miren took the gleaming, paper-wrapped loaves as Kesia started to sign. Miren pulled her around so Etela couldn’t see.
I hate that.
“I know,” Miren whispered.
I feel like I take advantage of people.
“You don’t. They’re compassionate.”
Because they think I went through something terrible.
“You did go through something terrible.” Miren pulled a large chunk off one of the loaves. “Have some bread.”
Kesia glowered, took the bread, and shoved it into her mouth.
Miren smirked. “Do you still want to complain now?”
Kesia slapped her arm, fighting a smile. Miren tore off another chunk—warm and soft, with hints of salted butter—for herself. Her stomach clenched. Hunger was an old, stale companion in this village.
“Do you want to go see if Cari will buy our candles? She might have honey, and you can show her your jewelry—”
But Kesia was staring ahead with an excited smile. Miren followed her gaze and groaned.
Just past the gates of the baron’s estate stood a young man with a shock of straw-blond hair. He waved shyly as they turned to look at him.
Miren hooked her arm in Kesia’s. “Come on, we need to sell these candles.”
Kesia tugged, but not hard enough. She twisted in Miren’s grip and waved back, her face flushed.
Miren rolled her eyes. “You should be glad I pulled you away. You look like a tomato.”
Kesia tried to pout but couldn’t hide her smile. Her infatuation with the baron’s son had not waned as Miren had hoped. Davri was a Water Singer, but his noble status had exempted him from the draft. He hid on his father’s estate most of the time, but Kesia would steal away to meet him.
So much about their relationship seemed reckless to Miren, but little else made Kesia smile like this. And at sixteen, marriage was a real consideration. Miren just didn’t believe that Davri was considering it. She wondered what her mother would do if she were here.
“Hey!” a voice rang out. “Stop that!”
Farther down the row of booths, a group of the traders crowded the dirt road. They chuckled as one of their number—a tall, broad-shouldered man with more hair on his chin than on his head—dangled a piece of jewelry just out of Cari’s reach. Pistols glinted in men’s hands.
Miren froze. These were not traders.
Pirates.
The village men gathered around, looking helpless and uncertain as the pirates leveled their weapons. A few villagers hefted hammers and shovels, but most of the weapons in the village had been taken to war.
Kesia turned to face Miren. We have to DO something. Kesia’s hands slapped together loudly on the word do.
“No.” Miren grabbed her hands and held them. “Go to Davri and get inside.”
A scream. A crash.
Jewelry spilled from an upturned table and littered the dirt road as Cari stumbled back, terror on her face. Her mother and husband surged forward, shouting, but a pirate grabbed Cari, pulled her toward him, and pressed his knife roughly against her throat.
The villagers froze as one, their feeble excitement shattered.
Then Captain Edom was there, sweeping everyone’s attention to him with a grand wave of his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, we mean no harm,” he announced. “Do not interfere, and this lovely young woman will not be hurt.”
Cari whimpered in the pirate’s grip, flinching from the long, curved knife that he held against her neck.
Edom seemed to find confirmation in the crowd’s silence. At his gesture, the crew of Darkcrest dispersed among the remaining booths, inspecting the goods, their pistols swinging casually in their hands.
Why, why had Miren left the lighthouse without her father’s revolver?
“We have to get you out of here. Don’t sign!” Miren shoved Kesia’s hands down. “They’ll see you.”
Kesia glanced at the pirates, nodding vehemently in Cari’s direction.
“I know.” It was too late to seek refuge in the baron’s estate now. That would draw attention to Kesia. “Just—stay close to me.”
Slowly, subtly, Miren edged Kesia toward the nearest booth, Gilad’s collection of handmade fishing hooks. Gilad caught sight of the girls and beckoned them over.
“What do we do?” Miren whispered.
Gilad shook his head, his brow pinched. “I don’t know. We can’t do anything.”
Miren pushed Kesia around the rear of the booth. “Stay behind me,” she whispered.
The pirates took their time, plucking items from booths like vultures on a carcass. A few raised their pistols threateningly or lingered over the younger women.
Another pirate, this one with lanky hair and narrowed eyes, sauntered over to Gilad’s booth. He glanced at the fishhooks and snickered. “Where’s the money?”
Gilad yanked the coin purse off his belt and slid it across the table, his hands shaking. “That—that’s most of what I have. I mean—a few silvers in the—the house—”