The man laughed derisively and snatched the purse from the table. He glanced between the girls and eyed Miren up and down. A shiver crawled up her spine, but the pirate snickered again and ambled on. She choked back a sigh of relief, Kesia’s hand tight and sweaty in hers.
The captain returned to the middle of the street, sweeping his gaze approvingly over the mess of tables and food, a proud fisherman admiring the day’s catch. Behind him, Cari squirmed in her captor’s grip. “What a lovely day,” Edom said. “And not a single drop of blood to be seen.”
Cari’s husband hobbled forward on his cane. “Sir, please, let my wife go.” His desperation made Miren’s stomach churn.
Cari strained against the pirate’s grip.
Captain Edom smiled. “I’m sorry, good sir, but she must come with us. Insurance, you see. And she’ll sell well in other places.”
The pirates chortled.
“No,” Cari sobbed, struggling as her captor dragged her toward the dock.
Cari’s husband waved his cane. “No! Stop!”
“Cari!” her mother wailed.
Other villagers shouted at the pirates, surging forward.
“Let her go!”
“We won’t attack you!”
“You got what you wanted!”
But the pirates kept their weapons trained on the crowd as they made their way to the docks, and no one dared to follow.
Miren ached for Cari, but she didn’t move. She could see their mother in her mind, signing, Keep her safe, keep her safe. She squeezed Kesia’s fingers; Kesia squeezed back.
And then released.
Miren felt Kesia’s hand slip away as her sister bolted down the street, past the villagers, their faces slack in confusion.
Before Miren could shout or go after Kesia, a sound erupted, a ringing Song of Fire.
Kesia’s Voice, cracking with disuse, took a moment to catch. Miren felt the familiar notes warm the air, saw her sister’s lips curve as she summoned heat, a biting flame, and flung it at Cari’s captor.
The pirate shrieked and dropped his knife. Cari staggered away from him as he fell to his knees, slapping at his arm as flames licked his sleeve.
The Song ended, and the silence filled Miren’s ears. She knew something terrible had just happened, something that would shatter the life she had constructed for herself and her sister. But her heart throbbed with Song, drowning out thought and fear.
The captain’s sharp gaze darted between Kesia and his crewman.
And then a smile split his features.
“Well, bless the seas,” he said. “A Fire Singer.”
Two
Kesia
Joy was such a rare thing in Crescent Bay.
There were days Kesia was happy, she supposed, days when she and Miren weren’t fighting, or she had visited with Davri, or the garden had produced something edible. There were times she felt pleasant, almost content, cleaning the chicken coop and cooking dinner and polishing the lighthouse mirrors. On those days, the ocean winds didn’t sting her cheeks or tangle her hair but instead made her think of seagulls and full white sails on boats.
Kesia had always known that to refuse to Sing was to deny a part of herself, to suppress the hum in her bones that her mother had taught her to listen for. She just hadn’t realized—or perhaps she had forgotten—how much of herself was Fire, how much she had missed it.
She was Singing.
Even after all this time, she could hear it. The power rose from deep within her, living and swirling and pulsing in her chest. The notes were clearer and brighter than she remembered. It was the Song for a fireplace, a Song of home and cooking and her mother. But there was no fireplace here. Instead, she stood in front of a pirate crew, doing the only thing she could think of to save Cari.
She threw the power at the man’s sleeve, and he screamed, releasing Cari.
His pain burst her focus. She broke off her Song, and the man crumpled, whimpering as he cradled his sweltering arm.
Pain—she had never thought to use her Voice for destruction. Shaken by the Song’s effects, she took a shuddering breath as the bright joy inside her burned and died.
“Incredible,” the captain said, his voice soft with admiration. Then he barked to his men, “Take her.”
Kesia stumbled back, her throat seizing up in panic. The pirates encircled her like a pack of wolves cornering a deer, their weapons drawn. They eyed her warily, waiting for her to Sing again, ready to shoot.
Sing.
She felt a hand clutch her arm and nearly squealed a note that would’ve sparked, but it was Miren, her face taut with horror. “Run!” Miren screamed, and yanked Kesia away from the pirates.
Kesia sprinted up the incline toward the baron’s estate as the villagers looked on with wide, disbelieving eyes.
They knew.
It was no longer a secret.
Kesia had no attention to spare for the villagers, though. She hadn’t really run since she was a child. Her legs burned, her chest tightened. Miren pulled her toward the estate.
Davri—Davri would protect her.
“Open the gates!” Miren shouted.
Kesia wheezed as they ascended the steep incline.
“Someone help!” Miren screamed. “Pirates!”
Oftentimes the baron had two guards stationed at the gate, but Kesia couldn’t see anyone from here. Not even Davri.
Please, Davri, she thought. Please help me.
Kesia stumbled and fell to her knees.
“Get up!” Miren yanked at her, but Kesia shook her head. She tried to sign, but her arms were shaking too much.
“Someone help, please!” Miren shouted.
But the pirates were upon them, spreading in a loose half-circle, their weapons trained on her.
Miren stepped in front of Kesia and pulled out her knife.
No! Kesia took a breath and exhaled, trying to slow her breathing as her mother had taught her, but her heart hammered against her ribs.
A few of the pirates snickered at Miren’s feeble weapon. Panic pushed the air from Kesia’s lungs.
“Stay back,” Miren shouted.
Captain Edom stepped forward. “Ladies,” he said gently. “Please don’t make this difficult.”
“You—” Miren took a breath, shoulders heaving. “You have what you came for. You’ve taken everything—you can’t have my sister!”
“Now, my dear,” he said with a smile. “I don’t think you understand how much your sister is worth.”
“She’s sick,” Miren said. “She gets winded easily, she can’t even run. She’s of no use to the military. They already have our mother!”
But the captain was shaking his head. “I run a business, dear,” he said with a hint of impatience. “Step out of the way, or we will kill you.”
Kesia gulped down air, reaching for the fire in her. She could hear the Song she wanted, but she had no breath to Sing it. Sing, Sing, Sing.
The knife shook in Miren’s hand, but she didn’t lower it. “You can’t have her.”
Sing, Sing, Sing.
The captain tilted his head and flicked his hand. The pirates surged forward.
Kesia raised her Voice.
The sudden note made everyone flinch away—even Miren.
Kesia cringed against the wrath of her own Song. There was nothing comforting about this Song. Not warmth and security and home; this was a forest fire, a burning ship—unfamiliar to her, and yet the notes came with ease.