Apex Sunburn

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Sjan-dehk & Dahlia

Time: Night of 26th Sola

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Sjan-dehk heard the falling ropes first, but Inshahri was quicker on the move. Before he could even call for her to stop, the young woodshaper leapt towards the noise, pushing the fallen coil aside with her foot, and a stack of empty sacks with her hands. Pale moonlight illuminated the unmistakable outline of a girl – she couldn’t be much older than Inshahri, Sjan-dehk estimated – who was very clearly not part of his crew, and very clearly not Viserjantan.

“Found you!” Inshahri chirped, her words a lilting melody. She reached for the girl, but this time Sjan-dehk stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Well done, Inshahri,” he said, then glanced at Yasawen. “I’ll take it from here. Both of you, report to your stations. Yasawen, Master Dai-sehk should be on the orlop down below. Inshahri…” A woodshaper would be most useful with Hai-shuun and the carpentry team below decks, but if this Caesonian stowaway was truly possessed of magic, Inshahri’s counter-arcane abilities might prove to be invaluable.

“You report to Haifahl at the mainmast,” Sjan-dehk decided. That should place her close enough for her to react to any attempts at magic by the Caesonian girl.

“Aye, Captain,” Inshahri said, snapping to a salute before sauntering off. Yasawen followed suit, albeit less exuberantly. He snuck a few hesitant, apprehensive glances at the Caesonian girl as he walked away.

“Captain,” he began.

“It’ll be fine,” Sjan-dehk cut him off and drew a pistol. He grinned at Yasawen. “We all know which is faster, between magic and a bullet, don’t we?”

Yasawen paused for a moment. Then, he nodded and quickened his pace.

Sjan-dehk turned his full attention to the Caesonian girl. He levelled his pistol at her, hammer fully cocked and blackened muzzle pointed squarely at the centre of her forehead. “Now, to deal with you,” he began. “I do not remember letting a Caesonian board Sada Kurau. I also do not remember taking on…No, recruiting new crew. So why you are here, I do not know.” He curled his finger around the trigger. “By my laws, I can kill you right now.”

He lowered the pistol slightly, until the muzzle hovered over her chest. “But I will not,” he said. “Not yet. Do what I tell you, and you might live. Otherwise, you die.” He took a step back. “Come out from the dark and let us talk for a while.”

There was an almost inaudible sigh as the girl seemed to glare at the boards of the ship as if they were the reason for her current problems. Finally, Dahlia raised her hands, dryly stating, “Well, congratulations. You’ve caught the world’s least threatening stowaway. I’m sure this will go down as one of your greatest triumphs.”

Then the captain pulled a pistol, and her eyes flicked to the barrel now aimed squarely at her chest. “A gun? Really?” she deadpanned, arching a brow. “How rude.”

Sjan-dehk didn’t give the girl the satisfaction of a direct response to her words. Instead, he waved her out from her corner with the pistol. Heads and eyes from across the deck and up the masts turned towards the pair, some curious, some suspicious, but all waiting to see what would happen next.

“Why are you here?” Sjan-dehk asked brusquely, keeping his distance. If Inshahri was correct, and this girl did possess magical abilities, then she had to be treated like a potential danger. A very, very lethal one, at that. But in the back of Sjan-dehk’s mind, he found that hard to believe. Didn’t Caesonia have a poor view on magic in general? Why then, would a magic-user risk exposure to sneak aboard Sada Kurau? Wouldn’t it have been disastrous for her if she had been discovered just mere moments before, and handed over to the city guard?

Dahlia tilted her head, her lips twitching into the faintest of smirks. “That depends. Are you asking because you care, or because you’re trying to figure out where to send my thank-you note?”

He quickly pushed all those thoughts aside. They weren’t of any use now. “Someone sent you?” He asked and allowed the pistol’s muzzle to drift slightly higher, until it was level with her head. “Or you come alone, with no one?”

“The gods sent me,” The sentence was delivered as if it were the most obvious answer to his question. “Apparently, divine intervention doesn’t come with advance notice. Sorry about that.”

Sjan-dehk narrowed his eyes. Part of him wanted to shoot her right then and there. He should just shoot her right then and there. Nobody would blame him for it. But he was too curious. There were questions he needed answered. And besides, who knew if this girl’s magic was the sort that triggered upon her death?

No, he couldn’t kill her. Not yet, at least. That might not be the right thing to do, but it was the smart thing, the safe thing to do.

His mind raced. The girl had the airs of a professional – she did things like this regularly, at least, if her glib tongue and outwardly calm demeanour was anything to go by. Most people’s guts would turn to water from the moment their eyes looked at a firelock straight down the barrel. Most people also wouldn’t be so quick to quip and offer wit upon being discovered. And if she was a professional, that likely meant that she didn’t come here on her own volition. What would be the point? Sada Kurau was a beautiful ship, but she wasn’t one that announced wealth or power. Certainly, there was nothing about her that signalled that there was anything worth pilfering aboard.

That meant that the girl was here for something else. Information, most likely. And that meant that she had to have been sent by someone.

“Think carefully,” Sjan-dehk said. He couldn’t help the smirk that pulled on his lips. Despite everything, the girl’s spirit and nerve impressed him. “You are here. Alone. We are at sea. You are only alive because you have answers I want. The people who send you here, you think they will care if I shoot you? Throw you to the waves? I only want to know why you are here. Sada Kurau, we have done nothing to your people. Not anything bad.”

He paused, glancing towards the bow of the ship. There was nothing to see but interminable darkness, as he had expected. Rushing water, crashing waves, and the ruffling of sails were the only natural sounds of such a night. The roughness of the sea, which pitched the deck up-and-down, amidst the absence of any powerful winds did tell him that they were sailing close to shore, however.

Good. That meant that they were well on course to search for the mysterious vessels.

“Tell me what I want, and I guarantee you can live,” Sjan-dehk said.

Dahlia kept her smirk firmly in place, even as her heart hammered like a drum beneath her ribs. ”I mean, if you really wanted me gone, you’d have done it already. So why not indulge that curiosity? I’ll try to make it worth your time.”

Sjan-dehk smirked again. “That is good try, but not good enough,” he said. “For now, you are more useful alive than dead. But if you want, you can jump into the sea. I will not try too hard to stop you.”

She tensed up for a moment then let out a long, exaggerated sigh, “Why am I here?” She gestured loosely with one hand, the other still raised. “Let’s call it… curiosity. Your ship caught my eye, and I thought, ‘What’s the harm in taking a closer look?’ Turns out, a lot.”

Her gaze flicked to the pistol and back, her lips twitching into a half-hearted smile. “Look, I’m not here to steal your treasure or sink your ship. Not that I’d say no to a treasure map, if you’ve got one lying around.” She shook her head. “I just needed a way out of Sorian. Your ship happened to be convenient. Lucky me, huh?”

That gave Sjan-dehk pause. It did sound like a plausible story – someone possessed of magic wouldn’t be too happy living in Sorian, he imagined. And given that Sada Kurau was perhaps the most foreign vessel currently in harbour, it would make sense for someone like the girl to pick her as a means of escape. “That is…” Sjan-dehk began and trailed off. Then, he sighed and holstered the pistol. “That much, I can believe for now. But you chose bad time to come aboard.”

He jerked a thumb towards the top of the mizzenmast. Barely visible by the faint glows of lanterns, the flag of a Caesonian privateer fluttered weakly in the gentle wind. “We are privateering, and will return to Sorian soon. But…” He trailed off, tilting his chin towards the girl. “We do not dislike your…Your kind. If you did no other crime, then you will be safe here. With us.”

There was more he wanted to ask, and wanted to say, but a shout from the bow interrupted him. “Larboard prow, contact!”

That stole Sjan-dehk’s attention momentarily. “Steady as she goes, but prepare to maneuver!” He shouted back, making sure that the rest of the crew heard his order. He looked at the girl with a wry smile. “It is not good time for you to be here, at all. We may have to fight.”

Dahlia’s eyes lit up at the mention of a fight, her smirk breaking into a grin. “A fight? Now we’re talking! I knew this trip would get exciting.”

She stepped forward, her tone brimming with energy. “Point me in the right direction, Captain. I’ll happily jump in.”

“If we are lucky, it will not–”

A series of low, muffled thumps – like distant thunder – interrupted Sjan-dehk. He looked towards the bow again. Flashes of fiery orange pierced the darkness like a dagger, each of them illuminating for the briefest of moments the outline of a ship in the distance.

There wasn’t any time to think. There wasn’t any need for him to. “Everybody to cover!” He bellowed.

He rushed over to the girl, closing the distance in the time it took for him to blink, and roughly grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. Cannonballs sliced through the air overhead even as he pulled her down with him onto the deck. The infernal screams of the dreadful cannonade, the bone-chilling splintering of wood, and the dull thuds of Sada Kurau’s pointed prow deflecting as many shots as it could, seemed unending. Men shouted all around him, but Sjan-dehk kept himself calm. This wasn’t anything new.

“Recover!” He shouted once the salvo was over, scrambling to his feet with a hand hooked under the girl’s arm to pull her up as well. All things considered, Sada Kurau wasn’t in too bad a shape – large holes had been shot out of her bulwarks and gunwale, especially towards her bow, and there were shorn ropes and broken rigging hanging from above, but nobody seemed injured. “Master Sahm-tehn, send your men aloft for repairs! Master Hai-shuun, your crew to the orlop!”

“Aye, Captain!” came the series of acknowledgements from somewhere amidst the chaotic deck.

Sjan-dehk grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her behind him. “You follow,” he said curtly before going back to barking orders to his crew. “They’re right ahead of us! Bring us hard to larboard on a course to cut across her keel–”

“Captain! Second vessel spotted in the mist!” A shout came from above. “Two vessels direct front! They’re sailing in line!”

Sjan-dehk swore beneath his breath. “Continue with my previous orders, but signal intent to our friend and tell them to engage the forward vessel. We’ll take care of the cunt in the rear!”

Dahlia hit the deck hard, Sjan-dehk’s grip firm on her collar. “Well, this is cozy,” she muttered as cannonballs screamed overhead.

When he hauled her up, she stumbled but quickly quipped, “Appreciate the save. Real gentlemanly.” Staying close behind him, she added, “So, is this level of chaos normal, or am I just lucky?”

“Normal enough,” Sjan-dehk replied shortly. He would have preferred to have been able to get the jump on just one of the ships, or to at least take them separately, but such was the nature of combat. Things rarely ever went according to his preferences.

At the shout of a second vessel, her smirk grew. “Two ships? Wow. You really know how to make a stowaway feel special.”

Sjan-dehk didn’t reply immediately. The bulk of his attention was focused on Sada Kurau. Getting her into a position to rake the enemy vessel was the best course of action, but it was also one that would leave her exposed to withering broadsides from the enemy as she approached. Granted, that depended on how fast Sada Kurau’s foe could reload, and how accurately they could fire in the dead of night. But unarmoured as his ship was, Sjan-dehk didn’t want to take any chances. One lucky – or unlucky – salvo would be enough to put them out of action.

“Up,” he said, pulling the girl behind him as he climbed the steps to get onto the quarterdeck. “Helmsman, turn us three points to larboard,” he quickly ordered as he took position beside the wheel, looking out over the deck. “Swing us out of their arch-of-fire.”

“Aye, three points to larboard,” the helmsman replied. The tall, lanky man slowly turned the wheel, and the ship responded in kind, lurching over to the left.

“Not special,” Sjan-dehk said, finally responding to the girl. “Special is if we board. We are not. If only one ship, then yes. We can board. But two? Too…Too risky. We shoot from far. Use cannons. If at the end they still float, then we go across and see what they have. If not, then we let them sink–”

Another series of flashes interrupted him, and he flinched on instinct. Placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder, he was prepared to pull her down once more. But then he noticed their angle, and he relaxed slightly. Not a moment later, cannonballs shot past Sada Kurau’s starboard side, some coming worryingly close to her, and a few landing only glancing blows as they ricocheted off the hull. Still, the impact was enough to make the hull shudder, and Sjan-dehk kept a tight grip on the girl to keep her from falling over.

“Steady as she goes,” Sjan-dehk said quickly. The helmsman echoed the command and righted the wheel.

Grimacing, the Captain looked out towards the bow into the darkness. Luck alone had spared them from a second broadside, but he wasn’t too certain if it would save them from a third. If his enemy was smart, and they had a captain worth the title, they would be turning their ship to go broadside-to-broadside with Sada Kurau. With these winds, and Sada Kurau’s agility, Sjan-dehk doubted they would succeed, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t fire off perhaps one or two more salvos that could at least brush against his ship.

He chewed on his lip. He would need someone on deck to handle the wounded, specifically the ones who would suffer minor injuries. That would leave Dai-sehk able to focus on the more severe injuries. Casting a glance over at the girl, Sjan-dehk hesitated. Although he had already gathered that she was a magic-user seeking to flee Caesonia, he still had his doubts about her. Enough to make him wonder if he should bring Yasawen up on deck, where she might be able to catch him using his abilities.

Sjan-dehk shook his head. No, that didn’t matter. The safety of his crew, did. If it came to it, he would have to simply do something about the girl. And besides, he could always just keep her away from the boy while he went about his work. “Someone call Yasawen up on deck!”

Dahlia clung to the railing as the ship lurched again, her knuckles white against thewood. “So, not special,” she said, feigning a wounded tone despite the chaos. “I’ll try not to cry myself to sleep over that later.”

When Sjan-dehk yanked her up the steps behind him, she followed with an exaggerated sigh, her feet barely keeping pace. “You know, I’m starting to think you brought me along just for my charm.” She ducked instinctively as another volley of cannon fire roared through the night, her breath catching when the hull shuddered beneath them. “On second thought, maybe you just wanted a human shield.” As the captain barked more orders, Dahlia tilted her head, eyeing him warily. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect.

When he mentioned Yasawen, however, her smirk returned. “Calling for backup? Don’t tell me I’m too much for you to handle already, Captain.” Another explosion rattled the air, and she flinched, gripping the railing tighter. “Alright, I’ll admit it,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “This is a little more exciting than I signed up for…” Then she sighed and added louder, “How can I help?”

A scowl briefly flashed across Sjan-dehk’s face. The girl’s bravado – regardless of whether it was an act or real – was starting to become tiresome. “Nothing for now,” he said curtly, his eyes scanning the deck, then the darkness beyond Sada Kurau’s bowsprit, then the billowing sails overhead. He grimaced. Even though both wind and waves were in their favour, the strength of the former sat poorly with him. They were sailing towards shore. The same speed that would shorten the time Sada Kurau spent under the gun sights of her enemy was the same speed that could very well throw her against shallows.

“Take depth soundings from the bow!” He shouted. Again, the order was echoed across the deck. Not long after, two men made a mad dash towards Sada Kurau’s prow. “Report every five minutes! Helmsman and riggers, ready for rapid maneuvering!”

“Aye, Captain!” came the chorused response.

Sjan-dehk glanced at the girl from the corner of his eye. “We can do nothing for now,” he said calmly, even as his grimace deepened. The moments between coming under fire from an enemy and being able to pay them back in kind were always the most tense. One’s mind would be hard-pressed to not imagine all sorts of grisly scenarios. What if the enemy turned faster than expected, and fired a devastating salvo? Or what if Sada Kurau wasn’t getting into as good a position as intended? The possibilities were endless.

But Sjan-dehk’s veteran sensibilities put an end to them, nonetheless.

“For now we can only sail and wait,” he continued. In an effort to calm the girl, whom he imagined must be new to naval combat, he cleared his throat and swiftly added, “Sada Kurau knows what to do. With her, we will survive. We will win.”

Dahlia leaned on the rail, her smirk softening as she watched the crew hustle around her. “Sounds like Sada Karau’s been through this plenty of times, huh?”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “Yes. Many times.”

The rapid thumps of approaching boots caught Sjan-dehk’s attention. He looked over the girl’s shoulder, at the landing of the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, and saw Yasawen jogging towards them. The boy’s face was flushed with exertion, and his clothes in disarray. “Y-You called for me, Captain?” He asked even as he tried to catch his breath. Sjan-dehk could see that he was doing all he could to not fully double-over and brace his hands on his knees.

“Yes.” Sjan-dehk nodded, then tilted his chin towards the deck. “Station yourself amidships. Minor wounds and such will be yours to deal with. Major ones, you send below to Master Dai-sehk. Is that clear?”

Yasawen glanced nervously to his sides, his gaze turning curious when he saw the girl. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before returning to the Captain. “Yes– I mean, aye, Captain! Are they any…Um, any guidelines as to what’s major and what’s minor? I-I ask only to be sure, Captain.”

The brunette had watched Yasawen jog up with all the grace of a flustered deer, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. When his gaze landed on her, lingering for a moment too long, she gave him a wink.

Sjan-dehk raised a brow, amused. “Guidelines? In battle? You’ve plenty to learn, kid.” He shook his head, then gave Yasawen a shrug. “You’re the medical man between the two of us. I’ll leave deciding on what’s a major and minor wound up to you. Though if you want my advice, just handle what you can and give our Master Dai-sehk what you can’t. I just want my crew healthy and intact.”

Yasawen nodded. He drew in a deep breath and forced himself to stand upright, with back ramrod straight and eyes as steely as he could manage. Sjan-dehk didn’t have the heart to tell him that he looked comical rather than serious, even if he appreciated the effort. “A-Aye, Captain!”

“To your station, then,” Sjan-dehk said and quickly dismissed Yasawen. The less time he spent around the girl, the better.

The boy’s boots were still thumping down the steps when a call came from the ship’s bow. “Forty-nine feet and thereabouts to the bottom, Captain! Sand and reef!”

Sjan-dehk chewed on his lip as he did the numbers in his head. Forty-nine was cutting it close to comfort, but it was still good. Sada Kurau had roughly six feet of her hull underwater, and needed at least twice that number to account for swells or dips in the waves. Aside from Sada Kurau’s depth-under-keel, the call told him one other thing – roughly how much time had passed since the enemy engaged them. He peered into the darkness, and could only barely make out the tiny dots of flickering light that marked where the enemy crew had placed lanterns along their ship.

Bright flashes cut through the darkness, but they were far away enough that Sjan-dehk didn’t think them to be a danger. Not to Sada Kurau, at least – those flashes were likely the muzzle flashes of their opponent’s friend as they opened fire on Cynric’s Recompense. Now that, that worried Sjan-dehk. He didn’t know how strong his ally was, or how they would fare under fire or even in combat. He had to act fast.

“Gun deck, load shrapnel! Set time to fifteen!” He leaned almost half his body over the guardrail to bark his orders. “All sailing hands, swing us hard to starboard and bring us directly towards our opponent! I want us to get clear eyes on her arse before we open fire!”

Dahlia tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Sjan-dehk’s focused expression. The way he stared into the darkness, the gears turning in his mind, practically radiated intensity.

“So, who’s attacking us?” she asked, her tone laced with teasing intrigue. “Pirates? Rivals? Or maybe an ex you just can’t quit? ”

Once again, Sjan-dehk didn’t reply immediately. He had far more important things occupying his mind. For a start, he needed to definitively locate Sada Kurau’s prey. All he had seen of her thus far were the flashes of her guns and the lanterns of her crew, and now even those meagre hints had been swallowed up by the darkness. Chewing on his lip, Sjan-dehk wracked his mind for his next few moves. Sada Kurau was sailing at speed – perhaps too much speed – towards her prey’s last known location. Without anything to tell him his foe’s heading and direction, it could very well be that Sada Kurau was going to find herself in a terrible position at the worst time possible.

“Pirates, I think,” Sjan-dehk replied curtly, and with only half-his-mind.

Dahlia let out an amused laugh, though her eyes scanned the darkness uneasily. “Pirates. Of course. You make it sound like this happens every Tuesday.” She squinted toward the disappearing lanterns, her head tilting in suspicion. “Wait, why’d the lights go out? Is that… bad? Like, really bad?”

He didn’t care about the lack of gun flashes. The enemy crew was likely still in the midst of reloading, and it would be a while before they were ready to fire again. But the disappearing lanterns were another matter entirely. Either they had been doused – in which case Sjan-dehk was facing a captain and crew who knew what they were about – or the ship had turned in a way that brought them out of sight. Sjan-dehk preferred it to be the former. Better for him to face a skilled foe, than a ship whose movements he couldn’t tell.

“Thirty-five feet to the bottom and thereabouts, Captain! Sand and reef!”

The call from the bow made her freeze, her brows shooting up as she instinctively grabbed the nearest railing for balance. The sudden flurry of activity on deck added to her unease. “Thirty-five? That’s close, isn’t it? Please tell me you know what you’re doing.”

Sjan-dehk swore beneath his breath. Sada Kurau was much too close to shore to be sailing at such high a speed. But neither could she slow down – that would be to surrender her one indisputable advantage, and in the face of an unseen enemy, no less. It was a decision between two equally bad choices. Sada Kurau could either maintain her speed and risk running aground, or ramming the enemy, or she could slow down, and instead risk being caught by the enemy.

Then, he saw it.

It was nothing more than a vague outline, and moonlight reflecting off oddly-shaped waves, but they were enough to catch his eyes. “Starboard battery, target will be approaching from the bow!” Sjan-dehk shouted and, grabbing the girl by the arm to pull her behind him, rushed for the stairs. He descended it quickly, and reached the starboard bulwark just in time to see a sheer cliff of wood and glass appear from the darkness like a ghost. “We have her by the stern! All guns, fire as you bear!”

When Sjan-dehk grabbed her arm and rushed her to the starboard side, Dahlia mock-complained, “Careful, Captain. You’ll bruise my pretty skin.” But her teasing faltered when the enemy ship emerged from the darkness like a ghostly giant. Her breath hitched, and her smirk vanished. “Well. That’s… terrifying.”

“Aye, starboard battery, fire as we bear!” The muffled shout came from beneath his feet.

It would only take a few seconds for Sada Kurau to get into position, but it may as well have been several eternities. Sjan-dehk kept his eye on the enemy ship as they drew closer and closer. It didn’t look as if she was moving, and it didn’t take long for him to figure out why. Her sails, dark grey and almost invisible in the darkness, were limp, and fluttered weakly against the oncoming wind. More likely than not, she had tried to turn to meet Sada Kurau, but her crew couldn’t tack her sails fast enough to keep them billowing. It was terrible luck on their part, but that was the nature of battle. Fortune often played a larger role than tactics.

“Cover ears,” Sjan-dehk said to the girl. Not a moment later, the first of Sada Kurau’s guns opened fire.

So close were they to the enemy that Sjan-dehk could easily hear the shattering of glass, the splintering of wood, and the panicked yells of the crew as Sada Kurau raked their ship. And had it just been solid shot, it would have been bad enough, but Sada Kurau was using her shrapnel shells. Designed for clearing decks and bombarding shores, they could be timed to explode after a certain distance, showering anyone unlucky enough to be in the vicinity with metal shards and rifle balls.

Glass and thin wood, such as the sort which covered most ship’s sterns, weren’t sturdy enough to shatter such shells. And so, Sada Kurau’s salvo easily sailed into the innards of her foe before they exploded, one at a time. Sjan-dehk didn’t even want to imagine the carnage that was unfolding within. He caught sight of a flash of orange as Sada Kurau’s final guns savaged the enemy. A fire, either from a fallen lantern, or just the sheer devastation, had likely broken out. Sjan-dehk wasn’t too keen on staying long enough to find out which it was.

“Fucking well done!” He shouted over his shoulder. “Now bring us hard to star–”

“Captain!” A frantic shout came from the quarterdeck, behind him. “Ship approaching from larboard!”

“Fuck,” Sjan-dehk spat. Taking the girl by her arm, he swiftly crossed the deck to the other side. And sure enough, there in the distance was another ship, white surf surrounding her bow, and bright – brighter than those of Sada Kurau’s earlier prey – lamps illuminating her prow. There was no telling what she was, but if her billowing sails and apparent haste was anything to go by, she was probably in league with the enemy.

“Where did she come from?” Another shout from the quarterdeck.

“She must’ve lagged behind!” Sjan-dehk answered. “But don’t worry about that! Proceed with orders! Bring us hard to starboard and get us around the ship we just wrecked! We’ll use her as cover!” Even as he said those words, he knew that it wasn’t the best idea. This new enemy simply had to make a turn to starboard, and they would be able to fire a broadside into Sada Kurau’s stern. But there wasn’t any choice. Sjan-dehk didn’t know how close they were to shore, and to make a turn to larboard to meet this new enemy – even if it was a sharp one – would take too much time and distance.

“Twenty-two feet under keel and thereabouts, Captain! Sand, reef, and rock!”

“Hard to starboard, now!” Sjan-dehk barked. “Tack all sails if you have to! Otherwise we’ll run aground!”

The yardarms swung wildly overhead, their sails straining to catch the wind from a different direction. Sada Kurau lurched hard as it turned. Sjan-dehk moved about the deck to keep his eye on the newcomer. Much to his displeasure, she was also turning as expected, to catch Sada Kurau in her stern. But she was a lot slower, and was much more cumbersome in her turn. With some luck, Sada Kurau would circle around the now-burning wreck of her prey, and meet her new victim broadside-to-broadside.

“Wait!” It was Yasawen. “I can help!”

Sjan-dehk snapped his head around, just in time to see the boy rush towards the bulwark. Fain wisps, like a leafy green mist, swirled up his arms, intertwining and splitting as they tickled his tanned flesh. “Fucking idiot!” Sjan-dehk shouted, for the moment forgetting the girl. He raced towards Yasawen. “Don’t just stand there!” His words were rushed, and his crew didn’t seem to catch them at all, entranced as they were with the display of arcane power. “Someone stop him!”

Yasawen’s mouth moved, but Sjan-dehk couldn’t hear his words over the din of battle. The swirling wisps quickened, coalescing into something closer to smoke. More and more green trails rose from between the deck’s planks. They crawled out of the water like snakes and buzzed around Yasawen’s hands, eager and ready to be used according to his will. “Don’t you dare!” Sjan-dehk yelled, still pushing his way towards the boy. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Then, everything happened at once. Yasawen abruptly stopped murmuring. He swung his wisp-shrouded arm upwards in a sharp, almost violent, motion. In an instant, the green smoke burst from him, cutting faint lines through the air as they hurriedly dove into the sea.

Sjan-dehk finally reached him. He tackled the boy.

But it was too late.

The sea lurched and churned, as if a great creature was just lurking beneath. Then, right when Sjan-dehk sent Yasawen crashing painfully onto the deck, it stopped. Grunting, Sjan-dehk pulled himself up, peering over the gunwale. White crests, a sure sign of agitated waters, surrounded Sada Kurau, but they seemed to be calming. Not too far off in the distance, the enemy ship continued to approach, its wake clear even in the dark of night, the ruffling of its sails loud.

Then, something shot out of the sea. It was far too dark, and it moved too quickly for Sjan-dehk to catch it, but whatever it was, it speared the enemy ship from keel to deck. So violent was its impact that the entire vessel almost heeled over. A few moments later, the object fell from the sky, landing not too far away from Sada Kurau. Sjan-dehk looked in the direction of its landing and managed to just catch sight of the boulder before it sank beneath the waves.

“Yasawen!” He shouted, but the boy didn’t respond. Sjan-dehk was about to check on him, but the sight of the enemy ship stopped him. Flickers of orange burned on her deck, and wicked tongues of flame shot out of her gunports. Her bow dipped low in the water, but still she continued to press onwards. But she barely managed a few yards before the flames became too much for her to bear. Her magazines detonated, and she exploded into a shower of embers and debris.

“Get us out of here!” Sjan-dehk shouted. Splinters rained from above, most of them splashing into the sea, but a few falling close enough to make him worried. As the ship lurched and continued to turn away from the burning hulk of the enemy, Sjan-dehk kneeled and grabbed the boy by the collar. “You idiot,” he growled.

Yasawen blinked. A sickly pallour coloured his cheeks. “I-I helped–”

“We could’ve handled it!” Sjan-dehk shouted. His eyes fell to the boy’s arm, the one which he had used to channel his power. Yasawen’s entire forearm was sand. Not covered in it, but made of it. Some of it was in the midst of hardening to stone, while other parts fell away in clumps. That wasn’t too worrying, however; as each falling clump left behind a gouging hole, more sand rose to retain the shape of Yasawen’s arm.

“Not only did you damn near turn yourself into a fucking sand sculpture,” Sjan-dehk continued. “But you’ve also given yourself away!”

“B-But there’s only our people-” Yasawen whimpered.

Sjan-dehk turned him towards the girl and pointed at her. “She’s not! Congratulations, you just made sure that we have to do something about her, now.”

As Sjan-dehk barked for the guns to fire, Dahlia winced at the deafening blasts, instinctively covering her ears despite his earlier warning. Her eyes widened at the splintering wood and flashes of orange erupting from the enemy ship. Her balance faltered as Sjan-dehk dragged her across the deck again, her voice rising in alarm. “Wait, there’s another one? How many of these guys are out here?” Her unease turned to outright shock when Yasawen’s magic came into play. Dahlia froze, her jaw dropping as the green mist swirled and the sea erupted beneath the enemy ship.

Her eyes darted between Sjan-dehk, Yasawen, and the unfolding chaos. She watched, wide-eyed, as the ship was hit by something she couldn’t quite make out with her eyes, her voice trembling as she muttered, “That’s… definitely not in any naval manual I’ve ever heard of.” The fiery explosion that followed made her flinch, shielding her face from the heat and falling debris. “And here I thought the cannons were overkill...”

When Sjan-dehk tackled Yasawen and began berating him, Dahlia’s smirk faltered. Her gaze flicked nervously between the two, her tone cautious but questioning. “Whoa, hold on. You’re mad because he used magic? I mean, sure, it was… dramatic, but it worked, right? I don’t see the problem.”

Her expression froze when Sjan-dehk pointed at her, the gravity of his words sinking in. She took a deliberate step back, her hands half-raised in defense. “Wait, wait, hold on squared! I don’t care if he’s throwing fireballs or summoning sea monsters. What do you mean you have to do something about me?” Her voice pitched higher, tinged with nervous energy, and her earlier bravado cracked further.

She frowned, her shoulders tensing as she motioned vaguely to the wreckage and chaos around her. “Look, I didn’t sign up to be a loose end or whatever you’re thinking. I just wanted a ride out of Sorian, not… whatever this is.”

“Liar.” Inshahri’s sing-song voice came out of nowhere, and the girl followed soon after, a carefree, cheeky grin gracing her lips. She moved as she always did, with a spring in her light, swaying steps, as she made her way towards the girl. “Liar,” she repeated and giggled. In the aftermath all that had just happened, and in the midst of a battle, everything about Inshahri’s mannerisms struck Sjan-dehk as odd. But still, he held himself back and allowed her to do whatever it was that she wanted to do.

“Excuse me?” she retorted, her tone sharp and defensive.

“Your magic isn’t yours,” Inshahri said, her smile never wavering. She cocked her head. “It looked strange to me earlier, but I couldn’t tell why. Now I can. You and that magic around you, your melodies are so very, very different! Not like Yasawen and his, or me and mine.” She buzzed around the girl like a bee around a flower, looking at her from every angle. “Someone gave you that magic, didn’t they? Or they did something to you. Or maybe you stole it from them?”

Dahlia’s mouth opened in disbelief. “What? No. No way. You’ve got the wrong girl,” she said quickly, her hands waving as if to push the claim away. Dahlia’s face drained of color. “What are you even talking about?” she asked again, this time quieter, almost to herself. She took another step back, her eyes darting to Sjan-dehk for some kind of explanation or reprieve. “Captain? She’s not serious, right? I don’t have magic. I’ve never done magic. This is—this is ridiculous!”

Sjan-dehk’s suspicions began to return. It did feel like too much of a coincidence – not only was this girl a magic-user, but they also seemed to understand Common Viserjantan. How many such people were there in Sorian? “That is true?” He asked, eyes narrowing. “You were…Given this magic?”

“No! I don’t know what she’s talking about!” she protested, shaking her head.. A faint memory flickered in the back of her mind, too blurry to grasp, like a half-forgotten dream she couldn’t quite piece together. “I mean… not that I know of? What does that even mean?”

She turned to Inshahri, her voice rising. “If someone did something to me, I’d know, wouldn’t I? I’d feel it or… or remember it, right?” Her tone softened into something closer to desperation. “This has to be a mistake.”

But the certainty in Inshahri’s words and Sjan-dehk’s suspicious gaze pressed on her like a weight. Dahlia’s breath quickened, her earlier nonchalance now completely replaced by fear. “I swear, I don’t know anything about magic. Whatever this is, it’s not me. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t do this.”

And then it hit her.

A memory, faint but insistent, surfaced in her mind—Seraphina speaking in hushed tones with another person. Words she hadn’t understood. A strange, fleeting warmth that had passed through her body, was dismissed at the time as nothing more than nerves or fatigue. Dahlia’s heart sank. She must’ve had someone cast spells on me, she thought to herself. What was she thinking? Why would she do that?

Sjan-dehk watched the girl’s expression change with a cold, hard look on his face. He had been taken for a fool, although he had to admit that he hadn’t exactly made that a difficult task. He had been too quick to trust the girl’s story; too quick to extend his sympathies to someone who didn’t deserve them. “So, you are lying, yes?” He asked, voice empty of emotion. “You are not…You do not have magic. Someone gave it to you, and send you here to do something.”

He asked no questions. The girl wasn’t going to answer them, more likely than not. Sjan-dehk looked out into the darkness, at the burning flotsam in the water, at the wrecks Sada Kurau had left in her wake. They were done here, it seemed. He couldn’t hear any firing in the distance, and so he assumed that Cynric had also made short work of his target. “Let’s get out of here,” Sjan-dehk called out. “Turn us around and bring us back to port. And someone get Mursi and Kai-dahn up here. We’ve got ourselves a spy to wrangle.”

“W-What’re you going to do to her?” Yasawen asked in a small voice.

Sjan-dehk shrugged. “Regulations say I should shoot her and throw her body overboard, or something like that, but…” He trailed off and fixed the girl with a scrying glare. “No telling what magic she’s got. Could be one that blows her up once she’s dead. I’m not going to take any chances.” He looked at Yasawen, then at Inshahri. “Don’t suppose either of you know anyone that can…I don’t know, remove that magic from her?”

Yasawen shook his head, but Inshahri nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes!” She chirped. “Mistress Kadahya should be able to do something about it! She’s the chief counter-arcane specialist on Sudah, you know? She can even tell you what magic’s in the girl, I bet!”

“Can she? I'll have to keep that in mind,” Sjan-dehk said with a mirthless chuckle.

Then, he walked back towards the girl, looking down at her with arms folded across his chest. Experience told him to just torture the information out of her. Whoever that had sent her had likely done so without any good intent, and who knew how much time he had before they did something more drastic? But Sjan-dehk couldn’t bring himself to give the order. The girl looked young. Far too young to be caught up in something like this. He could see her being a petty criminal, but a spy? That was a little far-fetched. Perhaps she had been telling some modicum of truth, when she said that she wanted no part in this.

“You…” He began, but then cut himself short. “Fuck it, you clearly understand what we’re saying. Anyway, congratulations. I’m not going to kill you, but I can’t let you leave Sada Kurau, either. Not until I’m sure that you won’t go reporting whatever it is you found out to your master, and I’m sure that’s going to take a very, very long time. Welcome to the crew.”

He shook his head. This wasn’t an ideal solution, and he knew it. But it was the best he could manage, for now. “First things first, I’m getting Mistress Kadahya to look you over as soon as she has time. I want that magic out of you. Two arcanists on my ship-”

“There’ll be more!” Inshahri piped up. Sjan-dehk glanced at her and sighed.

“A handful of arcanists on my ship is already more than what I can handle,” he said. “I don’t need another one to give me worry.”

Dahlia’s breath hitched as Sjan-dehk’s words sank in. Her eyes widened, and she took a sharp step back, her voice rising. “You can’t just keep me hostage! That’s not how this works!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic rush, her earlier bravado completely shattered. “I haven’t done anything to you! I didn’t hurt anyone! You can’t just decide I’m part of your crew like that!”

Sjan-dehk blinked once. “Actually, I can,” he said simply. “You snuck onboard Sada Kurau. You came here with bad intentions, and really, there’s nowhere for you to go. And besides, I’m Captain. I have the right to press people into service if I need to.”

She took a step back, her fists bawled, “This—this isn’t even my fight! I didn’t ask for any of this! I’m just trying to survive, okay? You can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she clamped her mouth shut for a moment.

When she spoke again, her tone was quieter but tinged with desperation. “Look, I’ll tell you what you want to know. I’ll cooperate. But you have to let me go when we get to port. You can’t keep me here forever.” Her gaze darted to Yasawen and Inshahri, searching for even a shred of sympathy, before returning to Sjan-dehk. “Please. I’m not a threat to you. Just let me go when we dock, and I swear you’ll never see me again.”
The two arcanists looked at each other. Then, they looked at Sjan-dehk.

She paused, her hands trembling at her sides, then added with a bitter edge, “I’ll even tell you about the bitch who sent me. She’s the real danger here, not me.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “I appreciate that,” he began, and then sighed. “But that’s not the point. What concerns me is that you will tell her. I don’t have any guarantee that you won’t tell her…Whatever it is that you were sent to find. I’m not taking any chances. And besides, we’re going to get that magic out of you. If anything, you should be thanking us.”

He shook his head. “But at the end of it, you’re not going ashore when we return, and after all this, I’m not going to moor Sada Kurau at the docks, anyway.”[/color] Although he hadn’t any intention to reassure the girl, he still nevertheless added, “Don’t worry. You’re not stuck here forever. We’ll have to go home someday, and when that day comes, you’ll certainly be released. It’ll be an earlier release if you can somehow convince us that you’re not going to go running back to your mistress, however. Though I’ll be fair and tell you right now that as far as we’re concerned, you’re a liar. Your words’ not worth the air you use for them.”[/color]

Dahlia tapped her foot. If she didn’t get off this ship, they’d certainly kill her parents. She’d have to play ball.. “Let’s be real for a second—keeping me here? That’s not going to stop these people. If anything, it’s just going to make them come after you harder. And me? I’m your only shot at staying ahead.”

She paused, then tilted her head with a sweet but condescending smile. “Unless you think you’ve got it all figured out. Maybe you like surprises, like waking up to your ship under siege. But me? I’d rather avoid that. I’m offering you a heads-up—a chance to know what she’s planning before she makes her next move. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Sjan-dehk arched his brow at the thought of Sada Kurau coming under attack. He resisted the urge to grin or smirk, and instead kept his expression neutral as the girl continued.

Dahlia threw her hands out in mock surrender. “But sure, go ahead. Keep me here, make me part of your crew or whatever. That’ll definitely end well. Because, you know, nothing screams ‘smart captain’ like forcing the one person who knows your enemy’s next move to swab decks instead of helping you avoid getting ambushed.” She let her words hang, then raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to argue.

She took a step closer. “Look, Captain, I’m trying to help you. You let me go when we hit port, and I’ll give you everything you need—names, plans, weaknesses. You’ll be ready, and I’ll be out of your hair. And look, I won’t tell them anything, I swear. They have my parents hostage so why would I care about helping them? I honestly just want to help my parents. It’s a win-win no matter how you look at it..”

She arched an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Or you can keep me here and hope for the best. Your call, Captain.”

“Are you done?” Sjan-dehk asked. He didn’t wait for her to reply before going on. “Firstly, I appreciate your concern for Sada Kurau, but it’s unnecessary. She, us, we’re all veterans. Between us, we’ve fought more battles than anyone can count, and we’re still mostly alive. So if your masters and mistresses believe they can beat us in a fight, they’re more than welcome to try. I’ll personally invite them, even.”

He took a step back and finally allowed his grin to show. “And even if they win, and they slaughter me, and everyone aboard, and they burn Sada Kurau, it’ll be a hollow victory. The Commonwealth will take it as an act of war, and they will surely return to your lands with fleets and armies and plenty of devastation.”

Despite the weight of his words, he said them lightly. It was hard not to – the past five years had made war an almost normal activity. Part of him worried over that. Another part of him reminded him that the war was over, and that he shouldn’t be throwing that threat around lightly, even if he knew that the Commonwealth wasn’t the sort to turn the other cheek when slighted. He breathed out slowly through his nose.

“But I suppose you’re doing this for your parents, and that’s itself admirable,” he said. If his parents, or any of his siblings were taken captive, he doubted there were any lines he wouldn’t cross to rescue them. “So I think we can compromise. I’ll let you off on shore. You can return to your mistress, and you can find out for me why they sent you in the first place. That’s all I want to know.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment before giving the price for his offer. “But you must do two things. First, when you return to Sada Kurau, we will have your magic removed. And two, you’ll stay with us for a few days. Just to be safe, and just a little more incentive for you to not tell them anything that brings harm to us.”

Dahlia exhaled slowly. “Alright, Captain. You’ve made your point. I’ll take the deal. You let me off when the time comes, and I’ll get you the answers you want. No games.”

She straightened up slightly, “And for what it’s worth, I get it. You’ve got a ship to protect, a crew to think about. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. But this? It works for both of us.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Kalliope & Sjan-dehk

Part 4

Date: Sola 27th
Time: Early Morning
Location: Small Inn

Kalliope stirred as the first light of morning filtered into the room, the warmth of the bed and the weight of exhaustion keeping her in a hazy, dreamlike state. Her body felt heavy, her muscles achingly relaxed in a way that seemed unfamiliar. Slowly, her senses began to return. First, the scent of salt and something earthy, comforting and faintly familiar. Then, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear. The rise and fall of a chest.

She froze.

Her mind, still sluggish from sleep, struggled to piece together what was happening. She blinked up at the ceiling, her thoughts sluggishly fumbling over why it felt closer than it should have. And then it hit her. Her cheek was resting against someone’s bare chest — firm, warm, and undeniably alive.

Her breath caught, and her heart seemed to stop altogether as the weight of realization began to creep in. Slowly, tentatively, she shifted her head ever so slightly, her eyes trailing upward to find a face. Sjan-dehk. He was there, his features softened in sleep. His lips parted slightly as he exhaled a slow, steady breath, utterly peaceful in a way that struck her like a lightning bolt.

Panic seized her.

A rush of heat flooded her cheeks as her body stiffened. That’s when she realized…her skin. Her bare skin. The blanket was draped over her, but beneath it, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Her hands clutched at the fabric instinctively, pulling it tighter around herself as a flood of half-formed memories and blurred sensations assaulted her. She couldn’t make sense of them. There was too much, and yet not enough.

She sat there for a long moment, her chest tight and her pulse racing as she tried to catch her breath. Her mind scrambled for answers, replaying the events of the previous night in her head, but they felt slippery, disjointed. There were gaps, and the more she searched for them, the harder they were to grasp. She couldn't really remember anything beyond sitting down to look over the letter.

“Sjan-dehk,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she gave his chest the smallest of nudges. When he didn’t stir, she tried again, this time with a bit more urgency. “Sjan-dehk!” She was sitting up now, staring down at him as she held the blanket to her chest.

The peaceful, dreamless sleep should have been his first clue that something was wrong.

For sleep didn’t come easily to Sjan-dehk. Not in recent days, in any case, and certainly not this kind of serene, untroubled sleep. Most of his nights since coming to Sorian had been plagued by dreams, or nightmares, or something else entirely. He didn’t quite know what to call them. Only when he was well-and-properly fatigued did his mind spare him of that mysterious lady, of those terrible scenes, of painful memories he would rather forget.

And as far as he could recall, last night hadn’t tired him to that point. It had been exciting, surely, but it didn’t exactly take much out of him.

Kalliope’s urgent call pulled him from his rest. Sjan-dehk’s eyes shot open, and he quickly sat up, the sudden move almost throwing the covers off of his body. The first thing he noticed – even before his vision cleared – was the cooling draft washing over his skin. That was strange; he didn’t recall taking off his clothes. “What happened?” he asked, his voice hoarse and groggy. “Did we fall asleep?” With a few rapid blinks, he cleared the sleep from his eyes.

Then, he felt his heart stop.

Sitting right beside him, and with only the covers protecting her modesty, was Kalliope. “S-Sorry!” He blurted out, immediately turning his head away. From what he felt upon his body, he knew that he too was utterly naked, but that fact only floated on the surface of his strangely lethargic mind. He tried to think, but his thoughts crawled like torpid snails into his head. And when they arrived, they were in a tangled mess, each with no clear start, no clear end, and splitting into their own threads and melding with each other.

He drew in a deep breath.

The last thing he could remember of last night was reading the letter with Kalliope. Everything after that, however, wasn’t just a blur. It was completely missing. There was a gaping hole in his memory, and the more he tried to piece things together, the more confused and worried he became. But one thing was for certain. Kalliope and he had done something, and based on what he had awoken to, it wasn’t difficult for him to figure out just what that something was.

“Fuck,” he said in a quiet voice. Turning back to face Kalliope, he looked at her with a face that made his worry, his unease, and his haunted realisation all too clear. “Fuck. What did I fucking do to you?”

Kalliope stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her mind spiraled further and further out of control. His reaction – the panic in his voice, the guilt etched across his face – wasn’t helping her own. If anything, it made the situation even more real.

“Fuck,” she repeated, her voice quiet but laced with disbelief and growing terror. The word sat heavy in the air, the irony of it hitting her like a slap. Her gaze dropped to the rumpled blanket that clung to her chest, and her lips parted as the weight of what they must have done settled over her. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream…so she let out a small, bitter laugh.

“That’s exactly what it looks like we did, isn’t it?” she said, her tone biting with a mix of sarcasm and disbelief as she pressed a trembling hand to her temple. “Fuck.” It came out much more harsh than she intended and she realized she needed to calm herself down some as she took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she began, trying to work through things. “Here's what I remember. We entered the room, I began trying to work out the letter, but it made no sense. I remember feeling frustrated and also drinking–” she froze as her eyes went wide. “The tea…” She whispered in horror, but then she turned to Sjan-dehk. “Do you remember any more than that? You drank the tea too, yes?” There was a frantic quality to her voice as she slowly began to realize that they may have been drugged, but she needed to confirm what Sjan-dehk remembered.

The tea!

That got Sjan-dehk’s mind back on track. He thought back to the previous night, to the strange taste of the tea, and how Kalliope couldn’t seem to identify it. Now that he placed every event, every word said back then under scrutiny, he began to make out a picture. All had been normal up until the point when she drank from her cup. Sjan-dehk had thought that she had been merely teasing him, but the way her words came out had sounded a little different from her usual, playful tone.

“Yes, I did,” he said in a murmur, then shook his head and, in a louder voice, continued, “I remember that you drank it first, and you said something about…” He trailed off, familiar awkwardness returning to him. He wasn’t quite sure if he missed it. “About the kiss in the estate. Then I drank, and after that I can’t remember a damn thing. I just remember feeling…I don’t know, carefree? Or drunk.”

He looked past Kalliope and at the cups. They were still where they had been left. “You think maybe someone laced it?” He asked, even though he felt quite certain he already knew the answer. A quick glance at the table all but confirmed it for him. “The letter,” he breathed. “It’s gone!”

“Shit!” Kalliope’s voice cracked like a whip as Sjan-dehk’s words reached her. All sense of modesty vanished as she flung the covers off herself and spun to the edge of the bed. The cool air hit her bare skin, but she didn’t care. Her mind was too preoccupied, too focused on the implications of the missing letter to care about her state of undress.

“Cover yourself!” Sjan-dehk shouted out, and immediately looked away again, this time holding up a hand in front of his eyes to make sure he didn’t see anything he shouldn’t. Moving blindly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, taking the sheets with him. By sheer luck, he found his trousers on the floor and hurriedly tugged them on before following behind Kalliope, his eyes averted and aimed at the ceiling, the walls, and at anything other than her.

She spotted her undergarments crumpled on the floor nearby and scrambled to retrieve them, her back to Sjan-dehk as she quickly began to pull them on. Her movements were frantic, almost desperate, her fingers fumbling over the fabric. If Sjan-dehk looked at her back – and it would have been hard not to, given her sudden urgency – he would have seen the scars that marred her skin. They were pale, jagged streaks, unmistakable remnants of violent lashings. Anyone with experience in the horrors of such punishments would recognize them for what they were: the brutal, lasting marks of a whip. And there were so many of them. It was as if her entire back had once been a canvas for someone’s cruelty.

But Kalliope didn’t give him time to process what he saw. She hurried to the table, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor as her eyes darted across the room, searching for the letter. “It has to be here somewhere,” she muttered, half to herself, half to him. She dropped to her knees, peering under the table, her heart racing with dread. “It could’ve fallen, or–”

Her words stopped abruptly as her gaze fell upon the chair near the table. There, sitting almost mockingly, was something so horrifying it turned her blood to ice. The innkeeper, Elyna’s head, sat perched on the chair, her expression frozen in a grotesque mask of fear. Her lifeless eyes stared blankly ahead, and clutched between her lips was what appeared to be a rolled-up piece of paper.

Kalliope’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t make a sound. Her stomach churned violently, threatening to empty its contents as the sight fully registered. Then, finally, a scream tore from her throat, raw and filled with utter terror. She stumbled back, tripping over her own feet as she fell to the ground. Her palms scraped against the floor as she scrambled away from the chair, her body trembling violently.

“Elyna!” she cried, her voice breaking as she pressed herself against the far wall, as far from the chair as she could manage. Her emerald eyes darted wildly to Sjan-dehk, wide with fear and horror. “She’s—she’s—her head—Sjan-dehk!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic rush, her hands pressing against her mouth to stifle another scream as she shut her eyes tightly, trying to get ahold of herself. Trying to convince herself that her friend's head wasn't sitting on that chair.

Sjan-dehk’s jaw set when he saw the innkeeper’s head. All of his earlier confusion and awkwardness disappeared in an instant. Whoever it was that had drugged them had not only caused both him and Kalliope great trouble, but they had also seen fit to murder an innocent innkeeper who had made the mistake of providing a room to the two of them. And all for what? A letter? Some foul business? That very thought made him sick.

He placed a hand on Kalliope’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then, he carefully draped the sheets around her. “I’ll handle this,” he said quietly before walking over to the severed head.

In all honesty, he didn’t know how he was going to handle this. Dai-sehk was the better man for such a situation; that man would have identified the type of weapon used, which hand the killer used, and also what time the innkeeper had met her untimely demise, all within the time it took for Sjan-dehk to simply get his bearings. But the surgeon wasn’t here.

Sjan-dehk sighed and knelt before the head. The look of fright told him that the innkeeper likely had to see her killer, and their intent. Was it someone she had known? It seemed unlikely – someone like that could have simply taken her by surprise. No, this was a stranger. Next, Sjan-dehk looked at the neck. The cut was mostly clean, with very few jagged edges and hanging flesh. Whatever blade had been used, it had been a remarkably sharp one, and wielded by an experienced knifeman. And they had to have taken their time. That meant that the innkeeper had to have been killed before she was decapitated. And that, in turn, told Sjan-dehk that the killer wasn’t just a simple madman. All this had been done with a purpose in mind. But what?

He paused and blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but he could still remember a time when a sight as grisly as this would turn his stomach. When did that stop happening? He knew the reason why, though; he had seen many, many atrocities of every type during the war. After a while, his eyes simply stopped seeing them as anything out-of-the-ordinary. After a while, his mind didn’t even think of them as anything outrageous, but rather, something that had to be investigated.

“Fair seas; black sands; tall mountains; shadowed trees; long rivers, may you find where you will be at peace,” he muttered beneath his breath, then closed his eyes for a moment. Maybe he could – no, maybe he should remember what it was like to be affected by such crimes.

Carefully, he took the rolled-up paper between his thumb and index finger, and slowly pulled it free of the dead woman’s teeth. It was mostly dry, and unfolded easily enough. He read it quickly once, then again, and only after that did he start reading. “To the Captain and the…The pretender. You…You’re not as clever as you think. She trusted you. She gave you a place to rest. And now her bl- her blood is on your hands.”

He glanced at the head. “What a load of fucking gullshit,” he remarked. Then, he continued.

“This is only the begi- the beginning. You can try to run. But there is no…escape. You both have your secrets. Your sins. Your scars. Things you th- thought were buried. I…I know them all. I see you for what you truly are.” Despite the gravity and grimness of the situation, it took all of Sjan-dehk’s control to not burst out in a derisive laugh. He had only been in Sorian for roughly a week. What secrets did this person know of him?

His face hardened at the next line, however. “Sailor, your crew will be next if you’re not careful.”

“It’s Captain,” he muttered. “And what a fucking idiot. If they wanted to go after my crew, they should just do it. Now that we’ve got warning, we’ll know what to do. Bloody fucking amateurs.”

“As for the girl, do you really think the world has forgotten your crimes?” Sjan-dehk glanced over the paper’s edge at Kalliope. “Maybe I- I’ll finish what the whip started.” He drew in a deep breath, but he found it difficult to calm himself. He had seen the scars on Kalliope’s back, and he had guessed that they were whipping scars. But to see it confirmed like this just made his blood boil. He crumpled the paper and tossed it aside as if it were poison.

“They signed off with ‘B.R.’, and said something about last night,” he summarised. “So whoever did this-” he gestured to the head and shook his own “-stuck around for whatever fucking reason.”

He squatted in front of Kalliope, placing both hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry for all this,” he said quietly. “Maybe we should’ve gone to Sada Kurau after all. But I promise you, whoever it was that did this shite’s going to get what’s coming. They can threaten all they want and try to sound mysterious all they want, but Sada Kurau’s fought tougher foes before. It’s them who should be scared.”

She stayed slumped against the wall, her breaths coming shallow and uneven as Sjan-dehk read the note aloud. Every word sank deeper into her chest, coiling like a viper around her ribs and sinking it's venomous bite in deeper with each sentence. She didn’t flinch when he crouched in front of her, his hands firm and steady on her shoulders. The steadiness was a mockery to her chaos, and for a brief moment, she hated him for it. Hated that he could be calm while her insides were tearing themselves apart.

“This…” Her voice came out a cracked whisper, but the anger surged too hot to stay contained. “This is my fault. All of it. Elyna’s death. The tea. The letter. Whatever happened between us last night.” Her teeth clenched as her emerald gaze darted away from him, shame flickering in their depths. “If I hadn’t…if I hadn’t teased you, pushed you, thrown myself at you like some desperate, stupid girl–”

Her nails dug into her arms, tearing into the already tender flesh she’d been clawing at moments before. Blood beaded and ran down in slow rivulets, but she didn’t care. The pain was grounding, but not enough to stop the torrent of self-loathing spilling from her lips.

Sjan-dehk listened to her, and though he shook his head, he said nothing for now. He had an inkling as to what was coming. It was something he had gone through several times before. Both as the one listening, and the one spiralling into despair. As much as he wanted to comfort her now, he knew that now was the time to allow her to speak. To allow her to release as much of the pressure building up in her heart and mind as possible.

“I’m an idiot,” she spat, her voice sharp and filled with venom, directed entirely at herself. “I thought flirting and games were harmless. But no. No, because here we are. Drugged. In a bed we never should’ve been in together. And you–” Her voice cracked, and her fingers curled tighter against her bloodied arms. “You looked like you hated that you found yourself here, rightfully so. And now you’re stuck in this mess because of me.”

Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut, and her jaw tightened as if she were physically holding herself together. The weight of his steady presence was unbearable. She felt like she didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve his patience or his understanding. He shouldn’t be here. He should be with his crew, his ship, his life – not cleaning up the wreckage of hers.

“Maybe if I’d just stayed out of your life entirely, none of this would’ve happened,” she muttered bitterly, her voice soft but trembling with the sharp edges of her emotions. “Maybe if I hadn’t teased, or flirted, or—fuck—been alive, you wouldn’t be in danger now. Your crew wouldn’t be in danger. Elyna would still be alive. And last night wouldn’t be some…some nightmare we have to drag around with us.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the storm of guilt and anger building and crashing inside her, but she forced her eyes open, fixing Sjan-dehk with a look that was both desperate and resolute. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her nails unclenching from her arms. The blood-streaked trails on her skin stung, but they were nothing compared to the ache of the weight crushing her chest.

“You shouldn’t be here, Sjan-dehk,” she said, her voice steadying as a cold, bitter resolve set in. “This isn’t your fight. You shouldn't have to deal with this. And if they want me, then they can fucking come for me.”

Her lips curled into a bitter, humorless smile. “Maybe they’ll succeed where others failed. Maybe they’ll finally finish what I couldn’t do myself, no matter how hard I tried.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of a dark history she refused to explain. Her jaw tightened, her knuckles white as her fists curled at her sides. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t break. She would not yield.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Sjan-dehk repeated with a nod. “You’re right there. As far as how things should be, I should be home in Iwa-Jafi, sitting in harbour and waiting for my next assignment. I shouldn’t be on the other side of the world, in a strange city and surrounded by strange things. If you’d asked me a week ago about how I think things should be, I’d tell you that I should be doing what I swore to do, and be patrolling Viserjantan seas for pirates. That, or doing whatever nonsense the navy wants me to do. Maybe I’d just be standing on Sada Kurau and staring into nothing all day. Who knows?”

Before she could say anything, he placed his hands on her shoulders once more. Determination was in his eyes when he looked at her. “But now that I’m here, I can’t say I regret a single thing. Aye, I’ve likely gotten into more trouble than I should’ve, but that’s nothing new for me. Trouble’s always close behind me, wherever I go.” He placed his hands on hers, and carefully brought them to the floor. His touch was gentle, and his expression soft, as he picked up his sash and used it to wipe the blood off of her arms.

“I don’t hate that I’m here,” he said as he dabbed the cloth against her wounds. “I’m…Well, you likely know by now that I’m not exactly used to this sort of thing. But I don’t…” He trailed off, heat flooding his cheeks and the words suddenly refusing to leave his mouth. He forced them out, anyway. “I don’t hate it. If I look like I do, then I apologise. I just don’t really know how to respond to them.”

He glanced up at her with a grin, meant to comfort her. “But I guess I’m learning, eh?”

Once the wounds were clean enough, he dropped the sash. Then, he pulled Kalliope into a hug. His movements were awkward, and his arms didn’t seem to know where they were supposed to go, but he hoped that he made up for it with his sincerity. He placed a hand on the back of her head, fingers brushing through her hair. “What happened to Elyna isn’t your fault,” he whispered. “The only person who should be blamed is the one who killed her. For what reason did they have to kill an innkeeper, of all people? To send a message? That’s just a wicked cunt being a wicked cunt. Nobody could’ve expected that they’d do something like that over a damn letter.”

“And as for Sada Kurau and my crew,” he continued, pausing to let out a short chuckle. “Don’t worry about them. Worry more about the ones going after them. They might not look it, but every last one of them’s a veteran in their own right. They can take care of themselves. And nobody sails with Sada Kurau expecting to have an easy and trouble-free time. They knew what they were getting into when they decided to join her crew.”

He gently pressed her head into his shoulder, his other hand slowly patting her back. “And I’d hate to tell you this, but you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not, on this. I’ve already sunk at least two of this…’B.R.’s ships, and I’m not about to stop. I reckon they’d come after me eventually, even if you weren’t involved.” He leaned back and looked at her with a smile. “So you’re not alone in this, Kali. If they want you, then they’ll have to deal with me, with Sada Kurau, and with her crew.”

Kalliope froze in Sjan-dehk’s embrace, her breath hitching as his arms settled awkwardly yet firmly around her. She didn’t move at first, her body stiff against his, but the steady rhythm of his heart and the warmth of his touch began to chip away at the walls she’d frantically built around herself. Slowly, hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if he were the only thing tethering her to reality.

Her grip tightened, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself rest against him. His scent filled her senses, grounding her more than she cared to admit. It was comforting, soothing even, until a memory flashed vividly before her eyes: waking up tangled in him, her head on his chest, his heartbeat lulling her into a moment of peace she hadn’t known in years.

Her breath caught again, but this time for an entirely different reason. The shame she’d tried to push away surged back, sharp and unrelenting. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding onto him for just a moment longer, before finally pulling back. She untangled herself from his arms carefully, her hands lingering for a second before she pushed herself up from the floor and stepped away entirely.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling but sincere. “For your kindness. For your reassurance. I…I don’t deserve it, but thank you.”

“Don’t say that,” Sjan-dehk said, his voice just as soft. “You do deserve it. And for what it’s worth, I’m giving it to you anyway.”

She turned away, her movements deliberate as she crossed the room to retrieve the rest of her clothing. She didn’t meet his gaze as she dressed, her hands fumbling slightly as she pulled her dress on and fastened the ties. “I’m sorry for freaking out like that,” she said, her tone quieter now, as if she were ashamed of her outburst. “I… I don’t know how to deal with all of this currently. Everything feels like it’s crashing down at once, and I…I just need some time to process.”

She glanced over her shoulder, her emerald eyes flickering with a mix of gratitude and unease. “You should go back to your crew. They need you more than I do right now. And…” She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip before forcing the next words out, her voice laced with nervousness. “I’ll… I’ll make sure there’s no, um, child that results from…from last night. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll handle it. That way, we can just…pretend it didn’t happen. Move on.”

“My crew will be fine,” Sjan-dehk said with a shake of his head. “If they can’t live without me for a few hours, then I’ve taken on the wrong people. Don’t think I can leave you on your own right now, even if I want to. Which I don’t.”

At first, Sjan-dehk didn’t understand what Kalliope meant by her next words. But when he did, a flush came over his cheeks, and he averted his eyes. Clearing his throat, he composed himself as best he could before speaking. “That…You won’t need to do that,” he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head and glancing at her. “If…Well, if something…I mean, someone results from what we did, I’m not going to run away. I’ll ah…I’ll take responsibility for it. Properly. I’ll be proper about it, don’t worry about a thing.”

He swallowed hard before continuing. “And, well, whatever happened, happened. We don’t…Well, to pretend that it didn’t happen won’t make things any different.” The pink flush of his cheeks deepened to a burning scarlet. “It really doesn’t bother me. Honest.”

Her words were rushed, her face flushing slightly as she fiddled with the hem of her bodice, avoiding his eyes. After a moment, she straightened, forcing a small, tight smile. “Thank you again, Sjan-dehk. For everything. I won’t forget it.” She folded her arms across her chest, suddenly feeling very small as she stood there. “And I suppose you're right, we're in this together now. So if any more threats or anything come to you or your crew, please let me know? I'll be sure to do the same.”

Sjan-dehk nodded and released a mental sigh of relief, grateful for the change of subject. “And if you like, you’re welcome to stay about Sada Kurau for as long as you need. Doesn’t sound like dry land’s going to be safe.”

Her eyes then caught sight of the head on the chair and she felt like she's been stabbed once more, but pushed it aside as she sighed. “Fuck. I guess I need to figure out what to do with her…”

A grimace formed on Sjan-dehk’s face as he followed her gaze. “We should treat her proper,” was all he could manage to say. He walked over to the head, picking up a sheet along the way. With respect and as much solemness as he could manage, he carefully draped the white cloth over the head. “I’m pretty sure the rest of her should still be downstairs,” he mused aloud. “We can…Collect her, and do whatever it is you Caesonians do with your dead. Otherwise…I don’t think anyone would complain if I send her off the Jafin way.”

He paced around the room, picking up his clothes along the way and throwing them on. “It’s the least we can do, I suppose. But don’t rush yourself, Kali. Take all the time you need.”

Kalliope’s jaw tightened as Sjan-dehk spoke, her vivid green eyes fixed on the sheet-covered head with a hollow stare. His kindness, his willingness to take responsibility, and the way he respected Elyna–even in death–only made it harder for her to keep her emotions at bay. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, a futile attempt to shield herself from the storm of feelings threatening to consume her.

She inhaled sharply through her nose, turning her head away from him as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I…” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “I can’t…pretend last night didn’t happen. You’re right about that.” Her gaze remained distant as she spoke, her words slow and deliberate. “But I also can’t fully deal with it right now. Everything’s too…raw. And I don’t trust myself to say or do the right thing. Not yet.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, a flash of guilt passing across her face. “I crossed a line I set for myself, Sjan-dehk. Something I swore I wouldn’t let happen.” Her voice was softer now, almost as if confessing to herself. “And it wasn’t just about last night. It’s about what led up to it, all my flirting and teasing. About how I let myself…” She faltered, shaking her head. “Let myself start feeling things I shouldn’t feel. For you.”

“What are you-” Sjan-dehk began, his eyes widening and hands frozen in the middle of tightening his sword-and-pistol belt around his waist. For the moment, he could only focus on her. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? Had he heard her correctly? Questions sprouted in his head, and thankfully, he didn’t have to wonder for long. Kalliope went on before he could finish his sentence.

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she finally turned to face him, her expression as guarded as ever. “I’ll explain, Sjan-dehk. I owe you that much and more honestly. But I need time to figure out…how I feel. About all of this. About us.” Her voice softened as she added, almost as if to herself, “If there even is an ‘us’ to figure out.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. There was little doubt in his head as to what Kalliope had meant, and what it was that she needed to figure out. A flutter rippled across his heart at the thought – how else could he react, knowing that a lady as pretty as her held fondness towards him? And yet, at the same time, a ball of nervousness settled in his stomach, mixed with relief. What if she had said what she wanted to say? How would he have responded? How did he really feel about her? Sjan-dehk found no quick answers to those questions. Never had he thought that he would have to even consider them.

He cleared his throat, using the action as an excuse to avert his gaze for a moment. “Yes, there’s no rush for…This sort of thing, yes?” He said awkwardly. Might have to start thinking about this thing as well, he added in his head. The least he could do was to be ready with an answer when Kalliope told him how she felt. He just hoped that it wouldn’t be a disappointing one.

She shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through her auburn waves before refocusing on the grim task at hand. “As for Elyna…” Kalliope trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line as she glanced back at the draped head. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest–Elyna deserved more than to be treated as a problem to be solved, but circumstances didn’t leave them much choice.

“I hate this,” she muttered bitterly, more to herself than him. “But we can’t risk this being traced back to us. If someone ties her death to me, or to you, it’ll be a death sentence for both of us. If we’re lucky.”

Her eyes flicked to Sjan-dehk’s face, searching his expression for any sign of judgment or disagreement. “A Jafin burial might be the best option. It’s dignified, it’s final, and it keeps her far from prying eyes.” She hesitated, her brows furrowing in thought. “I’m hoping the rest of her body is downstairs, like you said, and no one else has found it yet. Maybe we can make it look like she disappeared. If her people suspect foul play and decide to start asking questions, we’re both going to be in deep shit.”

“We Jafins leave no graves, as they say,” Sjan-dehk replied. The pain lacing Kalliope’s words and on her face didn’t go unnoticed by him. He stepped forward, adjusting his belts as he did so, and placed himself between her eyes and the head. “We’ll have to get her to Sada Kurau. She’ll take care of her properly until it’s time for her to meet the Eternal Horizon. I’ll have the crew see to it.”

A heavy silence fell as she considered their options, the weight of the decision settling on her shoulders. “I’ll go with you,” she said finally, her voice quiet but resolute. “To…collect the rest of her. She deserves at least that much respect.” She exhaled, her hands trembling slightly before she clenched them into fists at her sides. “And if we do this right, we can make sure no one ever ties this to us.”

She paused, then added in a near-whisper, “I’m sorry you got dragged into this. You didn’t deserve it.”

Turning toward the door, she glanced over her shoulder, her expression a mixture of guilt, gratitude, and something far more complicated. “Let’s get this over with. Then we can figure out the rest.”

As Sjan-dehk placed his back atop his head, so too did he wipe his mind of his earlier thoughts. Now wasn’t the time for him to ponder over the events of last night; of how Kalliope and he had woken up this morning, or even about his feelings. He had a mission – to recover the innkeeper’s body if it was still around, and then somehow bring it to [/I]Sada Kurau[/I]. That was all he needed to know.

“I’ll go first,” he said, approaching the door and drawing a pistol. With a hand on the knob, he drew in a deep breath before opening it suddenly. He burst through the doorway, firelock raised and aimed at the far end of the corridor. Then, he quickly spun around to check the other direction. “Hallway looks clear,” he called back to Kalliope. Even so, he maintained a vigilant watch. The innkeeper’s murderer had been watching them throughout the night. They could still be hidden away somewhere.

“You know this place better than I do,” Sjan-dehk said. “Lead the way, and I’ll watch your back.”

Kalliope moved swiftly and silently down the hallway, blade in hand. “Elyna’s room is at the far end, left side,” she whispered over her shoulder to Sjan-dehk. “She always retired there alone before dawn. Well, unless she decided to enjoy the company of someone for the night. If her body’s anywhere, it’ll be there.”

The faint scent of lavender clung to the air, a scent distinctly Elyna for Kalliope, a pang of hurt gripped her chest. Her jaw tightened, her grip on her weapon firm as they reached the door. She paused, her sharp green eyes darting to Sjan-dehk. “Be ready. If the murderer is still here, well,” she murmured as a darkness crept over her features, “you might have to stop me from ripping their fucking throat out.”

Sjan-dehk nodded, holding his pistol in one hand, and the other resting on one of his swords.

Pushing the door open cautiously, she stepped inside. Sjan-dehk followed in after her, sweeping the muzzle of his pistol over the walls and ceiling. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in dim shadows. At first glance, everything appeared undisturbed, but the air felt heavy, oppressive and a slight metallic scent mingled with that of lavender. Kalliope scanned the space, her stomach knotting as her eyes fell to the dark, viscous stain near the bed. Blood.

Her gaze lingered on the crimson trail leading to the far side of the room, where Elyna’s crumpled body lay, twisted and lifeless. The jagged stump where her head had been was unmistakable, confirming the gruesome reality.

Kalliope swallowed hard, forcing down the wave of nausea clawing its way up her throat. “Gods…” she muttered under her breath, stepping closer with measured care. She once again pushes her feelings aside, knowing they needed to get to business. She scanned the room quickly, not seeing any remnants of a killer, before she moved to open the curtains slightly to let in some light so they could see better. “Elyna has family up in Javaria. I'll right a letter in Elyna's handwriting for the staff to find that explains that she had a family emergency and had to travel up there. That'll buy us time to find who did this.” She pulled out a piece of paper and, using a partially written letter that was already on the desk, started copying Elyna's handwriting for the letter.

She turned to Sjan-dehk, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. “We need to get her to your ship, but doing so in broad daylight might be difficult. We could always leave the window unlocked, hide the body for now, and retrieve it later tonight when there's less eyes around and more shadows to hide in.” Her gaze flicked back to Elyna’s mutilated form, and her jaw set with grim determination, before she glanced back at Sjan-dehk. “Unless you have any ideas?”

Sjan-dehk shook his head. “No, can’t say I do. We’ll do as you say.”

He glanced at the body and grimaced. Then, he looked at Kalliope’s trembling hands, at the dimness in her eyes, and at the grimness colouring her visage. Wordlessly, he slowly and carefully picked his way to the bed sitting under the windowsill. He grabbed a corner of an unkempt sheet, pulled it free, and returned to the body. “Fair seas; black sands; tall mountains; long rivers; shadowed trees; clear skies, may you find peace wherever you may go,” he said again in a hushed voice as he covered the innkeeper’s body with the sheet.

Kalliope’s breath hitched as she watched Sjan-dehk carefully shroud Elyna’s body, his whispered farewell carrying a reverence that struck her like a tidal wave. The tenderness in his actions warmed her, softening the edges of the chaos inside her, yet it also made her chest ache unbearably. Every small, thoughtful gesture of his reminded her of why her resolve to keep him at arm’s length was crumbling. He wasn’t just kind; he was steady, dependable, and far too good for someone like her. Her grip on the desk tightened as she fought the rising tide of her feelings, forcing herself to bury them for the moment–just as she always had. “Thank you for that.” She all but whispered as she turned her focus back to the letter she was writing.

“We can put her on the bed,” he said and circled the body to tuck the edges of the sheet under it. He tried to perform the task with as much respect as possible, but that was a tall order, considering that he was trying to secure the corpse in the sheet as tightly as possible. “When you’re finished, I’ll bring the rest of her over. Prying eyes’ll likely think she’s sleeping.”

He looked out the window and chewed on his lip. “The murderous bastard could’ve people watching the entrance. Or at least, that’s what that cunt and his friends should do, if they’ve got any brains to share between them. Sneaking out the window might be better for us. Then we can leave it unlocked for tonight.”

The words came out clinically, as if he were planning an operation. But as he turned to face Kalliope, his gaze softened. When he spoke again, his tone was a world apart from before. “You should come to Sada Kurau with me.” It wasn’t so much a statement, as it was a plea. Leaving her alone, after all this, felt like the wrong thing to do. “At least for the rest of the day. It’ll be safer. We’ll be heading out again tonight anyway. Having you aboard will make finding each other that much easier.”

She folded the letter with deliberate care, the weight of Sjan-dehk's plea pressing on her chest. She hesitated, her eyes flicking between him and the shrouded body. Slowly, she stepped toward him. “I'll help move her.” She said while bending to help lift Elyna’s lifeless form onto the bed. Her movements were methodical, yet her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. “I’ll come to the ship,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze as they worked. “Later today. I promise. But I need to handle a few things first.” The words came clipped, heavy with an unspoken need for space–to breathe, to think, and to seek Riona’s advice before facing whatever unspoken connection lingered between them.

Sjan-dehk started to speak, but held his tongue. Both his heart and mind would be so much more at ease with her aboard. However, something told him that he shouldn’t push the matter.

Once Elyna’s body was settled, Kalliope stepped back, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she made her way to the closet. “There’s just one problem with leaving her on the bed to look like she's sleeping,” she said, grabbing handfuls of clothes and tossing them onto the bed. She began arranging them haphazardly, covering the lump of Elyna’s form until it resembled nothing more than a disordered pile of belongings.

She then moved to the desk and held up the letter she’d written, her sharp green eyes meeting Sjan-dehk’s. “If she’s supposed to be gone, it would be suspicious if someone found her ‘sleeping’ here.” Her tone was calm, it being eerily clear how used she was to covering up a murder. “If someone checks in here, it should look like she packed in a hurry. It’ll explain the mess.” She then moved to the door and placed the letter on a small table that sat against the wall just outside of the room. She then quietly shut the door and moved back towards Sjan-dehk. "This way, no one will question it until it's too late.” She stated as she glanced around one last time, nodding once she was satisfied. “Ready to go?”

“I’m not the best at these things,” Sjan-dehk said and took one last look around the room. Everything looked as normal as it could be. He couldn’t say that he found anything that he thought anyone else would find suspicious. At least, not with Kalliope’s forged letter selling the scene. That said, she did seem a little too well-versed in doing such things. It didn’t really bother him – his third brother was in more-or-less the same kind of work – but it did make him a little curious.

Well, curiosity would have to wait. “If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Sjan-dehk finished and tilted his head towards the window. “Should we jump out the window or try our luck with the front door?”

Kalliope gave Sjan-dehk a faint smirk, the glimmer of determination cutting through her weariness. “I think your call about going out the window is the right one.” She crossed the room, her movements precise and practiced. Unlocking the window, she pushed it open with a soft creak and glanced down to gauge the drop. “Not too bad and no window below us,” she murmured, then took her heels off and tossed them out. She swung one leg over the sill, her balance steady.

With a deft movement, Kalliope slid out and gripped the ledge, her feet finding purchase on the uneven wall below. Her descent was fluid, almost feline, as she dropped the last few feet to the ground, landing silently in a crouch. Straightening, she dusted off her hands and tilted her head up to Sjan-dehk. “Come on, Captain. Try to keep up.” Her voice held a wry edge, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of warmth.

Despite the situation, and the body on the bed practically under him, Sjan-dehk grinned. It was a tiny one, but still a grin nonetheless. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Not the first window I’ve jumped out of.”

He placed a hand on the windowsill, taking a moment to make sure he had a firm grip. Then, with an ease that was almost practiced, he vaulted through the opening. His scabbards scraped against the window frame, but they made only a quiet sound. He didn’t bother with the wall Kalliope had used to break her fall. Instead, he landed directly on the ground, rolling on his side to cushion the impact. He stood up beside her, brushing himself off with a self-assured smirk. “See?” He said.

For the first time this morning, the sun personally greeted him with its warmth and light. The sky was clear, and the clouds long and wispy. “Still early in the day,” he remarked before turning his attention to Kalliope. Part of him still worried over her, but he knew better than to fuss over her. “Let’s find our way to the street. Then we can go where we need to go.”

She shook her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. “Show-off,” she teased, the words slipping out too easily. She immediately scolded herself for how natural it felt, for the familiarity she wasn’t sure she was quite ready to embrace again. Clearing her throat, she turned and began leading the way toward the street, her steps purposeful but quiet.

Once they reached the alleyway’s mouth, she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’ll be at your ship this afternoon,” she said, her voice softer, tinged with an awkward edge. “Just…give me a few hours. I’ll keep my word.” She didn’t linger on his expression, turning away quickly as if afraid she might falter. “Take care of yourself, Captain,” she added, her voice barely above a murmur before she disappeared into the bustling streets.

“I’ll see you then,” Sjan-dehk called after her. He didn’t leave immediately, instead lingering just long enough to watch her safely disappear into the crowd. Only once he had fully lost sight of her did he start moving, turning away and in the direction of the docks. There would be plenty of work for him to take care of upon his return, he reckoned. That was, of course, on top of him explaining his absence the previous night to his crew. They had been expecting him to return, after all.

But even with all that on his mind, he still found it hard to avoid thinking about Kalliope’s expression as she had left. Had she seemed…Upset? Sad? Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure what to call it, but it couldn’t be anything too positive, he guessed. Somehow, that brought a sour taste to his mouth.

He shook his head. He could think about that later. For now, he would have to see to Sada Kurau, as well as prepare for tonight’s task. “Stay safe, Kali,” he murmured under his breath.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Kalliope & Sjan-dehk Part Two

Date: Sola 26th
Time: Evening
Location: Estate of lesser nobles merchant Lord Edric

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She didn’t stop until they were safely out of sight, tucked away in a quiet hallway up past the stairs. Once she was sure they were alone, she released his hand and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though her emerald eyes still carried a flicker of excitement.

“Well,” she said, glancing up at him with a sly smile, “we can breathe for a moment, though I imagine this is only the beginning of the fun.” She stepped closer, her voice softening, this time devoid of her flirtatious persona. “You know, you’re quite good at this. I know this is kind of out of your comfort zone and for that, I truly am grateful to you.” Kalliope’s smile softened as she looked up at Sjan-dehk, her usual playful edge dimming to something more genuine. For a moment, she let herself linger in the quiet between them, her eyes tracing the lines of his face and her thoughts slipping past her carefully crafted walls.

Sjan-dehk flashed her grin. “Glad that you are, though I think you’re doing most of the work here. I’m just following along.” They weren’t idle words; he was quite impressed by how quickly Kalliope could think on her feet, and how expertly she went about her business.

It was unspoken, the way her heart beat faster when he was near, the way his steadiness anchored her chaos. She knew shouldn’t be thinking about the warmth of his hand in hers or the way his voice, even awkward, stirred something deeper within her. And yet, she found herself speaking before she could stop the words. “You make it far too easy to forget this is all an act,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper as her gaze dropped to his lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back to his eyes.

Kalliope’s words didn’t go unnoticed by Sjan-dehk. He intended to pretend as if he had missed them, but then as luck would have it, he caught her gaze just as she looked at him. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the blood still rushing in his head, or his still-drumming heart, but something about her captivated him, and for a moment stole all the words he had in his mind. Were it her eyes, bright as they were in the low light of the hallway? Or perhaps her face, pretty and alluring as it was?

Or maybe it was because of memories of her hand in his, and the way her lips parted–

Sjan-dehk put a quick stop to those thoughts. Enough. This wasn’t the time for any of that. In fact, he was quite certain that there wasn’t any time for such thoughts. Kalliope was a friend, and a good one at that. He couldn’t, he shouldn’t start thinking of her in such a manner just because excitement got his blood pumping and his heart racing.

“Oh, well,” he said at last, bashfulness laden in his voice. “Glad…Glad to be of service. And you, ah, you are very convincing as well. But I suppose if even I can forget it’s an act knowing it’s one, it just shows how good you are.”

Realizing what she’d said, her breath caught, and she quickly added, “You know, for the crowd’s benefit, of course.” But the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her, and she found herself wishing she could take a step back from the strange, unfamiliar vulnerability that had slipped through.

“Yes, for the crowd,” Sjan-dehk replied quickly. Almost too quickly. “But it was…It was fun,” he added without even thinking. “And ah, for what it’s worth, I…Uh, I don’t think I could’ve done it with anyone else.” Then, realising what he had just said, he hastily added again, “I mean, you acted and reacted really fast to everything, you know? I, ah, I just that you…You offset my uh…”

Mentally, he cursed himself for stammering and tripping over his words like a fool. He stopped, drew in a deep breath, and tried again. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re good at this. That…That probably made things a lot easier for the both of us.” His words came out sounding far more awkward than he would have liked, and probably didn’t even sound convincing, but they would have to do. Any more, and he would simply be digging himself a deeper pit.

He looked back the way they had come, partially to avert his gaze out of embarrassment, but also to make sure that they hadn’t been followed. “Looks like we slipped away,” he said, turning back to face Kalliope. His eyes fell upon her face, and those unwanted thoughts from earlier drifted into his mind once more, teasing him. Redness tinged his cheeks, and he swiftly looked away. “So, ah, where are we going? There’s a lot of rooms here, by the looks of things.”

Kalliope’s breath caught again as she watched Sjan-dehk stumble through his words. His awkwardness, his earnestness, it was all so disarming in a way she hadn't quite anticipated. For a moment, she simply stood there, her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. His gaze, his voice, the way he made her feel like the world outside of them didn’t matter—it all pulled her in deeper. She was acutely aware of the fluttering in her chest, and for the briefest second, she thought she might not be able to keep her mask in place much longer.

But then, like a wave crashing against the shore, reality pulled her back. She shook her head slightly, focusing once more on the task at hand. She couldn’t afford to lose herself in her feelings, not now. Not yet.

“Ah, well,” she began, her voice steadier now as she found her footing again, “Thank you, years of practice I suppose. However, I’m afraid we don’t have time for any more distractions.” She straightened slightly, her usual confidence returning with a practiced ease. “Earlier today, I managed to steal the blueprints for this house. After reviewing them, I’ve narrowed down the two most likely rooms for study. Though, there's one I'd put my money on being the right choice as it's a bit more secluded.”

Kalliope’s eyes gleamed with a mix of determination and intrigue as she began to move toward the corridor beyond them, the air between them now thick with purpose. “I’ll lead the way. Just stick close, and we’ll be in and out before anyone notices.”

Her footsteps were silent as she made her way down the corridor and she blended in with the shadows incredibly well. A few turns later and they were in front of a door. She listened for a moment just to make sure there was no one inside before attempting the door. “Damn.” She said as it didn't budge. “Good thing I brought these with me.” She said with a grin as she looked at Sjan-dehk and pulled out a small set of lockpicks hidden within her hair.

“Convenient,” Sjan-dehk quipped before standing back, using his body to cover as much of Kalliope as he could while she worked. He threw glances up and down the hallway, keeping a vigilant eye out for anyone that might stumble across them.

She dropped to her knees and started working at the door. Kalliope’s heart beat just a little faster as she watched the door swing open, her grin widening when the lock gave way with ease. She’d always had a talent for getting past locked doors, and tonight was no different. “Bingo,” she murmured, pushing the door open with a flourish as she stepped into the room. It was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners, but it was exactly what she’d hoped for—quiet, secluded, and well off the beaten path. Perfect for what they needed.

She looked over her shoulder at Sjan-dehk, her emerald eyes gleaming with determination once more. “Alright, let's start looking for anything unusual. Letters, notes, anything that might give us a clue as to what’s really going on here.” She gestured vaguely around the room, her voice steady, though her mind was still buzzing with the rush of the break-in. “Be thorough, but quick. We don’t have much time before someone comes this way according to that group.”

Turning her attention to the desk at the far end of the room, Kalliope’s gaze sharpened as she approached it. The desk was large and ornate, but to her trained eye, it was simply another place where secrets might be hidden. She ran her fingers over the surface, examining the drawers first, but there was nothing unusual. They were locked, of course, but she had anticipated that. The thief in her smirked as she went about unlocking them as well.

Her thoughts wandered for a moment, but she pushed them aside. There was no room for distractions now, not when she could feel the weight of their mission pressing down on her. She flicked open the first drawer, her eyes scanning the contents—a few papers, a sealed envelope, a delicate silver letter opener. She ignored the letter opener for now and pulled out the papers, rifling through them quickly. A brief glance at the writing revealed nothing of interest, just mundane correspondence.

With Kalliope picking through the back of the room, Sjan-dehk decided to focus his attention towards the area around the door. That suited him perfectly – it allowed him to keep a close eye on the door, as well as a close ear on the hallway outside, while they worked.

There wasn’t much for him to investigate, however. A few shallow stacks of papers sat near the foot of a cabinet, but they turned out to be nothing more than either blank, unused sheets, or scraps with only a handful of jagged lines scratched across them. He stood up from them, his lips pressed into a thin line cutting between his jowls, and went on to examine the cabinet. A few tugs on the beautifully carved wooden handles told him that its doors were locked. He let out a low grumble, and was about to call for Kalliope’s help when he pulled a little harder.

As it turned out, they hadn’t been locked, but had simply been jammed. For a brief moment, he felt a little pleased with himself, but that feeling quickly disappeared when he realised that if the closer had been left unlocked, then it was unlikely that he would find anything useful in it.

A rack of clothes greeted his eyes. Coats, jackets, shirts, all of them seemed to have been left where they were for a long time, but none of them seemed out-of-the-ordinary. And as Sjan-dehk cautiously pushed them aside, he found only more ordinary things. Folded trousers on a shelf above, mothballs collecting in the corners, and a pair of shoes left messily on the closet’s floor. Nothing that shouldn’t belong in such a piece of furniture.

He frowned and knelt to pull out the drawers at the bottom of the closet. They slid out easily enough, and were mostly empty. One contained a few pairs of socks and nothing else, whilst the other didn’t have anything at all. A frustrated huff left his nose, but just as he was about to shut them, something about the empty drawer stopped him. It didn’t look right, and when he reached in to give the drawer’s bottom a few raps of his knuckles, he realised why.

The thing had a false bottom.

She moved on to the next drawer, and again, the contents seemed harmless. More papers. Nothing that screamed “secret plans” or “hidden agenda.” She opened each drawer methodically, checking behind objects, flipping through documents, but there was nothing here.

“Damn it.” She grumbled as frustration bubbled up in her chest, but she fought it down. This wasn’t over yet. There had to be something. She glanced up to where Sjan-dehk was, hoping he was doing better than she was. “Any luck on your end?”

“Aye, I found–” Sjan-dehk started, but then cut himself off abruptly when he heard the low thumps of approaching footsteps outside. “Fuck,” he swore, his voice suddenly dopping to a hushed, but clearly urgent whisper. He swiftly slid the drawers back into place and shut the closet. “Someone’s coming, and they’re coming fast,” he said in a voice just loud enough to be heard by Kalliope.

Kalliope froze for half a second at Sjan-dehk’s warning, her mind racing. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway, growing louder, closer. “Shit.” She cursed under her breath, her hands already moving to straighten the desk. Each item was carefully placed back exactly as she’d found it, her movements quick but precise.

As she picked up the last opened letter she’d discarded as mundane earlier, something caught her eye—something she hadn’t noticed before. The handwriting, though tidy, had subtle irregularities. Certain letters were slightly slanted, others unusually bold. Patterns. It struck her like a bolt of lightning. This wasn’t just a letter. It was a code.

Her breath hitched, her mind screaming at her to hurry, but she couldn’t just leave it. Without another thought, she snatched it up, folded it swiftly, and slipped it down the front of her bodice, tucking it securely between her skin and her corset. Whatever it was, it was coming with her.

“Alright,” she breathed, her voice low and urgent as she moved towards the door. The footsteps outside were growing louder, closer. They had three options, go out the front and talk their way out, hide in the small closet and risk being stuck there for who knows how long, or go out the window and risk not being able to get back in and getting caught. She didn’t have time to think it through, only to act. Turning back to Sjan-dehk, she made a split-second decision. “We’re going out the front.”

She grabbed his arm, and tugged him toward the door. Gently, she eased it open just a crack, peering out into the hallway. The footsteps were nearly upon them, but she judged they had mere seconds before whoever it was rounded the corner. It was a risk, but it was the only chance they had now.

“Come on,” she whispered sharply, and without waiting for him to reply, she slipped out into the corridor, pulling him along behind her. The door clicked shut softly behind them, and she pressed herself against the wall just to the side of the door. Kalliope’s pulse thundered in her ears as she listened to the approaching footsteps. She knew they were going to be caught, there was no getting around it, she was just trying to formulate a plan to talk their way out. Her mind raced for a way out, a way to salvage the situation.

And then it hit her.

She turned to Sjan-dehk, her expression suddenly filled with a mix of determination and regret. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, so softly it was almost drowned out by the sound of boots hitting the floor just around the corner.

Before he could respond, she grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him toward her. Her back pressed firmly against the wall as she tilted her head up, and in one fluid motion, her lips found his. The kiss was bold, urgent, and entirely unhesitating. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as she held him close, her body flush against his. Every muscle in her tensed, bracing for the inevitable.

Sjan-dehk’s eyes went wide. He barely had time to voice his surprise. One moment he was following closely behind Kalliope, and the next, she had him pinning her to the wall, with her lips pressed upon his, and their bodies tight against each other. His first instinct yelled at him to pull away, but he could catch a glimpse of an approaching figure from the corner of his eye. There wasn’t time to think.

And so, he leaned into the kiss, bracing himself against the wall with an arm just above her head. He had his eyes closed, but still the fingers of his other hand managed to find their way to brush against her chin. For what reason, however, he didn’t know. It was just something he thought lovers did with one another, and really, he was hardly thinking by this point. All he could feel were the frenetic beats of his heart, pounding so hard in his chest that it felt as if it would shatter a few ribs.

The footsteps slowed, then stopped, just a few feet away. Kalliope’s heart pounded in her chest as she leaned into the kiss, pouring every ounce of her performance into the moment. Her mind screamed at her to stay calm, to sell the act, not like it was hard as a small part of her mind betrayed her and threatened to lose herself in the kiss, Her lips moved softly against his, coaxing a response, her fingers loosening just slightly as if they had forgotten their earlier urgency. She prayed to every god she didn’t believe in that this gamble would work.

Just an act. All just an act. Sjan-dehk repeated those words in his head like a meditative mantas. But he still found them difficult to believe. Not with the way her lips shifted ever-so-slightly against his, or with the way her hand only just gently rested upon his chest. He tried to tell himself that it was all just to make their performance really, really convincing, but part of him couldn’t help but wonder just how much of it was an act. Another part of him wondered why he would even wonder about that.

Without thinking, he slowly slid his hand on her chin up to her cheek, caressing it in a way that could only be described as lovingly. His thumb circled slowly and gently over her skin, and he felt his body relax, as if they weren’t in the midst of infiltrating an estate. It just felt so easy, so desirable, even, to just lose himself to the kiss.

A low cough broke the tension, and Kalliope’s eyes fluttered open just enough to catch a glimpse of a figure standing at the edge of her peripheral vision. She broke the kiss with a soft gasp, her cheeks flushing a believable shade of pink as she turned her head to look at the intruder.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her voice breathless and feigning embarrassment. “I-I didn’t realize anyone was—” She cut herself off, biting her lip and lowering her gaze, her hands still resting lightly against Sjan-dehk’s chest. Her performance was flawless, but inside, her stomach churned with nerves. This had better work.

Her heart raced as she realized it was the man who had shushed the group in the ballroom. His sharp, calculating eyes flicked between her and Sjan-dehk, narrowing slightly. He didn’t look amused and there was certainly suspicion in his eyes. She had one shot to sell this. For his part, Sjan-dehk did his best to appear like an embarrassed guard caught in the act. He averted his gaze – something easily-done with the help of his hat – and pretended to look busy straightening his clothes. The flush colouring his cheeks, however, was very much real.

“Oh dear,” she giggled lightly, staggering slightly to emphasize the bold, tipsy persona she had adopted earlier. Her hand slid from Sjan-dehk’s chest to her lips, as if trying to hide her faux embarrassment. “I must apologize,” she said, her words slightly slurred but still carrying a playful edge. “I didn’t think anyone would come wandering down here at this hour. My escort and I, well…” She trailed off, glancing up at Sjan-dehk with a sultry smile before looking back at the man, her cheeks flushing in what she hoped looked like tipsy, flirtatious guilt.

The man’s expression remained unreadable as he crossed his arms. “This is a private wing,” he said, his tone clipped and even. His gaze lingered on her a little too long for comfort before flicking over to Sjan-dehk. “Guests aren’t supposed to be here. Surely you were informed of that.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right!” Kalliope chirped, waving her hand dismissively. “But you see, I simply couldn’t resist. These grand estates are so boring sometimes, don’t you think? All stuffy ballrooms and pretentious conversation. I needed some air, some adventure!” She giggled again, swaying just slightly as she took a small step forward, drawing his attention back to her. “And my dear escort here,” she gestured toward Sjan-dehk with a dramatic flourish, “was just helping me find a quiet spot. You know, to…escape the noise.”

Her emerald eyes met the man’s again, sparkling with feigned innocence and mischief. “But don’t worry, darling, we weren’t doing anything too scandalous. Just a little harmless fun.” She placed a hand on her chest, feigning mock sincerity. “I do hope you’ll forgive me. Surely you understand how dreadfully dull these parties can be and I simply couldn't resist getting my hands on my handsome escort.”

The man didn’t look convinced, but neither did he seem overly concerned. His eyes darted back to Sjan-dehk, lingering for a moment. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone sharp and probing. “And you, sir, what exactly were you doing wandering these halls with her?”

Her eyes flicked to Sjan-dehk, and for a brief moment, she silently willed him to follow her lead. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to intervene, to keep talking, but she knew it would only make things worse. That definitely would be viewed as suspicious. Sometimes speaking less was more. So instead, she settled for leaning lightly against him, her hand brushing his arm in what might appear as a tipsy, affectionate gesture. Inside, however, she was ready to spring into action if things went sideways.

There wasn’t much Sjan-dehk could think of to say. Nothing that wouldn’t make it sound too obvious that he was reaching for an excuse, at least. Experience told him to choose the easiest, most direct option, which was to simply incapacitate the man and make a rapid escape. But sense told him that he had to use finesse this time. There was still more in that room – and likely more in this estate as a whole – to investigate. A fight now would mean that they would have to leave all of that behind, and who knew when they would get a chance to return, if ever they could?

No, Sjan-dehk wasn’t about to let Kalliope’s efforts thus far go to waste.

“I apologise,” he said with a bow of his head. For the moment, he let go of the fact that he was Sada Kurau’s Captain, and instead imagined himself as a young midshipman. One that had only just been caught doing something very, very wrong, and now needed to think of a way to get his Commanding Officer’s attention off his back. “This, it is all my fault. It shames me to admit, but as my lady says, we were looking for a place for privacy. You see, the two of us, we…” He trailed off and looked away as if he were embarrassed by what he was about to say.

He made a show of drawing in a deep breath. “We are…Lovers, that is how you say it, yes? But it is not…It is not proper,” he continued, making sure to look at the man’s face every now and then. What Sjan-dehk was doing wasn’t something he had done often, but it was something that he knew could convince even the nosiest senior officer to stop prying any further if done correctly. The process was simple, really. All he had to do was just share so much information – the more useless, and the more unpleasant or impolite, the better – until the man decided he didn’t want to listen anymore.

Kalliope’s chest tightened, her heart thundering as Sjan-dehk’s words sank in. Lovers. The word sent a thrill down her spine, even though she knew it was just part of the ruse. Still, hearing it from his lips, watching his awkward earnestness as he sold the lie with such determination, made her stomach flutter in a way she couldn’t suppress. He didn’t even realize it, but the way he’d defended her—and the slight flush that crept across his cheeks—only made her feelings for him crash against her like waves against the shore, impossible to ignore and leaving her more disarmed than ever.

“And earlier, in the ballroom, we were quite…Improper,” Sjan-dehk went on, putting on a look of both innocence – as if what he was saying was simply a statement of fact – and embarrassment – as if he had committed a grave social error. “She had her hands on me, you see, and I…Well, I knew I had to take her away to…You know, take care of things. And then she said to find somewhere private, and I knew this part of the estate for today is…Is quiet and has nobody. I thought that this would be a good place for us to do what we want, so we came here.”

Sjan-dehk bowed his head again. “I apologise, really. We should have been more careful.”

The man’s sharp gaze lingered on Sjan-dehk for an uncomfortably long moment, his lips pressed into a thin line as if deliberating on whether or not to press further. His eyes shifted back to Kalliope, scrutinizing her with the kind of disdain reserved for someone who had clearly overstepped their station…or at least his perception of it.

“And your name, my lady?” he asked, his tone teetering on the edge of politeness, though it carried a distinct edge of condescension.

Kalliope straightened slightly, tilting her chin up just enough to feign an air of imperious grace. “Lady Alara Vayne,” she said, her voice dripping with aristocratic authority. “Of the House Vayne of Mariscia and Vayne Trading Company, if that wasn’t already clear.” If he dared to look into her, he would find there was a House Vayne on the continent of Mariscia and they were associated with a Vayne Trading Company. This persona worked so well for her because she had taken care to build it during several trips to the coastal country. She liked to have a solid disguise and Lady Vayne certainly fit the bill.

The man’s brows furrowed briefly as he turned the name over in his mind, but Kalliope’s delivery was flawless. He had no reason to doubt her, and after a tense pause, he gave a curt nod. “Well, Lady Vayne, I suggest you and your… escort find your way back to the ballroom before someone else stumbles upon you. Next time, try to keep your indiscretions to more appropriate venues.”

He stepped to the side, his dismissal clear, but then hesitated, glancing at Sjan-dehk again with a sneer that made Kalliope’s stomach churn. “Though, I must say, I’d have expected better taste from a lady of your standing. Perhaps next time, choose a companion who doesn’t look like he just stepped off the deck of some filthy barbaric merchant ship.”

Sjan-dehk bristled at that remark. It took every last scrap of his restraint to hold him back from telling the man that it was his ‘filthy barbaric merchant ship’ that was the cause of all his woes. The pointed words had even formed on Sjan-dehk’s tongue, but he forced them back down. There wasn’t a need for him to say anything, anyway. Sada Kurau would certainly pay the man’s remark back in full, in the form of ships and his fellows sent to the abyss.

Kalliope’s blood boiled, her hands twitching as she fought the urge to reach for her concealed dagger. But instead, she smiled, a tight, saccharine expression that was somehow more cutting than any blade. “Oh, I assure you, good sir,” she said, her voice as sweet as poisoned honey, “the only thing filthy about my escort is how thoroughly he’s made me forget all those dreary, stuffy nobles. If only they had half his charm.” Her gaze locked with his, a silent challenge in her emerald eyes. “But I’ll take your suggestion under advisement. Thank you ever so much for your concern.”

Without waiting for his reaction, she grabbed Sjan-dehk’s arm and began walking, her steps light but purposeful, though her nails dug into his sleeve just enough to betray her lingering irritation. As soon as they turned the corner and were out of earshot, she let out a sharp breath. “That pompous little—” She bit the rest of the sentence off, shaking her head as if to compose herself. “Let’s just get out of here before I do something I’ll regret. Care to spend some time somewhere away from insufferable nobles that's a bit more quiet and we could maybe read a certain letter?” She asked him as she patted the spot she'd hidden the coded letter she found.

To say that Sjan-dehk was caught off guard by Kalliope’s reaction to the man’s words would be quite the understatement. Although it was true that the man had been incredibly rude, the bulk of his vitriol had been aimed towards Sjan-dehk. And while Sjan-dehk would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel vexed by the treatment, he knew that it was all just part-and-parcel of putting on an act. Besides, he had responded in the way he had with the intention of aggravating the man, and surely Kalliope had to have caught onto that.

So why had she gotten so upset?

Sjan-dehk found no answer to that question, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. Or if there was even a need to. It felt nice – heartening, even – to have her speak up for him, and after spending so many years and so much effort defending others, it was strangely comforting to be himself defended by someone else. That alone was more than enough for him.

And so, he simply followed behind Kalliope in silence as she practically dragged him away. Her nails, sharp and neatly filed, felt as if they were just moments away from cutting through his sleeve when they rounded a corner. “Of course,” Sjan-dehk replied to her question. The charms and quirks of high society had turned stale, and there weren’t many of those to begin with, in any case. “I found a false bottom in one of the closets. Shame we couldn’t have a look inside, but I guess that’s just for another adventure in future, eh?”

Kalliope slowed her pace slightly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she glanced at Sjan-dehk. “Another adventure in the future, huh? Is that your way of saying you plan on sticking around and indulging in more of my harebrained schemes? Because I’ll admit,” she leaned in just slightly, her voice dipping lower with a wickedly teasing lilt, “That’s just my type of foreplay. I’ve always found a man who’s ready for danger and mischief…quite irresistible.”

She let her words hang in the air, her smirk growing as she began to descend the steps with deliberate, unhurried grace. Her fingers brushed the banister, her pace measured as if savoring the moment. She cast a sidelong glance at Sjan-dehk, her eyes glinting with mischief. So surprised was Sjan-dehk by her choice of words that he choked on air. Clearing his throat, he slowly met her gaze, his cheeks tinted by a flush, and looking as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“So,” she began, her tone deceptively innocent, “shall we go somewhere that’s quiet and private?” She paused mid-step, turning slightly to look at him, the question lingering in the air as her gaze held his. Her lips parted ever so slightly, as if to say something more, but she let the silence stretch, teasing him with the unspoken.

Sjan-dehk’s eyes widened, and his mouth hung agape. Every thought in his mind came to an abrupt, sudden halt. Was she really suggesting what he thought she was? Surely not – they had only known each other for roughly a week. It was too soon. But perhaps such affairs worked differently here, and she was indeed asking him for a dalliance? How should he respond? And why did a part of him – as small as it was – hope that she was indeed propositioning him?

He swallowed and tried to look over her shoulder; at the bannisters; at the ceiling, and even at all the fixtures lining the walls. Anywhere but her mischievous face and her lips.

Then, with a wicked little smile, she added, “To look at this letter, of course.” Her voice was sweet, but her grin made it abundantly clear that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. She continued her descent, her footsteps soft but purposeful, tossing him a playful look over her shoulder. “Unless you have…other suggestions?”

At that, Sjan-dehk released a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. “You really are a tease, you know that?” He said with a chuckle. Some of it was out of amusement, but part of it was targeted at himself. What a fool he had been acting. The rush of excitement must have addled his senses, for him to have jumped to such a conclusion. “Can’t say I’ve any suggestions. I’d suggest going back to Sada Kurau, but…”

He swept a hand over himself. “I didn’t exactly make it difficult for anyone to guess that she’s where I came from,” he concluded. And also, his crew had worked terribly hard over the past couple of days and nights. The last thing Sjan-dehk wanted was to tire them out even more by leading unnecessary trouble to the ship. Sada Kurau deserved the rest, too. For tonight, he would be on his own. “But I’m sure you know one or two hiding spots where we can look over a letter, right?”

Kalliope’s laughter bubbled up, light and genuine, as she caught the playful edge in his voice. Her eyes sparkled with delight, and she shot him a teasing grin as she continued down the stairs with a languid, almost cat-like grace.

“I can't help but enjoy making you squirm a little.” She mused, her voice tinged with wicked delight as she turned the corner. Her smile lingered for a moment before she began to ponder, her eyes scanning the surroundings briefly as she considered her options. Her mind wandered for a moment, sifting through various possibilities, before her eyes lit up with the perfect idea.

“Well,” she began, drawing out the word as she looked back at him, “I have just the place. An inn, not too far from here. I've built quite the relationship with them over the years, and they have a little suite they keep just for me. Quiet. Private. Perfect for... confidential matters.”

She gave him another sly, yet playful look. “No prying eyes, no interruptions,” she added, her voice lowering just slightly with a hint of something more dangerous beneath the flirtation. "You might just like it there."

Without waiting for a response, she started heading towards the exit of the estate, more determined now. “Come along, then,” she called back, her smile mischievous. “Let’s take a look at this letter in the comfort of my little hideaway. No distractions, I promise…unless, of course, you’d like a distraction.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled with a shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t want either of us to be distracted when we’re going through something so…Well, something that might be important,” he replied with a small grin. Then, with a glance at her dress and a glint in his eyes, he added in a playful tone, “Besides, I’d think that you’re plenty enough of a distraction, Kali. I’m afraid you might’ve to do all the reading.”

For him, and by his standards, those words were daring. Overly-so, even. But surely, if she was – as she put it – going to be a tease and make him squirm, then it was only fair for him to give her a touch of that as well, in return. It wasn’t as if it was that hard for him to say such words. With Kalliope, they flowed from his lips as naturally as a river meandering through a floodplain. It was strange, he had to admit, but it also felt strangely good. As if this was a fun game between the two of them.

Kalliope stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes snapping to Sjan-dehk with an expression that could only be described as mock shock. For a moment, she simply stared at him, her lips parted in exaggerated disbelief, before a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement, “Look who’s learning how to tease me back. I’m proud of you, Sjan-dehk. Might even make me swoon a little.”

She leaned closer, her emerald eyes glinting with wicked delight. “Though if it’s the dress that’s the distraction…” Her voice softened to a conspiratorial whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, “I could always take it off.”

Once again, Sjan-dehk was struck dumb by her words. His face flushed a deep scarlet, and it was all he could do to avert his gaze. The image left in his head by Kalliope’s suggestion made it difficult for him to look at her. “That–” he began, immediately interrupting himself by coughing into his fist. “That won’t…Well, I-I don’t think that would be necessary, but thank you for offering.”

She lingered for a heartbeat, just long enough for the suggestion to settle in the air between them, before pulling away with a laugh. Her steps picked up again as she linked her arm with his again and led the way to their destination.

Neither of them noticed the faint movement in the shadows, where a pair of cold, watchful eyes followed their every step. The figure lingered in the dark corner of the estate, obscured by the dim light of the hallway, before vanishing back into the depths of the mansion as quietly as a breath on the wind.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Night
Location: Sorian Harbour; aboard Remembrance
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

Plain roughspun shirt (white) and trousers (brown)
Patched knee-length coat
Shoulder- and waist-belts
Old leather boots

What a feckin’ eyesore.

Dark against the deep indigo sky, and imposing amidst a field of buildings dwarfed by its presence, Castle Sorian loomed over its city like an ominous shadow. Flickering orange dots, sparsely scattered across the main keep’s sheer walls, and visible from afar despite their faint glows, marked where windows had been carved out of monolithic stone blocks. Peering over the curtain wall separating the keep and its courtyard from the rest of Sorian, those pinpricks of light were like the eyes of beasts leering out from their den, and down upon the people wandering the streets below.

Cynwaer snorted as he gazed towards the damnable fortress from Remembrance’s quarterdeck. To draw any similarities between the people within that place and beasts would be a gross insult to the latter, as far as he was concerned. A beast’s actions were guided by instinct, and not thought. If they were cruel, if they were savage, or if they were depraved, it was only because it was in their nature to be so. They didn’t, and couldn’t be expected to, know any better.

The people of Castle Sorian, however, had no such excuse.

For they were creatures of thought, and could know better. Cynwaer knew that. After all, weren’t they like him, possessed of a rational mind with which to think, and senses with which to perceive the world? Even if the bastard king himself and his sycophants were bent on being as wicked as possible, surely they had to be someone, or many someones, who could see the miseries the Kingdom visited upon its own people, and were outraged enough by such injustices to do something about them.

But no, they did nothing. Once, Cynwaer had been disappointed by such a fact, but now he simply took it as one of the ugly truths of the world. Those people, like many others – not just in the castle, not just in the capital, but across all of Caesonia – were more than happy to keep themselves deaf and blind to the pains of their fellows, so long as they themselves could live in comfort.

And so, they would continue to toil for a king and court that cared little for anything but themselves, and for a kingdom that was so thoroughly rotten.

A grunt rumbled in Cynwaer’s throat as he swept his eyes from the castle to the rest of Sorian. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the gunwale. “What a feckin’ eyesore,” he repeated in a dark murmur. Then, he looked to his right.

“‘Tis nae the trut’, Neirynn?” He asked in a louder voice.

Perched on the gunwale right by his side, the harrier stopped in the midst of tearing apart her latest catch, an unfortunate rabbit. She still had a claw on the carcass’ neck, whilst the talons of the other held onto the gunwale, digging shallow notches into the wood. Sinewy threads of pale crimson streaked and hung from her hooked beak, and the mottled plumage around her face and chest was speckled with blood.

Neirynn regarded him with dark, beady eyes for a moment, her head cocked. Then, she chirped.

Cynwaer chuckled, shaking his head as he reached across to brush his fingers over her scalp. Letting out a series of satisfied coos, the harrier pushed herself against his touch. “‘At’s a good lass,” Cywaer said, his tone gentle and lips in a smile. It were such moments, when Neirynn acted like any other pet, that made it difficult for him to remember that she was in fact a vicious huntress in her own right, with plenty of victims to her name, both human and animal.

He ran his hand down her back, flattening a few stubborn feathers that jutted out from her otherwise sleek form. She bent low, head stretched towards him and eyes closed. “Someone’s feelin’ affectionate an’ such ta’day, hm?” He chuckled again, patted her on the head one more time, and drew his hand back. “Best yer be back tae yer dinner, lass. We’ve a lang night ahead o’ us, I reckon.”

Neirynn chirped, dipped her head in a nod, and promptly returned to her meal. Cynwaer watcher her for a moment before himself returning to leaning against Remembrance’s bulwark and looking at Sorian and its castle, his visage cold and hard. Silence descended over the pair.

Well, amidst as much silence as a ship could afford, at least. Behind him, and down a short flight of stairs, the main deck hummed and buzzed with activity as Remembrance’s crew prepared her to sail. A chorus of boots thumped across wooden planks, interrupted every so often by shouts. More calls came from above, amidst ratlines and rigging, and alongside ruffling sails, creaking yardarms, and clanging tackles. Cynwaer had long since gotten used to such noises, however, and paid them little heed. Remembrance was, to his ears, perfectly and pleasantly quiet.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The noise behind him intensified, then slowly withered away until all that remained were vague murmurs of chatter. Cynwaer leaned further forward, resting his weight on his arms as he glared at the city. The warmly-lit streets, sparse crowds, and smoking chimneys made for a peaceful scene. They reflected a city at rest; a city that had nothing to worry about.

And that felt so, very wrong.

“Yer e’er wonder, Neirynn,” Cynwaer started, casting a sidelong glance at the harrier. She looked up at him with a string of meat still swinging from her beak. Without missing a beat, she snapped her head back and swallowed it. Cynwaer chose to ignore that. He continued, “If any o’ those who work fae ta’ court e’er gave a thought about what they were dae’n? An’ I mean, gave it actual, serious thought, aye? Like, if ta’ fecker who ‘elps tae write aw’ these feckin’ piece o’ shite laws e’er realises just ‘ow fecking stupid they are? Or if ta’ cunt who sends ta’ taxmen out tae squeeze another wee village dry knows jus’ ‘ow many ‘ave tae suffer fae ta’ fat bastard o’ a king’s pleasure?”

Or if ta’ fecker who sends out mage’unters know jus’ who’s bein’ ‘unted.

Dark memories, painful ones, pushed their way into Cynwaer’s mind at that thought. With the sort of ease borne from suffering this exact thing many times over, he forced those images back to their corner. Still, he heard the chilling screams of that fateful night echo in his head. He heard the pounding of fists against his door; his daughters frightened cries, his wife’s desperate pleas; the crack of a pistol, the cold hiss of steel against leather. They had all been from a different life, experienced by a different Cynwaer Fiachin, but still they cut him deep all the same.

A worried chirp pulled Cynwaer from his mind. It was swiftly followed by a few taps of Neirynn’s beak upon his elbow. He turned his head, and the harrier raised hers, her dark, beady eyes meeting his mossy green ones. She chirped again, flapping her wings as she hopped towards him.

“Dae’n worry yer head about it,” Cynwaer said with a smile that was a touch more forced than what he had hoped. He rubbed a thumb over the top of her head. “Jus’ thinkin’ ou’ loud, ‘tis aw’. Dae’n worry.”

He glanced at the rabbit’s carcass, then looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. “On ta’ contrary, ‘tis yer food that worries me, aye. It did’nae belang tae someone, did it?” Neirynn averted her gaze, stretching out a wing to hide her face as she scratched it with a claw. Cynwaer groaned. “Dae’n tell me yer went an’ did it again, yer dafty. ‘Tis nae cheap tae pay off yer huntin’ debt, aye ‘tis nae, dae’n yer know?”

“It’s okay, Captain,” a woman said from his other side. That dry, monotonous voice came suddenly enough to make Cynwaer almost flinch. “She no caught it. ‘Tis Mister Bannoch who bought it for her when he went ashore earlier.”

Cynwaer spun around, and came face-to-face with Remembrance’s quartermaster. As always, Adaleida’s countenance was that of wood – empty of emotion and seemingly unchanging. That wasn’t to say that she looked unfriendly or unwelcoming, however. She simply looked neutral, with lips in a perfectly straight line and downturned hazel eyes giving nothing away. A stiff breeze whistled over the two of them, whipping her pale, blonde tresses across her face. She paid them little heed. “Talking politics with Neirynn again?”

“Nae, jus’ speakin’ me mind, is aw’,” Cynwaer replied and shook his head. “An’ ‘ow about yer? What’re yer dae’n bein’ aw’ sneaky?”

“Sorry, Captain,” Adaleida said with a slight bow of her head. She ran her fingers through her messy locks, smoothing them out, as she continued. “I heard you talking and I did no want to interrupt, that’s all.”

“Yer me quartermaster, Ada,” Cynwaer said. “It’s normal fae yer tae interrupt me. Of aw’ the people aboard Remembrance, yer probably ta’ only one I want tae interrupt me, aye.”

“Normal,” Adaleida repeated that word, her voice distant, as if she was ruminating on it. Then, she nodded and flashed Cynwaer an almost-smile – the corners of her lips twitched upwards, but didn’t go far enough or high enough to be perceptible by most. Cynwaer was one of the exceptions. “Got it, Captain.”

“Sae, what d’yer need me fae?”

“Ah, right,” Adaleida said and tilted her head towards the main deck. “Remembrance’s ready to set sail on your command, Captain, and…” She trailed off, her eyes focusing on something far behind Cynwaer, and the ghost of a frown clouding over her face. “Our friend over there’s already pulling from her pier.”

Cynwaer nodded slowly. Then, he pushed himself away from the gunwale and turned to face Adaleida, his lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Well, are yer gae’n tell me what’s botherin’ yer, Ada, or d’yer wan’ me tae keep proddin’ an’ pryin’ until yer annoyed enough tae jus’ tell me tae get me tae feck aff?”

“‘Tis nothing–”

“I’ve known yer fae a whiles now, Ada,” Cynwaer cut in. “I know when yer troubled, so dae’n e’en try ta’ lie tae me. An’ besides, I cannae ‘ave yer workin’ at yer best when there’s somethin’ weighin’ on yer, aye? So come on out wi’ it.”

Adaleida averted her gaze, and chewed on her lip for a moment before speaking. “I’m no questioning your decisions, Captain, and I can understand doing shifty work for coin. Gods above and below know we need a steady stream of that shite. But working with a privateer? Someone who sails for the piece of piss crown and the bastard wearing it? I’m no sure I understand why we’re doing any of that, Captain.”

Cynwaer nodded slowly, then jerked his head to his left. “Come along wi’ me,” he said and walked towards the port bulwark of the quarterdeck. As he passed Neirynn, he ran a hand along her back. She cooed, but didn’t look up from her dinner. “Dae’n leave a mess now, aye? ‘Tis nae easy cleanin’ blood an’ viscera frae wood, I’ll ‘ave yer know. Drop what yer cannae finish intae ta’ sea, an’ fae ta’ love o’ aw’ the Gods up there and down below, dae’n bring it up ta’ masts an’ leave it there.”

“It gives the crew reason to go up high regularly, though,” Adaleida offered. She mimicked Cynwaer, giving the harrier a gentle pat on her back as she walked past. Neirynn basked in the attention, standing up and leaning into her touch, chirping and cooing all the while.

“Aye, I s’pose there’s that,” Cynwaer said and chuckled.

He stopped at the gunwale and looked across the piers at the foreign ship. She had her strange, triangular sails fully unfurled, and hanging from long, slanted yardarms that bowed under their own weight. Lanterns affixed to her gunwales lit up the ship, their yellow glows strong enough to reveal the crimson fabric of her sails, and more importantly, the many gunports lining her svelte, dagger-like hull. “Tell me, Ada, what d’yer think o’ ‘er?” Cynwaer asked.

Adaleida stood beside him with arms crossed over her chest. She shrugged. “Well-armed, built to be quick and nimble, but I can’t see her being well-protected.” She cast a quick glance over to Cynwaer. “She can’t be, no with that many guns, aye. Her sails are interesting, though. They remind me of an Alidashti…What do they call those little cutters they like so much, again? Dhow, I think. But yes, those sails on her look like the ones used on those boats, aye they do.”

“Good eyes.” Cynwaer caught her glance and grinned. “But yer missin’ one big thing, an’ that’s she’s nae Caesonian, nae Varian, and nae e’en any o’ them Alidashti folks. I met ‘er Captain ta’ other night, an’ I can tell yer that ‘e might look Kimoonese, but ‘e’s sure as shite nae one o’ ‘em.”

“So we’ve got someone in our waters who’s a complete stranger,” Adaleida said. She looked at the ship as it quickly pulled away into the night. “And commands a ship that can match a light frigate gun-for-gun.”

Cynwaer nodded. “Aye. Now, frae what I’ve ‘eard, ‘e’s likely nae a fan o’ ta’ bastard king, or ‘e’s nae gae’n tae be one sooner rather than later. But still, ‘e’s a huge feckin’ question mark fae aw’ o’ us, an’ if good ol’ Renegade and Songbird’s gae’n dae what I think they’re gae’n dae, we cannae leave anythin’ tae chance, least o’ aw’ a ship that powerful ‘at’s nae under any flag we know, aye?”

“And if we sail with that ship, we get to see what she can do firsthand,” Adaleida surmised.

“Now yer gettin’ it,” Cynwaer said. “An’ who knows? If we play our cards righ’, an’ everythin’ gae’s well fae us, maybe we can e’en make oursel’s a new friend tae raise some ‘avoc wi’.”

Adaleida raised a brow. “You really think that’s possible, Captain?”

Cynwaer shrugged. Personally, that possibility wasn’t one he thought realistic. It was a pleasant thought to be sure, but as things stood, it was simply just that. But there were too many unknowns, even beyond the ones he had shared with Adaleida. For one, he didn’t even know for how long that ship would be in Sorian, and if it was even going to return after it left for home. Neither did he know for certain if the foreign Captain would agree with his ideals. Granted, he had sounded sympathetic, but Cynwaer knew firsthand that a gulf existed between sympathy and agreement.

But all the same, Cynwaer kept that idea in his back pocket. “Frae what I’ve ‘eard, ‘e’s a good mate tae ta’ smallfolk, an’ if ‘e’s nae got a bad impression o’ ta’ bastard king already, I’ve a feelin’ ‘e’ll learn tae think o’ that wee fecker as a cunt sooner or later.” He shrugged. “But ‘at’s nae our concern fae ta’day. Let’s jus’ get underway an’ catch up wi’ ‘er befae she slips intae ta’ night, aye?”

“Aye, Captain,” Adaleida said. “Should I give the order, or do you want to give it yourself?”

“Save yer voice, Ada,” Cynwaer replied. “I’ll ‘andle this one.”

He strode over to the guardrail overlooking the main deck. Adaleida followed close behind him, and stood beside him as he swept his eyes across the length and breadth of his ship, and those who milled about on her planking. Dozens of heads turned towards him with expectant looks. Cynwaer gave them a grin. “Right lads,” he shouted and raised a hand. “Time tae look lively! Let's bring 'er out!”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Late Evening / Night
Location: Sorian Waterfront >> Sada Kurau
Interactions:
Mentions: Dahlia Fletcher @princess
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face

---

For the second time in less than half-a-day, Sjan-dehk left the Privateers’ Office. He moved with haste, his boots thumping loudly against well-trodden planks as he marched across the veranda and jogged down its steps to reach the cobblestones of the waterfront.

There wasn’t much of a crowd – Sjan-dehk supposed that it was late enough that most people had already found their haunts for the rest of the evening. Even so, there was still a steady trickle of longshoremen still grimey from labour; of well-to-do citizens who gave them wide berths; and of commoners strolling leisurely along the waterfront. Some moved with purpose, their heads bowed, shoulders hunched, and coats pulled tight against the chilly seaward breeze. Others instead stopped every so often to bask in the warm, yellow glows of street lamps, and gaze out over the dark waters of the harbour.

Sjan-dehk didn’t know what they were looking at. He heard no waves, and he doubted that the lamps were bright enough to show passers-by anything more than an endless, black expanse. But perhaps there was an attractive mystique to that, to stand before an ink-black void.

He shook his head and quickened his pace, pulling his hat a little lower over his eyes and holding the ratty book and bundle of fabrics in his arm close to his chest. This wasn’t any time to ponder; Sada Kurau was waiting for him to return before she could finally sail out for her mission. She would have gone out earlier, before the sun had fully set, had Sjan-dehk not needed to pay the Privateers’ Office another visit. It hadn’t been a long one, thankfully, but still he felt embarrassed for having needed to make it in the first place.

“Good evenin’, Cap’n,” a vaguely familiar voice called out to him. Sjan-dehk looked up and to his left, and saw a vaguely familiar man walk towards him. His head of fiery hair was in a mess, as was his green coat, unbuttoned down the middle to display a brown waistcoat and off-white shirt. Both his hands held onto the handles of a heavy crate.

“Good evening,” Sjan-dehk replied and furrowed his brow. “Captain…”

“Cynric,” the man completed for him with a mischievous grin as he approached. He hefted the crate with a grunt and rested it against his thigh. “Dae’n tell me yer’ve forgotten aw’ready?”

Sjan-dehk nodded sheepishly. “Apologies. Your names, they are still strange to me. Hard to say. Harder to remember.” He glanced at the crate. “These are…Supplies? No. Provisions?”

“Aye,” Cynric replied. “Figured I’d get ta’ lads an’ lassies some good drink tae keep ‘em ‘appy fae a whiles longer. Nae sailor like stayin’ in ‘arbour fae tae long, ‘tis sae.” He then tilted his chin towards the book and bundle that Sjan-dehk was carrying. “An’ I see yer’ve taken tae privateerin’?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied, shades of his surprise showing through. “How do you know?”

Cynric grinned. “I wan’ tae say that I recognise ‘at signal book that yer carryin’, but nae, ‘tis nae that. I jus’ saw you leavin’ tae privateer’s office earlier,” he said. “Hope yer dae’n mind me askin’, but did yer jus’ sign up, or are yer headin’ out on a job?”

“Sada Kurau will sail, yes,” Sjan-dehk said. “I joined in the afternoon, but I forgot to ask about your signals and your flags.” A sheepish tone tinted his words. As far as mistakes went, that was one that a captain as experienced as Sjan-dehk shouldn’t have made – signalling was how a ship talked, and it was as vital to a ship as her sails or hull or crew – and that he had made it brought him some modicum of shame. He took it as a lesson learned, however. At least now he knew one thing he had to look out for when sailing waters beyond the Commonwealth’s borders.

“Ah, dae’n s’pose yer mind ‘avin’ an extra ship tae ‘elp?” Cynric asked. “I was jus’ thinkin’ o’ signin’ mysel’ and my crew up as privateers tae, aye. Figured ‘at if I lend yer a ‘and, it migh’ dae us some favours in tiltin’ ta’ odds in our favour, ‘tis sae.”

He grinned again. “An’ maybe it migh’ convince yer tae put in a good word, tae.”

Neither of those seemed necessary to Sjan-dehk. Based on what he had seen, Kerr would be overjoyed to have another ship that wasn’t a gunboat, and a captain who knew what he was about, at his disposal. But Sjan-dehk was in a rush, and he had dawdled for long enough. And besides, if he was going to go hunting for an unknown ship – or ships – in the dark, he wasn’t about to turn away extra sets of eyes to help keep an eye out for things.

And so, he nodded. “Okay. That is good. How soon can you sail?”

Cynric hefted the crate off his thigh. “As soon as I get this bastard o’ a crate stowed awa’,” he replied. “I’ll ‘ave eyes on yer ship, aye? We’ll make sail when yer start makin’ way.”

“Yes, that will work,” Sjan-dehk said. “We should go now. Otherwise, will be too late.”

“Aye.” Cynwaer grunted as he took a few steps forward, trying to reacquire his balance. “I look forward tae sailin’ wi’ yer, Cap’n.”

Sjan-dehk nodded to him, said a few parting words, and continued on his way. It didn’t take long for him to return to Sada Kurau – the ship was docked only a short distance away from the Privateers’ Office – but it still felt as if he had been away for far too long. He went up the gangway. Just as he took his first step onto Sada Kurau’s deck, he caught the tail end of a conversation that was going by the bulwark, directly beside the gangway’s landing.

“...don’t know, Inshahri, I-I can’t sense anything.” It was Yasawen. “L-Look, the Captain’s back. Maybe you should ask him b-before you go any further.”

That got Sjan-dehk’s attention in an instant, and – the mission momentarily forgotten – he snapped around to face Yasawen. “Is there something you plan to do to Sada Kurau that I should – no, I must know about, Yasa?”

The boy wilted beneath his gaze, and he looked off to the side. “N-No, Captain,” he said in a small voice. It didn’t seem as if sending him off to explore Sada Kurau on his own had done him any favours. If anything, he seemed even more timid than when Sjan-dehk had first seen him.

“I-Inshahri’s the one who was doing…Things,” he continued, pointing to the girl standing beside him.

The girl pressed her fingers to her lips and giggled. “Aw, come on, Yasa,” she said, her voice melodic, and every syllable sounding as if they were part of a song. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun chasing down this mystery with me.”

Yasawen flushed. “I–”

“You can’t lie to me,” the girl sang. “I know you too well.”

Sjan-dehk sighed and held up his hand. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said and turned to the girl. It took him a moment to remember her name, as well as the reason why she was even aboard Sada Kurau in the first place. “Inshahri, yes?” He asked.

“That’s me,” the girl chirped.

Dark of skin and mischievous of face, Inshahri was another arcanist Sudah had sent over – a woodshaper and counter-arcane specialist. Sjan-dehk remembered that part about her clearly; both her specialisations were very much welcome aboard a ship-of-war, and he distinctly recalled being not as annoyed by her late arrival – a few hours after Yasawen – as he should have been because of that very fact. That she seemed to have some history with the geomancer, and was his utter opposite in terms of personality, had appeared to be an added bonus. Sjan-dehk had hoped that her presence would make it easier for Yasawen to ease into becoming part of Sada Kurau’s crew.

Now, however, that seemed to be wishful thinking.

Yasawen stood ill-at-ease beside her, his eyes looking at the sails; at the pier; at the sea; at everything but Sjan-dehk. His slouched shoulders made Inshahri look even taller than him, beyond the few scant inches that separated them. Coupled with his disheveled clothes – likely a result of squeezing through the narrow hatches and lower decks of Sada Kurau – he looked quite miserable.

Sjan-dehk let out a quiet sigh. He would have to do something about the boy at some point. Otherwise, he wasn’t going to last long as part of Sada Kurau.

Shaking his head slightly, Sjan-dehk spoke to Inshahri. “So, want to tell me what you’re doing?”

The girl hummed, her shoulders faintly swaying back-and-forth. “So you know I’m a counter-arcanist, right, Captain? That means I can sense magic and stuff like that.” She tapped a finger against her lip, turning to look towards the stern, then towards the prow. The cat-like smile on her face never faded. “I just thought I sensed something earlier. Still do, actually! It’s magic, that’s for sure, and it’s not Yasa’s.”

She looked at the boy with a playful look. “His magic has a nicer song. This one is just weird.”

Yasawen’s face flushed. “S-Stop it, I know y-you’re just teasing…” He muttered, eyes looking at the space between his feet.

“Enough of that,” Sjan-dehk interjected. He wasn’t quite sure why, but there was something familiar about how the two of them interacted with one another. Whether it was a good thing or not, he still didn’t know. “Inshahri, focus for now. When did you start detecting that magic?”

“Not too long ago. Maybe just a little while before you returned?” She hummed thoughtfully, then shrugged before wiping her hands over her shirt. It hung loosely about her shoulders, and was messily tucked into a calf-length skirt. A bright, yellow sash tied around her waist completed her simple outfit, one that reminded Sjan-dehk quite a lot of what Iyen preferred to wear. And now that Sjan-dehk took a proper look at her, she even wore her hair in a pair of tails that wasn’t too dissimilar from how Iyen wore hers.

“I tried looking, and Yasa helped, too!” She continued. “But we didn’t find anything, so I wanted us to go to the holds and the…And the…” Her smile faded slightly and she scratched her head. “What’s the place with all the gunpowder called?”

“The magazine,” Sjan-dehk said. He turned to Yasawen. “You did the right thing, stopping her. Nobody but Young Master Sohn-dahn and his boys, and Master Mursi and his gun crews should be there.”

Yasawen smiled hesitantly. “T-Thank you, Captain.”

“Boo,” Inshahri whined with a pout. “What about me? I found the magic first, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk flashed her a grin. “I’ll praise you once we find that magic, Inshahri,” he said and lifted the book and bundle. “Let me get these to Chief Sai-nahn and get us underway. Then, I’ll join the two of you to look for that source of magic. Just do exactly as I say and nothing else. I don’t want anyone accidentally killing themselves before we even leave harbour. It’s bad luck.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Myaatyun Kidelaut

(Character sheet)

Time: Evening
Location: Redwater

Kidelaut knew Redwater as how one might know an old friend – with fond memories of their past together, and a wistful longing to experience those times again.

He still remembered the day he first laid eyes upon the town. He had been a mere youth of fourteen back then – a recent arrival from Kimoon with nothing but dreams of making a name for himself in these foreign, Caesonian lands. And Redwater, unburdened by infamy in those good old days, had been a quiet town on the outskirts of Felipina, barely half-a-day’s ride from the city. Kidelaut recalled making the trip on foot – he hadn’t the coin for a carriage – with apprehension gripping his heart the entire way. After all, he hadn’t any idea what to expect. He hadn’t even known much about Caesonia as a whole.

And yet, when he saw the town rise into view, saw how it straddled the River Vermelleuve with its series of bridges and waterwheels, and saw how idyllic it looked sitting peacefully beneath the snow-capped peaks of the majestic Sans Pareil Mountains, the worry and anxiety melted away, replaced by awe. Kidelaut had, up until then, never seen a sight quite like it. The Redwater of that time had looked as if it had been pulled straight out of a fairy tale, and planted in the Caesonian countryside.

Kidelaut closed his eyes. Even now, everything was still vivid in his mind, as if his memories were of things that happened a few days ago, and not well over a decade in the past. He could still smell the crisp, alpine air, invigorating and refreshing; hear the chirping songs of birds unknown to Kimoon; sit beneath a sky that was never overcast, be it day or night; and see the eponymous red-tinted waters, courtesy of the riverine mosses which the locals used to make a distinct, crimson dye.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. For the better part of a year, he had called Redwater home. In return, the town had carefully etched those pleasant memories; those bucolic moments that brought him comfort during dark times, onto his mind.

And those etchings were now all that remained of the old Redwater.

“‘S’cuse me, this seat taken?”

A man’s voice shocked Kidelaut out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped open, and he blinked a few times to clear his mind. Still, he possessed enough mental clarity to notice that the man spoke with an accent, one that was just thick enough to identify him as a Varian northerner – someone who hailed from the eternally snow-covered lands beyond the Krasnivaya Mountains.

“No, not at all,” Kidelaut said and shifted further to his side of the bench, until he could rest his arm on the scrollwork of its armrest. He cast a sidelong glance at the man. Like most who ventured onto the streets of Redwater, he kept the lower half of his face covered. The upper classes had a preference for comfortable masks made of soft, layered fabrics. This man however, dressed as he was in garb that marked him quite clearly as a sellsword – drab, earth-coloured clothes beneath a cuirass and short tassets, and a sword by his side – wasn’t of such a class. And so, he instead had a thick scarf wrapped up to his nose.

“Please, do have a seat,” Kidelaut continued. The sight of the man’s scarf, and his attire, made him aware of his own. Just like the man, Kidelaut was dressed as a sellsword. Though his suit of half-plate might be a touch shinier, and his forest green shirt and trousers a little less frayed, he nevertheless looked every part a blade looking to be hired.

Such attire, coupled with the muggy air, made for a very discomforting experience. The scarf Kidelaut had pulled up to the bridge of his nose didn’t help with matters. Every breath felt like a chore, one that couldn’t even adequately fill his lungs. But Kidelaut also knew that without that strip of fabric, the air he would invite into his body would be little better than poison.

The man said a word of thanks, his armour clanking as he sat down heavily with a grunt. Then, he reclined with an arm stretched over the top of the bench, the hand of the other running through a head of straw-like hair which had the appearance of short and pointed grass. Kidelaut responded with a simple nod, his gaze fixed on Redwater’s main square, directly ahead of him and just beyond the point of his boots.

He sighed and hung his head. Here, he had no better view of Redwater’s sordid fate.

Gone were the clear skies; the light of the evening sun could barely pierce the thick smog which blanketed the town in clouds of dusty brown. Street lamps struggled to provide illumination, but their lights were little more than vague, yellow glows through the hanging filth. Gone was also the fresh, clean air; so pervasive was the scent of iron that it was palpable even through Kidelaut’s scarf. He felt the metallic tang creep into his nose, and could even taste it upon his tongue. And gone were the birds and their songs; it didn’t seem as if there were any living creatures in Redwater apart from the people who called it home. The only songs that remained were the droning hums and angry grumbles of distant machinery.

But worst of all was the river. Kidelaut couldn’t see it from where he sat, but he could hear it. One couldn’t escape the rush of water here in Redwater. Once, he would have enjoyed the noise, but now all it did was remind him of the sorry state of the Vermelleuve. It still flowed red, but it wasn’t the rosy pink of Kidelaut’s memories, and instead a sickly orange, as if the water itself had rusted over. Dam and dam exploiting the river for more and more power slowed its flow to a gurgling trickle as it meandered through town, staining desolate riverbanks and sapping life from all that it touched.

Kidelaut shook his head. If the Redwater of years past had been a setting from a fairy tale, then whatever it had become was surely a victim of a Kimoonese cautionary story. One that cautioned against the sins of rampant industry with all of the subtlety of a brick to the face, he noted.

Beside him, the man cleared his throat. It was an awkward, unnatural sound. “I hear that Veirmont is a fine place to visit in the spring,” he said.

“Not as fine as Vayansk in the summer, however,” Kidelaut replied. Under his scarf, he grinned. “It is good to see you, Jaakko.”

“Likewise, Renny,” Jaakko replied. Neither used the other’s real name. Both had done this exact thing too many times, and knew far better than to make such elementary mistakes. Jaakko glanced at Kidelaut from the corner of his eye. “Frostbite take my fingers, Renny, you look like someone just took a steaming shit in your dinner. What’s going on?”

“Do I, now?” Kidelaut chuckled and shook his head at Jaakko’s strange choice of words. “That is very, very strange of you to say, especially since our faces are hidden.”

“True, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happy whenever you visit Redwater,” Jaakko replied, the grin on his face clear in his tone. “Call it my gambler’s instinct to bet on whatever’s most probable, eh?”

“As you wish,” Kidelaut said. “And you said it yourself. If I do appear morose, it is because of this place.”

Several years ago, when Kidelaut visited Redwater for the third time since moving to Hartworth, he hadn’t been just morose. He had been furious. The sight of a forest of chimneys spewing plumes of black smoke into the air; of sprawling refineries dumping their refuse onto dying fields; and of the mines burrowing deep beneath the Sans Pareil allowing their toxic run-off to drain into the Vermelleuve, had enraged him. Dutiful knight that he was at the time, he had raised his concerns to his then-master, only to be told that although such things were ghastly, they were ultimately inevitable along the path of progress.

And like a fool, Kidelaut had allowed such a flimsy excuse to placate him. Such moments, such memories made him wish for a temperament closer to Cynwaer’s. That seafarer was brash and overly-quick to resort to violence, but at least he would have fought hard for what he thought was right. He wouldn’t have simply taken a noble’s word at face value.

Kidelaut drew in a deep breath. The scarf flattened against his nose. “In any case,” he said. “Do you have what we asked?”

“Sure as the springmelt, I do,” Jaakko replied. He paused, eyes narrowing as he took a quick look around them, disguising that action with the pretence of stretching his neck. Apart from a handful of people quickly crossing the square, and a few hurrying past a row of squarish buildings to their left, there wasn’t much in the way of a crowd. Kidelaut had expected that. Redwater only truly came to life at night, well after sunset, and after the refineries closed for the day. Only then would the smog be at its least dense.

Satisfied that nobody was watching, Jaakko quickly slipped a hand between his cuirass and shirt, carefully pulling out a thin, stained, and slightly bent folder. It had no markings on it. No names, no labels, not even a scribbled drawing. To anyone else’s eyes, it would have likely appeared to be something mundane, of no particular import or significance. That was if they even noticed it in the first place.

And that was exactly what Jaakko and Kidelaut had intended.

Jaakko placed the folder beside him, as if he were simply putting it down for a moment. Without looking at Kidelaut, he slid it towards the middle of the bench.

Kidelaut waited five heartbeats, then pulled the folder towards him. He picked it up, peaked at its contents, and slotted it between his own cuirass and shirt.

And that was it.

“You have our thanks,” Kidelaut said with a nod.

Jaakko chuckled. “I’ll need more than that, considering the trouble I had to go through to get that,” he said with a shake of his head. “Tell Songbird they owe me more than just a drink, this time. Giving me less than two days to dig up all that information on His Iron Lordship, what were they thinking?”

“You managed it, however,” Kidelaut noted.

Jaakko nodded. “That, I did. Don’t make it a habit, though.”

Kidelaut tapped a finger on his thigh. “I do admit that I am curious, however,” he said, turning his head fully to look directly into Jaakko’s chilly, azure eyes. “You are rather forthcoming about working against the man who employs you. Is there a reason for why that is so?” He paused. “Oh, I mean no offence, and certainly no suspicion. Please, do not misunderstand. Your loyalty is without question. I am merely intrigued.”

He grinned, and his words took on a more teasing – a more Sioridann-like – hue. “Unless, of course, there is reason for us to be suspicious.”

Jaakko regarded him with a strange look in his eyes for a moment before shaking his head. “Frostbite take my– no, take your fingers, Renny. Songbird’s rubbing off on you,” he said with a chuckle. Then, he sighed, eyes gazing out towards and beyond the square. “But, to answer your question, my contract with that little bastard ends this week, and I’m not planning on signing another one, so he’s not going to be my boss for much longer. I’m sure as springmelt not going to care about whatever befalls him.”

He adjusted his scarf, pulling it further up the bridge of his nose. “And besides, it’s about time that bastard paid for all the shite that he’s done. By summer’s thaw, I’d even bet that it’s not just you and Songbird who have plans for him. Half of Redwater probably wants His Iron Lordship gone.”

Kidelaut nodded slowly. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting, but it was certainly an interesting one. One of which he wanted to hear more. “That is news to me,” Kidelaut began, his voice low. For once, he found himself thankful for the scarves they had to wear. The fabric muffled their words, and kept them close. Conversations didn’t drift far in Redwater. “Please, do elaborate.”

“Come on, Renny,” Jaakko said. “Surely as snows will melt, you’ve heard of all the shite he’s done?”

“Only as much as what little I hear from beyond Redwater’s borders, I fear,” Kidelaut admitted.

‘His Iron Lordship’ was the moniker by which the people of Redwater – both high and low – knew a certain Gratien Wesschler, a captain of industry and mining magnate. That much, Kidelaut knew with certainty for a fact. He also knew that the moniker was a misnomer. Wesschler wasn’t an actual lord, for one. As far as Kidelaut knew, he wasn’t even of noble birth, even if he did act to the contrary. And secondly, it wasn’t just iron in which Wesschler dealt. Coal, bloodstone, silver, and even gems; if it came out of the ground, and if it came from Redwater, Wesschler likely had a hand in its extraction, refining, and sale.

All that made Wesschler a very, very rich man. It wasn’t a secret as to how he spent such wealth; even the lowliest miners were aware of the generous bribes he handed out like sweets during a festival, or the gifts he lavished upon the local nobility. Such acts bought him influence; bought him power; and perhaps most importantly, bought him the ability to have his way in just about every matter in Redwater. Indeed, Kidelaut had never heard of Gratien meeting trouble when he bought almost a third of all the mines in Redwater, or when he took over one of the larger and more productive refineries.

Kidelaut’s stomach turned at the mere thought of such corruption, but even so, he could admit that Gratien hadn’t done anything particularly reprehensible. True, his actions likely didn’t endear him to anyone – and had likely achieved the opposite – but Kidelaut didn’t think that a hostile takeover here, and a bribe to get his way there, were enough to antagonise half-a-town, as Jaakko had said.

“Well,” Jaakko continued. “Where do I even fucking begin?”

His shoulders heaved as he drew in a deep breath. “Maybe from his love for women? And I’m using ‘love’ very fucking loosely here. We’re both– Well, you were a sellsword, Renny, but I’m sure you’re no stranger to fellows who think with their cocks more than their heads, right?” Kidelaut nodded. “Well, this rat bastard lordship takes that to the bloody extreme. Frostbite take my fucking head if I lie, but I swear I’ve seen him with one girl in the morning, another in the afternoon, and maybe three others by evenfall.”

“Sounds like some people we’ve known, Jaakko,” Kidelaut noted.

“Yeah, well,” Jaakko said, his tone darkening slightly. “The people we knew had standards, Renny. At least they left married women alone, and didn’t…” He stopped himself and looked away. “Let’s just say that he’s not used to being rejected. I’ve heard from some of the local sellswords that if he can’t get what he wants by throwing money at it, he’ll use force.”

Kidelaut’s hands balled into fists, and he set his jaw. “And those sellswords, they don’t stop him?”

Jaakko turned to look at him with a flat expression in his eyes. “Renny, the bastard could sign a confession to every crime known to man and beast, and he’d still be a free man by sundown. Anyone who’s got family in Redwater knows better than to cross him.” He paused and leaned back onto the bench. “I guess that’s why he doesn’t pull his nonsense when me and the other North Varians are around. We’d cave his fucking head in with a hammer.”

“So, this…Iron Lordship is a vile lech in addition to being corrupt,” Kidelaut said. “Songbird is going to love playing with him, of that I am certain.”

Jaakko chuckled mirthlessly. “I hope they make it hurt,” he said. “By the long winter night, Renny, if he was just a corrupt, perverse bastard, that’d be enough for me to want him dead. But no, he has to go the extra mile and be involved in some shady horseshite.” He looked around once more. There were only the two of them around the square; everyone else had likely scurried into some building and away from the smog.

“I’ve written it all down,” Jaakko said, nodding towards the folder behind Kidelaut’s cuirass. “But since I’ve already started ranting about the bastard, I might as well continue.” He cleared his throat, coughing into a fist, before continuing. “Look, Renny, I don’t know much about mining and how it works, but I think I know enough to be fucking sure that you don’t need to bring in close to three hundred new workers every other week, and all of them from just about every corner of Caesonia. Either something in those mines is eating workers, or that bastard is up to no fucking good.”

That caught Kidelaut’s attention in an instant. What Jaakko was saying was eerily similar to the rumours of missing – or abducted, depending on who you asked – persons that had brought Sioridann and his paths to Redwater, and to Gratien, in the first place. “I know Wesschler owns a number of mines,” Kidelaut said, reaching under his scarf to scratch his chin. “I do not doubt that he is involved in some criminal enterprise or other, Jaakko, but I will ask this to be absolutely clear. Is it possible that his mines and his refinery are just that dangerous? Enough so that he would need that many fresh hires regularly?”

“Not a damn chance.” Jaakko’s response was immediate. Evidently, he had already considered – and then rejected – such a possibility. “That bastard treats his workers worse than dung, don’t get me wrong, but it’d take him actually, actively killing them to lose a few hundred every two weeks.” He paused to breathe. “I’m not even sure that they’re actually workers, to be honest. I’ve patrolled the mines and refinery many, many times since he started bringing in these people and I can’t remember ever seeing a new face at work.”

Kidelaut chewed on his lip. “That is indeed very troubling.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Jaakko said. Then, he sat up straight, clenching and unclenching his hands. “You know what, Renny? Now that I’ve said everything out loud, I’m not sure I can just walk away from that little bastard without giving him a piece of my mind. The North Varians listen to me, mostly, so if you need extra muscle for whatever you and Songbird have planned, you let me know.”

Kidelaut looked at him and grinned. “Ah, finally decided to fight the good fight, have you?”

Jaakko chuckled. “Just this once, Renny.” He stood up and stretched his arms. “Though I’ll definitely need new work once we’re through with that bastard, so who knows, eh?”

“Then I shall endeavour to make this operation of ours one that is spectacular enough to convince you and yours to join our cause.” Kidelaut stood up as well.

“I won’t deny that I’ve thought about it,” Jaakko said. “Especially after seeing just how people like that rat bastard treats the lower classes.” He looked off to the side, then back at Kidelaut. “Anyway, I should return to my duties before they miss me too much.”

“Very well,” Kidelaut said. “Be safe and be discreet. We would hate to lose a friend such as yourself.”

Jaakko waved his words away. “Eh, I wouldn’t worry, Renny. If anything happens to me, the North Varians would probably riot, and that bastard might be a bastard, but he’s not a stupid bastard. Not stupid enough to want a small band of very, very angry North Varians on his property, at least.” He nodded, and Kidelaut returned the gesture. “But I’ll be careful, and I hope your path is true as the autumn frost, Renny.”

Kidelaut said one last word of farewell before the two men parted ways. Jaakko stalked off northwards, to where most of the town’s workers had their quarters, and the part of the city that was closest to the mines and refineries. Kidelaut remained where he was for a moment longer, looking up towards an obscured sky, listening to the gurgle of a poisoned river, and tasting the tainted, metallic air.

He looked down and shook his head. An industrialist, hm? He mused. It felt almost poetic. Here he stood, in the midst of an old friend ruined by industry. And in his mind, he still clung onto memories of an old love, murdered by a soulless profiteer. Kidelaut made it a point to never take pleasure in ending his marks – he did what he did because there was no other option.

But for Gratien Wesschler, corrupt industrialist and exploiter of suffering, Kidelaut supposed that he could make an exception.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Flashback: That Noon and Afternoon

Time: Noon -> Late Afternoon
Location: Sorian Waterfront
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face

---

It wasn’t easy being a privateer in the Commonwealth. Becoming one, as Sjan-dehk had heard from a few former associates, was even harder. Prospective privateers, from what he had been told, were subject to a litany of checks into their histories and characters that left few stones unturned right from the moment they submitted their applications for a Sea Marque – a document which sanctioned its bearer to take offensive actions on the Commonwealth’s behalf. If they passed that, they would then have to undergo a barrage of tests and interviews – and pass them – before they were accepted into the Commonwealth’s service.

From start to finish, the process didn’t actually take much time. It was simply very taxing on a person. Little wonder, then, that most of those former associates whom Sjan-dehk had known were former privateers, or those who gave up on their applications. Joining the actual Navy, they had told him, was quicker and much more straightforward.

Sjan-dehk could see the sense behind such measures, however. A privateer, after all, was someone who was given the same powers as a Navy ship, but without any of the training. The Commonwealth would be if it didn’t properly vet those who wished to sail under the Braided Dragon as private individuals. The seas would be awash with unruly mobs flying the Commonwealth flag, otherwise. Such a thing simply could not be allowed to happen.

Caesonia, Sjan-dehk assumed, would be no different.

And so, soon after dropping off most of his weapons and all of his armour aboard Sada Kurau – and while he was there, he collected a few documents he thought would be useful – Sjan-dehk set about looking for whatever place it was that handled the recruitment of privateers in Sorian.

That didn’t take him long, or much effort, to achieve; a few stilted conversations with the dockworkers who serviced the ships adjacent to Sada Kurau directed him towards a two-storied building that was wider than it was tall. Nestled within a row of blocky, brick-built warehouses and workshops, the walls of white plaster, the shingled roofs gently sloping towards the waterfront, and the well-furnished veranda stretching before a pair of carved, wooden doors made the building stand out like a tree amidst an ocean. Sjan-dehk would never have assumed it to serve any sort of official purpose, if he had to be honest. If anything, the building looked more like one of the homes he had seen lining the streets closest to the castle.

“Fancy seein’ you here, Cap’n.”

The voice that called out to Sjan-dehk as he stepped onto the veranda was that of a girl, and was one that was familiar. It was also one that he hadn’t expected to hear. He stopped, and looked to his left. Aislin, the flaxen-haired fishergirl, looked back at him from her seat at a round table towards the end of the veranda, right by the waist-high fence which wrapped around it. She waved to him, a friendly smile gracing her lips but not quite reaching her eyes. Curious, Sjan-dehk made his way through the sparse crowd to her.

“Ai-seh-lehn, good afternoon,” he greeted with a nod. The fishergirl was dressed in more-or-less the exact same manner as she usually was whenever Sjan-dehk saw her: an off-white blouse blotched with the red and brown stains of her work, a laced bodice, and skirts with frayed hems. She had tied her hair into a pair of loose, messy tails trailing down her back. Wispy strands tickled her cheeks and brow.

There were three others with Aislin at the table: one woman, and two men. Sjan-dehk didn’t recognise any of them, and they seemed more interested in whatever game of cards they were playing, than him. “This is a…This is place for fighting ships, yes?” He continued to address Aislin. “Why are you here?”

“Thinkin’ o’ a change in careers, ‘tis so,” Aislin replied drily, but quickly shook her head. “‘Twas a joke, aye ‘twas so. Some o’ my folk ‘ave been runnin’ intae more pirates as of late. More than the usual fare, aye ‘tis so. So I came ‘ere tae put in a report an’ see if I can get any ‘elp, aye I did.” She let out a long sigh. “‘Twas a bloody waste o’ my time, as always.”

Sjan-dehk frowned. Something didn’t feel right. Barely two days had passed since Sada Kurau and he had sailed to the rescue of one of Aislin’s fellow fisherfolk. At the time, nothing – neither anything he had seen or heard, nor anything Aislin had done or mentioned – had indicated to him that whatever he experienced was beyond the ordinary for these waters. And yet he was to believe that, within the short span between then and now, there was enough of an increase in pirate activity to be noticeable? Sjan-dehk couldn’t help but find it a touch implausible.

But, he didn’t have much reason to distrust Aislin. She had no reason to lie to him; not over something like this. And it wasn’t as if she was even asking for his help. Besides, he knew nothing about how Caesonian pirates behaved or operated. For all he knew, their escalations were far more sudden and violent than that of those who prowled Viserjantan waters.

“How many more?” He asked. “Maybe I can help?”

“Enough tae be worried about,” Aislin replied. Then, she looked up at him with a mirthless smile. “Cheers fae the offer, Cap’n. An’ I really appreciate it, aye I do, but you’re still just one boat and one man at the end o’ it all, ‘tis so, ‘tis so. I cannae keep askin’ you fae ‘elp every time Young Tom gets ‘imself in trouble, nae I cannae.” She paused, her eyes widening slightly as if she recalled something important. “Oh, an’ speakin’ o’ ‘im, Young Tom asked me tae pass on ‘is thanks. ‘E says ‘e owes you and your crew a drink, aye.”

“Not needed. It was not trouble,” Sjan-dehk replied with a wave of his hand. He didn’t think that his actions that day deserved so much praise. He also had more pressing questions he wanted to ask. “So you come here, you ask for help…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “And they will not help?”

“I’ll tell you what I told Ash,” the woman at the table cut in. Her words were clipped, and her voice carried a sour tinge to it. Though the lower half of her face was hidden behind the fan of cards she held in her hand, Sjan-dehk could easily picture the frown that must be on her face. The tattered, dark coat she wore was in stark contrast to her fair complexion and soft features, though the sternness in her frigid, blue eyes as she gazed over the tops of her cards spoke of anything but softness. A single, red streak ran through her hair, its vivid hue bright against her loose, mahogany tresses.

The woman plucked a card from her hand, leaned forward, and tossed it onto a pile of similar cards in the middle of the table. “It’s not that we won’t. We can’t. Not without getting into trouble, at least.” She lowered her cards, revealing a scowl cutting across her sun-spotted face.

That only left more questions in Sjan-dehk’s head. And once again, the woman spoke before he could get a word in. “Anyway,” she continued. “Are you going to sit or what? My legs are getting tired just seeing you standing there all statue-like.”

It was only then did Sjan-dehk remember that he had come here for a reason. He hefted the small stack of documents he had tucked under his arm. “I am here to join–”

“To join up with us eclectic lot?” This time, it was one of the men who interrupted him. Sjan-dehk drew in a deep breath and pursed his lips. He wasn’t too fond of this emerging pattern. Nevertheless, he responded with a nod. The man looked at him with a friendly smile across his face, and a shine in his dusky, deep-set eyes. His boyish countenance and unkempt head of sandy curls gave him a youthful air, but the prominent lines around his cheeks, the crow’s feet pulling at his eyes, and the hints of grey tinting the ends of his hair betrayed his age. “I would advise you wait for a while, stranger,” he continued, using the cards in his hand to point towards the building. “The staff of our Privateer’s Office are an industrious lot, but even they would be hard-pressed to see you right now with the deluge they’re facing.”

Sjan-dehk followed the man’s gesture with his eyes until he looked through the Office’s doors. Or at least, he tried to. The dense crowd within had started to trickle out onto the veranda, and all he could see was a forest of people, packed so tightly that it was a wonder any of them could even fidget. Frustrated murmurs and angry grumbles filled the air. Sweat clung to skins in glistening sheens, and glued clothes and matted hairs to bodies.

“Poor chaps are probably working themselves to the bone trying to keep up,” the man went on. He placed his cards face-down on the table, twisted around, and dragged an empty chair over to the space between himself and Aislin. The rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt revealed forearms covered in faded tattoos from wrist to elbow. There were pictures of animals, of cards not unlike those on the table, and various numbers and words which Sjan-dehk recognised as Caesonian. Their meaning, however, remained a mystery.

The man patted the seat of the chair. “I suspect you might be waiting for quite some time, stranger. Better to wait whilst enjoying this fine summer’s day with company, wouldn’t you agree?”

“‘E’s right, Cap’n,” Aislin chimed in. “I cannae see the office folk gettin’ tae you anytime soon.”

Sjan-dehk hesitated, looking at the crowd once more with a frown. He would have much preferred to settle this privateering business as quickly as possible, but that wasn’t likely to happen. Nothing about the crowd had changed. If anything, it had gotten even worse as people tried to squeeze and force their way into the Office, and newcomers continued to arrive. Why anyone would see such a mess and choose to join it, he didn’t know, but he did know that he had no desire to suffer such discomfort. And so, with a resigned sigh, he pushed his hat back to let it hang by its chin-strap on his back, and took the offered seat. His weapons clattered loudly against the chair as he sat down.

“My, you’re a well-prepared chap, aren’t you?” The man quipped with a grin. He wiped a hand on his dark trousers and extended it to Sjan-dehk. “Olivier Bellamy,” he introduced himself. “Captain of the Heyday. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister…?”

“Wasun Sjan-dehk,” Sjan-dehk picked up where Olivier trailed off. He accepted the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Captain of Sada Kurau.”

Olivier beamed. “Charmed, Captain. Do pardon me if I’m unable to properly enunciate such exotic names, however. My Caesonian tongue is far less travelled than my person.” He grinned and picked up one of his cards, barely glancing at it before flicking it onto the pile. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing my fellows, Captain,” he said and gestured towards the woman with an open hand. “That fair maiden over there is our dear Evelyn Vane–”

“Call me that again, Ollie, and I’ll cut your tongue out,” she interrupted, her voice perfectly nonchalant, as if this was something she said daily. She didn’t even look up from her cards. “And Evie will do.”

“–Captain of the Stars at Dawn.” Olivier continued as if she hadn’t said a thing. He swept his arm across to the other man, seated to the right of Evie. A brown eyepatch sat over this man’s left eye, covering much of a deep scar that cut like a jagged valley from his brow to the middle of his cheek. A tangled mess of black hair, scraggly and coarse like dried seaweed, concealed much of his face from view. The cards he held up to his nose hid the rest. “And last, but far from the least, we have our venerable Innokenty Suchik, Captain of the Summerdream.”

Innokenty grunted. He added a card to the pile, but did or said nothing more.

“Don’t mind Inno,” Evie piped up, shooting Innokenty a glare as she flicked a card onto the pile. “Getting a full sentence out of him is harder than pulling teeth.” In a quiet mumble that Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure he was supposed to catch, she added, “I’d know.”

Sjan-dehk ignored the mumbled words – perhaps he had misheard? – and nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he first said to Olivier before looking to the two other Captains in turn. “It is my…No, it is good to meet you. All of you.” Evie met his gaze briefly and shrugged. Innokenty barely reacted.

Placing his documents on his lap, Sjan-dehk tucked out of sight beneath the table. Even if few – if any – of them had sensitive information written or printed on their pages, he still thought it best to keep them away from as many prying eyes as possible. As he waited, his fingers drummed an erratic beat against the hard, coarse paper. Despite himself, he kept looking over his shoulder at the Office’s entrance. And each time, he was greeted by the exact same sight. He saw the same crowd, still dense and static. He saw the same faces, all clouded by annoyances and storming with discontent. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and it felt as if this wait was truly interminable.

“All this people,” Sjan-dehk began and waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the crowd. “You have so many coming here everyday? All of them, they talk…No, they complain about pirates?”

“It’s usually pirates, yes,” Olivier replied with a nod. “You do have the odd fellow coming here complaining about the weather and the waves and such, as if they were under our control, but those entertaining chaps are rare, sad to say.” He looked up from his cards and at the crowd, his expression darkening slightly. “But these numbers are a few steps above the norm, I would say, even for a noon crowd. Yesterday wasn’t any better, and neither was the day before.” He turned back around to the table. “From what I hear, it all mostly reports of sightings, and not many actual attacks, thank the Gods.” He added a card to the pile. “It’s all so very peculiar. So, so very peculiar, indeed.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly, half in understanding of what Olivier had said, and half in agreement. There was at least one piece of good news Sjan-dehk discerned from his words, however. The surge in pirate activity hadn’t been as sudden as what he had initially thought. Also, it seemed like everyone had been caught by surprise by this drastic escalation. It didn’t make the situation any better, but it did bring it back to familiar waters for Sjan-dehk. Caesonian pirates weren’t special. Like those that prowled Viserjantan waters, they couldn’t simply escalate their violence overnight.

From experience, Sjan-dehk knew that most pirates acted either alone, or in small gangs. That meant that it could take weeks or months for news of a good hunting ground to spread, and during that time someone would surely notice that there were pirates congregating in any one specific region. And as much as what some Captains wished to believe, pirates weren’t stupid. They knew that if they were to get too violent, too blatant in their criminality, they would only attract far more attention than they could handle. A good pirate, a pirate who wanted to survive long enough to enjoy their ill-gotten gains, would be one who knew when to strike, when to cower, and when to go on a rampage.

For these Caesonian pirates to act in such a brazen manner was – as Olivier put it – highly peculiar. There were only two reasons Sjan-dehk could think of for their actions. Either they were acting in desperation, or someone was controlling them. Neither were any better than the other. Anything that could push pirates to resort to such drastic action would almost certainly be something that could threaten all of Caesonian. And anyone – be it person or organisation – that could corral the chaos that were pirates into any semblance of an organised force would be someone powerful enough to similarly be a dangerous threat.

Desperation and organisation. Sjan-dehk leaned his head back and huffed, staring at the turquoise awning overhead. Such reasons were behind just about every pirate raid suffered by Viserjantan, be it when it was still a kingdom, still an empire, or now, as the Commonwealth.

Suddenly, his plan of privateering to earn money for Sada Kurau’s upkeep became more complicated than what he would have liked. And yet, it was that very complication that made his heart race with anticipation and excitement. Figuring out how to combat pirates; how to seek and destroy an enemy on the open seas, those were things he knew how to do, and how to do them exceptionally well. He had no business fending off a fleet of pirates – certainly not for Caesonia – but he would be lying if he said that the thought of it, the expectation of the thrill and rush of it, didn’t tempt him.

But, before anything else, there was one question he needed to ask.

He sat upright and looked at Evie. “Just now, you say it is not because you will not help, yes? You say you cannot. Why is that?”

Beside him, Aislin leaned forward with a catlike grin on her face. She rested her elbows on the table, chin on the back of a hand, and a finger entwining itself in one of her tails. “Aye, Evie,” she said with mischief in her eyes. “Please enlight’n myself and the Cap’n ‘ere. Why cannae you lend us smallfolk a hand?”

Evie slapped her cards onto the table and fixed Aislin with an unimpressed glare. “Oh, don’t you start this nonsense again, Ash. I already told you once before, and if you still don’t get it, then it’s not my fault you’re deaf. Or stupid.” Despite the acidic bite of Evie’s words, Aislin continued grinning at her. She even cocked her head, as if she were listening to some interesting story. Evie scowled at her, then shifted her attention to Sjan-dehk. Her gaze softened, and she sighed. “But I guess I’ll repeat myself for your benefit, since it’s clear to even a blind man that you’re not from around here.”

She paused. “Where’re you even from, anyway? I thought you were Kimoonese, but you don’t sound like any Kimoonese I’ve met.”

“An’ ‘ow many o’ those ‘ave you met?” Aislin asked cheekily.

Evie cleared her throat. “A few,” she replied, her voice markedly not as strong as earlier. She then shot the girl a withering glare that evidently had little effect. “Shut up, Ash.”

Sjan-dehk resisted the urge to smirk. The interaction between Evie and Aislin reminded him plenty of how his third brother, Shim-sen, and his first sister, Idah, would speak with each other. Plenty of barbs, burning words, and all laced with cutting undertones, but devoid of any real malice. Sjan-dehk could almost see it now; Shim-sen arguing with logic, Idah slowly driving him mad with nonsensical words. Hara-tahn trying to keep the peace whilst enjoying the show, Sai-jom trying to hide his laughter and failing in the attempt. And Shi, the youngest sister, sitting by the side with words ready to ease the tension should they get too high.

“Well?” Evie’s sharp voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Apologies,” Sjan-dehk said quickly. “You are correct. I am not Kimoo– Whatever you thought I am. I come from Jafi. Viserjanta.” He made a note to find out more about the people Evie had mentioned. It would be interesting to see just how similar the Kimoonese were to Jafins, if Evie could mistake Sjan-dehk for one.

Evie nodded slowly. “Right,” she began, dragging out the word. “I won’t insult you by pretending like I know any of those places, so let’s move on.” She leaned forward, and for a moment appeared pensive, as if she was carefully considering her next words. But then, she shrugged. “There’s not much else to it, if I’m going to be very honest. We can’t help because our higher-ups won’t let us help. Gods below, we can’t even piss without getting permission from them these days.”

Sjan-dehk furrowed his brow. Evie’s answer only gave him more questions. “They will not let you? I do not understand. Why?”

“See, that’s what ticks me off the most,” Evie said, her voice getting more of an edge. “They didn’t give any of us a reason. They just came in one day and told us everyone ranked five and above has to stay in port and await assignment. Can you bloody believe it?” The confusion on Sjan-dehk’s face told her that no, he couldn’t even if he wanted to. “Ah, right,” Evie continued and scratched the back of her head. “Look, don’t take my word for it, okay? You’ll probably learn more later with whoever you talk to inside, if you choose to join us, anyway. But all of us here have a rank, from one to ten. Everyone starts at one, but it’s not difficult to climb your way up. They’ll even let you jump ranks if you’re good enough.”

Evie paused to catch her breath, and Olivier took the chance to interject. “The ranks don’t mean anything, if I may be so honest. We’re all still equals. The ranks merely help the Office determine what contracts we can take, and what contracts would be either a waste of our abilities, or tantamount to suicide.”

Sjan-dehk nodded, a hand on his chin. From what the two of them told him, Caesonian privateers seemed to be more akin to Commonwealth mercenaries than Commonwealth privateers. The latter, upon acquiring a Sea Marque, would more-or-less be left to their own devices. They might be tasked with assisting a fleet or asked to act in the capacity of an auxiliary ship on occasion, but those were rare exceptions rather than the norm. It didn’t seem like that was the case here, based on what Evie and Olivier were saying.

It was all very interesting information, but just as before, it only led him to more questions. “Your work, the contracts, what do you usually need to do?” He probed.

Evie shrugged. “You name it, we’ve done it. Protecting people like Ash over there, patrolling the sea lanes, escorting merchantmen, hunting pirates, ferrying important people…There was even once Inno over here had to fetch some nobleman’s daughter from a cruise that got a little out-of-hand.” She smirked and jerked a thumb towards the man. As Sjan-dehk had learned to expect, he didn’t react. It didn’t even seem as if he heard Evie’s words. “But yes, we do just about everything.”

“I see.” Sjan-dehk’s face tightened in thought for a brief moment. “Then your navy, what does it do?”

“What do you mean?” Olivier asked.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat and straightened his back before continuing. “You say that you patrol the sea, you protect ships. You fight pirates, you defend people. You have rank. Your work, you say that it can be assigned, yes? Your superiors, they can order you to stay in port.” He paused and looked at Olivier, then at Evie. He hazarded a glance at Innokenty, who surprisingly met his gaze. “From what you say, it sounds like you do the work of a navy. You are…Arranged? No, organised, you are organised like a navy. So I am curious, your actual navy, the one of Caesonia, what does it actually do, if you do all this work?”

A mirthless smile spread across Olivier’s lips. “You hit it on the head, Captain,” he said. “Now, I don’t claim to be well-versed in matters of law, but to my understanding, the Caesonian Navy considers only external threats to be within their purview. Pirates, as I am sure you will discover, are considered internal threats as far as the law is concerned, and thus given to us privateers to handle.”

“They’re just lazy feckers, ‘tis so,” Aislin grumbled. “Even the city guard’s bet’er than them, an’ that’s sayin’ plenty comin’ frae me, ‘tis so, ‘tis so.”

“But if you ask, they still will not help?” Sjan-dehk asked. “From what you say, it is…It is very possible that there will be a lot of pirates coming soon. Then they, the navy, they must go fight them, no?”

Olivier chuckled and shook his head. “Captain, perhaps it might be easier if you thought of them less as a Caesonian Navy and more of a Royal Navy,” he suggested. “Now, I will admit that it would be remiss of me to imply that they would never sally forth, but it does appear that they are loath to do so unless the King or his family are imperilled, or if it’s the King’s property that’s under threat. Of course, if Caesonia were to get into a proper spot of trouble, then I suspect they would perform their expected duties. But I would imagine that in such a situation, pirates would be the very least of our concerns.”

Sjan-dehk didn’t know how to feel about all that. He didn’t even know where to begin listing everything that was wrong with what Olivier had just said. First of all, the idea that the King had the Caesonian Navy as a personal retinue of sorts was odd. Not unheard of; such a practice had once been common throughout the Viserjantan islands, back when the Commonwealth had been an Empire. But it was certainly strange that an outdated, centuries-old custom could be found to be still alive here, on the other side of an ocean.

Secondly, Sjan-dehk wasn’t too sure what to think about the Caesonian Navy. His immediate reaction was one of revulsion, for what navy – and the people staffing it – would allow themselves to be reduced to such a state? But then he remembered what Kalliope had told him a few days ago, that most sailors in the Navy didn’t even know how to swim, and he added that Olivier’s implication that they would refuse to fight even if asked, which – to Sjan-dehk’s mind – suggested inexperience at best. Cowardice, at worst. Put together, and it gave him a picture of a navy which was really more for show than anything else.

Or perhaps this was merely his Jafin sensibilities being overly-harsh on the Caesonian Navy. A Jafin, after all, was nothing if not a fearless sailor who would always be fain to meet a challenger on the open seas. A fleet that shirked from battle was, therefore, antithesis to Jafin ways. Had this been a Jafin fleet, Sjan-dehk felt certain that his father would have seen its commanders dismissed and its ships scrapped as a mark of disgrace. Sjan-dehk couldn’t say that he would have disagreed with such a punishment.

But amidst all this speculation and guesswork, there was one thing Sjan-dehk felt quite sure of. “So to the people like her–” he gestured to Aislin “–you are the navy.”

“I suppose you could say that,” Evie said with a shrug. “But that’s sad in and of itself, if you ask me. We’re sailing brigs, sloops, snows, and schooners at most. I’m pretty sure Inno’s Summerdream is probably the biggest ship we’ve got, and she wouldn’t even be considered a corvette by the Navy.” Then, she released a long sigh and shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t bloody matter now, I guess. With us high-ranked people stuck in harbour and waiting for fuck-knows-what, the only ones out there doing any work are just kids with gunboats and armed cutters.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. That was indeed a rather dire picture. Gunboats and cutters were single-masted vessels. Small, quick, and easy to use. But they weren’t built for fighting. In many ways, they were maybe just a step up from a typical fishing skiff or dinghy. Hardly the sort of thing one would want when taking on pirates. “Then I can help,” he said, a grin slowly forming on his face. “Sada Kurau, she has thirty-four guns total. That is a good number to have, yes?”

Evie let out a low whistle. “That’s a light frigate right there, I’d say. She’d definitely be welcome,” she said approvingly. Then, she smirked. “And while I like your confidence, your ship’s still no Edin Danrose. Unless you’ve got another seventy guns hidden away somewhere, I’m not going to expect too much from her. Or you, for that matter.”

“Edin Danrose?” Sjan-dehk echoed. “That is your King, yes?”

“Nae, she’s talkin’ about the other Edin Danrose,” Aislin said, drawing his attention to her. “The one that’s the flagship ‘o the Navy. Big ship, wi’ o’er a ‘undred guns frae what I’ve ‘eard, aye.” Sjan-dehk arched his brows. A ship carrying that many guns must be quite the devastating force on the battlefield. But before he could say anything, Aislin turned to Evie and continued. “An’ aye, you’re right that this Cap’n’s boat’s nae Edin Danrose. She’s bet’er, if you ask me. At least she sails out tae do things. I cannae say I’ve ever seen the Edin Danrose do anythin’ but sit in ‘arbour an’ look pretty.”

Evie thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you’ve got me there.”

“We even ‘ave a joke about it,” Aislin went on. She looked at Sjan-dehk, a cheeky grin on her face. “Know why they call ‘er Edin Danrose? It’s because she’s only impressive tae look at, but she’s really just a big ‘ol fecker that’s good fae feckin’ nothing, aye. Just like ‘er namesake, ‘tis so, ‘tis so.”

Sjan-dehk choked on a barely suppressed laugh. He covered his mouth and tried not to show too much of the smile on his face, for Evie looked anything but impressed. “Hey, try saying that a little louder,” she said in a quiet but harsh hiss. “I’m not sure any of the guards heard you.”

“I thought it was quite amusing, really,” Olivier remarked, chuckling.

“Don’t encourage her!” Evie snapped at him. “I don’t want any of us to get into trouble.” Glaring daggers at both Aislin and Olivier, she picked up her cards and looked between them and the pile on the table a few times. With each successive glance, the scowl on her face grew larger and larger, until it became a growl as she threw her cards onto the table. “Oh, come on,” she grumbled. “There’s no way I can lose thrice in a row.” She turned to Innokenty. “And all to you. You’re up to something, I can feel it.”

Innokenty looked back at her, his face blank and expressionless.

“Don’t give me that,” Evie said, as if he had given her an actual reply. “The only one who’s been doing the shuffling is you.”

“I am good at the game,” Innokenty said plainly, his first words since Sjan-dehk sat down. He spoke with a heavy accent – though not so heavy that Sjan-dehk couldn’t understand him – and his voice was gravelly, hoarse, and quiet. It was as if it hadn’t been used for a very, very long time. “And you are bad at it. That is all there is.” He placed his cards on the table and pushed them towards the pile.

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Alright, listen up, you little Varian shit–”

The two quickly descended into an argument – or more accurately, Evie argued, and Innokenty merely sat there and listened. Olivier took the chance to quietly collect the cards. As he shuffled them, he said, “Don’t mind them, Captain.” He glanced sideways at Sjan-dehk with a slight smile on his face. “I’ve known them for years and this is simply how they are. I find it rather entertaining, in fact.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I agree. This sort of thing, I am familiar with,” he replied and leaned back in his seat. The various sounds around him, discordant as they might be, were surprisingly soothing, and lulled him into a warm sense of comfort. He closed his eyes, taking in the rush of crashing waves; the buzzing murmurs of a busy waterfront. The cooling touch of a gentle breeze against his face; the ruffling of the tarpaulin awning overhead. The smell of the ocean brine; the chirps and squawks of singing birds. And of course, Evie’s rapid banter and Innokenty’s sparse replies.

Pleasant memories surfaced in his mind. He saw faces that had been rendered vague by time, and people whom he would never again meet. And yet, through the wistfulness, he remembered their laughs and their smiles. He remembered fighting alongside them, celebrating victories with them, and inevitably, mourning losses with them. But more importantly, he remembered the senseless fun he had with them. Things that, at the time, had seemed so inconsequential and pointless, but now he saw as good times.

Well, as good as it could be during a war, at least. Perhaps they were more of islets of good times amidst a sea of dark, terrible times.

Sjan-dehk drew in a deep breath, and opened his eyes just in time to see Olivier distribute the cards to all at the table. Evie had stopped ranting at Innokenty, and Aislin was joining in for this round, it seemed. “Ah, Captain,” Olivier said. “Pardon me, but I thought you were resting. Would you care to join us?”

“Do it,” Evie cut in. She leaned back and kicked her boots onto the table. Innokenty looked at her from the corner of his eye and clicked his tongue, but she either didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. “I think I’ve got Inno figured out. His tricks only work if there’s three of us. The more of us there are, the harder it’ll be for him to pull something funny.”

“An’ you’ve still got a bit o’ a wait, Cap’n,” Aislin said and held her cards close to her chest. “Bet’er tae wait while ‘avin’ a crack, aye?”

It all felt silly in a strange way. The dissonance between their early conversation – about a possible pirate threat – and what they were doing now was heavy and stark. And yet, it felt natural. What else was there for sailors like them to do? The pirates may be on their way, they may not. They might suddenly decide to be violent tomorrow, or they may wait a month, or they may simply quieten down. None of that was set in stone, but what was certain was that they weren’t here yet. And if the war had taught Sjan-dehk anything, it was that a good captain knew how to seize every chance they could to unwind and relax.

“Okay, I will play,” he said to Olivier with a grin. “But you know, I have…What do you people call it…I have beginner’s luck? Yes, that. I have that.” The others at the table laughed, and once again, Sjan-dehk’s mind returned to his memories. Those days had been the best. But the bitterness they left, that was something he could do without.

---

For a place that called itself the Privateers’ Office, the interior looked remarkably like that of a tavern.

It smelled like one, too. From the moment Sjan-dehk stepped through the doors, he was enveloped by the heady whiff of strong alcohol, and the unpleasant odour of stale sweat. Parting gifts from the earlier crowd, Sjan-dehk suspected. The scents were reminiscent of those in the tavern – where he had met Cynric and the two noblegirls – from just the night before. In fact, he swore he could smell the exact same spirit which Cynric had drunk like water.

That was where the similarities ended, however. Where last night’s tavern had been rough in both airs and appearance, this place was much calmer and more well-kept. The furniture – from tables, to chairs, and to the bar which spanned half-the-length of the wall to his left – boasted fine craftsmanship, even if they were simple in design. Their wooden forms were sheened in layers of varnish that were surprisingly free of both scratches and blemishes, a feat that Sjan-dehk knew from experience was hard to accomplish, especially when – as he assumed – the furniture were used on a daily basis.

Unlit lamps hung from the ceiling, and dimmed sconces lined the walls. Their metalwork – along with that of the fittings holding the very building together – had been burnished to a dull shine. Sjan-dehk could only imagine how laborious it was to keep them free of rust and salt damage. If the building was close enough to shore to hear the crashing of waves, then it was certainly close enough to suffer the same briney air as ships on the open sea.

The more Sjan-dehk looked around, the more he was reminded of a well-maintained ship. All this attention to cleanliness was the same as what any Captain would expect from their crew. And while there was still a touch of disarray to how things were placed, it was the same sort of disarray that Sjan-dehk expected from a living ship, and not one moored for display. The good kind of disarray, in other words.

A smirk played on Sjan-dehk’s lips. It seemed as if this Office was everything but what it was supposed to be. And perhaps that was the intent of its designers and builders, for there was painfully little that hinted at its true purpose and identity. There were a few counters sequestered away into an alcove at the very back of the building, with a couple of noticeboards on the walls around them, but that was about it. They looked like they had been added as mere afterthoughts, and had Evie not told Sjan-dehk about them, he felt more than certain that he would have missed them entirely.

Polished floorboards creaked under Sjan-dehk’s boots as he marched towards the counter. Groggy faces turned to glance at him with drink-addled eyes as he passed. Only for a moment, however, before they fell back onto the tables where they had been resting. Half-empty bottles, half-full glasses, and the sunbeams streaming through ajar windows were all that kept them company.

These early drunkards were all that was left of the earlier crowd. Much of it had dissipated roughly an hour or so after Sjan-dehk joined Aislin and the three privateers. Not many left peacefully however, with many a vexed expression on faces, and vicious words thrown over shoulders. Sjan-dehk didn’t understand what it was they were saying, but he did understand their displeasure. It hadn’t seemed as if many had their pleas for help heard. A significant number of those who had waited outside didn’t even manage to take one step into the Office before they had to return to their jobs.

“Toil waits for neither man nor tragedy,” Olivier had mused.

However, it seemed as if toil had completely forgotten about the lone man behind the counters, for he was the very picture of idleness as Sjan-dehk approached. Granted, the soles of his shoes had been ground to little more than smooth leather, likely due to being on his feet a great deal. But then again, the only reason Sjan-dehk could see those soles was because the man had reclined so far back in his chair that he could kick his feet up onto the counter.

His arms were folded tightly over his slowly rising and falling chest, and he had an open book covering his face. Dark ink stained his sleeves, the dots stark against the pale blue fabric. Pens, pencils, and all sorts of stationery were tucked into the pockets of his black waistcoat. His peacefulness almost seemed comical amidst the chaos that were the stacks upon stacks of files and papers surrounding him. They teetered on his desk, cluttered the floors, and overstuffed the cabinets behind him.

“Excuse me,” Sjan-dehk called out politely.

The man shifted, but otherwise there was no response.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello?”

Nothing.

Sjan-dehk frowned, then rapped his knuckles loudly on the counter.

That startled the man awake. “Bloody fuck!” He exclaimed, his voice loud enough to surprise Sjan-dehk as much as Sjan-dehk had surprised him. The man bolted upright, and would have thrown himself clean from his seat had he not shot his hands out to grasp the desk in front of him. Pages ruffled, stationery clattered, and the book fell from his face, striking the floor with a muted thud. The man slowly relaxed, his shoulders still heaving as he recovered from his shock.

“I swear by every fucking God there is out there,” he began breathlessly, pressing a hand to his chest. He swallowed before continuing, still hunched over in his chair and looking between his feet. “It’s not going to be pirates that do me in, it’ll you fucking cunts. Haven’t you bastards heard that rousing a man this quickly can be dangerous? Gods above, I swear.”

Sjan-dehk resisted the urge to laugh. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but something about the way the man spoke, and the entire situation in general felt amusing to him. “I am sorry,” he said, keeping his tone as level and neutral as possible.

The man looked at him. Irate eyes turned to surprised ones, then to sheepish ones. “Oh, you’re not one of us,” he murmured awkwardly and averted his gaze. Clearing his throat, alternated between running fingers through his tawny hair and tidying up the desk as he continued, “The name’s Reilly. Kerr Reilly, though it’s not like you’ll have much reason to remember it. If you’re here to report sightings of pirates, or attacks by pirates, or any pirate-related activities, I’m going to be honest and tell you that there’s not much we can do about it for now.”

He sighed, picked up a stack of papers, and placed them heavily onto a different corner of the desk. “You can still leave your request with us, but I can’t guarantee that it’ll be handled anytime in the near future. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Sjan-dehk blinked. “I am here to join you.”

That got Kerr’s attention in an instant. His head snapped up. For a moment, he remained silent, a pensive expression on his face. He swept his gaze over Sjan-dehk, up and down, and nodded. “Well, fuck me,” he said, a tinge of approval in his voice. He teased a few more knots out of his hair and looked over the desk, muttering to himself as he looked for something. “You have a ship, I assume?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied and placed his documents on the counter. “Her plans, I have here.”

Kerr shook his head. “Normally, I’d take them, but…” He swept a hand over the disorganised clutter on the desk. “With all the shit we’ve to deal with right now, and all the shit we haven’t even fucking looked at, your docos are just going to get lost without anyone ever looking at them. Better that you keep them.” Pausing, he pulled out a folder from a stack, looked at it, and promptly shoved it back into the stack. “But I’ll ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“I do not,” Sjan-dehk replied. “Ask.”

Kerr chuckled. “Well, fuck. Here I was thinking that Inno was terse enough.” He turned around and looked through the items on the cabinets. Without looking around, he asked, “Number of guns?”

It took Sjan-dehk a moment to realise that he was asking about Sada Kurau. “Thirty-four,” he answered.

“Yeah, I think I can just stop there,” Kerr remarked with a laugh. “Thirty-four guns? Bloody fuck, that makes your ship one of the most well-armed we’ll have.” He removed yet another folder – Sjan-dehk couldn’t see any difference between it and the one Kerr had discarded earlier – and looked at the title. With a nod, Kerr brought it over to the counter. “How soon can you sail?”

Sjan-dehk picked up his documents and tucked them under his arm. Kerr gave him a quick word of thanks before placing the folder on the countertop. “This evening, that is earliest. But if emergency, we can sail as soon as needed.”

“If there’s an emergency, those three cunts out there would be the first I call,” Kerr replied with a wry smile on his lips. Very carefully – as if he were opening some ancient tome – he flipped the folder open, turning the pages until he reached one which contained a list of what appeared to be the names of both ships and people. Sjan-dehk counted at least three dozen entries, and they barely filled half the page. And not every entry was written in the same way. Some were crossed out, others had been erased and rewritten in deep red ink, and a few had several circles around them.

Before Sjan-dehk could ask anything, however, Kerr spoke. “Anyway, that’s all the questions I have. If you still want to join us…” His brows furrowed as he shifted a few things about on his desk, eventually picking up a pencil and placing it on the page. “I’ll just need you to jot your name and your ship’s name here. It’s just for administrative purposes, and so we know who’s still with us and who’s not.”

Sjan-dehk hesitated. That was it? Just two simple questions and he was cleared to be a privateer? It felt a little too straightforward – careless, almost – to be true. He picked up the pencil, but merely held it over the page. “That is all?” He asked, his words slow and incredulous. “Things like experience, background, that is not…You do not need to know?”

Kerr drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Well, we used to ask about those,” he said, then pointed to one of the noticeboards. What Sjan-dehk had assumed to be bare cork was in fact layers upon layers of posters, each of them a separate call for help, pinned and plastered over each other until it was impossible to know where one ended and another began. “But we’re not in any position to be picky. Everything on that board’s just from the past two days, and we have more from today to process. We’re going to need every privateer we can get, and then some.”

“Anyway,” Kerr continued and tapped the page. “Personally, I gave up on asking that question because no one with a brain between their ears would ever own up to having no experience. Would you bloody believe it if I told you just how many supposed Varian veterans or Alidashti corsairs have come our way?” Another sigh left his lips, and he shook his head. His eyes gazed wistfully at the crossed-out names, and the ones in red ink. “Damn idiots probably thought they’d never end up as another notch on a pirate’s mast.”

It was only now did Sjan-dehk take a proper look at the man behind the counter. Kerr had the sort of face that was impossible to age; a pale complexion, full head of hair, and unblemished skin made him appear a youth, but the haggardness about him, the wrinkles around his eyes, and the jaded bite in his words were that of a grizzled and perhaps overworked elder. But what was unmistakable was his haunted visage. The regret that clouded his gaze; the slight downwards twitch of his lips, the setting and unsetting of his jaw as he looked at the page. All were things that Sjan-dehk had seen on many others, many times before.

They were the mark of a man who knew that he had sent countless others to their deaths.

Sjan-dehk could only imagine just how many of those crossed-out and reddened names had been people whom Kerr had known. At least with Sjan-dehk, he could fight alongside those who followed his orders. He could at least tell himself that he had done everything possible to keep his people alive, and it was simply a matter of fortune – or misfortune – as to who survived and who didn’t. Someone in Kerr’s position didn’t have such a luxury.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat. “You do not have good…I mean, capable sailors who want to join?”

“Nah,” Kerr replied. “Our veterans have all been with us for years. Anyone who has their skill and wants to get into privateering now would rather try their luck in Varian or Alidasht. Can’t say I blame them. I hear the prize money is twice or thrice of what they’d earn here for the same sort of work. I'm honestly surprised that the likes of Inno, Evie, and Oli are still sticking around, to tell you the truth.” He shook his head. “But yeah, we don’t exactly have experienced sailors lining up to join us. I’d be happy enough with a fisherman who’s strapped a gun to his fucking skiff.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. The bleak picture painted by Olivier and Evie had been accurate; the Privateers’ Office simply didn’t have the ability to keep up with the rise in pirate activity. Not with the inexperience and under-equipped privateers they were sending out. It all reminded Sjan-dehk of a particularly terrible type of battle; a meat-grinder. It was all the Privateers’ Office could do, to send ships and sailors one after another into the fray, and hope that eventually one of them would emerge victorious.

That thought didn’t just sit poorly with Sjan-dehk. It disgusted him. And whatever lingering doubts that still remained in his mind about becoming a privateer vanished. This was where Sada Kurau, her crew, and he were needed most, he felt sure of it. He picked up the pencil and swiftly added both his name, and that of Sada Kurau, to the list.

“Then it is good I am here, yes?” He quipped, grinning.

Kerr chuckled and spun the folder around. “I like that confidence, but you better make sure you can back it up with action. It’d be fucking embarrassing otherwise,” he said. Then, his face scrunched up in confusion as he saw the pictographs Sjan-dehk had written. “What’s this? Some Kimoonese script or something?”

Once again, Sjan-dehk found himself wondering what the Kimoonese were like, if he could be mistaken as one of them so many times. “No, it is not. I am not…That. I am Jafin. Viserjantan.”

“Right,” Kerr said, dragging out the word. “I’ve no idea where that is, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. As long as we can tell which names are yours and your ships, it’s good enough, and those pictures you drew sure are distinct, I’d say.” As with earlier, he handled the folder with great care as he brought it down onto the desk, placing it in the only corner that was relatively clear of mess.

“So, that is all?” Sjan-dehk asked.

“Almost,” Kerr replied as shuffled over to the cabinets behind him. “There's some stuff I need to give you.”

Sjan-dehk nodded and leaned against the counter as he waited. The only sounds which filled the building were the scraping of wood against wood as Kerr opened drawer after drawer, and the colour expressions he used when he failed to find whatever it was he sought. Soon, however, Sjan-dehk decided to seize this opportunity to ask him a question that had been weighing on his mind all this while. “Just now, I heard that you have some ships that are not allowed to sail,” he started. “Why is that?”

Kerr shook his head. “Trust me when I say that if I knew, I’d tell you. Bloody fuck, I’d tell Evie just so she’d stop moaning about it every damn time she sees me.” He squatted, opened a small cabinet, and then shut it just as quickly before moving on to the one directly beside it. “I just relay whatever the higher-ups tell me to tell privateers, and all they told me was that we had to keep our experienced crews in harbour as much as possible. Bloody hoity-toity cunts always throwing us the tough jobs. I’d love to see them keep a bunch of veteran sailors happy with that sort of news.”

Sjan-dehk furrowed his brow. That was almost the exact same as what Evie had said. “Then do you have any…Any guesses?” He pressed.

Kerr shrugged and pulled out a small, palm-sized book from a box. “Some rich and important bastards felt nervous hearing about all these pirate sightings, I guess, and they want to make sure that they’ll have our very best escorting their ships at a moment’s notice.” With a grunt, he stood up and grabbed what seemed to be a rolled sheet from the top of a cabinet. “They’re the only ones I can think of who can bribe– I mean, convince my higher-ups to push out such a fucking stupid order. I’d give it a week, maybe two, before they pull their heads from their arses and lift the restrictions.”

He returned to the counter with a few items in hand. There was the book from earlier, and the roll of cloth, as well as a yellowed, folded sheet of paper. “But you don’t have to worry about any of that. The only ones confined to harbour are our veterans, and you’re not one of them yet.” He placed the items on the counter, one on top of the other with the roll of cloth at the bottom. “Anyway, here’s everything you need.”

He held up the book. “This is the Caesonian Privateer’s Code of Conduct. It’ll tell you what you should do when you take prisoners, when and how you should engage targets. You can read it on your own time, but it's honestly worth less than the paper it’s printed on. Everything in there’s written by someone who’s quite obviously an idiot who’s never spent a day of their lives at sea. I’d personally use it as kindling.” He placed the book on the counter. “But I’ve a legal obligation to give it to you, so here it is.”

Sjan-dehk resisted the urge to laugh, and tried to keep his face as straight as possible. This was certainly a departure from how things were done in the Commonwealth. He wasn’t quite sure which style was more to his liking just yet, however. “And this is…” He prodded the cloth with a finger. Its once-vibrant green had faded to a pale shade of olive from age, and wisps of dust clung to its rough threads. “This is the flag?”

Kerr grinned. “You catch on quick,” he said with a nod. “That’s the Caesonian Privateering Jack. The letter of the law’s pretty clear on this. You should fly it before getting into a fight, otherwise your enemy could get you in trouble by accusing you of piracy.” He lowered his voice before continuing. “But don’t worry about it if you can’t. I’m sure you’ll have situations where you either can’t fly the Jack, or you’d rather not because of some reason or other. Just do your job, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. He could understand that. “And this?” he asked and picked up the sheet of paper.

“Oh, that’s a map of Caesonian territorial waters,” Kerr explained. “It’s maybe four or five years out of date, but our borders haven’t moved in fucking ages so it should still hold up. It’ll at least let you know whether you’re straying into Varian or Alidashti waters.” He took a step back and looked at everything, lips moving in a quiet mutter for a moment. Then, he nodded to nobody in particular. “Looks like that’s it. You’re all set, Captain. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk said, picking up the items and tucking them under his arm with his documents. “Anything for me to do?” Kerr started to point towards the noticeboard, but Sjan-dehk cut him off before he could get a word out. “I mean, is there work no one takes?”

Kerr regarded him with a strange look for a moment. “You’re a strange one,” he said with a chuckle before sifting through some of the papers on his desk. “Most people avoid jobs that others avoid, but if you’re set on taking an undesirable job, I’ve got one right here.” He picked up a poster and scanned through it before holding it out to Sjan-dehk. “Someone came in two days ago with word of pirates picking their way around the Felipina coast after sunset, just two to three hours south of Sorian.”

“I just need to see what they are doing, yes?” Sjan-dehk asked and took the poster. Kerr didn’t let go.

“Yes, and no,” he said, a serious look on his face. “I sent a privateer out to have a look that very same day we got the report, and we’ve heard nothing from him since. No one’s seen his ship, either. Whatever’s out there is probably dangerous, and that’s why nobody’s taking this job. I’m not too keen on feeding whatever bastard of a pirate that’s out there any new blood, either. But if you’re certain you can handle this job, then you go ahead. I have to hear it clearly, however. Now that you know the risks, are you certain you want to take this job?”

Sjan-dehk grinned. Kerr didn’t return it, and instead tightened his hold on the poster. “Yes, Sada Kurau can do it. It will be no problem.” Kerr didn’t look convinced, and so Sjan-dehk went on. “She, her crew, and me, we fight many, many pirates before, and in battles with many, many ships. This is not something we never do before. Do not worry.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the first to tell me that,” Kerr said darkly, but nevertheless let go of the poster. “Truth be told, I can’t actually stop you if you want to take the job. My higher-ups would have my fucking head if I ever got found out.” He sat back down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t do anything too stupid out there, alright? Just go, have a look, and come back. I don’t care if all you get is a bearing on where they’re going, or just a description of the ship. If you don’t have to fight, don’t fight. If you have to, well, then I trust that you’ll be smart about it. Run if you have to. Nobody will say a thing about it.”

“There is no need to worry,” Sjan-dehk said, this time in a firm tone and with a serious look on his face. He had a rather good guess as to why Kerr had said all that. The man had likely lost so many new privateers under similar circumstances that he now wanted to err on the side of caution. Sjan-dehk could understand that. But Sada Kurau wasn’t just any ship, and her crew were far from inexperienced sailors. He had every confidence that they would make short work of these pirates, whatever they may turn out to be.

“What they do, I will find out for you,” Sjan-dehk said. “And your missing privateer, I will find out what I can about them.”

Kerr sighed. “Wish I could share your confidence, Captain,” he said. He turned his head to look at a clock hanging next to one of the noticeboards. “Well, fuck me. There goes my noon break,” he grumbled. Then, he looked back at Sjan-dehk. “Time for me to get back to work, I guess. Good luck out there tonight, and I hope to see you with news of success.”

Sjan-dehk grinned. “Do not worry. You will.”

With that, he quickly left the office. He stopped briefly at the veranda to bid Aislin and the three privateers farewell before continuing on to Sada Kurau’s berth. He strode through the streets with purpose, and with head held high. It was time for him, his crew, and Sada Kurau to do what they did best.

---

A stranger stood on the pier.

Dressed in markedly non-Caesonian clothes, they paced about in circles right by Sada Kurau’s gangplank, wringing their hands and throwing surreptitious glances at the ship every now and then. Sjan-dehk wasn’t quite sure what to make of them as he approached. And judging by the confused faces peering over and down the ship’s gunwale, neither did his crew. It was a peculiar sight to see upon his return to Sada Kurau after spending the better part of the morning away from her, but Sjan-dehk couldn’t say he was concerned by it. If anything, he was amused.

Because for one, the very fact that he could leisurely stroll up to the stranger, until he was close enough to hear their mumbled ramblings, and without being noticed, was proof enough that this person was no threat whatsoever. If they were a spy or some other clandestine agent, then they were a lousy one.

And for two, the stranger’s attire – while not Jafin – was certainly Viserjantan in nature. Sjan-dehk knew of only two places in all of Sorian where one might find Viserjantans, and since this stranger was very clearly not a member of Sada Kurau’s crew, they had to be from Sudah. Although Sjan-dehk didn’t get along with Kaizahn, Sudah’s Captain, it was purely a professional rivalry. He doubted that the man would do anything malicious towards him or his Sada Kurau.

SJan-dehk cleared his throat loudly. “Good afternoon,” he called out, a mischievous grin on his face and a curious glint in his eyes. “Want to tell me what you’re doing in front of my crew and my ship?”

The stranger yelped and visibly flinched, spinning around so quickly to face Sjan-dehk that he thought for a moment that they would fling themselves into the lapping waves. “C-Captain!” They squeaked. Flushing from the embarrassment, they quickly composed themselves, straightening out their skirts and tunics, and clearing their throat. “I-I was sent–” They tripped over their words almost as soon as they began speaking, and the reddish hue of their cheeks deepened.

“From Sudah, I know,” Sjan-dehk completed for them.

Now that Sjan-dehk took a closer look at the stranger, he realised that they were, in fact, a…Well, his first thought was ‘man’, but really, this youth looked far too young to be called that. Mousey and with all the airs of an academic rather than a sailor, Sjan-dehk couldn’t imagine the boy to be older than twenty. With long hair tied into a tail that sat high on his head, high cheekbones, and upturned eyes, Sjan-dehk would have almost certainly mistaken the boy for a woman had they simply passed each other on the street.

The boy’s complexion was that of freshly-baked terracotta, a marker of someone hailing from the southern reaches of the Commonwealth. In fact, based solely on his clothes, Sjan-dehk could even name the exact province he likely came from. The round-collared tunic, worn tight around the body and secured just below the collarbone, and the thigh-length skirt which flowed from it like tassets, were the trademarks of only one specific province.

“So, what brings a Sedarahan to a Jafin ship?” Sjan-dehk asked, his grin still plastered across his face. He was serious about the question, however. The province of Sedaran was known for two things: religion and magic. And while a sermon was the very last thing he would ever need or want, the idea that Sudah would send an arcanist ashore to meet him, after he had specifically written to them about Caesonia’s unfriendly attitude towards magic, felt almost insulting.

“We’re all devout children of the Mother of the Waves here,” Sjan-dehk continued, his tone teasing. “So if you’re here to preach, I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“Oh, no! That’s wrong,” the boy replied. Sjan-dehk raised a brow, and the boy’s eyes immediately widened in realisation, and a bit of fear. “N-No, I did not– I didn’t mean–” He planted his gaze at his feet, and wrung his hands so hard that Sjan-dehk wondered if he was trying to snap his own fingers. “I-I find you Jafins– I mean, I find Jafin beliefs fascinating, actually, and I-I don’t actually know how– Well, I do, but it’s only what I’ve heard from the priests when I-I was very–”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Sjan-dehk said and chuckled. “Relax. I’m just joking. Why don’t we start over, and you can give me your name, and tell me why you’re here?”

The boy hesitated, then jerked his head in a clumsy nod. “I-I’m Aijah Yasawen of Sedaran. I am– I mean, I was one of Sudah’s apprentice healers.” He fished out a crumpled, folded note from a pocket. Holding it in both hands, he bowed slightly as he extended it to Sjan-dehk. “I came here to pass on Captain Kaizahn’s reply to your letter. The one from earlier.”

Sjan-dehk took the note. “Like I said, relax,” he said. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. Too tiring.” Then, he carefully unfolded the sheet of paper and scanned through it.

To the Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi, and Captain of Sada Kurau,
Wasun Sjan-dehk,

I write to you regarding the concerns you have raised in your last missive. Those of us aboard Sudah share them as well. You are right in assuming that our finances will be in dire straits if we are to stay in this city for a period any longer than two months. I would also rather not enforce austerity measures when we are so far from home, and the men are liable to homesickness.

As such, I, on behalf of the Expedition Council, applaud you taking the initiative to shoulder some of our financial burdens. You are therefore approved to engage in privateering activities on behalf of the Caesonian Kingdom, provided that you abide by the following rules and restrictions:

1. Under no circumstances are you to engage in any acts of war against another sovereign state whilst flying Caesonian colours.

2. You are to take no actions that would negatively impact the well-being of the expedition and its constituent members, both people and material.

Sjan-dehk barely repressed a laugh. He didn’t recall asking for permission to do anything. Rather, he had simply informed Kaizahn and the relevant people aboard Sudah of a decision he had already made.

Well, he supposed it was good that they approved of his plan. Having to explain himself – of everything he had done this afternoon – would have been a hassle.

As your ship will likely enter combat, we have taken the liberty of reassigning some of Sudah’s crew to aid you in your venture. The first will be the messenger possessing this letter. He is Aijah Yasawen, one of our junior healer apprentices. We believe that you will make good use of his abilities. There will be more sent to Sada Kurau once we finalise our duty rosters, so I suggest that you start making the necessary arrangements to add more crew to your vessel.

In addition,

In light of your report about local attitudes towards magic, the following guidelines must be adhered to for any arcanist or otherwise magic-user going ashore:

1. Under no circumstances are they to display any magical abilities

2. They are to be escorted by at least one non-arcane crewmember at any given time

3. Should they be arrested by local authorities, a report should be made to Sudah immediately regardless of the time of day. You, as Captain, are to also begin negotiations for their release as soon as possible

That will be all for now. Any new updates to the rules and regulations that have been outlined in this missive shall come in the form of official standing orders.

Good luck,
Sehseh Kaizahn
Captain of Sudah

Sjan-dehk looked up from the note and at Yasawen. “So, you’re a healer, are you?”

Yasawen nodded. “Yes, but only a junior one,” he said, then quickly added, “B-But I studied at Sakaka! At the Institute of Arcanology. I-I specialised in both healing and geomancy, and although I’m definitely not as good as Mistress Sehja, I’ve been told that I-I’m quite talented and–”

“Like I keep saying, calm down. I believe you,” Sjan-dehk said and held out his hand. The Sakaka Institute of Arcanology, a school – well, more of a university – located in the capital of the province of Sedaran, was said to produce some of the best arcanists available to the Commonwealth. Then again, every school of the arcane made the exact same claim. But then again, again, Sedaran had always been known for the natural ability of the arcanists born in their lands, and only the best out of those would even get to smell the air of the Sakaka Institute of Arcanology.

In other words, Yasawen was likely plenty more skilled than he appeared.

“Healing and geomancy, huh?” Sjan-dehk said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Can’t say I’ve met many arcanists with that unique mix of skills. Though I’m not too sure you’ll be using much geomancy serving on a warship.” He grinned. “We don’t really like sailing into land, you see. Doesn’t do Sada Kurau’s hull much good, and would probably get us in a shitheap of trouble.”

“Oh!” Yasawen chirped. For the first time since Sjan-dehk met him, he looked eager. “If that happens, I can just move the earth to get us free.” His face fell slightly. “I-I never tried it, though. It’s all theory so far, but if I know the depth of the water, and know how far away earth is, I-I can move it.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled. He walked past the boy and stepped onto the gangway before turning around to look at him. “That’s good to know, but if we ever run aground, I’d probably ask you to just fucking bury me. Iyen would never, ever let me hear the end of it.” He tilted his head towards Sada Kurau. “Anyway, looks like you're one of us, now. Get yourself aboard, and go find Master Avek. He’ll get you sorted out and show you where you can berth yourself.”

Yasawen scrambled to follow behind Sjan-dehk. “W-Wait! Who’s Avek? Where do I go?”

“Consider that your first task as part of Sada Kurau’s crew,” Sjan-dehk replied over his shoulder. “Figure it out on your own. Explore around. Get yourself acquainted with Sada Kurau." He paused as his feet returned to the familiar planking of his ship's deck. "I mean, I could show you around, but there's no fun in that. Besides, she's a special ship. She'll want you to get to know her on her own terms."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Mid-morning
Location: The Range
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face
Lamellar armour: Cuirass, tassets, armguards

---

Keeping a warship up and running, as Sjan-dehk was quickly finding out, wasn’t exactly cheap.

That said, however, he did have some inkling of his Sada Kurau’s running costs. As her dutiful Captain, he made it a point to keep track of everything she used – in battle or otherwise – lost, or needed replacement, repairs, or restocking. He knew, for example, that since leaving Viserjanta for Caesonia, Sada Kurau had expended fifty-eight shells of various types. Two-and-a-half rolls of sailcloth had been used to maintain her sails. Roughly a mile of rope, to replace rigging that frayed from wear-and-tear.

And that was just what the ship herself had used. Her crew had consumed almost three tons of provisions of various sorts, and those would have to be replaced sooner rather than later. Similarly, the rifle and pistol cartridges that had been fired – five hundred-and-sixty-eight in total – would also need to be replaced in as short order as possible.

So, yes, Sjan-dehk had known about what it took to keep Sada Kurau operational. What he hadn’t known, and what he was now discovering, was the amount of money needed to purchase all those things.

An annoyed huff blew from Sjan-dehk’s nose. The fingers of one hand drummed an erratic beat against a gnarled, wooden tabletop. In the other, he held a brush with such force that it started to bend. Beneath the cooling shade of his hat, his eyes scanned the numbers and notes scrawled across the crumpled sheet of paper before him. With each row he looked over, his brow pushed closer and closer to each other, and his expression grew darker and darker, as if the paper that was somehow at fault for showing him calculations that were less than satisfactory.

He sighed and dipped the brush into an inkwell. “You’re a demanding lady, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath as he scribbled another line, adding another item to the list; five barrels of gunpowder to replace the roughly six tons that had been used up.

Sjan-dehk clicked his tongue. None of this would be such a headache had he been in the Commonwealth; replenishment there was a simple matter of listing down everything Sada Kurau needed, bringing that list to the local Naval supply depot, and then waiting until the requested items were loaded into her holds. The monetary cost would be a problem for the Commonwealth Navy to handle, not Sjan-dehk.

But here in Caesonia, there was no such luxury. Sjan-dehk chewed on his lip. The final amount he arrived at for Sada Kurau’s approximate expenses didn’t look wrong, but neither did it look appealing. It was much larger than he would have liked, and he couldn’t see a way to make it any smaller without giving up things which he felt were utterly essential to keeping Sada Kurau fighting fit. Sjan-dehk wondered if this was why the Navy had entire offices dedicated to managing its finances.

“I don’t like this.” Kai-dahn’s dour voice came suddenly, and as a distraction Sjan-dehk welcomed.

He looked up at Sada Kurau’s Commander-of-Seaborne. “Neither do I, Commander,” Sjan-dehk said and tapped a finger on the paper. “But shit work’s still work, and someone has to do it.”

Grass crunched beneath sturdy, lightweight boots as Kai-dahn approached the table. Tall and well-built, he stood with his back ramrod-straight and hands folded neatly behind his back in front of Sjan-dehk. Despite the heat of the ascending sun, Kai-dahn looked immaculate in his uniform, with barely a crease of either of his tunics out-of-place, and his leather equipment sitting flush enough against his body to look tidy, but not so much that it wrinkled his clothes. His helmet – a conical hat made of hardened leather and steel – hung from his waist belt.

“My apologies, Captain,” Kai-dahn said with a bow of his head. “I should have made myself clear. I wasn’t talking about Sada Kurau’s expenses.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. When he turned back to Sjan-dehk, his lips were turned downwards in a severe frown. “I’m talking about what’s going on there.”

Sjan-dehk leaned to one side to look around Kai-dahn, the rickety folding chair beneath him creaking with his shifting weight. At a glance, Sjan-dehk saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sada Kurau’s crew were where Sjan-dehk had left them, gathered at the firing line. Granted, most of them were in some state of undress, with a handful having undone their sashes and opened their tunics to their waists, and most had taken off their webbing and helmets, leaving them stacked in neat piles on the grass.

But that wasn’t anything Sjan-dehk thought to be alarming. If anything, he was pleased to see that, despite having been given leave to rest, none of the crew had left their rifles unattended. They had their weapons either cradled in their arms, or slung behind their shoulders.

“You’re against them resting?” Sjan-dehk asked, looking at Kai-dahn with a raised brow.

The Commander frowned. “Captain, they’re fraternising,” he said pointedly. “That’s strictly prohibited under section twenty-eight of the Commonwealth Naval Book of Laws.” His face darkened, his usually impassive features cracking ever-so-slightly to reveal some modicum of displeasure. “I also caught some of the men exchanging arms with local troops.” By the tone he used with that last sentence, one could be forgiven for thinking that to be one of the gravest transgressions possible.

Sjan-dehk furrowed his brow. For a moment, he was confused; just who was Kai-dahn talking about? But, he soon remembered the dozen-or-so Caesonian soldiers who had arrived at the range not too long after Sjan-dehk had finished addressing his crew. He hadn’t paid them much attention – the Caesonians mostly kept to themselves and went about their business on their side of the range – but now as he examined the crowd once more, he did notice the neatly uniformed Caesonians mingling with the less-than-presentable crew of Sada Kurau. They communicated mostly with exaggerated gestures and stilted conversations, but that didn’t seem to get in the way of them getting along amicably, as far as Sjan-dehk could see.

Coincidentally, he also saw them swapping firearms, as Kai-dahn had mentioned.

Right away, Stratya’s words from the previous night surfaced in Sjan-dehk’s mind. From what little he had seen of the Caesonian’s shooting this morning, it was clear she had been telling the truth. Muzzle-loading and smoothbore, the muskets used by the Caesonians were wholly inferior to the rifles arming Sjan-dehk’s crew. In the time it took the former to load and fire a single shot, the latter would have already fired off five, or even six, if the shooter was skilled enough. And at a range of a hundred paces, each of those five or six bullets could be guaranteed to strike a target the size of an average person. A Caesonian musket couldn’t match even a third of that accuracy at half the distance.

With all that in mind, Sjan-dehk could see why Kai-dahn was concerned. Allowing the Caesonians to study and possibly replicate Viserjantan rifles would be, at the very least, irresponsible. At worst, it could be akin to surrendering a powerful battlefield advantage for no reason whatsoever. However, as much as he could understand Kai-dahn’s perspective, Sjan-dehk couldn’t say that he agreed with him.

“Fraternising only applies if they’re with the enemy, if I’m not mistaken,” Sjan-dehk started, bringing up his elbows to rest on the table, and supporting his chin with the backs of his hands. “Unless something terrible happened in the time it took me to put this abyss-forsaken list together, we’re not going to make enemies of the Caesonians. And as for the rifles…” He trailed off and nodded towards the crowd. “I don’t think they can understand each other enough to tell each other anything important. And besides, Mursi is there with them. He made the damn things, he’ll know what should or shouldn’t be shared and act accordingly.”

Kai-dahn didn’t look entirely convinced, but nevertheless, he nodded. “As you say, Captain.”

“We’ll have them back in action soon enough, anyway,” Sjan-dehk said, picking up the brush and twirling it around his fingers as he reluctantly returned his attention to Sada Kurau’s expenses. Kai-dahn remained standing, still as a statue, and eyes gazing dispassionately at his Captain. Sjan-dehk glanced at him from under the brim of his hat. An exasperated sigh left his lips, and he gave the empty chair beside him a hard nudge with the tip of his boot. “Might as well come help me with these fucking numbers, if you’re just going to stand around.”

Kai-dahn immediately marched himself around the table, coming to a stop directly behind Sjan-dehk’s right shoulder. The Captain shook his head. He didn’t doubt that had he said nothing, Kai-dahn would have just stood in front of the table until it was time for him to return to the firing line. “Sit down,” Sjan-dehk ordered and jerked a thumb towards the empty chair. “I need you to tell me how many cartridges we’re expected to use by the end of practice.”

“As you say, Captain.” Kai-dahn nodded, pulled the chair out, and sat down. Even with an action so simple and mundane, the Commander managed to make it seem like a military drill with the deliberateness and sharpness of his movements. He took a moment to straighten out invisible creases on his uniform before turning his body to look at Sjan-dehk’s list. “The men don’t seem to have much trouble with the new rifles, other than reloading the reloading drill, but that will come with use and practice.”

“They can’t reload properly?” Sjan-dehk’s brow creased. “Sounds like trouble to me.”

Kai-dahn shook his head. “Apologies, Captain. It’s nothing as major as that. They simply fall back on their old drills under stress. There’s no need for concern, Captain. I can assure you that all of them would be as capable on these new rifles as they were on the old ones by noon.” A pensive look came over his face and he looked at the firing line. “With your permission, Captain, I will have the men carry out a second round of familiarisation shooting before we move onto snap shooting and battle drills and commands. That should iron out most of the problems the men have with reloading.” He paused. Sjan-dehk turned his head to look at him, prompting him to continue. Kai-dahn cleared his throat. “That will be another twenty-four cartridges on top of the two hundred-and-fifty I’ve set aside for today, Captain.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Sjan-dehk muttered and made the necessary amendments to his list. He sat back, holding it in his hands as he scanned through the rows of items and numbers. Then, with a grumble, he dropped it onto the table and made another change. “Better get another eighth-ton of powder to be on the safe side.” As he scribbled, he waved a hand towards Kai-dahn. “Do whatever you think is best for the crew, Commander.”

“As you say, Captain,” Kai-dahn replied. He glanced over the list, and frowned. “Captain, that’s not a list of our expenses for the day, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No, you are not,” Sjan-dehk muttered. “It’s for everything since we left the Commonwealth.”

Kai-dahn didn’t say anything immediately. For a few moments, the only sounds that reached either man’s ears were the vague chatter of soldiers, the quiet rustling of grass in the breeze, and soft birdsong coming from the trees just behind the range. “If I may ask,” the Commander began, clearing his throat. “Is there a reason you are doing this?”

“Better to get it over and done with, than to leave it and let it become a nasty surprise.”

“I understand that, Captain,” Kai-dahn said with a nod. “But we don’t have to calculate the exact costs, do we? I was under the impression that Sudah has people for this sort of work.”

“No, we don’t,” Sjan-dehk admitted, but continued scribbling nonetheless. He tapped the end of the brush on the table as he formulated an explanation. Even so, when he eventually spoke, his words didn’t sound as convincing as he had hoped. “But it’s better for us to know how much we’re spending. Especially when we’ll be stuck in this city for however long it’ll take for Lady Adiyan to become well enough for us to move.”

Kai-dahn grimaced. “That shouldn’t take more than a week. Master Sahm-tehn returned to duty in half that time after he lost his arm.”

“Master Sahm-tehn is a sailor like you and me,” Sjan-dehk replied drily. “And he’s likely made of the same wood as Sada Kurau. You can’t compare Lady Adiyan to him.” He drew in a deep breath, releasing it as a long, resigned sigh. “We should be prepared to stay here for at least a month. Maybe two. Either way, we’ll be here for much longer than planned, so we’ve to be ready for when Sudah can no longer sustain both us and herself with her supplies. Best we start finding ways to be at least somewhat independent.”

“But as you said, Captain, we still have a few weeks before supplies will become an issue.” Confusion was clearly written across Kai-dahn’s visage. “While I understand the need to be prepared, surely it would be a lot easier to come to a decision when we’re closer to that stage, and after we have exhausted all austerity measures as outlined in section thirty-one of the Commonwealth Naval Book of Laws? It would be wise to first consult with Sudah as well, to know their supply situation before coming up with our own plans.”

Sjan-dehk waved off Kai-dahn’s last sentence, but his own response died on his tongue. The Commander did have a point. Naval regulations provided Sjan-dehk with a list of possible actions to take when the risk of a supply shortage became a distinct possibility. He could, for example, enforce rationing to stretch what provisions they had left for as long a time as was physically safe. He could also keep Sada Kurau moored at harbour to reduce damages from sailing. Those were just two of the suggestions Sjan-dehk recalled out of a list that spanned pages. He felt almost certain that, if he cared to look through the Book of Laws, there would be at least a handful of suitable actions he could take.

Alternatively, he could – as Kai-dahn suggested – check with Sudah to see if he even needed to take such measures.

But, despite the doubt growing in him as he looked at the paper, Sjan-dehk said, “The Book of Laws was written with the assumption that we’d be in Commonwealth waters and not elsewhere. Its suggestions only account for things like food or water, and not money.” He paused, his eyes still glued to the list, seeing the words and numbers, but not reading them. “It assumes that we would only have to hold out as long as we need to either reach a harbour, or be resupplied by another ship. Money’s not an issue, there. But here, it is. We’ve to pay for everything we use, and while rationing and keeping Sada Kurau docked can avoid that issue for a while, it’s still an eventuality. I don’t want us to have a lack of local currency if and when we’ve to start relying on ourselves to keep Sada Kurau supplied.”

The more Sjan-dehk spoke, the less he felt like he was convincing Kai-dahn. If anything, his words felt like they were meant for himself. He shook his head slightly and continued. “I’ll send word to Sudah about our intentions, though. Let them know what we’re going to do.”

“And what are our intentions, Captain?” Kai-dahn asked.

Sjan-dehk’s answer came quickly. A little too quickly, surprising even himself. “Could try privateering.”

More surprising, however, was how easily Kai-dahn agreed to the idea. “A bit of action every now and then would keep the crew in practice, yes,” he said with a nod, his usually flat voice carrying the barest hints of excitement and approval.

A strange mix of uncertainty and hesitation stormed in Sjan-dehk’s heart, and he knew that it was certainly showing on his face. Had he hoped that Kai-dahn would be opposed to the idea? That someone would tell him that he was being rash with his plans? But that wasn’t the case, was it? This wasn’t something that he thought up on a whim; many considerations had gone into his decision to give privateering a go. It wasn’t as if there was much else a warship could do to earn her keep, and Sada Kurau wasn’t the sort of vessel which could be anything other than a warship.

And yet, Sjan-dehk couldn’t say anything until Kai-dahn called for him. “Captain?” The Commander asked with some concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied even as he admonished himself. What was he, Sada Kurau’s Captain, doing? He couldn’t afford to be so indecisive. His crew would follow him no matter what choice he made, there wasn’t any question about that. And so he had to choose, and he had to be resolute about it. “Think they’ve had enough rest,” he said and nodded towards the firing line. “Let’s not waste any time. Get the crew back on the line and get them shooting. And get me the runner. Need him to send a message to Sudah.”

Kai-dahn got to his feet and saluted. “As you say, Captain,” he said with a nod. With that, he marched over to the disorganised crowd, barking orders along the way.

Sjan-dehk looked around the table and grabbed the first blank sheet of paper he could see. It didn’t seem as if anything important was written on the other side, and so he started writing his message for Sudah’s Captain and Lady Adiyan. With each painted stroke and each completed logograph, the doubts that had been in his mind faded. It was as if by writing this message, he was setting his decision into stone. It was no longer something to be questioned, but something to be acted upon.

And if there was one thing Sjan-dehk was good at doing, it was taking action.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Riona / Sjan-dehk / Dai-sehk the Surgeon

Flashback: The Previous Night

---

Flickering shadows danced on the cluttered desk. The pungent smell of dried herbs and steeping infusions filled the cramped and stuffy cabin. An oil lantern squeaked as it swung from an steel hook punched into the wall by the door.

Hunched over the desk, Dai-sehk did his best to ignore the rolling floor as he picked up a dried leaf with a pair of forceps. With great caution, he dropped it into a small vial of water. Almost immediately, wispy trails of green wafted from the leaf. Dai-sehk paid it no further attention – he would run further tests of the newly brewed mixture once it had time to rest – and instead focused on the other leaves and herbs arranged in neat rows on the pages of an open book. Its pages were covered in illustrations and sketches of various plants found throughout the Commonwealth and its closest neighbours. Dai-sehk’s own handwritten notes decorated the margins and between paragraphs.

One-by-one, he compared the appearance of each herb and leaf to what was in his book. And with each, his lips pressed tighter and tighter together until his mouth was a mere crack cutting across his face. None of what he had bought matched either illustration or description. Not enough for him to be able to ascertain their use and purpose with confidence, at least. He had plenty of experiments to look forward to, it would seem. Normally, he wouldn’t mind – it might even bring him some modicum of joy – but he needed to find a reliable way to replace his supply of medicine. And the sooner he could do that, the better.

He slid his glasses up his nose. With a muted grumble, he picked up another leaf with his forceps.

The rap of knuckles against his door interrupted him. “Dai-sehk? You in there?” It was the Captain’s voice.

Dai-sehk huffed, carefully placed the leaf back onto the book, and shut it. He placed the heavy tome on a pile of yet more of his day’s bounty from Sorian’s markets. Only then did he call out a response. “Yes, I am here, Captain. The door is unlocked.”

The door creaked open and the Captain stepped into the cabin. Dai-sehk didn’t bother to stand, nor did he salute. He had served with Sjan-dehk long enough to know that Sada Kurau’s Captain didn’t like standing on ceremony. If anything, the man actively avoided it. Dai-sehk did, however, offer him a nod as a show of respect. It was the least he could do for the person who had once snatched him from death’s door. Behind the Captain came a young woman. A local Caesonian, Dai-sehk guessed from her curled tresses, tanned skin, and generally non-Viserjantan appearance. He glanced at her, then at the Captain. “Who is she?”

Riona couldn’t stop her eyes from darting about the doctor’s cabin. Everything was new, from the creak of wood to the sway of the floor beneath her feet. The unfamiliar motion sent a thrill through her stomach.

“She is…” Sjan-dehk began. He furrowed his brow as he thought about how to introduce her. “Rehn-ah is probably the closest we’ll get to her name. Anyway, she has wounds I want you to look at.” He ushered the woman into the cabin, which was quickly becoming even more cramped. “Been lashed recently, from what I understand, and she hasn’t seen an actual doctor yet. I would’ve gone to Rasehndah or Sazarin, but they looked like they were busy with many things.”

Dai-sehk nodded slowly. “Yes. I told them to study and practice.” He looked at Riona and Sjan-dehk in turn with scrying eyes. The Captain had clearly just stepped back aboard not long ago – he was still dressed in armour, and his weapons still hung from his belts. Wherever he had come from, it couldn’t be too friendly a place. The woman – Riona – however, was dressed simply in a dress. It was unlikely the Captain met her anywhere near a fight, as his attire would suggest.

With a mental shrug, Dai-sehk decided not to dwell on the matter any longer. There was no point. It wasn’t his place to decide who could come aboard Sada Kurau and who couldn’t. All he needed to know was that the Captain had personally asked for his help, and Dai-sehk wasn’t about to decline. Dai-sehk reached for a stool and dragged it over. Then, he twisted around and reached under his desk to pull out a leather bag, the very same one he had taken with him on his trip around Sorian that very same day. “Well, have her sit and lift up her shirt. There should be something around for her to cover her chest if she wants to.”

Sjan-dehk looked around a few times. Then, he grabbed a used tunic hanging from a hook punched into a nearby wall. Dai-sehk saw him do it, but didn’t voice any complaint. And so, the Captain turned to Riona, handing her the shirt and stepping aside to let her pass. He pressed himself almost flush against the hull of Sada Kurau. “There, you sit,” he said, pointing to the stool. “Face away from Dai-sehk. Then you show your back and if you need, use this–” he tilted his chin towards the tunic “–to cover your front.”

Sjan-dehk and the doctor’s conversation washed over her in alien syllables, but her nose twitched at familiar scents. The sharp bite of silvermist—good stuff for lowering fevers—mingled with moonbloom’s sweetness. Strange, moonbloom petals were normally used for soaps, not medicine. And was that—yep, bloodroot. Poison, but useful if you knew how.

“There.” Sjan-dehk’s voice drew her attention, and she turned to see the offered shirt. With a nod, she accepted it. “So, uh, I’m not sure what you told him, but a simple check-up is fine. It’s been…” she trailed off, fatigue suddenly leaden in her bones, “a rough couple of days.”

Sjan-dehk blinked once, as if not fully understanding what she was saying. “But you are still injured, that is correct? Better to be safe than sorry, like your people say, yes?”

True. Riona began to remove the layers of her clothing, carefully folding each piece and stacking them on the nearest table. “I used some home remedies on myself, so my injuries shouldn’t be too bad.” With a final tug, Riona pulled her cotton dress over her head, leaving in her undergarments. “I got into a scrap yesterday. Nasty one. Took a knock to the head, nearly got my windpipe crushed, and the guy dosed me… something. I want to make sure there’s no permanent damage.”

As she bent to deal with her shoes, the light caught the myriad of scars that criss crossed her exposed skin. Each mark told a story, some faded with time, others looked more recent. But one... one old silvery line demanded attention like a shout in a silent room.

When Riona turned around, a matching scar on her abdomen completed the horrifying picture: they were the entry and exit wounds from a blade that should’ve been fatal.

The wounds, distinct and almost crying for attention with their pale glows, immediately captured Dai-sehk’s attention. Whatever blade that had pierced her had to have been well-sharpened, and used by someone who knew what they were about, judging by how clean the scars were. Riona was either a very lucky, or a very unlucky woman to have suffered and survived such an injury. On the one hand, she had been inches away from death. But on the other, that she had kept her life by such a close margin meant that she had to be possessed of no small amount of fortune. That, or she had caught the fancy of a Deity, Spirit, or some other supernatural force of some kind.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat. “You are lucky,” he commented, surprise tinting his words.

Suspecting he was referring to the oldest scar on her body, Riona shook her head. “Not lucky.” Her fingers traced the line. Flashes of that fateful day crossed her mind, “Just a mother’s love.”

“What did she say?” Dai-sehk asked.

“She got into a fight yesterday,” Sjan-dehk replied, translating only what he knew Dai-sehk was interested in hearing. “Took a hit to her throat and her head. Sounds like she got drugged as well.” He chewed on his lip and looked in Dai-sehk’s direction. “Just make sure there’re no lasting wounds. Treat what you can, do something for what you can’t.”

Dai-sehk nodded. “As you say, Captain.”

Riona’s feet, bearing the kind of marks you get from dancing in fire some time ago, padded softly across the floorboards to the waiting chair. In the low light of the cabin, those wounds went unnoticed by either man, although Dai-sehk did note that there was something odd about the sound her feet made. But, he didn’t think too much about it. There were more pressing wounds for him to see.

Words seemed pretty useless when you couldn’t understand each other, so Riona settled for a polite smile-nod combo that she hoped were universal gestures before settling into the seat, back turned to him.

Dai-sehk leaned forward and examined the scars criss-crossing Riona’s back. And right away, he knew for a fact that she had been lashed many, many times. Fresh scars – still red and angry – cut into old, faded ones, and those rested upon scars that had long since turned into fleshy ridges on her flesh. He grimaced; there was nothing he could do about the latter two, and even the new ones were already starting to scab, a sign that they too would soon become immutable scars. Spots and lines of dark crimson marked where the scabs were tearing, and it were those areas where Dai-sehk focused his attention.

He twisted in his seat and swept his eyes over the desk, quickly finding a murky, glass jar half-filled with a green paste. “This, it sting,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice dull and devoid of any warmth. “Stay still. Do not move. Otherwise, will be difficult.” He dipped his fingers into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the paste and daubing it onto Riona’s weeping scars.

Riona flinched—not from the cool paste or the sting, but the unfamiliar contact against her skin. Breathe, she reminded herself. Just a doctor doing his job. No threat here. She fixed her gaze on the far wall, willing her muscles to unclench.

If Dai-sehk noticed her reaction, he either didn’t show it, or didn’t care. With him, it could easily be either of the two. Or both. “Do not worry about throat,” he said as he worked. “If there is injured, you would know by now. Also for drugs. You say you it happen last night? Then already one full day. Most drugs, they already affect you by now also. Just be careful. You feel normal? Is okay. You feel different? Then worry.”

Sjan-dehk let out a sigh. “Dai-sehk has own way of talking,” he said and glanced at the surgeon. The man merely responded with a shrug. Despite himself, Sjan-dehk chuckled as he shook his head. He supposed that a warship wasn’t the best place for Dai-sehk to develop his bedside manners, even if it did give him a place to polish his already exemplary skills. “But he is good surgeon.”

“Too kind, Captain,” Dai-sehk murmured.

A half-laugh escaped Riona. The doctor’s bluntness was refreshing. No sugar-coating, no bullsh*t. Just the facts, raw and unfiltered. This one, at least, wouldn’t dance around the truth or pat her hand while lying through his teeth. She met the man’s eyes, noting the sharp intelligence there, and nodded. Yeah, she could work with this.

For several moments, Dai-sehk continued his work in silence, punctuated only by the occasional grumble whenever he found a spot he had missed. Meanwhile, Sjan-dehk leaned against the door frame with arms folded across his chest. He looked over Riona, taking in the sheer number of scars on her person. It didn’t take long for him to give voice to the question that gnawed at his mind. “You have many scars,” he started a touch more awkwardly than he intended. “They are…No, what I mean is, the people, the ones you work for, they do this to you a lot? Flogging?”

Riona’s lips quirked in a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’d be giving them too much credit.” She shook her head, “No, not all of these were because of them.” Her hands absently rubbed the raised lines on her forearm. “Some are from accidents. Some happened during training. And some…” She flexed her work-worn hands, gaze catching on the ruins of her once-pristine manicure—remnants of a rare moment of vanity, “Some are… self-inflicted, in a sense. To remind myself. To…” The words “punish myself” hung unspoken in the air.

There wasn’t any need for Riona to complete her sentence. Neither Sjan-dehk nor Dai-sehk needed much thought to guess what she had meant to say. Self-flagellation and self-mutilation were common practices of certain sects which existed in the darker corners of the Commonwealth. They had flourished during the War, and had persisted for months after its conclusion. Dai-sehk never quite understood the theory behind their actions – and he had no desire to learn – but he knew enough to know that adherents of such beliefs got it into their heads that they had to punish themselves to appease some Deity or Spirit. And that once they were appeased enough, they would put an end to all pain and suffering.

It was all idiocy, as far as Dai-sehk was concerned. Of course, he was all too aware that there was nothing about Riona that indicated she was the same brand of idiot as those cultists, but it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t think of her as a silly person for doing what she had done. Words formed on his tongue, but a very sharp, very stern, and uncharacteristically severe look from the Captain made him swallow them.

Sjan-dehk breathed in deeply through his nose. “Well,” he said. “No matter where they come from, you still have wounds. They must be looked after.”

“It is done,” Dai-sehk said and slid the jar back onto his desk. He wiped his hands on his trousers, reached into the leather bag, and pulled out a white bandage, folded into a neat square. For the first time since he started treating Riona, his actions were gentle as he pressed the fabric against her wounds, making sure they were covered completely. “Scars will heal. But will leave mark. If you want to remove them, you go to Sudah. Find Sehja. She can do that better.”

“Sehja, she is healer,” Sjan-dehk explained. “Not doctor. She heals with arcane ways. Can do many, many things. Strange and interesting things.”

Riona’s eyes widened at the casual mention of arcane healing. “You shouldn’t talk about that so openly,” she cautioned. “Magic is... it’s not exactly welcomed in these parts. So, be careful.”

That was news to Sjan-dehk, and it was news he stored away with a note to pass it on to Sudah as quickly as possible. There were more than a few magic-users aboard the larger vessel. It would be troublesome if any of them were to run afoul of Caesonian authorities. And if things got to the point where Sjan-dehk had to invoke Jafi’s long-standing promise to offer all magic-users protection, it could get very, very messy.

“Thank you,” he said to Riona with a nod.

Her gaze drifted down to her scarred flesh. There was a time, not so long ago, when she’d considered erasing every mark, every reminder of her past. The thought had become particularly tempting after things with Dan had shifted, blossoming into something more than friendship. She’d wanted to be beautiful for him, unblemished.

But Dan... he’d seen past the scars, told her she was lovely just as she was. That there was no need to hide the story written on her skin. Riona’s lips quirked in a bittersweet smile at the memory.

It wasn’t just for Dan that she’d kept the scars, though. Deep down, in a place she rarely examined too closely, she didn’t believe she deserved to be free of them.

“Do you think I should erase them?” The question slipped out without thought. She looked up, meeting first the doctor’s eyes, then Sjan-dehk’s. “I... get myself hurt so that I don’t forget what was done to my home. So that I can keep…” She paused, weighing her words carefully. How much could she reveal without saying too much? “Keep the feeling I had then, alive.” The spell needed that energy to feed on, lest it withered and faded before having the chance to properly activate.

Riona’s gaze flicked between the two men, searching their faces. “What... would it mean if I let my scars fade into nothing?”

“Means they go away,” Dai-sehk replied flatly. What other answer was she expecting? With deft and skillful hands, he wrapped the bandage around Riona’s body, taking care to avoid touching or even brushing his fingers against anywhere sensitive. He finished it off with a secure knot on her back. “You want scars to go away? You can. But only ones on body. Ones in mind? Not easy to go away.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then, he shook his head slightly. He didn’t know what it was that Riona wanted to always remember, but he knew that it wasn’t his place to tell her to do anything. “What you do, it is your choice. But if you do not let yourself, you never forget.”

Riona nodded slowly, feeling a faint flush of shame creep up her neck. The question had tumbled out before she could stop it, and now she wished she could snatch the words back from the air. These people were strangers. What right did she have to burden them with something so personal, so weighty?

Objectively speaking, the doctor was right: a scar was just a scar. Lines on skin, nothing more. It was her mind that gave it power, her memories that imbued it with significance. There was no reason for these people, or anyone really, to care about what it meant to her.

Sjan-dehk noticed the flush on Riona’s cheeks. He sighed, looked at Dai-sehk, then at her. “So your home, it is no more?” He probed cautiously, and even as those words left his lips, he realised that it likely wasn’t the best question to ask. Not now, in any case. “No need to answer,” he added quickly. Clearing his throat, he continued, “What Dai-sehk mean is that your scars, the one on your body, they are not what you should worry about. They are there, they are not there, they do not affect what you remember. You want to forget, you will forget. You want to remember, you will remember. Scars only…Only form.”

“... I almost did once,” she muttered. She’d never make that mistake again. Quickly, Riona lifted her head and forced a smile, “Thank you for the offer. I’ll carry them with me… to the very end.” And beyond, she thought, if there was a beyond for someone like her.

“You can wear back your clothes now. All is done,” Dai-sehk said as he leaned over to snatch a satchel off the desk. “Do not let bandages become wet. Otherwise, infection. Take off when you wash. Replace if you need. Can use any clean cloth. If not sure, boil water. Soak cloth. Let dry.” He handed her the satchel. “For pain and itch. If need, crush, mix with water. Make paste. Apply to wound and cover again. If wound start to smell like fish, start to worry. Find doctor, or find the Captain again.”

Riona bowed her head slightly as she accepted the satchel. “Thank you, Doctor Dai-sehk,” she said. As she dressed, her mind wandered to the satchel’s contents, anticipation building at the thought of discovering unfamiliar remedies.

Back with the physician, Riona caught a glimpse of dried leaves peeking out from beneath a leather-bound book. Curiosity got the better of her, and she gently lifted the book, revealing an assortment of herbs scattered across the wooden surface.

“You–” Dai-sehk began. Despite the mess Riona had made, and what she had done with his work, he only sounded somewhat annoyed. The rest of his irate words, however, died on his tongue when he saw what Riona was doing.

Setting the book aside, she scrutinised the plants. Her hands moved swiftly, sorting them into distinct piles. Before long, three neat stacks lay before her.

Riona pointed to each in turn. “Poisonous,” she said, indicating the first pile. Her finger moved to the second. “Can make things smell and taste nice, but doesn’t do much aside from that.” Finally, she gestured to the last group. “Has medicinal benefits.”

Dai-sehk blinked. She had worked fast. Much, much faster than what he would expect from someone with no professional knowledge. He looked at the neatly organised piles. Riona had likely saved him countless hours and even days of work and trouble. And as much as he wanted to know more about her, particularly how she knew so much about herbs and poisons, his itch to get back to work was stronger.

“Thank you,” he said to her with a slight bow of his head. His eyes glanced at the pile Riona had said was composed of poisonous leaves. That was certainly very useful information. “Very helpful,” he added. Then, he promptly turned back to face his desk. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, picked up a pen, and returned to his work. “All is done, yes? Then you can go. Close the door.”

Pride glimmered in her eyes. Adjusting the satchel’s strap, Riona said, “Thank you again. Have a good night.”

Dai-sehk didn’t look up. He didn’t even say anything, and simply waved his hand.

Sjan-dehk sighed and gestured for Riona to leave. He followed behind her, quietly closing the door behind him. “Do not mind him,” he said as he led the way back up to Sada Kurau’s main deck. “Dai-sehk, he likes to work. But he is good man. Most of the time. Other times, even we feel like throwing him overboard.” He looked over his shoulder at Riona with a grin to make it clear that it was a joke.

The crisp, night air, light with ocean salt, greeted them as they emerged from Sada Kurau’s lower decks. A cooling breeze washed over the deck, rustling sails and ropes. Roosting seafowl cooed and cawed above, from where they sat on the mast tops and rigging.

“Wait,” Sjan-dehk told Riona, and quickly swept his eyes across the deck. His gaze soon rested on a pair of sailors standing by the gunwale, their rifles slung over their shoulders, hats atop their heads, and eyes fixed on the pier. “You two,” the Captain called out to them. They both let out a yelp of surprise and turned around, snapping to haphazard salutes. Sjan-dehk regarded them with a smirk. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see or hear that, but I expect better from both of you next time.”

“Y-Yes, Captain!” The shorter of the two replied.

Sjan-dehk pointed to Riona. “Our guest is going home. Go with her, make sure she’s safe, then come back as quickly–” He stopped himself, thought about it a little more, and shook his head. “Belay that. Escort her home, make sure you’re with her until she’s physically through the door, then the two of you can spend a little time in the city if you like. Just don’t do what Yehn-tai did and get into a fight, otherwise I’ll personally see to it that you’re both scrubbing latrines till your hands bleed. And make sure you’re both back before midnight, otherwise it’s Master Kai-dahn who’ll do that. Understood?”

The taller one nodded. “Understood, Captain. Thank you, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk turned his attention back to Riona. “Ahn-seh and Izayan will send you home,” he said, walking her to the gangplank as he did so. “Lead, and they follow.”

“Thanks for your help and hospitality, Captain Sjan-dehk. I’m glad I was able to finally talk to you in person.” Riona smiled at him. “My sister talked about you with such enthusiasm. I’ve been curious.” She nodded a greeting to her escorts as her fingers traced the outline of the medicinal satchel at her hip. The unexpected kindness she’d received tonight settled warm in her chest.

One foot on the gangplank, Riona paused. The night air carried the scent of salt and possibility. She turned, “Hey, crazy thought, what if we—you, me, my sister—get together sometime? Nothing fancy, just... I don’t know, grab a drink, have a meal, or something?”

Sister? Sjan-dehk couldn’t think of a reason as to why Riona would invite him to meet with her. Maybe she was someone he had met before? But he couldn’t recall meeting anyone who looked similar to Riona. Or maybe he did, and it was his memory that was once again failing him. Regardless, he couldn’t think of any reason to refuse. He was going to have to get used to Caesonian society as soon as possible, and getting to know another Caesonian would surely help with that.

“Okay,” he replied. “But we eat somewhere…Not like today, yes? This afternoon. That was strange place.”

Riona barked a laugh, “Agreed.”

With that, he stepped back from the gangplank and waved Riona off. “Will be very late soon. Can talk next time. Goodnight, and be safe.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Art thou worthy?

“So, thou hast returned’st.”

Hushed. Delicate. Silken. The womanly voice came laced within the whispers of a gentle breeze. Its words were warm against Sjan-dehk’s ears. Motherly, almost. But he paid them little heed. He barely even heard them, so entranced was he by his surroundings. Above his head, an unblemished field of azure, the brightest he had ever seen, stretched on towards infinity. Beneath him, his feet rested upon sand so fine, and so soft that it could have been powder. A vast expanse of the deepest blue laid before his eyes, its languid waves shimmering like gemstones in the light of an absent sun.

And there, so very far away, and yet so inviting with its nearness; where sea and sky met in a fleeting, yet perpetual embrace, laid the horizon. There, scintillating waters and celestial light called to him. There, vague silhouettes of ships sailed farther and farther away from him, always approaching the horizon, but never crossing that thin boundary.

“Thou desirest to join thy forebears?”

The whispering breeze returned. It was still quiet. Still soothing. And still it rose high above the roar of crashing waves to fill Sjan-dehk’s ears. Its words sounded playful. Amused, even, as if it knew something he didn’t. But that didn’t bother him. How could it? Here on this beach, he was at peace. Here, he was in harmony with both self and world. Here, he was untroubled. Unburdened. Safe. How could he be disturbed by something as trivial, and as transient as mere words?

He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. The familiar sea-air, heavy with brine and refreshing, filled his nose. Sun-baked sand warmed his feet. A smile played on his lips. Only then did he offer the whispering breeze his response, a single nod.

Except he didn’t. Not entirely.

Hesitation tripped him at the very last moment, and his nod turned into a mere jerk of his head. The corners of his lips fell. His brows furrowed. Confusion gathered like storm clouds in his mind. From them, uncertainty rained. All of this felt strange. Alien. Wrong. To join one’s ancestors and one’s Deities on the Long Voyage towards the Eternal Horizon; to wander the Everlasting Sea for all time, such a thing was the highest honour and best reward any Jafin could hope to earn after a life well-lived.

So why had he hesitated? Why was he so unsure?

A ghostly laugh danced around his head. Coy tittering brushed against his neck. Tendrils of cold unease tightened around Sjan-dehk’s heart. His mouth dried. His breaths turned short. Fear made a nest in his gut, but what was it he feared? The whispering breeze swept over his shoulders, its touch like wispy threads of silk. Sjan-dehk wanted to turn around. His mind shouted at him to do so. But his body refused to obey. More giggles teased him. Mocked him.

“Dost thou believest thyself unworthy?”

Whispered. Elegant. Furtive. And yet, like honed daggers, those few words pierced Sjan-dehk to the very core of his being. His eyes snapped open.

And the beach he saw was a different one from before. Its sands were black, its waters churning, and its sky overcast with ominous, dark clouds. Raging pyres burned by the shorelines. Ash rained from above in large flakes. And yet, Sjan-dehk felt nothing. Not on his person. He felt no heat from the flames, and no coarseness from the grey downpour. But he did feel the pounding in his chest. He heard the thumping of his heart in his ears. And when he saw the bloodied corpses lined up before the pyres, he felt the colour drain from his face. Some were already charred. Others, wrapped in shrouds. And a few still writhing, still groaning in agony. Still gasping their dying breaths.

“Poor bastards are rotting alive. Better to just end their suffering and send them on their way. Nothing else we can do. May a kinder world find them.”

Sjan-dehk recognised the hollow, unworldly voice as his own. It came from everywhere. From the sky, from the sea, from the very sand. But not from his own lips. The words were familiar. Not by memory, and not by sound, but by movement. As if his mouth had said such things many, many times before.

He blinked. And the scene changed once more.

Shattered buildings. Torn banners. Bloodstained streets. Thick, black smoke billowed from empty windows and doorways. Desperate pleas and pathetic cries travelled with the howling wind. Behind them followed distant cracks of rifles. The dead laid where they had fallen. Slumped against walls. Collapsed upon each other in gruesome piles. Sprawled amidst their own filth on the ground. All were dressed similarly. Their clothes, their hats, their shoes, all were of the same make, in the same colours. They were in uniform, an army defeated. But Sjan-dehk could see no arms.

“We can’t afford to take prisoners, but we can’t leave them, either. So we’ve no choice. Take care of them, make it quick, and we’ll still be able to leave in time.”

Once again, the voice was his own, but not from him. Once again, the words were uncomfortably familiar, yet strange. They were firm. Resolute. Tinted with regret. Unease tightened its grip around his heart, and he swallowed the lump growing in his throat. He had condemned countless lives with those words. But he hadn’t a choice, had he? Such things happened in war.

He blinked again.

An ocean of mud, endless and featureless, greeted his eyes. Murky puddles collected in craters. Mounds of wet earth rose out of the ground like frozen waves. Rain fell from dark clouds. And just like before, Sjan-dehk could see the heavy droplets, but felt none of it on his person. He could see torn and tattered standards and ensigns fluttering from broken flagpoles, but felt no wind. Discarded rifles, swords, spears, and all manners of arms sank into the mire, but he felt nothing beneath his feet. Just like before, he felt his blood run cold when he saw corpses, half-buried in the mud. Their mouths were open in screams. Their eyes, wide in terror. And their limbs, twisted in a futile struggle without end.

“We all saw what they did. No mercy. No prisoners. Let them be a warning to their fellows.”

Enraged. Vengeful. Almost feral. Sjan-dehk almost didn’t recognise the snarling words as his own. Shivers ran down his back. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. How many more had he killed with such words? But it had been for the best, hadn’t it? That was what everyone told him. That was what he told himself. Such warnings convinced others to surrender. Such warnings prevented battle. It had all been done to save lives. That was all Sjan-dehk had wanted.

“It’s just like you to come up with these excuses.”

This voice was new. It wasn’t the whispering breeze. It wasn’t Sjan-dehk’s. But it was one he knew. One he knew far, far too well. And one he had hoped to never hear again. He spun around to face it. Mud roiled and churned before his eyes. It rose like a pillar. Parts of it sloughed off. Parts of it moulded itself, shaped itself until it looked vaguely human. Then it squeezed, and pinched, and shifted until features appeared. A mischievous smirk. Upturned eyes. A deep scar on the left cheek.

Sjan-dehk stumbled back. The figure’s flesh was the colour of mud. His eyes, blank. The bones of his destroyed chest, little more than sticks of earth. But with those few details, and that voice, Sjan-dehk knew exactly who he was. The strength in his muscles disappeared. Terror rooted him in place. And as the man of mud stepped towards him, Sjan-dehk could only think of one thing.

He was already dead. And it was Sjan-dehk who had killed him.

“Did it make you feel better brother? To kill me twice?”

The figure’s mouth didn’t move, but Sjan-dehk’s heard his voice in his head. Every word, every syllable echoed endlessly. More than anything, he wanted to run. He wanted to flee from this place, but his body wouldn’t move. It couldn’t move. A shout, a scream, just a cry for help, for mercy, grew in his throat. His lips quavered, and just as they were about to part, he felt a pair of ghostly hands on his shoulders. They pulled him back sharply, knocking the breath from his lungs.

And then, he was back on the beach. The first one. The one with calm waters, and blue skies. The one which had granted him peace. Peace which he now didn’t feel. His shoulders heaved with his breaths. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees. Soft sand cushioned his fall, but he didn’t feel it. The breeze returned, brushing over his shoulders. It swirled and coalesced, until they felt like cold fingers resting upon him, but he didn’t feel them. Another breeze swept across his back. It tickled like wispy threads of silk. But Sjan-dehk didn’t feel it.

All he could do was stare at the horizon, which was now shrouded entirely in mist.

The whispering breeze cooed into his ear.

“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”

Sjan-dehk swallowed hard. He tried to steady his breath as best as he could.

“I don’t know,” he rasped.

And then he awoke.

---

Time: Morning
Location: The Range
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face
Lamellar armour: Cuirass, tassets, armguards

A sharp, resounding crack sliced through the cold, morning air. Solid wood kicked against Sjan-dehk’s shoulder. Off in the distance – roughly a hundred paces across the field of Sorian’s range – the upper-left corner of a rectangular, wooden slab burst into splinters, matching it with the other three. The painting of a person brushed haphazardly on its centre, however, was markedly untouched.

Sjan-dehk huffed, his nostrils flaring. He clicked his tongue and brought the rifle in his hands down to his waist, its smoking muzzle still pointed towards the target. “That makes three,” he groused.

Beside him, Mursi peered through a spyglass. He hesitated for a moment, then grimaced. “Maybe the sights are still misaligned. I can–”

“Don’t bother,” Sjan-dehk interrupted and shook his head. He had enough experience with such things to know when a weapon was at fault, and when fault laid with the person using it. In this case, he knew for certain that it was a case of the latter.. A muted and frustrated sigh left his lips, and he stood his rifle upright on the ground, hand wrapped around the forestock and still-warm barrel. “Just one of those days, I guess, where I’m especially terrible.”

And the reason what that was so, was clear to him

He had been awoken by a nightmare earlier that morning, one which had shocked him so much that he had almost fallen out of his cot. And while he couldn’t recall every detail, and what little he did remember wasn’t anything more than vague sounds and scenes, the feelings that nightmare had evoked – the unease, the discomfort, the disquiet – stubbornly clung to corners of his mind. Sjan-dehk had tried to clear his head of them, of course, but even after busying himself far more than he needed to with Sada Kurau’s morning routines, they refused to leave. Preparing for a morning of rifle practice failed to serve as a distraction as well. Even now, as he looked at the results of his poor marksmanship, those lingering traces of his nightmare whispered to him from where they hid in his mind.

“Captain,” a voice called to him.

Sjan-dehk shook his head, blinked a few times, and turned around. Kai-dahn, the commander of Sada Kurau’s detachment of Seaborne, stood before him. Dour-faced, with severe features and a demeanour to match, Kai-dahn was an anomaly amongst Sada Kurau’s crew. Still, Sjan-dehk considered him to be a welcome presence. No matter how skilled, or how experienced the crew, a disciplinarian who believed in doing things by the book was always good to have. That Kai-dahn was a capable leader, good soldier, and fierce fighter was simply a bonus.

Kai-dahn snapped to a salute. Sjan-dehk responded in kind. “I’ve already addressed the men and given them their orders. Do you have anything you wish to say to them?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied, then looked over to the two dozen men assembled in neat ranks. All of them were dressed for battle – lamellar cuirasses over blue tunics, leather pouches and satchels hanging from waist belts, wide-brimmed hats tied securely to their heads, and rifles behind their shoulders. Each of their faces was a strange mix of young and old. Their complexions spoke of youth, but the depth in their eyes, and the way they carried themselves, betrayed their status as veterans of countless battles. Be it at sea or on land, they had followed Sjan-dehk into battle time and time again.

“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”

A quiet, ethereal voice whispered in Sjan-dehk’s head. He quickly pushed it away and did his best to pretend he hadn’t heard anything. “I suppose you all saw that?” He asked and jerked a thumb towards the target at which he had been shooting. A few nods went through the ranks. “Try not to do that, and you’ll be fine for today,” Sjan-dehk added with a smirk. Some of the men laughed, but a stern look from Kai-dahn silenced them. In turn, Sjan-dehk glanced at the Commander of Seaborne, and he relented. “But just to be absolutely clear, whether we like it or not, we’re representing the Commonwealth while we’re out here, so I expect everyone to be on their best behaviour.”

A memory of the previous night popped into Sjan-dehk’s head. Stratya had told him that firearms weren’t as common here as they were in the Commonwealth. “There might be locals curious about what we’re doing, but don’t worry about them. Just do what you’re supposed to do. If they try to talk to you, you don’t have to reply if you don’t want to, but just try to be polite. I’d rather not clean up after one of your messes today like I had to last night.” He looked at one particular man. “Isn’t that right, Yehn-tai?”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Yehn-tain called back. “We won’t understand what they’re saying, anyway.”

Sjan-dehk nodded, then looked at Kai-dahn. “All yours, Commander.”

Kai-dahn saluted once more before barking orders at the men. As they broke ranks to get into their firing detachments, Sjan-dehk hefted the rifle in his hands and looked at the target once more. He clenched his jaw, and returned to the firing line. He didn’t have to try again. There was no need for him to; he could just sit back and let Kai-dahn and Mursi handle everything until it was time to return to Sada Kurau. But he couldn’t leave things as they were.

With deft actions that came with practice, Sjan-dehk reloaded the weapon. He half-cocked the hammer, swung open the breechblock, took out a cartridge, pushed the paper cylinder into the breech, swung the block back into place, and clicked the hammer into position. Simple. He barely even needed to think about it, and it was done in less than a quarter-of-a-minute. He shouldered the rifle, and lined the sights up with the target in the distance. It blurred and sharpened. He drew in a deep breath.

“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”

The voice whispered again, and only now did Sjan-dehk recognise it from his nightmare. He clenched his jaw and held his breath. Whether he was worthy or not – whatever that meant – was unimportant. The things he had done, he did not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. Did it make him a bad person? Maybe. But what did it matter if he was? He did his duty, he kept himself, his crew, and his ship alive. That was all that mattered. Everything else was irrelevant.

He pulled the trigger. The rifle cracked and kicked against his shoulder. Through the dissipating smoke, he looked at the target.

Dead centre.