Not a man or woman in this room loves Einar Valdyr, save perhaps his crew.
The king of pirates holds his throne through fear …
Sigursson climbed the ladder, spoke in hushed tones in his king’s ear, handing over Mia’s gravebone sword. Valdyr’s kohled eyes finally met hers, and Mia had to force herself to hold his gaze. Even near a hundred feet away, she could feel the power radiating off him. A feral, bloodthirsty intensity that made mere children of the men around him. There was an allure to him—that much was undeniable. But it was an allure bound to leave bruises on your skin, and blood on your sheets.
Valdyr stared at her for a long, silent moment, lips curling in a hungry smile.
“What say you, my Lord Hangman?” he finally called. “What tithe asked?”
“This freshwater bitch broke my boy’s teeth,” the snaggletoothed man said, nodding at Monocle’s mangled mouth. “She’s his by right. The blonde, too.” He motioned to Jonnen. “And I’ll take the sprog by way of the insult.”
“Will you, now, Draker?” Valdyr smiled, his pointed teeth gleaming.
“… Majesty willing, of course,” the captain said, lowering his eyes.
Valdyr turned his eyes to Monocle, tongue pressed to one sharpened incisor. “You really let this slip get the jump on you, boy? I’d be shamed, were you my get.”
Monocle lowered his gaze, his cheeks burning as a chuckle rippled through the hall. Valdyr hefted Mia’s gravebone blade. He ran his knife-green eyes up and down the blade, then up and down Mia’s body. His smile curled her belly.
“Eclipse,” she whispered. “Be ready.”
“… ALWAYS…”
Mia glanced at ’Singer, Sid, and Butcher, whispering soft. “We head for the tidal pool, then into the ocean. That thing in the water is better than the things out here.”
Sidonius nodded. “Aye.”
“Fuck me…,” Butcher murmured.
King Valdyr looked down at Monocle and sneered razors.
“You’d not know what to do with trim like that if I gifted it to you, little man.” He looked at Mia again. “I’ll take the raven-haired one. You may keep the blonde, Draker. But I’d put a bit in her mouth and irons on her wrists before you let your whelp near her. You can have the boy, too, if it please you.” He motioned to Tric, still laying on the stone floor. “Take that one below for Aleo to look at. Send the Dweymeri and Liisian to the Thorn Towers.” A lazy wave at the tidal pool. “Give the tall one to Dona, she’s not had Itreyan for weeks.”
Mia’s heart was racing. The shadows rippling around her.
“Hold on to me,” she whispered in Jonnen’s ear. “Blind anyone who comes near.”
“I … I will try…”
Mia squeezed Ash’s hand. “Stay close to me, love.”
Mia had no idea what to do about Tric. No idea what to do about the leviathan waiting for them in that pool. No idea if they’d even make the water, or where they’d go if they reached the ocean. No weapon save the two-inch punching dagger in the heel of her boot and the shadows, writhing and rippling around her.
She felt a wulfguard grab her shoulder.
Her hand curled into a fist.
“Hold! Hold!” came a cry. “What fray is this?”
The pack of brigands near the door parted, and Mia felt a dizzying rush of relief. The newcomer flashed a four-bastard smile and dropped into a bow that would’ve shamed the most polished courtier of any Francisco, I all the way through to XV.
“Majesty,” he said.
Cloud Corleone shot Mia a sideways wink and whispered.
“Sorry we’re late.”
CHAPTER 25
HERITANCE
“Well, well, my Lord Bloody Maid.”
The King of Scoundrels grinned at Corleone the way drakes grin at seal pups.
“Well met, old friend.”
The tone of Valdyr’s voice left no illusions in Mia’s mind as to whether he and Cloud were actually old friends—she could no more imagine Valdyr having friends, old or otherwise, than she could imagine a sand kraken having a pet puppy. But her relief at seeing Corleone breeze into the hall hadn’t quite worn off yet.
The captain was clad in his usual kit—dangerously tight black leather pants and a black velvet shirt open a touch too far, the feather in his tricorn propped at a jaunty angle. Beside him, BigJon wore dark leathers and a bright blue shirt of Liisian silk, his drakebone pipe propped at his lips.
“My king,” the captain said, sweeping off his hat and bowing again. “The heart sings to see you looking so well. Have you lost weight, perchance?”
“What the ’byss do you want, Corleone?” Sigursson spat.