king she’d just murdered, and now ostensibly her first mate—she was damned if she’d blink first.
Claim a man’s life, you claim all he was.
His ship. His crew. His throne.
She imagined being first mate to the King of Scoundrels would’ve been a job with certain benefits—that Sigursson had wielded power any other privateer in this city would have envied. And being part of Valdyr’s crew, the rest of the wulfguard would’ve stood top of the pile in the dungheap that was Amai. Looking across the table at all of them, Mia knew each of these brigands was doing the math in their heads.
They accept me for now, and keep their place atop the mountain.
They reject me, and let one of the captains outside try for the throne.
Or one of them kills me.
Eclipse prowled in a slow circle around the wulfguard, black as the furs about their shoulders. The room was lit by arkemical lanterns on the walls, and Mia let the shadows curl and writhe. Stretching across the table toward Valdyr’s men, her own shadow on the wall reaching out to Sigursson with translucent hands.
Tries to kill me, at least.
Chaos was budding outside in the hall. The shouts growing louder, the unrest rising. Each minute spent in here was another minute those flames were allowed to take root and spread. Each minute in here was another minute the wulfguard risked losing all they had. The air in the room was heavy as iron, the smell of blood thick in the air, thickest of all around Mia. Who simply sat.
And stared.
And waited.
One of the brigands finally growled, “We can’t just—”
“Shut your mouth before I fuck it,” Sigursson snapped.
Mia stared at the man, allowing a small smile to curl her lips.
Sigursson leaned his elbows on the table and sighed.
“Do you want your shirt back?”
Blink.
“No,” Mia said, turning up the collar of Valdyr’s coat. “This is warm enough.”
“Your actions put us all in deep waters, girl.”
“My name is Mia Corvere,” she said, still unblinking. “Blade of the Red Church. Champion of the Venatus Magni. Chosen of the Dark Mother and Queen of Scoundrels. Never call me girl again.”
Sigursson leaned back in his chair, leathers creaking. He glanced to the wulfguard around him, ran his hand over his chin.
“Have you ever actually crewed aboard a ship?”
“No.”
“Ever attacked another vessel under a flag of piracy?”
“I sank a Luminatii warship named Faithful a few weeks back. But technically, they attacked us first, so I’m not certain that qualifies.”
Sigursson glanced at Corleone, who nodded confirmation.
“You know how to tie a clove hitch or bowline?” the man asked. “Know a broad reach from a beam reach or a main from a mizzenmast? Can you use a sextant or trim a mainsail or read a captain’s charts?”
“No,” Mia admitted.
“You’re not a sailor’s arsehole, are you?”
“No.” The dry blood on her lips cracked as she smiled. “But I am a queen.”
“For now.”
Tric leaned forward, spread his black hands on the table, and glowered. The shadows flickered and stretched, and a long, low growl came from beneath the floor.
“… CAREFUL WITH YOUR THREATS, WULFGUARD. YOU SPORT WITH TRUE WOLVES NOW…”
Mia leaned back in her chair, running her fingers over her bare collarbone, down her blood-caked sternum. “I’ll make you a proposition, Ulfr Sigursson.”
“I await it with bated breath,” he replied.
“I need to cross the Sea of Sorrows. And there’s a storm coming.”
Sigursson shook his head. “This is naught but a squall, it’ll blow over in—”
“A storm is coming,” Mia insisted. “So I need the biggest ship. The strongest ship. The ship most likely to see me through the tempest that’ll crash upon my head the minute I set foot near that fucking ocean. And Black Banshee fits that order, neh?”
Sigursson nodded slow. “She’s the mightiest ship on all Four Seas. Black Banshee wasn’t built, she was spat from the unholy gash of the Dark Mother herself.”*
“She’ll be my gift to you,” Mia said.
Sigursson’s eyes narrowed.
“You get me across the Sea of Sorrows, Black Banshee is yours. The Throne of Scoundrels is yours.” Mia’s fingertips brushed her collar. “I’ll even throw in this lovely leather coat, if you like. Or you can try to kill me, Ulfr Sigursson, and I can show you what it truly means to be spat from Niah’s belly.”
The man looked to the deadboy beside her. Eclipse, now prowling behind him. Mia’s shadow reaching toward him, its hair blowing soft behind it, its hand outstretched toward him, gifting his cheek a caress that made him shiver.