A Pirate’s Life for Tea (Tomes & Tea #2)

2. Kianthe

Chapter two

Kianthe

C onsidering Kianthe almost died today— and didn’t get to eat anything before the buffet table exploded—Arlon ought to be appreciative of her surprise visit. But contrarily, the diarn looked like he’d swallowed sour wine. It was almost amusing, how the veins on his pasty, powdered forehead throbbed, how his eyes glinted with barely concealed irritation.

Kianthe couldn’t help herself. “Arlon. Long time, no see. If I’d known your parties were such a blast, I’d have crashed one earlier.”

She waited.

“Get it? Blast ?”

Arlon stopped short, and the red splotches on his cheeks grew. Despite his meticulous appearance, the fine tailoring of his jacket, the careful way he’d greased his hair to cover a bald spot, he was beginning to look out of sorts. Behind him, one of his precious constables pressed his lips into a firm line, trying not to laugh.

“Because of the explosion?”

“Yes, thank you, Arcandor.” His response was set through gritted teeth, and immensely satisfying. Kianthe would have to remember to tell Reyna that joke later.

Up the hill, the curious and indignant murmurs of his party goers had grown in volume. Instead of starting a conversation, Arlon simply flicked two fingers. “Follow me.” Then he about-faced towards his mansion and told one of his constables: “Get them into the primary ballroom. Restart the music.”

The constable nodded curtly and began shouting orders. Slowly, the crowd siphoned into a set of huge double doors on the western side of the house. Kianthe scanned them, but no one seemed hurt. A few other constables jogged past her, already commanding the staff that had appeared to clean the mess by the riverside.

Kianthe raised an eyebrow. By the Stone, he employed a lot of people.

Arlon stepped confidently off the cobblestone path, rounding the estate through a secluded trail she hadn’t seen before. It gave her a close-up look of his mansion, a brick and wood monstrosity with wide eaves under a sloping roof, accented throughout with thick iron. Expensive by anyone’s standards, but ridiculous even compared to other diarns.

Maybe it was a council member thing. All it did was make Kianthe homesick for their cozy bookshop.

Arlon wrenched open an innocuous side door, then gestured for her to step into the dark hallway.

“Is this where you murder me?” she asked innocently.

Arlon’s fingers clenched on the iron handle. “Arcandor, if you please .”

No fun. With a shrug, she strolled inside.

The hallway was tiled from floor to ceiling with intricate mosaics, each depicting Arlon’s family’s claim to fame: luscious farms along a shockingly vast river. She casually examined a map of the Nacean, where the lands Diarn Arlon managed were tinted blue in direct contrast to the rich green of the rest of Shepara.

Stone-damn, he supervised a huge section of the river. Everything touching the riverbank from the northernmost town of Lathe to just north of Jallin was tinged blue. Kianthe’s brow furrowed.

“Arcandor,” Arlon said, recapturing her attention. He’d opened a wooden door into a small study, and now gestured for her to enter.

It was private, merely two armchairs and a heavy wooden desk along the back wall. She deflated a bit; the diarn was rumored to have an excellent collection of books, which were Kianthe’s very favorite thing.

“And here I thought you were whisking me to your library. That’s the way to a girl’s heart, you know.”

Diarn Arlon squinted at her, then realized she was actually disappointed. His tone was dismissive. “It’s on the other side of the estate, in its own building near the stables. But I’m renovating right now; no public entry.”

“Am I considered the public?” Kianthe was not above using her title and status to gain access to the best library outside of Wellia.

“You are when I’m tearing out entire walls. The books are in storage.”

Shit. Kianthe crossed her arms, slumping into one of the armchairs by the dark fireplace as the constables took position on either side of the door.

Arlon didn’t sit. Instead he loomed over her, scowling fiercely.

“So… what’s wrong? Other than the fact that you’re apparently besieged by pirates.” She paused, tilting her head. “How do you know that explosion wasn’t caused by bandits or something instead?”

“It wasn’t,” Arlon said, irritation filtering into his voice. He began to pace, casting occasional angry glances out the window and the riverbank barely visible down the hillside. “And it’s not pirates . It’s ‘pirate.’ Singular.”

“One pirate is causing all these problems?”

Arlon set his jaw, like he didn’t want to acknowledge how bad this siege really was.

It was a struggle not to laugh. This wasn’t funny; without her magic tonight, that fire could have gotten dangerous, fast. Kianthe knew that.

But there was something about how one pirate was setting Arlon off. Arlon, who was renowned for being composed on the Council, the contemplative diarn who assessed first and judged only once all evidence was collected.

“One pirate,” Kianthe repeated, swiveling in the chair so her legs dangled over the armrest. She conjured a ball of ever-flame, spelling it so it heated but wouldn’t burn, and instructed it to hunker down in the hearth. The result was a warm, yellow glow cast over the small room and a soft crackling that filled the quiet space.

An idea occurred to her.

“It’s not the Dastardly Pirate Dreggs, is it?”

The eager tone in her voice was unmistakable. She hadn’t spoken that name since she was a child. Dreggs and their immense fleet operated in the Southern Seas, enthralling Kianthe until the day she relocated to the Magicary—and tedious lessons overtook the fearsome tales.

Once she became the Arcandor, there was no reason to encounter them. Dreggs may be a terror to honest merchants—but they were a human terror. Unless the pirate discovered how to harness a kraken, their reign was outside Kianthe’s duties.

Still, she’d always wanted to meet them. They were supposed to be dashing, charming, able to con an army and romance a damsel with the same breath.

“Stars, no,” Arlon snapped, shattering her hopes with two words. “This isn’t some fanciful person of legend. This is a real, honest danger to the lives of my people.” To make that point, he jabbed a finger at the window, presumably referencing the carnage of exploded cakes and demolished turkeys.

“This was an exploding buffet table.” Kianthe tried not to sound miffed that he’d gotten her hopes up. She had two copies of The Dastardly Dreggs somewhere in their Tawney bookstore: both the memoir version… and a fan-made romance one, the latter of which had some raunchy scenes that she and Reyna had definitely recreated.

It would have been excellent to get an autograph.

Arlon was oblivious to where her mind had gone. He drew a measured breath. “Arcandor, my family has supervised these lands since before magic woke the dragons. The farmers here supply grain to half of Shepara and a good portion of the Queendom and Leonol. Right now, that food supply is at risk.”

Ugh. Business. Kianthe sobered begrudgingly. As much as she’d love to joke around with Arlon—who was notoriously boring at all times—she did have an obligation to the lands of the Realm.

“When you talk like that, it sounds like you’re being threatened by a plague, not a pirate. So, enlighten me, councilman. How did one swashbuckler put you in such a state?”

Diarn Arlon went silent. He turned his back to her, taking a glass bottle of amber liquid off the desk, pouring it into a squat tumbler. He didn’t offer one to Kianthe—anyone familiar with mages knew that magic and alcohol didn’t mix.

He took a long sip and replied, “When the attacks on my ships began, I expected an amateur, easily handled by my constables.”

“Bobbie.”

“She’s taking point, yes. Nearly begged me for the job, and her mother’s the sheriff of Lathe. I figured she’d be a good resource on the ground; the people in my smaller towns know her well enough.” Now Arlon’s expression soured, like he was sucking on a poisonous plant. “It was a mistake, one I’ll rectify if she can’t produce that damned pirate by the new moon.”

Interesting. Reyna had been intrigued with Bobbie, and Reyna’s instincts were very rarely wrong. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled music of the orchestra swelled again—the party had restarted without its host.

“The pirate has been sailing circles around my best. Her ship is small, handmade, and fast. The winds on the river vary depending on season and weather, but she seems to know exactly when to sail—and how to hide her ship when my constables are closing in.”

“Magic?” Kianthe asked.

“Not sure what kind, if it is,” Arlon grumbled. “We do have several mages positioned in key towns where the mountains block the wind; they help get ships through the narrower passes. But they won’t hunt a pirate. I’ve already submitted three formal requests.”

Kianthe snorted. “Depends on the mage, and how bored they are.”

“Are you volunteering?” Arlon quirked an eyebrow.

Kianthe kept her expression smooth. Inside, she was bouncing with the idea of hunting a pirate. A pirate . But it wasn’t just about her own personal desires—no, now Kianthe was engaged, and Reyna’s opinion held weight. And her fiancée had left her very high-stakes job for a reason.

It wasn’t to capture pirates—or rather, one pirate—on the Nacean River.

She could hear Reyna’s calm voice now, coaching her through this conversation. “Stay focused, darling. Ask about the shipment. Find the dragon eggs.”

Kianthe sighed, sinking deeper into the chair. Her legs swung in time with the orchestra’s muffled music. “Not me.”

Arlon harrumphed, clearly not pleased with that answer. “The attacks have escalated quickly… and whoever this pirate is, she’s evaded identification. We only suspect she’s a woman based on eyewitness accounts.”

Well, he’d been right: that couldn’t be Dreggs. The pirate captain was so androgynous that perceived gender had no purpose in their tales or exploits. They were simply a statuesque figurehead of their feared Southern Fleet.

“Has she killed anyone?” Kianthe asked.

“A few bruises, several waterlogged constables, and one sailor with a concussion. But no, no deaths.” When he saw Kianthe relax at the admission, he hastily tacked on: “But the cost of her damage is immense.”

Until Kianthe moved in with Reyna, she didn’t quite understand the value of money. The Arcandor simply billed everything to the Magicary or offered magical help in exchange for goods. But now she’d spent two seasons watching Reyna carefully budgeting, guiding her to cheaper options, counting their coins.

Still, it was hard to sympathize with Diarn Arlon, swathed in opulence like he was.

“How much gold has she stolen?” Kianthe pushed upright, leaning over her knees on the plush velvet chair.

Arlon set his jaw, using silver tongs to select a shard of ice from the metal bucket beside his liquor. He swirled it into his drink, examining the amber liquid.

Kianthe snorted. “That bad, huh?”

“She hasn’t stolen any gold.” The answer was clipped, and he glared—first at her, then at the constables by the door. In the flickering firelight of the room’s torches and the ever-light in the hearth, dark shadows had settled over his face.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She’s stealing food. Wheat. Barley. Grains of any kind.”

Kianthe squinted at him.

Arlon took another begrudging sip of his drink. “She also has an affinity for the tea leaves that ship directly to my estate. And bales of hay. The occasional tome collected for my library. Sometimes liquor, but not as often.”

A long silence slipped between them. And then Kianthe started laughing, and laughing, and she didn’t stop until Arlon had gone very red. Wiping her eyes, Kianthe gasped, “Okay. Sorry. It’s not funny.”

One of his constables cracked a smile.

“It’s a little funny,” Kianthe amended, and pushed off the armchair to stand. “Come on, Arlon. A pirate stealing wheat? And she just… what? Sails up and down the Nacean River pillaging your farmer’s boats?” Now Kianthe paused, stretching her arms over her head. “Actually, that’s a pretty brilliant business model.”

Diarn Arlon slammed his tumbler on the desk, splashing liquor over the polished wood. “My people operate on a tight quota. If she keeps seizing their food, we’ll have to cut exports. Whether it’s along the Nacean, or as far east as the Queendom, people will starve.” Cold silence filled the room, and Arlon stepped into Kianthe’s space, glaring at her. “Is this still funny to you, Arcandor?”

She met his gaze directly, although now a niggling of fear pricked her mind. Because Tawney, the town they lived in, the town full of friends that now felt like family, the town they were fighting to save from the dragons, bought food from Arlon’s farms. She’d have to check with Reyna to know the exact number, but Kianthe wasn’t stupid. Tawney was nestled in the harsh, icy tundra. Any produce grown had a very narrow window to be harvested, and it wasn’t enough to supply the town all year.

When he said, “people will starve,” Kianthe immediately put faces to those words.

She set her jaw. “No one is going to starve.”

Elemental magic was worth something, after all.

But Arlon wasn’t impressed. “And what are you planning to do? Tether yourself to my lands? Schedule seasonal visits to ensure none of us can survive without your intervention?” At her grim silence, he massaged his brow. “There’s one solution, and it’s glaringly obvious: we find this pirate and bring her to Wellia for trial. The Council will decide her fate. But to track her, I need your communion with the river.”

Her magic. The Arcandor possessed enough to stop floods and grow forests, with the right conduits. Here, the ley lines thrummed with energy—and everything alive was speaking to her, a whisper of golden color that spread through the air like a spider’s web.

He was right. Unlike the Magicary’s other mages, Kianthe could track this pirate.

“So, I’ll ask again, Arcandor. Will you volunteer?”

Sneaky.

Kianthe scrubbed her face. Reyna wanted to focus on the dragon eggs. That said, she would never stand in the way of Kianthe’s duties as the Mage of Ages… but who knew how long this interlude would take? Reyna would want to return to their bookshop at some point, probably sooner than later.

But maybe there was a way this all worked together.

“Arlon, I would love to help resolve this, but—I’m afraid we came here with a task of our own.”

What started as a simple task—finding the three eggs stolen from Dragon Country a generation ago—had become a lengthy investigation of shipping manifestos, merchant interviews, and mind-numbing research. As much as Kianthe loved delving into fiction, she wasn’t looking forward to spending half a season rummaging through Arlon’s extensive records—even if Reyna was.

“But luckily for you, I think there’s a happy compromise.”

Now Arlon looked suspicious. “Oh?”

Kianthe slipped her hands in the pockets of her cloak, rocking back on her heels. “We need access to your extensive library—and specifically the shipping manifests from your early years as diarn.”

She didn’t tell him why; she and Reyna had discussed it, and they felt it was smarter to keep the dragon eggs a secret for now. After all, someone ordered those eggs stolen… or at least willingly purchased them after the fact. And right now, the path seemed to lead to Arlon—Councilman of Shepara, Diarn of the Nacean River.

So, she wasn’t surprised when he stiffened. “That is proprietary information. I’m under no obligation to share my records.”

“No, of course not.” Kianthe strolled back to the armchair, running a finger along the soft fabric. “But it’s in the Council’s interest to keep the Mage of Ages in their good graces. And it sounds like it’s in your best interest to consider an agreement here.”

Arlon didn’t respond.

Kianthe leaned against the back of the armchair, crossing her arms, tapping one finger against her elbow. “I’ll be blunt. I’ll capture your pirate—but in return, I need records from the 741 st Year of the Realm. I want to know everything that passed through your lands, where they went, and why. Get me that information, and we’ll solve your pirate problem.”

Arlon stepped away from the desk, running a hand over his thinning hair. For a moment, the only sound was the music of the orchestra, the crackling of the ever-flame.

“I’ll produce the records,” he finally said. “But I want this done in a timely manner. The temperatures are dropping by the day; there won’t be another harvest this year. If this pirate keeps stealing food, we’ll have a difficult winter across the Realm.”

Kianthe held out a hand, ready to seal the deal. “I’ll have the pirate at your estate before the winter solstice, provided you supply those records in the same timeframe.”

“Fine.” He shook, and his grip was uncomfortably strong.

Business as usual.