The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

Prologue

May 1809, somewhere on the Atlantic

E than Locke steadied himself, ready to run. The distant high-pitched screech of a whistle signaled departure. He had only a few minutes to make it back to his ship so he and his crew could set sail.

But he couldn’t go. Not just yet.

Mixed in with the mahogany furnishings, gold glittered. Behind red, velvet curtains swaying with the ship, a small, golden chest fell in and out of view. It had been hidden for a reason. Without a doubt whatever was inside would be valuable, indeed.

Of course he couldn’t leave now. Greed beckoned him. Disregarding his need for haste, he pulled back the curtain and lifted its unsecured lid.

Disappointment flooded him. Without a lock on the chest, whatever was inside might not have been valuable, after all. But as soon as his eyes met the contents, his breath caught. Two items were suspended in black velvet. The first he noticed was a small, blue bottle attached to a silver chain. That didn’t seem worth much. But the other item, also on a silver chain, was a sapphire stone, blue like the deepest ocean. As if in a kind of reverent protection, it was wrapped in swirling, silver filigree. Deep within the sapphire, a dazzling fire blazed .

The door screeched open behind Locke, startling him back to reality. Time since opening the chest seemed to have stood still. How long he had been staring, he didn’t know.

“Cap’n. We be castin’ off soon.” The crewman, newly cloaked in fine leather, heaved with exertion while his captain stood there as calm as the day’s sea, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Aye.” Locke willed himself to drop the sapphire into his coat pocket before that same strange calm swept over him again. For good measure, he plucked the bottle up too and followed after the crewman.

Abovedeck, white sails stretched taut against a perfect, blue sky. About a dozen men lined the ship’s railing, their hands secured with rope. Pistol in hand, another one of Locke’s crew held ready.

To his relief, the deck was free of bodies. Blood too. His heart thudded against his chest at the thrill of yet another clean victory.

“You there!” A voice interrupted his thoughts.

Locke stomped toward its source, the wood of the deck creaking beneath his buckled boots. In a black, woolen coat lined with gold buttons, the man was no doubt the ship’s captain. The grim-faced gentleman couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, far too young for the part, but, at that very age now himself, so was Locke.

“That’s no mere gem.” Eying Locke’s bulky coat pocket, the man seemed to warn him. Something told him this was no mere merchant ship, either.

Locke lifted his shoulders. It made no difference. Gold was gold and a rock was a rock. Locke placed a protective hand over his pocket, feeling the sapphire warm beneath his touch.

Whatever it was, it was one spoil he didn’t plan to give up, even if it meant keeping Alastair in the dark. Locke swiped a blade free from his waist and flicked it into the deck. Inches from the captain’s boot, it vibrated from impact.

“Try not to cut yourself. ”

At last, he gave the signal for his pistol-bearing crewman to retreat. Then, placing a hand on the ship’s railing for support, he lifted his body into the air and landed back aboard the pirate ship endearingly named Hell’s Teeth .