Chapter Six
Farah
For the first twenty years of Farah’s life, she had spent her days surrounded by sand and deep rolling waves.
She never minded the crashing of wake against her feet nor the spray of salt water as it peppered against her skin.
But the last five years had changed everything she felt about the water, about her home, about who she was.
Five years ago, while gambling away the majority of her inheritance—coin she of course stole from the Morentian coffers—she was approached by a young cloaked man in Lesathos.
His daimon-like grin and glint in his warm brown eyes had her intrigued as he spread a deck of cards across her table, beckoning the barmaid for two pints of ale.
Farah was never one to turn down a game of cards, especially not when a seemingly over-cocky male who smelled like a stray dog challenged her.
Much to her dismay, the male beat her. Then beat her five times more before she began to flip the table and accuse him of cheating, which he immediately admitted to.
See, Ajax had not been there to win her money, nor her affection, but to proposition her in an entirely different way.
It was a risk, to approach the Princess of Morentius, the heir to the throne if her father had his way with Kohl’s potential betrothed, but Ajax was no fool.
He knew—by the grace of the Grechi or from his katáskopoi—that she was no more loyal to her father or her kingdom than a snake writhing in the deserts of her homeland.
She was an easy target, fed up with the rules that held her back as a woman—a woman not so easily swayed by the likes of the opposite sex.
Farah was blood thirsty and out for revenge long before what her father did to Celene. Long before she kneeled in the sanguine liquid of the woman she loved.
She knew she was bound for more than simple court politics and duties of an heir from the moment she snuck into her father’s council meetings at age five. Because even at such a young age, she knew peace at the sacrifice of free will was not peace at all. It was indoctrination.
It was servitude.
And Farah would be no slave.
Walking down the grayed docks of the Nexian harbor, Farah’s skin crawled with stinging pricks, the feeling itching its way up toward her throat.
By stepping aboard this latest vessel she would willingly be giving up whatever semblance of freedom she had left.
Avra would surely slaughter her for merely stepping on the shore her sibling once crawled upon.
The daughter that lived at the sacrifice of Avra’s that never stood a chance.
Fates—Farah didn’t blame her. How could she when Farah felt the same kind of vengeance toward her father.
An eye for an eye.
Blood for blood.
Heir for heir.
Still, as Farah strolled down the docks with nothing more than a rucksack tied to her back, her hands steadied and her breath deepened.
The Parataxis floated before her, hull slapping lightly against the dock, a calming beat in time to the blood pumping into her heart.
She ran her hand along the worn wood and metal nails of the ship, praying to the Grechi.
Farah believed few superstitions, but she did not wish to tempt the Fates before this journey—not when they already worked so desperately against her.
The crew bustled about the main deck, preparing the sails and shouting demands from the eagle’s nest. A woman that looked only a few years older than Farah stood at the helm, a chart in one hand and a compass in the other.
Flowing deep blue hair trailed down her back, decorated with silver beads throughout that matched the jewelry donning her fingers and ears.
Her crystal, feline eyes darted back and forth along the chart.
When the woman looked up, her sun-kissed skin seemed to glimmer in the bright light of day.
Farah did not recognize her, but seeing her now sent the spy’s stomach flipping and a tingling sensation down her arms.
”Is that all you brought aboard, Princess?” The words made Farah jump slightly, knocking her focus back to the gangplank. Chloe approached the top, her rouged lips were twisted into a scowl, arms crossed in front of her onyx fur cloak. She tapped her foot incessantly, though Farah paid it no mind.
“I don’t need much. My expectation is that I am here to be a liaison between lands, nothing more.
” Farah breezed by the young wolf, momentarily forgetting the uneasy prickling by the nape of her neck, instead taking in the layout of the Parataxis.
It was similar to The Nostos in size, though this ship had a foredeck and an aft deck with smaller sails curled up the masts.
The navy banner of Nexos flew in the steady breeze, the silver wolf and crescent moon flapping side to side.
Argentine metal gilded carvings on the masts and rails.
Quite the grandiose ship for a woman that spends very little time on the seas.
From what she learned, Chloe chartered the Parataxis only once or twice a year. What a shame—the beauty of the craftsmanship was unmatched.
“Did you bring a single gown?” Chloe piped up, her tone sharp.
Turning her head, Farah let out a sigh. “I do not need gowns to do my duties in the courts. Pants will suit me just fine.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said that’s unacceptable. My aunt will surely find the lack of class a direct insult to her and her crown.
” Wagging her finger, Chloe beckoned a young man over.
“Please inform the seamstress that Princess Farah will need four…mmm, make it five new gowns by the time we have reached Hespali. Preferably in green and gold tones; you know how Avra loves her banner.”
The man nodded and bowed. “Of course, Your Highness,” he replied before shuffling off below deck.
Farah let out a snort. “Was that really necessary?”
“Entirely.”
“We are not meant to be there long, Your Highness,” Farah chided. “The task is to get in, convince your aunt to lend us her army and fleet, and promptly return to Nexos. How long do we really think that will take? It is a simple yes or no.”
Rolling her eyes, Chloe clicked her tongue. “If it were that simple, my father would have simply sent a letter requesting her assistance. Avra is a complicated woman—except you know that already. So why act so lackadaisical about the situation?”
“Because I half expect Avra to cut my head off the second I arrive. A compensation of sorts for what my father did. Take away the thing he loves…or the thing she thinks he loves. Kohl would have been much better suited for her revenge.” Skin prickled at the nape of her neck and Farah glanced back toward the helm where the blue-haired woman had her eyes locked on their conversation.
“My aunt is bitter and vindictive, but she is also fair. She adheres strictly to the laws of the Grechi, the Binding Law and the others most choose to ignore. My uncle is a completely different story, but Avra holds the final say in Hespalian court.”
“That isn’t exactly reassuring, little wolf.
” Farah’s stomach turned once more before that same tickling returned along her skin, washing away whatever unease had lingered.
When Farah’s gaze returned to the helm, the woman’s eyes were no longer the crystalline color of these shores, but the deep gray of a tumultuous storm.
“Who is that?” Farah finally asked, muttering the question under her breath.
Chloe turned to follow Farah’s gaze. “That is our captain. She hails from the eastern lands of Anatole and formerly led a band of pieratis on the Saron Sea.” Chloe smiled wickedly, flashing her wolven canines.
“She’s the most deadly woman I know. Some say the beads she wears are crafted from the bones of her victims dipped in silver. ”
A gods-damned pirate was taking them to Hespali? Just when Farah thought her situation could not get any worse. The pirates from the shores of Anatole were vicious, worse than her father and King Edmund Briarre from Harrenfort in the north. “And you trust her? This pirate?”
“Do you trust my brother? Leighton? Thalia?” Chloe questioned.
“Of course.”
“Well, our captain is one and the same. Kirke is loyal to her crew, and you are now part of that crew.”
“Kirke? Like the ancient sea goddess?” The name suited the woman. She was terrifyingly captivating, as was the witch from Farah’s childhood myths.
“Never heard of her,” a melodious voice said from beside Farah, the woman’s eyes back to their normal color. Gods—had she just aervaded over? Kirke reached out her hand and Farah took it in a firm shake. “You can just call me Kire.”