CHAPTER ELEVEN
I WAS brOKEN AFTER Ozora and Skirmisher. I didn’t save those hippocamps; they saved me. Healed me. They were a safe haven, and I owed them my life.
I would do anything to protect them.
Captain’s Log, Mayhem
Captain Fraser Connell
I stomped away after shouting that I assumed the ballista would solve my problems. If I didn’t get away from those two women, I might do something I’d regret. Or get me cooked well done.
They have definitely smoked too much blissflower.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
Easy enough to dismiss the sphinx’s mystical mutterings and nonsensical poem.
I couldn’t wrap my head around all the rest. What she said about Ozora and the hippocamps cut deep, and reopened all those old hurts.
I had no explanation for how that overgrown cat-girl knew I’d so carefully planned that sunset sail, dreamed of Ozora and me together. She’d nailed it. That was bad enough.
Then she’d whispered in my ear that Killian back home was telling everyone he’d seen Cilirian elves kill his friends and crewmates, and if I wanted real vengeance, I’d better stick around.
She also threatened to disembowel me if I ever again thought of harming either woman.
Between her and the dragon, I didn’t like my odds, and I’d already survived plenty of fights.
My steps took me away from the tents; my thoughts took me back years.
When her explosions sank my ship, I stood on the dock with Gordon, watching Skirmisher go up in flames, while he told me Ozora believed I was cheating.
The vindictive and vengeful Ozora he’d described sounded nothing like the woman I fell in love with but, everything he said made bitter, tragic sense.
Including why she chose to run away, rather than come to me and ask for the truth.
My best friend’s pained expression as he revealed Ozora’s fears forced me to question if I ever really knew her at all.
Gordon had said, “you are better off without her, why would you want a woman who’d do that?
” as Skirmisher sank into Hastrior’s harbor.
We’d lost touch years ago, but I had no reason to doubt the man I left to run Hastrior. I’d once trusted him with my life.
None of that explained why Ozora yelled at me about hippocamps. Of all the accusations I expected her to throw in my face, that one ranked dead last.
“It didn’t make sense five years ago. Why should it make sense now?” I muttered to the trees. I’d reached a small stand of the scrub oak that lined the coast. I wanted to punch or stab something, frustrated that I’d been maneuvered into this meeting I never wanted.
Never, ever, did I imagine I’d have a smart-ass sphinx and a dragon—a damned dragon—show up with the only two people to try to kill me and live to tell of it.
Although, if I’m being honest, I let them get away. Everyone else who’d tried to kill me was dead, except them. I let Taenya go because I didn’t care about chasing her down as long as she stayed gone. I let Ozora go because I didn’t trust myself.
The ballista was a perfect example of why I didn’t trust myself. All the buried fury and longing, from just seeing her again, drove rational thought out of my head. Although I did try to warn them to stay away.
Yet there we all were, jammed together again because a sphinx and dragon had some loony idea about mage schools. Worse, they thought we were the only hope against the return of the Cilirian Empire.
Fucking ludicrous. If they thought I was going to tie myself to Hastrior, again, they could go reload their blissflower pipes. Not. Happening.
It didn’t matter how many times I told myself that we were only together a couple of months, or ‘don’t let her get under your skin.’ Not even fucking plenty of other women had eased the impact of seeing her again. A sword to the gut would have hurt less.
The trees swayed in the onshore breeze, their leaves sighing and twisting.
Much as I wanted to walk away, there was nowhere for me to go except back to Mayhem.
My ship had barely made it into Hastrior’s harbor; she was going nowhere.
Unless I wanted to risk immolation, I was out of options.
I had to go listen to those women and their conspiracies, and I’d rather get that over and done with sooner than later.
There were a multitude of other issues calling for my attention.
I spun on my heel and strode rapidly back to the open-air tent, getting there before Ozora and Taenya. My crew had laid out rugs under the tent and set up a single table. I’d given my word, agreed to this second meeting, and I’d kept it, though I’d had little choice in the matter.
I am stuck in Hastrior. But, I could avoid Ozora easily by staying on Mayhem. She was a fine ship, and my mages had held her together long enough to get us into the harbor.
We’d taken a brutal beating. No pirates I knew of had the caliber of mages we’d faced, and the blasts from their fireball spells had taken a toll on my warship.
Didn’t make them Cilirian elves, just tough pirates that I hadn’t encountered before.
Not surprising, since I hadn’t taken a contract in years.
I huffed and crossed my arms as I settled into the single chair and waited for my crew to bring the larger table and more chairs. You get used to waiting in my work, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it, and I ground my bootheel into the rug, needing some outlet for all my frustrations.
I didn’t want to feel that old pull, like she was some sort of magnet, and I a lump of iron. Worse, it hadn’t been difficult to keep her from occupying my thoughts for a long time. I’d put her almost completely out of mind. Except, when I saw her...
I wanted to kick my ass for considering being such a fool again. Especially since this time, she’d come with a ton of baggage.
Dragon.
Sphinx.
Mutiny instigator.
If that wasn’t enough, somehow, my trusted former second-in-command, Gordon Derryngton, had disappeared. When my crew went ashore after we docked, their tales of the state of the city were shocking. What concerned me most? They found no sign of city guards, or Gordon.
He’d encouraged me to go, insisted he would keep Hastrior prosperous. Which was easy to believe and sufficient balm to the sliver of conscience I had back then about running away from my responsibilities.
The little I saw of Hastrior from the deck of my ship disturbed me.
Five years had taken a heavy toll on the city I’d once thought to make my home.
I had indeed planned to stay after Prince Pulcheria’s untimely demise, and ensure his city did not fall to ruin.
Until, well...Ozora. We were both cowards, I suppose, both of us ran from there, instead of facing up to what we’d both done.
Nor did I plan to return, but this was where my hunt led.
I left my home in the Vauxterel Islands to chase the ones who killed my warriors.
A squad of my scouts were out patrolling the seas, but only one returned with news of ships heading east from the western waters of the Sundering Sea.
I didn’t care who they were, or where they were from, only that they’d killed my warriors, and I was going to punish them.
Mayhem was underway as my healers took Killian away to treat his wounds, for there was no time to waste if I were to catch them.
They were faster than I’d expected, and we’d only caught up with them outside of Hastrior. A couple vessels came out to join the fight, but the only reason we were still alive was because of the dragon.
I’d sailed into the harbor only because if I hadn’t, Mayhem would’ve sunk outside of it.
She was badly damaged, and only the emergency spells of the mages on my crew had kept her together.
I was stuck there, far from home, in the last place I wanted to be, with two murderous, crazy women and creatures straight out of legend.
The dragon had come to lay next to the tent, and but the sphinx was nowhere in sight.
The women weren’t there yet, but their voices floated on the breeze that wafted through the tent, if not what was said.
It was mostly Ozora talking, probably telling Taenya all my nefarious deeds.
Another bitter chuckle slipped out. Taenya had some tales to tell about me as well.
The dragon shifted, her scales rattling and sliding together as she repositioned so her head was closer to the tent, resting just outside it so she could easily see within.
It was like looking at something out of a story come to life.
As far as I knew, no one had spotted a dragon in hundreds of years.
She, Cassyrra, met my gaze with one eye facing me, glowing with her inner fire and brimming with intelligence.
The bright morning sun dimmed its brilliance to a pale lavender glow rimming her eyelids and glinting off her brow ridge.
Her nostrils flared from narrow slits to wide ovals, and the gust of wind as she exhaled flattened the grasses in front of her. I stared, fascinated, as her scaled lid drooped in a slow blink and her cat-like pupil widened, then shrank.
++ Little man, you might consider letting go of all that anger. Remember where your true heart rests and be guided by that. ++
The words flowed into my mind. Feminine. Soft but tempered with age so unfathomable, I could only call it ancient. I hadn’t been called ‘little man’ by anyone for a very long time. My mother was the last one, and that memory punched my heart.
Visions of Mother rose, and her sad, pale face overwhelmed my sight as she whispered, “Goodbye, my little man. Be good for your uncle and aunt.” I shoved the images away and glared at the dragon, who only slow-blinked back at me, her expression unreadable.