Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-three
Faolan
The Merrow might be a pirate’s den, but the Hull is the real treasure.
Lit by lanterns that throw bright golden light, its walls bear murals as pretty as any of the finest noble buildings in Painted Claw, with scenes of our stories—the ones the seanchaí don’t always wish to recollect.
There’s Cathal and the waking of the burial mounds on Ashen Flame: a battle more than three hundred years ago for the heart of a corpse that had been transformed by Maira’s tears into a massive ruby.
Treasa of Frozen Hearth is captured in bright white and blue pigments.
Daring to venture into the floating frostlands off its northern tip, she discovered a giant trapped in eternal slumber, perfectly preserved by the ice.
There are wayfarers here going back to the age of the gods—and to an autumn eight years ago.
I’m just looking for the ship with sails made of starlight, the Wolf, and the giant squid when a bit of paneling peels itself from the wall.
Aidan jumps back, the movement rattling a collection of half-empty bottles and glasses littered across the table at the center of the room. But I hold my ground. Smile.
Captain Rian is not amused.
“Bold of you to come here, after last night. You were warned.”
“Funny thing about warnings: they only really work if a person decides to take them.”
His face darkens, the patch over his left eye straining. “Or if the threatener follows through.”
My breath’s a quick, sharp thing, sucked in before I can let a proper insult out. “Aye, well, we learned that this summer when I boarded your ship, didn’t we?”
“We’ve come a long way since then, Faolan.”
I drum my fingers over the hilt of my sword. “Haven’t we just?”
Rian releases a hard breath, then jerks his head.
The door swings shut behind us. The back of my neck prickles, but I don’t dare glance back to see who’s entered the room.
Instead, I reach for one of those glasses, take a sniff, then swallow the whiskey down.
“Listen—I’ve come to make amends. You have something I want, and I have something you’ve been after for a long time. ”
“Oh, please.” Rian kicks a chair back from the table and sinks into its hold, setting one dark boot onto the lip. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested in trading.”
“Try me. For old times’ sake?”
His eyes fold at the corners as he frowns at me, then looks Aidan over. “I don’t know why I should. You trapped me on my own bloody ship. Humiliated me in front of my crew.”
“Well, you shook me down for Rí Dermot of all people, and lied about it for years, so…”
Rian grunts, but his fingers are twitching on the tabletop. Curling and then spreading flat. “A decision I regret, which is why I paid my respects to the apothecary who put me in that position in the first place.”
“About that.”
He cuts his gaze to me. “He’s being handled.”
“And I’ve no doubt you’re doing a masterful job. Only we need him now, so cough up.”
A cackle erupts down near my elbow. “You think you can ask for that? Really, Wolf?”
I bite back a swear as Rian’s wife, Aoife, marches past me to stand by his side. “Yes, I think I can. I was a generous enough partner all those years—”
“You cut down our sails.”
“There’s no need to be dramatic, it was only the one. And I’m sure you had it repaired in no time.”
Aoife steps forward. “You—”
Rian catches her arm, smoothing it with a touch as he leans forward to take me in. “Things have changed, Faolan. The East Docklands, for one, are off limits. As of two months ago, we’ve laid claim.”
“Right, well, as I’m sure you’re aware, we discovered that for ourselves.” I grip the back of a chair, running my leather-wrapped palm over its ridged back. “I’m assuming you’ve heard—”
“Oh, I’ve heard.” Rian’s face breaks for the first time as he snorts. “I hardly know what to think. The idea of you married was challenging enough, let alone to a goddess—”
“She’s not a goddess.” I can’t quite catch the snap in my voice. “But the rest is true.”
“So you’re off the seas.” His eyes dart between mine. “The wolves are done?”
Every muscle in my back recoils, tangling tight.
I force them to ease, just enough to keep my shoulders down. Trick my smile so it stays light. “Not a chance.”
“Then what—”
“My wife has enemies, one of whom happens to be in your care right now.” I study his face. Aoife’s. Take a breath, and then: “I want the apothecary.”
Rian’s foot gives a single twitch. “Why?”
“Because he’s a nasty piece of shite and I never got the chance to tell him.”
He sighs. “You’re playing games again.”
“Aye, and like always, I intend to win.” My grip slides off the chair as I walk closer—satisfied when no steps echo mine. Whoever else is at the door hasn’t been ordered on the attack. Yet. “Rian, the man hurt my wife. I want retribution.”
His eye cuts from me to Aoife, then to the ceiling, as he spins a glass beneath his hand.
“Say I was to consider your request. What’s on the table?”
I sling the bag free of my shoulder and drop it on the table with a heavy clunk. “Two hundred gold pieces.”
Aoife scoffs. “I’d sooner drown him like a stowaway rat.”
“I’m not finished.” I reach for the bag, flipping it open. “Two hundred gold pieces and this wee treasure.” Rian’s jaw slackens as I hold up the marble eye. “Your humiliating defeat forgotten. Your honor restored. Your—”
The room tilts. Spins on its head as something drives into the back of my skull.
Something like a knife, or a finger.
Rian sits up, alarm on his face before that, too, disappears.
“Faolan?!”
Pain bursts like lightning down my spine as black bursts spark—pop—across my vision and light flares down my palm.
And then finally, I see Saoirse.
Fleeing for her life.