Page 37 of By the Flames of Her Fury

“Didn’t think we’d see you ‘round here again.” The man picked something out of his tooth. “We’ve missed you and yer old man. How’s he doin’ these days?”

Starke’s face was still a mask, but he ran his fingers through his blond hair—the only tell that he was anxious. “Gone,” he answered gruffly.

The man’s face sagged. “Sorry to hear that. He was one o’ the good ones.”

Starke acknowledged him with a single, curt nod. “Come on,” he said, gripping mine and Odessa’s shoulders and pushing us forward.

“Wait, did you used to live here?” I whispered. “You never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Have you seen this place, V?” We entered a busy street, weaving between mismatched stalls of questionable food and drifting smoke. “My father only ever wanted to get us out of here. He wanted a better life for me and my brothers.”

I swallowed hard. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss, Starke.”

He avoided my gaze and surged ahead into a nearby tavern. I read the faded words “Dead Man’s Chest” scribbled above the door as he, Odessa, and I crowded into the bar.

“You want to find Mortep?” Starke inclined his head to the patrons. “This is the best place to ask.”

The inside of the tavern looked like a rotting ship. The ground was slick with what I sincerely hoped was just water. Ropes and dried seaweed hung from the ceiling like some kind of themed decor. Wheels, compasses, and old sails were affixed to the decayed wooden walls, and the entire place smelled like stale ale and salt. Men and women alike turned to stare when we entered, giving us a quick once-over before their gazes landed on Starke. Like the others, their eyes widened in recognition.

A bartender plopped three glasses on the bar next to a group of pirates, then wiped his hands on his stained apron. “Can I help you?” he asked us.

I stepped forward and pulled a couple of silver coins from the pocket of my leather jacket, laying them on the wooden bar. “Three ales.”

As he nodded and got to work, I looked around the tavern. A fight broke out between two men on the opposite side. Fists swung and glasses shattered on the ground as their companions pulled them off each other, shouting curses. Hardly anyone else batted an eye.

I glanced at the pirates beside me. Two women and a man, all with black tricorns and daggers adorning their vests. The woman nearest me had thick black kohl lining her eyes and wore a gold chain with a pirate’s crest of a skull around her neck. She caught me staring and quirked a thick eyebrow. “See something you like?”

“Your crest is beautiful.” I nodded to the chain.

“Thanks.” She stuck out a hand for me to shake. “Name’s Knight. Captain Knight.”

I nodded. “Vera. And this is Odessa and⁠—”

“I know who he is.” Knight smirked at Starke, eyes lingering on him. “We go way back, don’t we, Alexander?”

It was strange to hear him referred to by his first name, but he clearly had a past here that I knew nothing about. “Well, we’re looking for someone,” I said. “A man. He may have come through here recently. Tall, pale, thick black hair. Blind,” I added, remembering how Everett had torn out Mortep’s eyes during the battle last year.

Malek Mortep was one of few Veridians born with two magic types: Alchemy and illusions. And as everyone who grew up around Illusionists knew, their biggest weakness was their eyes. Without sight, they couldn’t cast their illusions.

“Blind, eh?” Knight’s male companion leaned forward. He wore a leather eyepatch over one eye, and he lifted it to reveal a glass ball in the socket. “If that’s what you’re looking for, darlin’, come on over here and I’ll show you a good time.”

Starke stepped forward, his frame more hulking in the low lights of the tavern. “She’s not interested,” he growled.

I ignored them and kept my attention on Knight. “Have you seen anyone who fits that description around here?”

She ran a finger along her lips, playing with a small ring at the corner. “Maybe. We get lots of strange types around here.”

“I can make it worth your while,” I said. I lifted one side of my jacket to expose a heavy bag of coins.

Knight let out a rumble of laughter. “Oh, honey, I’m sure you could, but it doesn’t matter what else you’ve got under those clothes. I’m not the one to ask.” She dipped her hat toward a corner of the pub completely shrouded in smoke. “Talk to ol’ Sommers. He knows everything Blackwake.”

My gaze raked over the corner to a hidden silhouette. In my silence, Odessa stepped forward, ever the polite one. “Thank you for the help, ma’am.”

Knight chuckled. Before I walked off, she gripped my wrist, nails digging into skin. “Watch your back, honey,” she whispered. “Those pretty blue eyes will get you every time.” She spoke to me, but her gaze was fixed on Starke. She released me and shot him a threatening, seductive smile, then went back to her ale as if nothing had happened.