Page 45

I turn, placing my hand on Zorren’s shoulder. “You know they fight dirty, but we fight dirtier, for our honor, for our home, for every pirate they’ve burned and hung.” My voice lowers. “If you see a chance to kill, you take it. Do not hesitate. They sure as hell won’t.”

He swallows, and I take in his eyes, wide, young. In spite of how he earns his coin, he’s utterly unprepared for what comes next. This is the last moment he’ll ever look so innocent. He’s never taken a life before. I slide one of my daggers into his palm. “It’s light. Keep it hidden. Let them get close before you strike.” He nods, jaw tight.

I scale an old pillar and crouch high above the Ring, swallowed by shadow. They’ll think Zorren is alone. I want to see exactly what he’s capable of—his fighting, his killing, and how he holds himself when faced with powerful adversaries. And I want them to think they have the upper hand.

Zorren doesn’t look up, knowing better than to give away my position. Smart boy. A wooden beam creaks in the rafters near me and I wonder if my slayers have followed me.

I watch him from above as he squares his shoulders, standing tall and unflinching. One of the doors to the Ring slam open. Five royals step inside, each of them wrapped in those ridiculous blue and purple uniforms, gaudy, loud, and impractical. Clowns playing soldiers.

I spot the commander. The sunlight peeking through the storm clouds spills across the floor and catches the gold badge gleaming bright on his chest. He’s enormous, with broad shoulders, heavy armor, and thick arms. He looks like he was built to crush boys like Zorren.

“Zorren,” the commander announces, voice echoing, “by order of the king, you are to leave Magda and join the Royal Guard. Do you accept?”

Zorren takes his time looking the man over, head to polished boots. Then he lifts his chin, rolls his shoulders back, and smiles a cocky, crescent-moon grin. He’s been spending too much time around me.

“No,” he says, plain and certain.

The commander doesn’t move at first, just stares at him. The Ring quiets.

“Is that your final answer?” the commander asks.

Zorren doesn’t break eye contact. “It is.”

The commander’s jaw tightens. A muscle ticks beneath his eye. Slowly, he lifts one gloved hand. “Then by order of the king,” he says, each word measured, “you will die.”

The signal comes a heartbeat later, and the doors slam open all around, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Boots thunder from the corridors beyond the Ring.

At least fifteen men flood the arena, rifles raised, gunmetal glinting beneath the beams of the sun. Did they really need fifteen men to take down one thirteen-year-old boy? The king really hates to be told no. Childish.

They move in a rehearsed, orderly fashion, forming a circle around Zorren.

Fuck. I’m going to have to step in earlier than I planned.

I drop from the pillar and straight into the circle. My boots hit the floor in front of Zorren at the same moment my dagger slices across the nearest royal’s throat. He gurgles, collapsing beneath me as blood fans across the old wood, spilling into the cracks.

The formation shatters. Guns swing toward me, toward Zorren, toward anything they can point at fast enough, but I’m already moving.

I step off the dying man’s chest, pivoting just enough to block Zorren’s back. Then I straighten, letting my gaze find the commander.

“Hello, love.” I prowl past him, every step daring one of his men to twitch.

“You must be the infamous Pirate Queen I’ve heard so much about… Neressa.” He says my name with a nauseating flirtation that makes my knuckles itch.

I look him up and down. My cloak swallows most of my features, letting him wonder just how outmatched he is. “My reputation precedes me,” I say, calm and controlled. “So.” I slide a smaller dagger from the pocket strapped to my thigh, twirling it lazily between my fingers. “Here’s how this is going to go.” I scan the faces around me, every royal stiff, their guns raised, but their hands trembling. All of my reputation precedes me, evidently. Good. Fear makes people weak. My gaze drops to the corpse at my feet, blood still pooling warm across the floorboards.

“He will be the only one dead,” I decide aloud, stepping over the corpse, “if you leave my island peacefully and deliver a message for me.”

The commander laughs, a low, a coarse sound that grates against the wooden walls. “I am not an errand boy, girl. We came here under the king’s orders. His orders are always fulfilled.”

I lift my hands to the hood of my cloak and push it back slowly. When my face comes into view, every gun in the room shifts, the royals’ grips tightening. Oh how I just love making men scared.

A slow smile curls across my lips. “I think you’ll learn very quickly,” I say, “that on this island, when it comes to the king and his orders, he won’t get very far without my approval.”

I begin pacing in front of him, as casual as a stroll through a market. My hands clasp behind my back, dagger nestled between them, ready to draw blood.

“You see, I own the pirates,” I say softly, pacing. “And now I own the slayers.” I let that sink in—the weight, the shift in power, the truth they were not prepared for. The king must have suspected I’d take control after Silas, but now he’ll know for certain.

“This entire building,” I continue, voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “is surrounded by the most ruthless humans alive. Men and women trained to torture, to break.”