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“I thought I recognized a familiar head of hair,” came a voice from behind Wren.

She turned; a very familiar merchant-turned pirate stood there, proffering Wren a silken cloth with which to clean her face. She had no doubt she looked like a complete and utter puffy mess of tears.

Gunn.

How the blazes had he snuck up on her?

Wren yanked up her hood and cursed herself for being so careless in her escape. Her hair stood out like a bloody beacon. She’d basically waved a flag saying that she was in Othos.

She narrowed her eyes as she spotted a bottle tied to his hip, and his clothing registered. He was the drunk she’d spotted.

“Were the games really necessary?” she asked.

“If I approached you, Princess, would you have stayed or ran?”

A fair question. One they both knew the answer to.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you…shouldn’t you be out at sea, returning former slaves to their rightful homes?” The fact he wasn’t immediately raised Wren’s hackles. Had he betrayed Leif?

Sensing where her thoughts had gone, Gunn laughed wildly. “Oh ye of little faith, Dragon Princess. Do you think I could possibly do such a thing in a ship High King Soren recognizes? Don’t be so foolish. I smuggled Leif and the slaves to a far less obvious, smaller ship, then gave him some of my own crew to finish the job on my behalf.”

His explanation was plausible, but it didn’t make her feel any better. “And I should trust you?”

“No, but you can trust that I hate Idril enough to destroy what he holds so dear.”

“What did he do to you?”

Gunn laughed. “My dear old father? Why, everything, dearest.”

Father.

Wren stared at the pirate in shock. Gunn was Idril’s son? Now that he mentioned it, she could see the resemblance.

You have a brother.

Did Gunn know they were half siblings? It was all too much.

“He’s your father?” she croaked.

Her brother smiled, but it was anything but nice. “By blood only. I don’t claim him, even though he keeps trying to rein me in.”

Wren swayed and clutched at the railing behind her.

Gunn’s smiled dimmed, a flicker of concern on his face. “Why? Are you that unhappy to see me?”

Wren shook her head, trying to get ahold of herself. Even if they were kin, Gunn wasn’t her friend. She’d learned that lesson with Vienne.

He once again held out the handkerchief. “A peace offering.”

But for all intents and purposes she could sense nothing from Gunn’s behavior to suggest he was acting out of the ordinary, and hadn’t he been keeping up his end of the bargain of feeding the rebellion thus far?

She took the cloth from his hands, unceremoniously dragged it over her face, then gasped in surprise when she pulled it away and recognized the name embroidered upon it.

“This is Arrik’s,” she ground out. Wren pinned Gunn with her eyes. “When did he give you this?Whydid he give you this? Where is the prince?”

Gunn merely laughed once more. A little earring made from silver and quartz jingled from his ear as he did so. “So many questions.”

“It’s been a long day,” she managed. “Give it to me straight. No more riddles.”