Page 55

THEY TRIED TO FIGHT, THEY DID. THEY ALMOST MADE IT to the ship’s rail and the water, though there was nowhere to go save for the Restish ship. The flotillas of the Long Harbour were already far behind.

Lessa had run first, seizing those few moments between surprise and reaction and swiping her sword towards Aleda.

The first mate was quick. Sparks flew as her own blade met Lessa’s.

Kissen had barrelled up behind the two of them before the rest of the crew could dive on the lady. She charged around the duel and headed straight for the next man, whose name she barely remembered. With the bread pan she met the swing he made for Lessa, shoving him backwards across the deck.

She glanced around, taking stock of their situation. Not good. The deck was lit only by a few lanterns as the sky lightened, and bound by mooring lines to the great hulk of the Restish ship, four-masted and blunt-prowed. Its deck was alive with folk running as they bound the two vessels together.

‘Run, Lessa!’ said Kissen, but each time Lessa tried to break out of the vicious dance she was in with the first mate, Aleda caught her, quick on her feet and quicker with her shortsword.

Kissen’s opponent found his stance and came back with his cutlass, drawing another knife, and Kissen was forced on the retreat, keeping him at bay with the bread pan, stabbing at his stomach, his legs. He sprang back, and she grinned.

‘The fuck are you laughing at, harasa ?’ he spat.

‘Thinking about a friend who would enjoy my choice of weapon,’ she said.

He tried feinting, desperately obvious, then darted around to her left. She slammed his ribs with the hard edge of the pan, put her left foot down and swung her right leg with all the force she could manage as he bent double.

Of course, he put up his knives, but this was her new metal prosthesis: no blade could cut her. A leg’s worth of finely tuned metal slammed into his ribs. Though Kissen winced as her ghost-shin stabbed with pain, the force of it sent the pirate skidding to the deck.

Kissen brought her leg back down and planted her foot, and looked back towards Wsirin. The city was all pre-dawn shadow, a grey ghost behind them. Act of war be damned, the chances of them being found were low, of making it to shore … impossible.

The crew of the Silverswift had been gathered at the forecastle, the deck already red with the blood of their animal offering. A goat this time. But they had heard the ruckus, and now were running.

Kissen backed away, moving towards Lessa, who was locked in a battle of darting blades with Aleda, spitting insults.

Kissen grabbed the knives she had tucked in her colourful shirt and threw them.

One, a curved bastard with a chipped handle, spun towards Shah and hit him pommel first. The other whirled off into the water, but the point of the third slammed into Graemar’s leg. He howled.

Kissen felt Lessa’s back touch hers, as if she already knew the shape it would make against her spine.

It was no mistake, she knew that too. She spun around with her long-reach weapon while Lessa ducked down to the side.

Aleda was caught by surprise. Lertes cried out a warning, and his wife reeled back in time to avoid the slam of the bread pan, and even managed to parry Lessa’s feint with her sword.

But she did not block Lessa’s second strike with the carving knife. That, she plunged into Aleda’s chest.

The first mate grunted, her cough drawing the faintest pink spittle to her mouth.

‘Aleda!’ screamed Lertes.

Kissen took that moment to release the loose manacle from her hand, swinging its chain around her wrist in a whirl as she ran, bread shovel and all, towards the others, yelling and hollering with every ounce of threat she could muster.

‘ Scal lufts!’ she cried in Talic. Loose ends. It was what she had always said to the world that had tried to kill her, a world that didn’t want her. A world of greed and gods and monsters. Fuck you.

She’d made enough terror of noise that their witless defence all converged on her.

‘Run!’ Kissen yelled again to Lessa.

‘No,’ came Lessa’s reply.

No what? Kissen swung her manacle into the face of a pirate, slammed her capped knee into the someone’s groin. Shit, she even slammed the staff towards Lertes’s ankles as he ran, sword drawn, towards Lessa, howling his rage.

‘I will die on my feet with a sword in my hand!’ cried Lessa. ‘Not in the water with an arrow in my back.’

Fucking nobles. Now she decided she had a moral code, and it was a stupid one.

And Kissen had played her best hand. She looked back towards Lessa to give her a piece of her mind, and instead found Aleda’s sword flying towards her, hilt first. Kissen caught it in her manacled hand as Lessa then met blades with Lertes.

‘You’ve killed her!’ he cried, his bright eyes filled with fury. ‘You’ve killed my wife!’

‘You stole my ship!’ snarled Lessa.

‘I had to choose one of you! I chose her.’

‘You chose wrong.’

Their swords flashed brightly in the grey dawn as they entered a vicious dance.

A fight to the death, all trust gone, their history dead.

Kissen cursed and kept to her defence, stopping anyone she could from getting close to Lessa, hopefully to save her for long enough that she would decide to save herself.

‘Stop!’ came a cry. The Restish delegate, Efana, had climbed down the plank that had finally been lowered from the Restish ship. ‘Stop this brawl! This is madness. Lady Craier, you will be blasted with cannonfire if you do not—’

Lessa and Lertes both turned on him with some garbled combination of, ‘If you fire on my bloody ship I will rip out your eyes.’

They could not open fire without destroying the Silverswift , but Kissen would not put it past them. There was no clean way to end this: they were outnumbered.

‘Then you give me no choice,’ Efana declared. ‘Release!’

An arrow punched into Kissen’s back with enough force to blast the air from her lungs. Crossbow. One struck Shah in the thigh as he threw himself down, and the others followed, all of them pinning themselves to the deck in a show of submission.

Kissen turned, dazed. Lertes had taken a shot to the arm, and Lessa to the hip, but they were still fighting, buoyed on by rage.

The Restish had boarded now, wielding swords, reloading their bows as more of their guards spilled onto the Silverswift .

Her lungs were not ready for this; her body was trembling now from fighting so soon after she had nearly been scalded to death, beaten and caged.

But she dragged herself to her feet.

Well, she knew she’d never die of old age. She never thought she’d die trying to save a stupid noble either, but it wasn’t so surprising that she’d die trying to save a beautiful woman.

She stepped into a Restish guard who aimed his blade for her thigh, knocking it aside and ramming the bread shovel into his chest. The second, she struck with the sharp end in the throat and disarmed them before they had a chance to take a breath.

Then she heard a step behind her, and she snarled, swinging the manacle. It was Efana, and he lifted his arm, ready for her, and caught the flailing chain. Then he dragged her forward.

Kissen fell, the arrow in her back scraping, blood hot across her shoulder. She could taste it on her lips too. Red, copper, death.

‘Lady Craier, stop or I will kill your veiga!’ snarled Efana.

Kissen felt his blade on her neck, and she laughed. Lessa would not stop for her. More, if they had Inara, they would have threatened Lessa with the death of her daughter first. That meant the wily girl had escaped.

Kissen looked towards Lessa, hoping now, at last, she would find a way to flee. But she didn’t. Instead, she stopped, holding her bleeding side while Lertes had collapsed to one knee, his blade down. Lessa could have killed him, but she was staring at Kissen with something like fear.

That was all it took. That moment of hesitation, the lowering sword. Then the Restish came. They dived on Lessa before Lertes could right himself, dragging her by the sword arm, weighing her down.

‘You fucking cowards!’ she yelled, not a lady any more. ‘You heartless, godless traitors! You piss-stained bastards of no mothers!’

‘Don’t hurt her,’ came another voice, nearer Kissen. ‘The godkiller helped kill crew. She’s the crew’s to kill.’

It was Rhiyande. She spoke with confidence. The ambassador scowled at her, but he could have ended Kissen’s life with a flick of his wrist and did not. Instead, he dropped the chain and stepped over her, as if she were nothing more than a bag of dirt.

‘Half-arsed, saltless fucker,’ snarled Kissen after him, but he ignored her, instead moving over to Lessa, who was pinned by both arms, on her knees, as the Restish patted her for weapons, finding several.

‘ Silverswift crew,’ called Ambassador Mirim, who was also now descending from the Restish boat. ‘See to your captain.’

Lertes, bleeding badly, was crawling closer to Aleda, sobbing.

‘Leda. My foolish love. My fierce soul …’

Aleda was already dead, the cook’s knife still buried in her chest. He put his face to her shoulder, no care for his own wounds, and wept.

Rhiyande helped Kissen upright by the back of her shirt. ‘If there’s an opportunity,’ she hissed, ‘take it. That’s all I can do for you.’

Kissen froze. She cast her gaze back to the shore and the increasing energy of the Long Harbour. There were several ships on the waves now, but only one turned in their direction. Irisian, a pointed prow and slanted cross-masts, but was it Bahba? Kissen didn’t dare let herself hope.

‘I won’t leave her,’ said Kissen.

Lessa could have abandoned her, could have let her die. Could not have cared at all. She was still cursing Efana, the Restish, the crew, their mothers and their mothers’ mothers.

‘This is bigger than people like us,’ whispered Rhiyande. ‘This is big power. Nations and nobles.’

‘I’m not a fucking traitor,’ said Kissen.