Page 1 of Pirate Witch

ChapterOne

NILSA

“Not happening,” I growl. Opal hisses at the scrying bowl from her perch in Kier’s arms. “I want their bargain gone, but I want them tolivemore.”

I can’t believe that a Solar would evensuggestsuch a thing.

“No way,”Opal agrees.“I’ve invested too much of my time training them to meet my needs! I can’t start all over again. Does she know how much effort it takes to train one male—let alone six?”

Elsie grins up from the surface of the water like killing my men is the best idea she’s ever had. On either side of her, Danika and Reva exchange exasperated looks but don’t seem surprised by her outburst.

“She doesn’t mean it like that.” Reva steps in before Elsie can dig herself further into the hole she’s just created. “The scroll we found was written by an old Solar, who was trying to break a fae-bound bargain on a child. She never tested it because she couldn’t convince a Lunar to help her, but the theory is sound. Your mates have to be taken to the edge of death and held there by a combination of Lunar and Solar magic. That should fool the bargain into breaking. Then, when it’s gone, they can be revived.”

“It’s not even really fully dying… unless something goes wrong…” Elsie mumbles, suddenly a lot less excited than she was moments ago. “But it won’t. Reva and I are strong enough to hold it… Plus, with you there, we’d have an edge no one else would; a Shadow who can actually stand in the spirit realm and monitor them to make sure they’re not drifting too far either way.”

I’m shaking my head, but Kier’s hand on my shoulder stops me. A glance up into his eyes makes me bite my lip. He looks so hopeful that a part of me cracks inside. Breaking this bargain and regaining their freedom means everything to them.

But they mean everything tome.

He tilts his head and gestures to the deck, his meaning clear.

“I know they should be allowed to decide,” I whisper. “But what if it kills you?”

Kier doesn’t answer because he’s already made up his mind. It’s written in the steady gaze he levels at me.

“We’ll give you time to think about it,” Reva says.

Kier shakes his head, giving me another pointed look.

“We don’t have time,” I admit, glancing at the dawn-brushed sky visible through the skylight. “Val was right. If the Eagle learns I’m on board and sends word commanding you to bring me in, you won’t have a choice unless your bargain is broken.”

“What if we fly to you anyway?” Elsie suggests. “It’d be great to see you again, and we have so much to tell you. If your men decide to break the bargain, we’ll be ready, but if not, we’ll be there as backup.”

Kier nods at her before I can say anything, and the Solar beams, jumping up and heading for the door.

“I’ll get packing.”

She’s gone before I can say anything, and Reva bounces on the balls of her feet, eager to follow her.

“Where are we meeting you?” the Lunar asks.

I massage my temples in an attempt to ward off the impending headache. “We’re headed to Isablis. If Val’s right, we’ll be there in a week.”

“Meet you there,” Reva calls, already halfway through the door.

“Wait!” I shout, stopping her. “Did you sort everything between Elsie and Cooper? Did he betray her?”

Reva bites her lip. “Yes, and no. I’ll explain in person. Things with the Solars have calmed down a bit. Elsie still feels like she has to prove herself to get back into their good graces, though.”

The door slams as it falls shut behind her, cutting off any opportunity I might have to demand a better answer.

Now it’s just Danika left.

There’s a heartbeat where we both stare at each other, each of us unsure what to say.

I’m still soggy. Wearing the dust, blood, and salt from the destruction of Cirio’s Cove like a second skin. In contrast, she’s immaculate, regal, and every inch the ruler she was always born to be.

I lived with this witch for almost two decades, even shared a room with her. That Danika enjoyed life, partying, and winding up all of the witches of our Solar foster coven. There are still hints of her in this High Priestess, but I’m hit with the saddening certainty that we’ll never be the same—or as close—as we once were.