The house was the same as when she had left it. The long strands of ivy had continued to claw their way up the stones of the home. The backyard lay ridden with weeds, accompanied by some ancient farming equipment that lay scattered about. The sun’s rays fell softly upon her face, but as she tipped her chin to the sky, she felt no warmth.

Her heart began to sink as she detected the scent of fresh bread on a southern breeze that blew her hair out from under her large, black hat. The hat fell to hover over the arch of her brow, obscuring her dark green eyes. The woman’s footsteps had indeed begun to feel heavier, as if a weight had fallen upon her shoulders.

She could just imagine her mother standing over the hot stove with beads of sweat on her upper lip, as she assessed the state of her bread. Her father would be sitting behind her, his forearms resting on the kitchen table, and a hand would balance a cigar neatly between his fingertips. Her mother would scold him for smoking in the kitchen, but then her sister would drift through the open door. She would be the one to ease the growing tension. The girl’s soft laugh would dance around their parents and result in the ceasing of the argument.

The woman stopped, her black boots now splattered with mud from the garden she hadn’t realized she had trampled. Her mother’s cabbages lay smeared in dirt and the bean stocks had been snapped.

Her sister must be gone by now; married off to a wealthy man no doubt. The thought of facing her parents without her sister as a buffer made her want to spin around right then and set off back towards the Crossed Sail, her ship. Unfortunately, she knew that if she ran now she would never look back.

As the woman came upon the door, her thoughts became scarce and she raised her hand in a fist. A woman’s humming filtering through the opened window was the only sound in the silence the woman had brought with her. She brought her hand to the door once, a loud bang echoed through the yard as well as her heart. The sound of footsteps on the house’s creaking floors came towards her and she braced herself. She wanted to tug her night-black cloak tight around her, but she was not weak, so she straightened her back and set her jaw. Although her hands remained clamped at her sides, her nails dug so far into her palm that she felt a bit of blood trickle down to land on the steps of her home. The door was wrenched open from the other side and her breath left her faster than a blow to the chest.

The man who had opened the door was not her father, and when she peered behind him she found that the woman baking behind him was not her mother. The man was young, maybe only a few years older than her. She saw the confusion in the way his lips were drawn and his eyes had narrowed.

“I am sorry,” he spoke carefully, as though she were going to draw a sword on him, “but I believe you may have the wrong address.”

He had spoken in English though this was France, most likely because she appeared to be a foreigner. He moved so that he was blocking the doorway, the woman hidden from view.

Her heart felt as though it were going to cleave apart. Without even thinking, she reached blindly for the mask she had been wearing for far longer than a decade. The arrogance and entitlement settled deep into her bones and this time she would not let it fall so easily. She was not the same girl who had run away and it was time this town knew that.  

“Oui, Monsieur,” she answered the man in French, “Je suis desolee.”

He only nodded and retreated quickly, the door slamming a few inches from her nose. The woman blew a short breath out from her mouth in frustration, and turned her back on the house she had grown up in.

Her fleet was waiting in the port at Normandy, but she had left a few of the crew that had accompanied her in the center of the town. Her feet began to lead her back through the overgrown yard, and back to the cobblestone street. Her shoulders were not slumped, because she refused to admit defeat. If there was one thing in this world she knew how to do, it was how to get answers.

Most of the streets lay uncrowded, though a few men dwindled around park benches. Some nodded at her, with a tip of their hat, their expressions wary. This was the reason for her clothes and hat; she did not want any person to know of her true identity. It was not just the fact that she was a female that she was trying so hard to hide.

There was a weathered, brick building directly ahead, and she was just able to make out a wanted sign that read,

Wanted: ‘King of Pirates’

                    Location: Unknown

                    No Available Picture

                    Reward: 50 Million Francs

The woman smirked. The King of Pirates was a slippery creature; no one ever knew where they would show up next, and by the time they realized, their port would have already been ransacked. Her heart always sped up when she saw those posters, and she could have sworn that the reward increased on each one.

She came upon the pub where she had left her crew. It was a small, wooden building that stood with a slant to it. The door’s red paint was peeling, and there were some large chunks of wood that had been taken out; most likely from a raid. She shook her head, recalling the amount of raids she, herself, had led after her departure from this town. She trotted down the cement stairs where hundreds of feet had passed. Her hand grasped the brass door handle and she pushed it open.

The thick smoke was choking. There were plumes of it resting above the heads of the pub’s customers. Her vision swam from it, but she managed to make out four figures at the bar, each with the insignia of an emerald sea dragon on the sleeves of their loose, linen shirts. Out of instinct she pulled on the brim of her hat, hiding her face from the crowd through which she pushed. Men were rolling dice, and in varying stages of intoxication. A waitress crossed her path, and their shoulders collided. She grabbed the waitress’s arm and spun her around.

The girl’s eyes grew wide at her display of strength.

“Let me go!” Her eyes betrayed fear, but her voice held only conviction.

That voice. The woman released her grip on the girl’s upper arm.

Her own voice wavered, but she managed to say, “Genevieve.”

The girl looked up, peering under the black hat, her face slack with shock, “Adeline.”

They held each others gazes for a few moments more before Genevieve broke the silence, “It’s been years since I’ve seen you. You’ve changed.”

She indicated Adeline’s black attire, so different from her own rose colored dress.

That was when Adeline took in Genevieve’s stance as well as her clothing. Her sister’s dress was ripped into shreds of fabric and her shoulders were hunched as though she were a rabbit in a fox hole. Adeline felt only an ounce of pity for her sister in that moment.

“Genevieve, I came back to explain. I came back to say that I’m so sorry,” Adeline made her voice break on the last word.

Her crew had now turned from their places at the bar counter. Their faces held no signs as to their thoughts on their captain’s show of emotion. They had most likely already guessed at the game she was playing.

“I understand, Adeline. You can’t undo the past, but I appreciate you coming home.” Her eyes held so much light, and hope, as if she expected Adeline to save her.

Adeline almost choked at the amount of emotion between them. She didn’t know what to do, so she simply motioned for her sister to sit down across from her, at the table that lay to her right. Her crew had turned back to their drinks, but she could see that Galen, her first mate, was only partly focused on the glass in front of him. He was monitoring her every movement, and scanning those around her. She knew that if anyone raised a problem for her, Galen would have them up against a wall before she even needed to utter a single word.

“Tell me everything,” Adeline demanded of her younger sister.

“Well, I got married.” She tried to smile, but it turned to be more of a grimace, “to Antoine LaTerre.”

Adeline blanched. Antoine was to be her betrothed,  before her desertion. Then again, he was the reason for it.

Antoine was a sadist. The only thing that had brought him joy at the time of their engagement had been the idea of him taking away her freedom, because he knew that that was her greatest love on this earth. The night she had snuck out of her bedroom window, the night of her wedding, had been a few hours after she had told Antoine that her virtue was no longer intact. He had lost his temper, and she had been anticipating it. When he had come at her, her knife had been ready. She had slipped it out of her sleeve and thrust the blade into his shoulder. His cry of outrage had rung in her ears every night for the following year-her only lullaby.

After that, she had bounced between ships posing as a young boy. Until she stumbled upon a pirate’s ship and was mentored by the ship’s captain. Her skills eventually became unparalleled to any other pirate she met. Her talent with a sword, navigation, and war were unmatched. Then her identity as a woman had been discovered and she had almost been thrown off of the ship in the middle of the Atlantic. Instead, because her mentor had become fond of her, he had given her a rowboat from the side of his ship, two oars, and the clothes on her back.

His last words to her had been, “Let the stars be your guide, the ocean be your ally, and you will find your way.”

She had been sixteen at the time.

The memories had come back in a flash. Her gender had always been her greatest weakness.

Now, Genevieve was shackled to the most horrid man in France. He did not hold any respect for any woman. Then, she thought of one aspect of her sister’s statement that made no sense.

“Genevieve, Antoine is a wealthy man. Why are you working here?” Adeline indicated the tattered room and it’s occupants.

“It’s my punishment, for a week.” Her eyes held no anger, only resolve. “I spoke out of turn and Antoine needs obedience.”

“Is he insane?! That man cannot give you a punishment for speaking!” Adeline clenched the arms of her chair, her nails digging into the wood. She pushed back from the table, her chair flying into the back of a man sitting directly behind her. The impact sent his cards flying from his hands to the floor.  

“Adeline, please calm down!” Genevieve’s milky brown eyes had widened to saucers, “Please, don’t make a scene.”

Indeed the man whose cards she had disrupted had begun glaring and his partner rose from their table, cracking his knuckles. For once, she wished she could blend in. For some reason she always attracted a fight. Galen had already begun to walk towards her, her three other crew members fanned out behind him.

“Where are you living? Are Mama and Papa with you?” She flicked her wrist to free the blade that was up the arm of her shirt.

“Yes, I can give you the address.” Genevieve’s eyes were wary, she saw the fight brewing too, but her demeanor was nothing but calm.

She took a pen from her apron and wrote a number and street on a small piece of parchment.

“I would take you there,” Genevieve spoke, “but I have to finish my shift.”

Her gaze flitted over to the bartender, whose eyes were already on the brewing fight, his eyes held only hunger at the prospect of violence.

Adeline grinned, “Give me one moment to fix that.”

She pocketed the directions and spun just as the man’s fist came at her jaw, but she was already ducking. Her knife slashed at the side of his exposed calf. He gasped and went to knee her in the stomach with his other leg, but she had already rolled to the side and to her feet; now behind him. Before he could turn, she bashed the back of his skull with her knife and he dropped to the floor like a stone.

His partner, the one whose cards she had knocked from his hands, came at her but she simply grabbed him by the throat, her thumb and middle finger successfully cutting off his airway. The mans hands grappled with her own, his attempt to free himself was feeble. Then Galen was there. He had come up from behind her attacker. She released him. Right as the man started to fall to the floor, Galen brought his sword to the man’s throat.

Adeline wiped her bloodied knife on her leg and slipped it back into her sleeve as she stepped over the unconscious man and towards the bar. Her saunter was as familiar as breathing, this character had been created the night she had fled this town. Her character never heard the word no, she was never bested, and her arrogance was proof of this. The bartender’s mouth had dropped open, the glass he had been wiping lay forgotten in his sweaty hands.

The rest of the bar had gone eerily quiet, all eyes were on her and her crew.

“I would like an oceanic,” she recited her favorite drink, as she wiped the blood from her hands on a napkin in front of her.

The bartender stiffly made her drink, his eyes rarely straying from her, this deadly creature that had walked into his bar. She could see the confusion and apprehension in his eyes as clearly as if she could read his thoughts. He was wondering how a woman could be such a monster and why should he be afraid of her. She was just a woman. Adeline had encountered hundreds of men like this in the years she had been absent from this town.

He leaned over the counter to place her drink in front of her. Then his eyes snapped up to stare at something over her shoulder. Keela stood there. Her grin was like that of a feline’s. Her arms were crossed, but it was to her hands that the man’s eyes were drawn to. She wore sets of iron nails over each of her fingers. The tips were each the length of her pinkie finger and they had been sharpened to pinpricks. This weapon had been a design of Adeline’s, and she now preferred them to a sword because of their freedom of movement. The bartender seemed to be at a loss for words. The girl was one of Adeline’s favorite members of her crew. Keela’s ruthlessness reflected her own and the two often had much fun laying waste to various cities and ports together.

“Now,” she threw back the liquid, tinged a light blue, “let us talk of my sister Genevieve. She is to never work here ever again. You are never to look at her again, let alone speak to her. Do you understand?”

“But, Antoine—” The bartender managed to get those two words out before Keela had reached across the counter, those iron nails clasped around his throat.

She smiled sweetly, “What was that?”

The man tried to nod, but the soft skin of his neck was penetrated by Keela’s nails. As the dark blood began to drip onto his shirt, Keela spoke. “I will take that as an indication of your understanding, and,” she paused, her nails sinking deeper, “your discretion.”

The man’s eyes widened a fraction, the only way of communication he had. With a nod from Adeline, she released him and stepped back to her Captain’s shoulder. The bartender grasped at his bleeding neck with a napkin. He winced in pain, as the paper turned to red.

Adeline turned from him to her sister, who gaped at her and the mess she had made.

“Go home, and tell our parents that I’m on my way.” The Captain in Adeline was speaking. Giving orders was second nature to her.

Genevieve, body trembling, rose as gracefully as she could from her seat and gathered her skirt in her shaking hand. She gave a simple nod and ran for the door, nearly tripping over the raised threshold. The door shut with a bang.

“Alright,” Rowan, her weapons master called to the crowd, “go back to your drinks and cards. No one speaks of this! Understood?”

All heads nodded and their eyes retreated back to the cards in front of them. The clicking of dice hitting the tops of the tables was more prominent than when Adeline had first entered the bar.

Her crew gathered to her and Rowan handed her an envelope, “News from the fleet,” his voice cold.

“Good, I see that Severin managed to make it out quietly,” she spoke carefully, for there were many ears in the bar.

This had been the reason for her pushing her chair into the man behind her, no one could notice Severin leave, especially her sister. It was better if she believed that all four crew members had been in the bar the entire time. Adeline could not risk any loose ends, no matter how small.

“Yes Captain,” Rowan confirmed, his blue eyes meeting hers.

They could have been cut from ice, for they were so cold.

“Now,” she turned to Galen, “did you visit the police department as well as the bank and give them my letters?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “though I am very curious as to how this will all play out.”

“As am I,” The Captain looked at Galen, then Rowan, and then Keela, “As am I.”

Adeline ripped open the envelope and read the neat words printed upon the parchment within. Her eyes narrowed at the information received.

“Rowan, this is from the infiltrated ships?” Adeline questioned her weapons master.

“Yes, Captain, the colors are ready to be flown on your command.” His hands were clasped behind his back, his stance one of complete discipline.

“Consider this my order. I want them alerted immediately. Are we positive that the two fleets belong to them?” Her entire plan rested on this; she refused to make a single mistake.

It was Keela who answered, “Severin made sure that his mission did not fail. This information is all straight from the horse’s mouth, Captain.”

“His spying was quite remarkable,” Galen added to the discussion as he drew his cloak around his shoulders in preparation to leave.

Adeline simply dipped her chin in agreement, “I have to go to the house, and Rowan you’re coming with me. Keela, you will stay with Galen and trail us.” She added, “Make sure it’s at a distance.”

“Yes, Captain,” Galen stated with a salute of two fingers to his brow. Keela replicated the motion and winked.

Following her orders, Keela and Galen waited before following her and Rowan from the bar. Once they had stepped back onto the street, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. The air was fresh and clean. She stared longingly in the direction of the northern bay. She could have sworn she detected one of her ships’ sails, but it was most likely a passing cloud.

“Captain?” Rowan asked more tenatitvely than she thought him capable of.

Adeline met his eyes and smiled. Her straight, white teeth shone brightly for she was happy. Rowan smiled back, another shock to her. Adeline turned in the direction of the street her sister had written down; and they began their walk.

The house was large enough to be deemed a manor. The street leading up to it was decorated with perfectly shaped trees and bushes, no doubt clipped to grow that way, nature manipulated by man. This was why she preferred the sea; no matter how hard one pushed against the current, it would never yield.

The tall white pillars seemed to rise to touch the clouds, but she refused to be intimidated. She felt Rowan beside her as he brushed her shoulder with his own.

She reached the front door. Unlike when she had visited her old house, she was not going to be coming from the back door. Adeline clenched the handle on the door and knocked it against the wood of the door three times. This time she felt no fear at the sound of footsteps. It was Genevieve who opened the door.

“Come in,” her voice did not shake. “They are in the kitchen.”

Genevieve looked Rowan over from head to toe. Her eyes strayed to his silvery-blond hair, before she returned her attention to her sister.

As Adeline stepped into the spacious foyer, all of the white marble so different to the wood she was used to, the smell of bread wafted to her nose. Her mother was baking her famous bread; old habits had clearly remained the same. She followed Genevieve into the kitchen, and at the sight of her mother bent over the stove, and her father smoking a cigar, she felt farther from home than ever. Her home had become the sea, her fleet, and her crew. Adeline knew that this visit was crucial but she yearned to flee again.

“Stefan,” her mother chastised, “you musn’t get those ashes near my bread.”

“Oh hush, Victoire!” her father snapped, but before he could continue, he spotted his daughter in the doorway.

She had changed into loose brown pants with matching boots and a white shirt. The clothes befitting a civilian, not a wealthy pirate.

“Well, what do we have here?” her father mocked as he stood from his chair.

Her mother spun from the stove, her hand moved to rest over her heart, “Good Heavens!”

“Bonjour Mere, Pere,” she spoke in French in an attempt to appease them, but from her father’s glare, and her mother’s sigh, she could tell that was useless.

“You ran away,” her father growled at her. “Like a coward, you ran, and on the day of your wedding! I was going to send men after you, but then Antoine informed me of the state of your virtue.” He scoffed then, “I decided that you were better off dead, for there was no way to marry you off then.”

It was then that Adeline noticed the two other men in the room along with her family. One was Antoine whose face held a permanent snarl, but the other was unfamiliar; his dark clothes looked like that of a pirate’s. Then she noticed a red insignia of a raven on his shoulder, a pirate indeed.

Genevieve had slunk off to the other side of the kitchen. Adeline, reminding herself of who she was, moved to take a seat at the table, across from her father, completely ignoring the company in the room. She crossed her arms, and leaned back, the movement purely masculine.

“I am not here for apologies. I have not the patience for such formalities.” She waved her hand for emphasis, “I’m here to explain.” Her father scoffed again and sat down. Her mother, though, had frozen.

“Oh, Mother, did you not tell him?” Adeline feigned surprise.

“Tell me what?” Her father’s eyes narrowed as he turned from her to her mother. The woman’s eyes remained fixed on the opposite wall. “I am not your daughter.” Her statement fell like a stone upon her family’s ears.

Genevieve’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the kitchen.

“When Mother was younger, she fell in love with a sailor,” Adeline began the story. The pure joy was hard to keep from her voice. “They were set to be wed, until Mother found that his fishing had turned to pillaging. The man had become a pirate. She decided that this was not a life she could lead, so she broke off the engagement, and she married you, Father. She was a few weeks pregnant at the time.” The room was deadly silent, so she continued, “Mother told me this on the same day I left, because the only person in this world who can force me to marry is my father. So, I had to find him.”

Her father, well not actually, began to laugh. “My, I would’ve thought you to be smarter. I have known of this for quite some time, dear Adeline. I know because he was a dear friend of mine, for I am as much a pirate as he.”

Adeline gaped, looking to her mother who still remained frozen.

“Well, why don’t we introduce you to him,” he asked, the happiness in his voice more artificial than she thought he would be able to stomach. She had already steeled herself, as her father pointed to the man dressed in pirate garb.

Adeline sat frozen in her seat, her eyes taking in the man who was her father. Her part was easier to play than she had anticipated, the shocked expression was near perfection.

“Father?” She questioned the man.

“That would be correct daughter, though I wish us meeting could have been under better circumstances.” His smile was one of attempted warmth, but she could see right through it, right down to the snarl beneath.

He had sat up in his seat, his spine aligned with the back of his chair.

“Well,” spoke the man who she had long thought was her father, “Why don’t we get started. We have already had many good bids, but I think we could get much better ones, so we must start bringing her to events with some of the elites of French society,” he spoke to Roland.

The other man nodded in agreement, his brow furrowing in thought, “With her being so wealthy, and well equipped, that is very true. I think we could aim for over the reward price.”

The men laughed, their yellowed teeth baring.

Genevieve and her mother were looking at the two in confusion. Antoine plucked an apple from the bowl of fruit in the center of the table, and bit into it; the crunch interrupted the men in the heat of their plot. “I do hope, gentlemen, that you aren’t forgetting about my hand in this. You are, in fact, sitting at my table, in my house.” His smirk was eerie.

Roland shared a look with Stefan; one that made Adeline want to squirm. Before anyone in the room could react, Stefan had a sword to his son-in-law’s throat. Adeline had barely seen him move from his chair. Roland sat back calmly.

“Mr. LaTerre, you will find that pirates are not the sort of men to include a man that helped them, in any fair way,” Roland spoke matter of factly, as Antoine’s eyes darted around the room, in search of anyone who could help him.

Adeline met his gaze with a grin that stretched across her face; this was not in need of faking. Rowan had moved closer to the side of her chair, in case Roland or Stefan got any new ideas.

“Alright, I think he understands,” Roland finished with a flick of his wrist.

Stefan lowered his sword and lowered himself back into his seat. Her mother was now grabbing Genevieve’s arm so hard, that her knuckles had gone white, to match Genevieve’s face.

Adeline took the opportunity to turn the conversation. “So, have I become too much of a threat to the two of you?” Her tone had taken on one of pride.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, but since you are worth so much, and we are in the position of handing you in, I think this will make up for everything you have managed to steal from us over the years.” Stefan’s voice held pure bitterness.

“But we will not be giving you to the authorities; you will be going to the highest bidder, along with your wealth, fleet, and crew.” Her biological father met her eyes, and she read hunger there, raw hunger, for the power only she possessed.

“Who exactly do you believe me to be?” Adeline prodded them.

“Drop the act, you brat, we all know that you’re the King of Pirates, the one that is known worldwide for her arrogance, brutality, and skill.” Stefan’s statement was drenched in poisonous anger.

Rowan bared his teeth, as his hand reached for his sword, preparing for the ensuing fight. Adeline looked to her parents, and her biological father.

“How do you plan on capturing me exactly?” She already had the answer sitting on her tongue, but she wanted to hear them say it themselves.

Roland chuckled darkly, “Well, your fleet is blocked by my own at the Southern mouth of the bay and Stefan’s fleet at the Northern side of the bay, therefore you have no way to escape.”

Stefan’s eyes snapped to Roland’s, “No, my fleet is at the Southern mouth, and yours is at the Northern.”

Roland’s look of confusion almost sent Adeline into a laughing fit.

“Well, normally, I would be very concerned, but seeing as my fleet is on the Northern side, and both of yours are on the Southern side, it doesn’t seem to be that worrisome.” Then she added. “For me at least.”

The looks on their faces were ones of pure horror.

“It was really quite easy. I had spies put on all of your ships months ago, so when you both started trailing me, I landed here, in Normandy. I knew exactly how you planned to trap me, because of those spies, and when you had a messenger bring the note of which side you would be located on,  I had him intercepted, and the note was changed. Finally, when you waited for the signal that it was indeed my ships in the bay on the Southern side, I had my spies on your ships hoist my colors on each of your ship’s masts for a few minutes, just enough for each of your watchmen to report that it was me.” Adeline’s smirk was pure arrogance.

Now she had their attention; they had expected sobbing and begging. They still failed to realize who she was: she didn’t become the world’s most famous pirate by sitting on her butt, trying on corsets.

“And your respective crews were just given the order to fire upon their will.” As if in answer to her declaration, the sounds of canons erupted, and the house’s fine chandeliers shook. Roland and Stefan sat motionless, as their ears bore witness to their fleets’ destruction. Then Adeline began counting down, using her fingers, from five. Rowan laughed softly.

“What now? Haven’t you already done enough, you who—” Rowan had thrown a knife at Antoine’s heart before the rest of that sentence had exited his parted mouth.

Genevieve screamed, her hands flying to muffle the sound. Their mother fell to her knees, as Antoine’s shirt stained with red. His head lolled to one side, as his eyes glassed over, and stared into nothingness.

“Thank you Rowan, you read my mind.” Adeline brushed an invisible piece of lint from her shoulder and said, as she ran out of fingers to count, “One.”

Ten police officers barged into the kitchen, with Galen right behind them.

“There’s the pirate, and his accomplice,” Galen pointed first to Roland, and then Stefan.

Roland began to protest, “No, no, she is the pirate.” He pointed frantically at his daughter.

One of the officers laughed at the man’s declaration, for it even sounded insane to her. A woman could never be a pirate. Adeline smiled to herself.

Stefan was being cuffed, the metal already cutting into his wrists, “Adeline, you will pay for this! One of these days you will be caught, and your freedom will be taken by force! I will relish that day, daughter.” He disappeared as he was led to the waiting carriage outside, Roland right behind him.

They were gone, and she was left to deal with her mother and Genevieve. One of the officers who had stayed behind, had begun to examine Antoine’s body.

Galen put a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to her ear, “Captain, the fleet is ready on your word.”

Adeline moved to her mother and sister, who were evidently in shock.

“I left all of Antoine’s funds in your name, in the event of his death. This is all yours now.” She touched her sister’s hand, and began to move towards the door.

Her mother reached for her wrist, “Please, be careful.”

Adeline tried to smile in reassurance, but could not seem to form one that was convincing enough so she settled for saying, “Your bread is burning.” The smell of burnt bread, her last memory of Normandy.

They were made to answer many questions from the police, but were finally let go right as dusk had fallen.

The wind in her hair had never felt better. Her cloak flew about her, dancing to the rhythm of the breeze. They had cast off moments ago from the northern side of the bay. Keela had met them at the docks, and ferried them to the Crossed Sail. She thanked Severin immediately upon her arrival. She smiled at her true family as they all bustled around the ship.

Rowan was having her ships’ cannons reloaded, upon their near arrival to a port in Spain. Keela was teaching a hand-to-hand combat lesson on the upper deck, with Severin watching carefully, his eyes missing nothing. Galen stood at her right shoulder, his hand on the pommel of his sword. He watched the vast ocean crashing against the bow of the ship. Neither said a word. Adeline tilted her head to the sun, and this time she felt only warmth; she was free.