9

The boarding was going smoothly enough. Gael recognized the other ship, too, swaying gently from its position next to the Finch, sails lowered and cannons closed.

"Bartholomew," she murmured to Nathe, who stood next to her and watched as her crew helped a group of seven rough-looking men climb the rope ladders they'd secured to the Finch's hull. "He captained this ship when I was still only a youth aboard the Finch. How the old bastard isn't dead yet, I have no idea."

Nathe suppressed a laugh. "Well, is he going to give us trouble?"

"I doubt it. You may remember; he and Clay were on peaceful terms, and traded cargo fairly regularly. That's likely what he wants from this encounter as well."

"Well, I'm not sure we have much to offer this time around."

"No, he may have to leave disappointed."

Recognizing one man among the newcomers, Gael strode forward purposefully, followed closely by Nathe and another younger pirate. The captain of the other ship was a tall man, surpassing Gael in height and burliness. His hair was a light coppery colour that shone in the sun, eyes blue as the ocean that surrounded them. His face was lined and leathered, like he'd lived his whole life on the sea. When his gaze landed on Gael, a grin split his face.

"You!" He exclaimed. "You're the child that was on this ship when I last talked to old Clay- how many years ago was it, anyways?"

"Six," she replied brusquely, folding her arms across her chest.

"Six years! It has been long. I tried to convince your ol' captain to throw you overboard- seems he kept you around, huh? Where is Clay, anyways?"

Gael lifted her chin, annoyed. She hadn't remembered this man as being so irritating. "Claymore died of sea rot," she stated coolly, not taking her gaze from Bartholomew's eyes. "Two years ago. I'm the captain now."

His eyes widened. "You! You're-" he burst out laughing. "Well, this's a surprise. What's your name, young lady? I don't recall it being brought up the last time I was here."

"Gael."

"Well, Gael-"

"But you'll refer to me as Captain, as will your men, as long as you're all on my ship."

"Well, you ain't my captain, last I checked."

"Well, you are on my ship, last I checked."

She held his stare evenly, daring him not to back down. Finally, he shook his head and looked a way, an amused smile still on his lips.

"Alright, have it your way, Cap. I'll be damned. You really turned out just like Clay."

Gael didn't miss Nathe's sigh of relief behind her. She held back a smirk. The officer was always telling her she was too eager to prove herself, but he saw it all wrong. She wasn't proving herself, she was establishing herself. Establishing herself as the one in charge, of this situation at least. Better to handle all that right from the start.

"Well, then, Bartholomew, what do we have to discuss today?"

"Mind if we take this to your quarters?"

She rested a hand on her hip and raised a brow, awaiting explanation.

"I'd just rather talk about it somewhere we won't be gettin' input from everyone else."

"Alright, but Nathe comes with me."

"Oh, yes, that sounds fair." Then he caught the name. "Nathe! He's still here, too?"

"Right here," the officer said, stepping into clearer view, wearing a slightly annoyed expression.

"I'll be damned! You were just a youth last time, too. Older than the captain, 'course, but-"

"Shall we skip the pleasantries until after business has been taken care of?" Gael asked, growing more annoyed by the minute. She wouldn't outright make an enemy of the other captain, but she was eager to be on her way, and it seemed as though Nathe was too.

"Of course. Mind if I bring in a man as well? Seems only fair, right?"

Gael gave a long-suffering sigh. "Very well. Choose someone and make it fast."

Bartholomew turned to speak to his small group of crew mates that had gathered on deck, most of whom had already started conversing with Gael's crew. Gael folded her arms.

"I don't trust him."

"Well, I s'pose that's a pretty good policy to have out in the open ocean."

"Clay didn't trust him either."

"Clay didn't trust anyone, 'cept his own crew."

Gael watched critically as Bartholomew spoke to a few of his men, then offered one a friendly slap on the shoulder and a smile before making his way back to the two of them with an older, angry-looking pirate following him. "Alright. Lead the way, Cap."

Turning on her heel, Gael took them down below the deck and through the narrow corridor until she reached the captain's quarters. Reaching in her jacket pockets for her ring of keys, she untangled a heavy bronze one and unlocked the door before pushing it open.

The inside was decorated substantially better than the crew's quarters, but that was mostly because she spent more time in here than the rest of the men spent in their bunks. Aside from the bed, chained to the wall to keep it secure, the furniture included a shelf hosting a small library of tied-down books, a heavy, bolted-down table with a map spread and pinned across its surface, and a large chest pushed against the far wall. The floor was home to a thick, dark-furred bearskin. Gael made her way around to the table, cleared away a closed vial of ink and a few rolled up sheets of paper, and sat down on the edge of it.

"So, what are you here for? Trading cargo, I assume?"

"Yes, more or less."

She frowned, unsure of what he meant but deciding not to question it. "I'm afraid we don't have much of an interest this time. We've got money we could trade, I suppose, but other than that we have rations for the crew and a few extra crates of blankets we were planning to trade later in Ellay, as well as some barrels of ale."

"Mm. Yeah. I figured. I've actually heard you're carrying a different sort of cargo. Somethin' a little more special?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Gael suddenly felt a hollow pit open up in her stomach. How had he known?

"I don't know what you're referring to," she responded, ignoring the dread that was coiling up in her gut. Bartholomew approached the table, bracing his hands against it and facing her from the opposite side. She slid off, standing straight and tall.

"You sure? Rumours have been spreading- you know how things always end up getting out at some point or another- but I was told you've got the princess hostage here on your ship."

There was no pretending she didn't know what he was talking about anymore. Gael met Nathe's panicked gaze with a measured one of her own.

"And what if I do?" She asked, voice low. Daring him to ask for what she knew he wanted.

"Well, we can offer quite a lot-"

Gael slammed both of her hands down on the table. The action wasn't particularly loud or forceful, but it was enough to make Bartholomew, Nathe, and the other pirate in the room all jump and fix their attention on her completely.

"The princess Ainsley is accompanying us until we return her safely to her father in Ellay. I am not selling her. She may be, in all technicalities, a hostage here, but she will be a damn well-treated one as long as I have anything to say about it. If that's all you wanted, you may leave now."

Bartholomew's expression changed slightly. "Fine. Fine, alright. I was going to offer you gunpowder and gold and more ale than your crew can drink, but I see you ain't likely to be swayed by this."

Gael's eyelid twitched and she pressed a hand to her face. It was true that the Finch and her crew was continually needing more ammunition, more rations, more money. But she wasn't going to give in, wasn't going to sell Ainsley out like some piece of cargo. Like her father had done to her first.

"You ain't thinking right, Gael," Bartholomew pressured. "Any criminal this side of the sea would pay enough for that princess to let you settle and never have to take to the water again. You could be rich. Hell, Ellay's had tensions with that neighbouring country for years- they'd pay a sum for her."

"Quiet," Gael growled. The weathered pirate ignored her.

"And a dragonblood, too- don't you know what you could do with that, Gael? All ya need is a way to motivate her and you could have her burning cities for you. That princess could be a more powerful weapon than anything I can offer you-"

"Quiet!" Gael shouted again, drawing her pistol from its holster at her hip. Before she knew what she was doing, she was leveling it squarely at Bartholomew's face. The pirate froze.

"Now, Captain," he began, voice a shaky whisper. Gael jabbed the weapon closer to his head.

"No. Listen to me. I'm not selling you the princess so you can use her and her draconic powers for whatever the hell you want. I do not need to explain myself or my reasoning. Nathe and I and the rest of my crew are going to escort you and your men off of my ship, and the next time we talk you had better hope it's about trading flour or dried fucking biscuits. Are we in agreement?"

Bartholomew's lips pressed together into a thin line. His open palms quivered from where he had them lifted. "I understand," he said at last. Gael lowered the gun a notch, then put it away. She didn't want his small crew that was about the Finch getting hostile the moment she appeared on deck with their captain in tow.

"Fine. Let's go."

The four pirates left her quarters, and Gael paused briefly to lock the door securely behind her. Then they wound back up through the belly of the ship, finally stepping onto the deck. Sunlight washed over them, momentarily blinding Gael. Blinking, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes just in time to see the hatch to the hold get thrown open. And then Ainsley was dragged out.