“They survived whatever ship you found in the Watchful Sea, whatever ship you attacked, emptied, and sank,” she said.
“For once that isn’t true,” Meliz snapped back, near to spitting. “You with all your charts and your lists. That doesn’t mean you know what the world is really like. The Jydi aren’t raiding. Something is wrong in the Watchful. Those boys were running, and I gave them a place to go.”
LIES, Corayne thought, feeling each one like a knife.
“You are a smuggler,” she answered, banging her hand on the table. “You’ve broken the laws of every kingdom from here to Rhashira’s Mouth. And you are a pirate, Captain an-Amarat. You are feared across the Ward for what you do to the ships you hunt and devour.” Corayne pushed forward so that they were nearly nose to nose over the table. Meliz’s mask was gone, her easy grin abandoned. “Don’t bother with shame. I know what you are, Mother, what you have to be. I’ve known for a long time. And I’ve been part of this, whether you believe it or not, all my life.”
Across the seden, a glass shattered, followed by a roar of laughter. Neither mother nor daughter flinched. A canyon yawned between them, filled only with silence and longing.
“I need this.” Corayne’s voice broke, bowed by the weight of desperation. “I need to leave. I can’t stay here any longer. It feels like the world is growing over me.” She reached for her mother’s hands, but Meliz pulled her fingers away. “It’s like being buried alive, Mama.”
The captain stood, her wine in hand. Her stillness was unfamiliar. And foreboding. Calm waters before a storm. Corayne steeled herself, preparing for more lies and excuses.
The captain did not bother with either.
“My answer will always be no.”
Be reasonable, Corayne chided herself, even as she jumped out of her chair, fists clenched. The pirate captain didn’t move, her stare unbroken and unamused.
Despair bubbled beneath Corayne’s skin. She felt like a crashing wave, rolling over with foam as she broke upon the shore. Be reasonable, she thought again, though the voice was smaller, more distant. She dug her nails into her palms, using the sting to stay anchored.
“You don’t get to make my decisions for me,” she said with great restraint. “I’m not asking for permission. If you won’t take me on, I’ll find a captain who will. Who sees my value.”
“You will do no such thing.” Meliz shattered her wineglass across the floor. Her eyes lit from within, threatening to burn the world down. She took her daughter by the collar, and not gently. The crew took little notice.
“Look around,” she snarled in her ear.
Corayne kept still, unable to move, shocked by her mother.
“This is my crew. They’re killers, every single one of them. Look at us, Corayne.”
Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she did as told.
The crew of the Tempestborn were a family, of sorts. Alike in their scarred hands, sun-damaged skin, bleached hair, corded muscles. Similar as brother to sister, despite their varying origins. They drank and fought and schemed as one, beneath a single flag, united before the mast and her mother’s command. Corayne saw them as she’d always known them to be: loud, drunk, loyal. But the warning echoed. They’re killers, every single one of them.
Nothing changed, and yet nothing was the same as before.
Her vision swam, and she saw them as the world did, as they were on the water. Not family, not friends. She felt like prey in a den of predators. A knife glinted on Ehjer’s hip, as long as his forearm. How many throats has it claimed? The big Jydi bruiser held hands with their navigator, golden Kireem, who was missing an eye. He lost it to gods-knew-what. Everywhere she looked, Corayne saw familiar faces, and yet they were unknown to her, distant and dangerous. Symeon, young and beautiful, his skin like smooth black stone, an ax balanced at his feet. Brigitt, a roaring lion tattooed up her porcelain neck. Gharira, bronze-skinned and bronze-maned, who wore chain mail everywhere, even at sea. And on and on. They dripped with scars and weaponry, hardened to the Ward and the waters. She did not know them, not really.
How many ships, how many crews, how many left dead in my mother’s wake? She wanted to ask. She wanted to never know. But you knew this—you knew what they were, Corayne told herself. This is what Mother wants, to frighten you away, to keep you onshore, alone in a quiet place at the edge of the world. A doll on a shelf, with only the fear of gathering dust. She bit her lip, forcing herself to remain steady and staring. The room was filled with beasts wearing human skin, their claws made of steel. If Corayne looked hard enough, she might see the blood all over their hands. As well as her own.