control?
Tau sensed the change in her mood and spun it out, almost too long, until he saw she was on the edge of anger; he shifted to the attack and sent her into a swoon of bliss.
Sated at last, she flung herself across his chest. He waited until she had slid into boneless slumber, then arose and moved soundlessly into the adjacent chamber. The ship was reasonably steady. He unlatched the carved wooden lid to the captain’s fantastically expensive bath, kept clean by magic, the water refreshingly cool. He bathed long enough to rid himself of her favorite scent. Then he dressed, leaving his wet hair hanging down his back, and ran down to the galley, ignoring the stares of resentment— or lust—or a combination of the two.
Uslar was helping the cook with one of his complicated sauces. Captain Walic’s food was quite good, the supply maintained by the endless prizes the pirates had been taking; Tau had heard Walic gloat over how long it had been since they’d had to plan a shore raid. Because, of course, Walic never paid for anything: that was one of the first rules of the Brotherhood.
When Uslar saw Tau he reached beneath the prep table and brought out a cloth-wrapped loaf. He handed it to Tau, his dark eyes pained.
Something had happened. Again.
Tau said quietly, “Inda eating? Or was he part of the boarding crew?”
Uslar flicked a glance upward toward the weather deck.
Tau took the food: enough for two. He climbed to the deck, staying out of the way of the hands, and squinted out through the glaring haze rising off the greenish sea. The prize was a long, elegant private two-master, the wood embellished with carving and fresh gilt glinting in the sun; beyond it one of Coco ’s consorts was a shadowy silhouette, bracketing the capture, aboard whom the crew still fought. Faint cries carried over the water, and the clash of steel. Pale orange flames licked at the great triangle of the mainsail, now hanging uselessly, as a pump crew of pirates aimed a hose upward. Tau tried to pick Inda out of the busy figures aboard, but the glare was too bright, the haze too thick to make out individuals.
A roar of triumph: surrender. Either that or all the defenders were dead. Tau winced, wondering how many more lives had been snuffed from this world’s sunlight. He wondered if their ghosts would walk on the Ghost Isles, and if so, how they got there.
Leaving their bodies to be vanished, and their presence as memories in the minds of the living . Tau still grieved over the deaths of those he’d known, shared meals and jokes with, fought side by side against pirates with, against wind and weather with. He strove to imagine Kodl, Niz, Yan, even old Scalis, all drifting along some mysterious island, their forms somewhere between flame and smoke, but the idea of them wandering as ghosts hurt worse. Surely there was no pleasure in the existence of a ghost—no wine, no talk, not even the warmth of a touch.
The regret was not his alone. All the former marine defenders felt it: Thog the least, Inda the most.
Self-loathing had come to grip Inda so strongly that his nights had become a torment of dreams in which the dead lived and fought again, and he was helpless to save them. I want this ship for myself. And you will help me take it.
His own survival had become a matter of indifference.
Three times now he’d been sent to the forefront of an attack and each time he’d meant to escape the bitter despair by standing open to a defender’s steel. But his defenses were too good for that, too quick, far too habitual. He discovered with no joy or even curiosity that instinct seemed to prod him right before a sneak attack. He’d whip around and there was always a weapon raised, instinct bringing his arm up to meet the attack.
He could control himself well enough not to return any death blows. Because he fought to defend, and not to win, he gave in to the old habit of watching everything around him. He noted who fought to kill
Tau sensed the change in her mood and spun it out, almost too long, until he saw she was on the edge of anger; he shifted to the attack and sent her into a swoon of bliss.
Sated at last, she flung herself across his chest. He waited until she had slid into boneless slumber, then arose and moved soundlessly into the adjacent chamber. The ship was reasonably steady. He unlatched the carved wooden lid to the captain’s fantastically expensive bath, kept clean by magic, the water refreshingly cool. He bathed long enough to rid himself of her favorite scent. Then he dressed, leaving his wet hair hanging down his back, and ran down to the galley, ignoring the stares of resentment— or lust—or a combination of the two.
Uslar was helping the cook with one of his complicated sauces. Captain Walic’s food was quite good, the supply maintained by the endless prizes the pirates had been taking; Tau had heard Walic gloat over how long it had been since they’d had to plan a shore raid. Because, of course, Walic never paid for anything: that was one of the first rules of the Brotherhood.
When Uslar saw Tau he reached beneath the prep table and brought out a cloth-wrapped loaf. He handed it to Tau, his dark eyes pained.
Something had happened. Again.
Tau said quietly, “Inda eating? Or was he part of the boarding crew?”
Uslar flicked a glance upward toward the weather deck.
Tau took the food: enough for two. He climbed to the deck, staying out of the way of the hands, and squinted out through the glaring haze rising off the greenish sea. The prize was a long, elegant private two-master, the wood embellished with carving and fresh gilt glinting in the sun; beyond it one of Coco ’s consorts was a shadowy silhouette, bracketing the capture, aboard whom the crew still fought. Faint cries carried over the water, and the clash of steel. Pale orange flames licked at the great triangle of the mainsail, now hanging uselessly, as a pump crew of pirates aimed a hose upward. Tau tried to pick Inda out of the busy figures aboard, but the glare was too bright, the haze too thick to make out individuals.
A roar of triumph: surrender. Either that or all the defenders were dead. Tau winced, wondering how many more lives had been snuffed from this world’s sunlight. He wondered if their ghosts would walk on the Ghost Isles, and if so, how they got there.
Leaving their bodies to be vanished, and their presence as memories in the minds of the living . Tau still grieved over the deaths of those he’d known, shared meals and jokes with, fought side by side against pirates with, against wind and weather with. He strove to imagine Kodl, Niz, Yan, even old Scalis, all drifting along some mysterious island, their forms somewhere between flame and smoke, but the idea of them wandering as ghosts hurt worse. Surely there was no pleasure in the existence of a ghost—no wine, no talk, not even the warmth of a touch.
The regret was not his alone. All the former marine defenders felt it: Thog the least, Inda the most.
Self-loathing had come to grip Inda so strongly that his nights had become a torment of dreams in which the dead lived and fought again, and he was helpless to save them. I want this ship for myself. And you will help me take it.
His own survival had become a matter of indifference.
Three times now he’d been sent to the forefront of an attack and each time he’d meant to escape the bitter despair by standing open to a defender’s steel. But his defenses were too good for that, too quick, far too habitual. He discovered with no joy or even curiosity that instinct seemed to prod him right before a sneak attack. He’d whip around and there was always a weapon raised, instinct bringing his arm up to meet the attack.
He could control himself well enough not to return any death blows. Because he fought to defend, and not to win, he gave in to the old habit of watching everything around him. He noted who fought to kill
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