Tempest and Tide [Nikolai Lantsov]

~ Chapter Two ~

I've been on this ship for all of three minutes and I've been stripped of my coin satchel, the small knife hidden in my boot, and my dignity.

At my side, a hulking boy stands guard, his eyes the same gold as the girl with the sword. He doesn't bother to hold me, knowing that there's nowhere for me to run, not with the ship drifting out to sea.

Before me, the girl - who I can only assume is his sister - rifles through my purse. Coins click against each other as she counts them, each jingle making my heart sink. There goes my way to Novyi Zem, my money for food and shelter, the only thing I have left from my family. Everything.

I can only hope that she misses the ring stowed in the bottom of the satchel. Judging from the amount of weaponry the crew carries they are less than legitimate sailors. There's no telling what they would do if they discovered a member of the gentry on their ship. Better that they think I'm a normal stowaway, albeit a well-funded one.

The rest of the crew sends furtive glances my way, but they go about this business seamlessly. The dance of pulleys, ropes, and sales would be entrancing if it wasn't for the knife pointed lazily at my heart.

"What's this stowaway," The girl's voice is sharp. She's reached the bottom of the purse now and her eyes glint curiously. Sticking the ring under my nose she gives it a small shake. The Beyove falcon stares back at me. The crest of my family and the only thing I allowed myself to commemorate my past life. Now I regret that small bit of sentimentality.

"Stole it off som' in the town." I lie, trying for the lilting accent I've heard from dockworkers and vendors on the coast. It falls flat and I try to hide my disappointment. Even after years at court, I've never been good at hiding my emotions, no matter how much I practiced.

The girl doesn't look convinced, her eyes narrowing as she studies me.

There is one strategy that has always worked for me, deflection.

People love to talk about themselves Kora, Nikolai's voice echoes in my mind, one of the many times he tried and failed to teach me how to perfect life at court, well most people, you seem to be the exception.

I blink away the emotions, trying to focus only on his advice. I don't need to think about Nikolai, not if I want to keep a clear head. The memories of him only bring back a pain I buried long ago. No, it's much better to keep emotion out of it.

"Who 're you anyway?" I ask, cringing at the terrible accent. I cross my arms over my chest to hide my irritation.

"Tamar." Her tone is short and clipped, not inviting any more questions.

So much for that advice.

She slides the ring into her palm, wrapping her fingers around it protectively, "You know what I think, I think that you're a noble. What would it be, Alvrin house, Kaminsvre, Beyove."

Something must change in my face because the girl stops. She looks from me to the ring and, after a moment's consideration, nods to her brother, "I'll take her, you know what you need to do."

"What no!" I exclaim all pretense gone as I step away from the pair, "I demand to speak to your Captain."

"Quire the posh accent you have there." Tamar grins and an angry flush creeps across my face. She tips her head toward a door a few feet from us set into the stern of the boat, "Sturmhond doesn't see anyone on-demand, you'll wait till he's ready for you my lady."

That's not very ladylike.

A shiver runs down my spine again and I let Tamar drag me away. Her brother is already rapping on the Captain's door. The last thing I hear before we descend the steps into the darkness of the hull is the creaking of the door followed by the boy's low voice.