Starsinger

The Drake

The early morning light was grey with clouds, and the ocean sent a sharp breeze through the seams of Aaron's tunic while he waited on the dock. Shouts rang out as the crew made ready to set sail.

She was a beautiful ship, a narrow schooner with a shallow enough draft to pick through the treacherous rocky coves of the Vlynnish shoreline. From two sturdy masts draped yards of pale canvas sails, still tightly furled. Their loose edges fluttered anxiously in the breeze. Against the dark wooden hull the ship's name was brazenly lettered in gold paint: The Snapping Drake.

"We just call her the Drake, mostly," Captain Hawkins had explained the night before. "But I couldn't resist."

Raelyn had laughed at that. When Aaron asked her why, she raised an eyebrow.

"Drake is another name for a sea dragon," she said pointedly. Aaron only blinked, and Raelyn chuckled. "Like a snapdragon, Aaron."

Ah. He'd glanced at Katrina's sly smile. Back home, Whitley's fellow was a snapdragon, too – he'd courted both men and women before he and Whitley met, and he'd still get shy and awkward around beautiful folks of all genders.

"Gents, look alive! Our passengers approach."

The crew of the Drake hooted their approval. With one boot resting atop the ship's railing, Katrina leaned forward over her splayed knee to grin at the travelers waiting on the dock. She had exchanged her feathered hat for a loose ponytail that whipped back and forth in the wind. "Ripe and ready to go, I suspect. Climb aboard sirs, ladies, and all manner of in between."

Jace led them up the narrow walkway that connected the ship to the dock. It bowed slightly under his heavy steps. Raelyn followed with Delia and Sapphire behind. Aaron brought up the rear, hoisting the pack of their remaining supplies higher onto his shoulders.

When Jace had finally returned to the boardinghouse the night they'd been attacked, it took him a long time to hear what Aaron was telling him. He seemed strangely distracted. When at last he understood, his distress was palpable.

"We could have lost every coin. Or worse," he shouted. "I should have been there."

"You should have," Sapphire said bluntly.

Jace folded his arms, and Aaron watched him closely. He'd been cagey about his disappearance, claiming he'd left one of his brass bands at the shellfish stall, but Aaron couldn't remember ever seeing Jace take his bracelets off.

"Nonetheless, we survived," said Raelyn. "And now we have a ship. A better ship, that will actually take us where we want to go. We set sail tomorrow morning."

Raelyn then proceeded to lay out her case for sailing with the freelancers, her arguments carefully constructed and thoroughly defended. When she concluded she crossed her arms over her chest, daring the lieutenant to object.

Jace surprised them all by raising his eyebrows. "I agree."

Delia threw up her arms and made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat. With her lips still magicked together, it was the most expressive sound she could make.

Jace bit back a smirk. "It was the right call. Politics is a messy business, one I've never understood, and one we could easily get trapped in if we sail with the Garnetians. With crowns and treaties, it's hard to know who your true enemies are. Freelancers are an enemy I understand." He laid a hand on his sword. "And I know how to make them understand me."

They had stayed up late, packing their gear and planning their cover. For once they had enough time to work out the details: Raelyn would be Mistress Robin Westford, a bioscholar from Opham researching coastal environments. Delia would be her lady in waiting, and Sapphire, Aaron, and Jace her bodyguards.