THE CROWN OF ASH

Chapter 6 : Bluebeard's pirates

Mordow was a place where beauty and ruin sat uneasily side by side. The hills rolled gently toward the Archea Sea, whose blue expanse glimmered in the distance, untouched by the chaos that plagued the island of Soryn. Yet the village bore the scars of pirate raids: charred beams jutted from burned homes, and fields once lush with crops now lay barren. 

Inside Ulf's modest house, the air was heavy with tension. The single room smelled of wood smoke and damp earth, and sunlight streamed through the cracked shutters, falling on Prince Aiden's face like a crown of fire. His red hair caught the light, vivid and untamed, but his expression was far from regal. His green eyes bore into Ray, unrelenting and inquisitive. 

"You're braver than most," Aiden began, his voice calm yet sharp, "The riots, the speeches, the defiance. And yet, here you are, hiding beneath rugs in wagons like a thief in the night".

Ray's jaw tightened, his dark eyes meeting the prince's unflinchingly. "I came to see if you're any different from the king. You talk about change, about breaking the old ways, I wanted to see for myself." 

Before Aiden could answer, Ulf shuffled into the room, carrying two mismatched cups of steaming tea. He set them down carefully on the rickety table, his hands trembling with age. 

Ray grabbed his cup and drank without hesitation, though the tea was bitter and the mug's rim chipped. Aiden, however, didn't touch his. Ray's brow furrowed. "What's the matter?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion. "Is it beneath you to drink it?" 

Aiden chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not at all. It's just that tea is tea, no matter what kind of cup holds it." 

Ray blinked, uncomprehending, but decided not to press further. "So," he said, setting his mug down with a loud clatter, "what's the plan?" 

Aiden leaned back in his chair, his gaze calculating. "The plan," he said, "is for you to train. You want to fight for your people, don't you?" 

Ulf, who had been lingering near the doorway, interjected hesitantly. "He's just a boy, Your Grace. A boy who's never held a sword." 

Aiden turned to him, his expression softening. "I defeated a knight when I was younger than Ray. Why shouldn't he learn to fight?" 

Ray's face lit up with a mix of excitement and disbelief. "You'll let me fight?" 

"Yes," Aiden said, his tone firm. "But first, there's something I need you to do." 

The room fell silent, the prince's words heavy with unspoken meaning. 

-——————————————————————————

In Redcastle, the sun was sinking behind the distant hills, bathing the towers and battlements in hues of blood and gold. On the royal balcony, King Luken sat slumped in a high-backed chair, a goblet of wine dangling loosely from his hand. The servants who attended him moved with quiet precision, refilling his cup without a word, their eyes avoiding his. 

Maeryn, the queen, stepped onto the balcony, her gown trailing behind her like a shadow. She dismissed the servants with a single wave of her hand, her gaze fixed on her husband. 

"You shouldn't be out here alone," she said, her voice low but commanding. "Not when the people need you."

Luken snorted, lifting his goblet to his lips. "The people," he muttered. "The people will go on as they always have. Hating their kings, hating our house, and bickering endlessly over nothing."

Maeryn crossed the stone floor, her footsteps sharp against the silence. "My Lord father, Ubba Koldark, served your father faithfully. He stood on this very balcony with him, watching the sun set and offering his counsel. Perhaps you should do the same—listen to those who know better." 

Luken turned to her, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. "My father was weak," he said, his voice bitter. "He let others rule for him, just as you want me to. And I'm like him. And so is Aiden. No matter what you or Sigurd or anyone else believes, he'll fail. Just like all of us." 

Maeryn's jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. "The plan—" 

"Enough!" Luken's voice rang out, cutting her off. He rose unsteadily to his feet, the goblet slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. "Leave me. And don't speak of it again." 

For a moment, Maeryn stood her ground, her eyes filled with something unreadable. Then, without a word, she turned and left, her departure as swift and silent as a shadow slipping through the night. 

-——————————————————————————

Far across the sea, the Darkpearl loomed in the waters like a predator waiting to strike. Its black sails and blue-skull flag fluttered in the wind as the crew made ready to disembark. The ship's deck was alive with the clatter of boots, the jingle of stolen coins, and the drunken laughter of victorious pirates. 

On the shore, a wiry man named Jebb sprinted toward the gangplank, clutching a letter in one hand. "Where's the captain?" he shouted, his voice cutting through the din. 

One of the pirates smirked as he hauled a barrel onto the beach. "She's always the last to leave, you fool. You know that." 

Ignoring the jeers, Jebb pushed his way to the captain's cabin. Inside, Venessa Bluebeard reclined at a sturdy wooden desk, her blue hair—cut short and streaked with silver—gleaming in the lantern light. She counted coins with the precision of a merchant.

One-eyed Willow, her right-hand man, leaned against the wall, fixing the worn patch over his missing right eye with care. 

"Captain," Jebb panted, holding out the letter. "We've received a message. From *them*." 

Venessa sighed, setting down her goblet. "Already? Can't they wait until I've spent the last haul?" 

Willow straightened, his brow furrowing. "Is it Soryn again?" 

Jebb nodded, his face pale. "Yes, but this time it's different. They want more. More raids, more men, more ships. And soon." 

Venessa's lips curled into a smile, cold and calculating. "Different, you say? How?" 

"They didn't say," Jebb stammered. "Only that the reward will be... significant." 

Willow scowled. "This kind of operation takes time." 

Venessa waved him off. "Write back," she said, her voice as smooth and dangerous as the sea. "Tell them we'll strike Soryn in two months. And tell them this: their reward had better be worth it." 

As Jebb hurried away, the captain leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the horizon. Behind her smile lurked questions she wouldn't voice—not yet. Who were *they*, and why did they want Soryn reduced to ashes? 

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**End of Chapter 6**