Karukera E-Book

Rebecca Cornhel

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 437

Beschreibung

Nea is Yeeyi Fari, Karukera's most renowned mercenary. At twenty-five, she spends her days fulfilling missions for the crown and acquiring precious and rare goods for her clientele of pirates. But her heart is no longer in it. This island, which welcomed her when she was four, is as much a synonym for home as it is for prison. Nea has a debt to repay to the Queen, and memories too painful to bear. Yet, when Governor Oluwaseyi summons her for an important mission (accompany Jahan, an emissary from Anshar, across the island), she finally sees her future opening before her. If the emissary is safely escorted to the palace, Nea will be free from her debt. Free. But Karukera is not for novices, and Nea and Jahan each have their own agenda. Between the assassins on their tails, the obstacles the island will throw in their way, and the emissary himself, who has an oversized ego and seems shrouded in mystery, the journey will not be without its challenges...

Leseprobe

To the island of Guadeloupe

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

EPILOGUE

• 1 •

Iliso’s daily market was a constant bustle of colors, smells and sounds.

Located in the large cobbled square, two streets from the docks crowded with ships from the four corners of the known world, you could find everything you wanted. Fishes with pearly scales from the waters surrounding the island; noisy poultry; black pigs; goats; fresh juices; light-filled fruits and vegetables; handcrafted jewelry and precious stones; rare spices, refined fabrics…

Nea took a step aside to avoid two children of about five, playing chase through the crowd, her full lips stretching into an amused little smile.

Karukera island was renowned as the commercial crossroads of the known world. It had grown rich over the years, benefiting from its strategic geographical position on the seas and flourishing maritime trade.

Iliso was the second most important town of the island—first city of Haute-Terre. But its behavior had become depraved, as highly prized by pirates.

They regularly stopped off at the port to do their business in one of the many taverns lining the quays, all considering Ubongo to be too overcrowded and too controlled for their tastes. And that, regardless of the restrictions and laws imposed by Governor Oluwaseyi.

The cells at Fort Wolimba were regularly overflowing with all the debauchery that swarmed through the streets.

It wasn’t quite noon yet, and the perpetual sun was already beating down hard. Its muggy heat poured on the necks and bodies dressed in brightly colored fabrics.

The many merchants sat on their stools, sheltered under their stalls’ awning, phlegmatically shaking their fans (or anything else that could be used as a fan), occasionally calling out to potential buyers as they passed by.

Two bronze coins for a pound of turmeric. Seven for a meter of woven cotton. Three for a poulet boucané… Everything could be sold or exchanged.

Today was even more crowded than usual. Madzi week—which marked the start of the rainy season—was due to begin in a few days’ time, bringing with it its colorful parades across the island and its wild parties at dusk. The city was already buzzing with excitement.

It was a celebration renowned even beyond Karukera’s borders. Appreciated for its visual and aural beauty. Almost all the island’s inns were fully booked, the quays were crowded with ships of various flags, and it wasn’t uncommon to come across a few faces of high nobility from other kingdoms.

Nea came to the market once a week.

She would get up at dawn to make the long journey on foot from Phiri cliffs, to stock up on various items and do a few deals off the books. She’d stay there for the night (rarely more) before setting off again in the opposite direction at first light, to avoid as much as possible the stifling, humid heat that prevailed on the island.

One hand nonchalantly resting on the dagger at her hip, she walked through the motley crowd pressing beneath the scorching sun, greeting familiar faces among the merchants as she went while observing the onlookers crowding the stalls.

Nea had grown up on Karukera. From the day the sea had spat her out on one of the island’s pristine beaches when she was just four, this was all she’d ever known. She’d grown in the midst of this constant bustle, learning it’s codes and customs over the years. She’d explored every nook and cranny. Tamed every pitfall. Today, she knew the island like the back of her hand.

“Hi, Apiyo,” Nea said with a smile, stopping in front of a stall sheltered by a garnet-red awning.

The basic table, set on two wooden trestles, was overflowing with small bamboo pots filled with ointments and hessian sacks full of medicinal herbs. Delicate smells filled the thick air around the stall.

“How are you, Nea?” Apiyo asked in her warm, comforting voice.

She was a tall, slender woman of Nea’s age, with an ochre complexion that lit up in the sun, haloed by long, finely plaited black hair she always adorned with small silver jewels. Her long cotton dress—a bright green reminiscent of greasy grass just after a downpour—revealed her long neck and shoulders. The gold hoops adorning her wrists and ears sparkled from time to time, when a ray of sunlight managed to cross the awning’s shade to caress them.

Apiyo was the fifth generation of her family to sell her wares in Iliso’s market. Her herbs and remedies, grown and made from mother to daughter for years, were highly prized across the island—by locals and visitors alike. Even Governor Oluwaseyi regularly sent someone to buy her favorite products.

Nea had known Apiyo for several years now. They’d met during the annual carnival festivities when they were eight, when Nea was still just a filthy, wild street urchin. She and Apiyo had raised hell together, and Nea had more than once found refuge within her friend’s family.

She was one of the last people Nea could tolerate in her daily life.

“Have you come to celebrate Madzi?” Apiyo asked.

Nea grabbed one of the little bamboo pots. “Just a few things to deal with,” she evaded. She unscrewed the lid to smell the creamy balm inside —a mixture of pear, jasmine and lemongrass.

“Always the work,” Apiyo sighed with a smirk. “You should get some rest from time to time. Take a few days off. Why don’t you come home for a few days and enjoy Madzi’s celebrations? Zuri’s always asking about you.”

Nea placed the pot back on the table. “Maybe next time.”

“Nea,” Apiyo insisted gently, a more serious expression on her face, “you stay locked up in your house all week without seeing anyone. It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t stay locked up all week,” Nea corrected—with a detached air that sounded false.

“No, you’re doing your missions left and right,” Apiyo said, swinging a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s no better.”

And when she said missions, she meant making people disappear from time to time.

“Somebody’s got to do these missions,” Nea reminded her.

“All I’m saying is that you could take some time for yourself. Do something other than mope about your past on top of your cliff.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Nea said with a forced smile.

Apiyo pursed her lips, angling her head. She looked at her friend with a hint of reproach in her brown eyes. “Zion wouldn’t have wanted that for you,” she said after a moment.

“Apiyo…”

Nea had spoken calmly, but with a hint of impatience and annoyance stuck in the back of her throat.

It wasn’t the first time her friend lectured her about her life choices. And she never really held it against her. Deep down, Apiyo was just saying things out loud that Nea already knew. But she didn’t need to be reminded of her past—let alone have someone try to put her back on the right track or any bullshit like that. She’d consciously chosen this path three years ago, and there was no way she was going to break free of it. Because it was her fault.

Apiyo raised her hands in a calming gesture, mumbling, “Okay, okay.” She let out a small discouraged sigh, as a mother would to a stubborn child, before reaching for a wooden crate at her feet under the table.

She retrieved a small rectangular compact packet, about three inches by two, wrapped in a piece of beige linen. She stared at it for a moment, hesitation and reluctance all over her face, before tossing it to her friend.

Nea retrieved her order with a nimble flick of the hand, tucking it quickly into one of the inside pockets of her sleeveless leather jacket. She took two gold coins from the pouch hanging from her three-buckled belt, placing them on the table.

Apiyo was still eyeing her with a mix of seriousness and compassion. Nea gave her a gentler smile, easing a bit the perpetual rage possessing her body.

She knew she was tough. Brusque. Mean, even, sometimes. And she also knew Apiyo wouldn’t hold it against her.

But she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t really doing it on purpose.

Or maybe she was, deep down. It was just her way of being and protecting herself from the rest of the world—like an unhealthy reflex, learned and digested since her first years on Karukera. Back then, she wasn’t allowed to be soft and weak if she wanted to survive among the wolves.

“Maybe I could come see you next week,” she offered. “When things calm down.”

Apiyo studied her friend’s soft features for a moment. Her skin, tanned by all those years spent under the eternal sun of Karukera. Her sharp silver eyes who always seemed on guard—surveying what was happening on her line of sight. Her shoulders and legs, locked in constant tension, and the hand she always kept on the pommel of her dagger. A firm, unshakeable hand.

It was getting harder and harder to find her friend beneath all that mountain of ferocity and mistrust. To find the gentleness she knew her for, which she spent so much time repressing.

And yet, there it was. This gentleness. In the discreet curve of the smile she was offering her, and in the way the lines of her face were surreptitiously softening. Like a barely perceptible ray of light—slowly nibbled away by all that darkness that had haunted the rest of her soul for three years.

Apiyo dreaded the day when this ray of light would disappear. She prayed to the gods every night that her friend would finally be freed from the burden she’d needlessly weighed herself down with.

“Zuri’s fifth birthday is next Sunday,” Apiyo said, relenting. “We’ve planned a big meal with the whole family at Nyanja beach carbet. You’re welcome, as always.”

“Five years, already?”

“Time flies when you stay away from your loved ones.”

Nea pursed her lips and nodded absent-mindedly—throat tight.

There was no reproach in her friend’s voice. But Apiyo could just as easily have shouted that it would have been the same.

“She’d love to see her godmother,” Apiyo went on.

Nea smiled, “I’d really like that.” She blinked, clearing the veil of torpor blurring her vision, and slightly raised her chin to regain her composure.

“But you should still take some days off,” Apiyo said—this time with the maternal vigor she clearly used with her daughter when the later did something stupid.

Nea rolled her eyes. And she was about to retort something to her friend, but movement mixed with shouts of protest echoed behind her, cutting her off.

She had just enough time to turn toward the noise—

Before being struck head-on by a firm body hurtling along at full speed.

She felt herself falling backwards. Time stretching out infinitely slowly for the first seconds of her fall, amplifying her senses… before her reflexes took over in a snap.

By the time her body and that of the stranger had hit the ground, she’d retrieved her dagger from her hip and pivoted to stand above him.

The man stifled a grunt of pain when his back slammed against the dry earth. A cloud of fine ochre dust billowed around them.

Nea placed a knee on his chest to immobilise him, stopping the sharpened blade of her dagger just a few inches from his neck.

The stranger’s eyes widened as he took in the rapid sequence of events—his attention shifting frantically between where he’d come from, Nea’s closed face bent over him, the blade against his neck, and the crowd who’d stopped to stare at them.

Physically, he was quite tall. A head taller than her, at least—and she was on the taller side. And probably the same age, give or take a year or two. His slender body was dressed in black clothes that needed to be washed and mended, shirt collar open on his collarbones and upper torso. A body with lean, powerful muscles.

His medium raven-black hair was unkempt. A few strands were sticking to his temples.

Golden skin slightly browned by too much sun. A thin lascivious mouth. A chiseled jaw with the shadow of a beard… His eyes were two amber beads, like tree sap. They glittered like a thousand lights under the sun high in the sky.

The man slowly raised his hands in a calming gesture—long hands with tapered fingers. A silver ring adorned his left forefinger. Nea could see symbols delicately engraved in the metal.

“Hello,” the stranger said at last in the common tongue, a roguish smile lighting his features.

His voice was warm, husky. With a richness in the roundness of its syllables. Nea frowned as she noted his accent. But it was too light for her to put a name to it.

She glanced over her shoulder, her sharp eyes quickly finding the moving silhouettes of four men. They were elbowing their way through the compact crowd with gesticulating hands. Judging by their faces, they didn’t look particularly happy…

Nea turned her attention back to the stranger. “Running away from trouble?” she asked, her full lips stretching into a smirk.

“I like to do a bit of exercise before lunch,” he retorted, not losing his alluring smile. “Keeps me bendy.”

Nea heard Apiyo mutter an ecstatic “gods” that made her frown. Was he… flirting with her?

There was a certain arrogance about him. Like a mask he’d been used to wearing for a long time. His tone was calm, relaxed—not the least bit worried by the four furious men coming toward them.

The only thing betraying him was his chest. It rose and fell rapidly with an erratic breathing caused by his chase. Nea could feel it beneath her knee.

“Not bendy enough to dodge, apparently,” she said.

“You’re the one who got in my way,” he said in a falsely offended tone.

Nea arched a doubtful brow. New protests echoed behind her, forcing her to raise her head.

The men were pushing back the compact crowd, shouting orders at every turn. She estimated she had less than forty seconds before they reached their level.

“You’re gonna let me go?” the stranger asked, still with that seductive nonchalance in his voice.

“I don’t know,” she replied in a honeyed tone that made many tremble, “these guys seem very keen to catch you.”

“Come on, be reasonable. I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“That would be extremely presumptuous of you to think that,” she said just as calmly.

The stranger let out a small sigh tinged with a sly smile, amber eyes quickly studying Nea.

He took in the fine features and high cheekbones, the discreet freckles scattered over her nose and the top of her cheeks, the full lips barely curved on one side—something soft and wild, a reminder that she could get her claws out at any moment. Her long blond hair was almost white, as if washed out by the sun and the briny air. Some of it had become tangled into fine dreadlocks over time. She’d styled them into a severe braid that cleared her face.

Her eyes were all razor blades—two silver irises of an indefinable grey.

Every move was meticulously calculated. From the dagger she held close to his neck—just enough for him to feel the blade grazing his skin —to her body firmly anchored in the now, ready to retaliate at the slightest move.

Years of training all wrapped up in that simple posture, and in the way she stared at him with rapt attention.

And there was something else about her that he couldn’t quite identify. A kind of invisible aura. Ancient and wild. It enveloped her, pulsing slowly to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

But the aura seemed worn. Tarnished. Like the faded shadow of something much more powerful.

Dangerous? Undoubtedly.

Interesting? Oh, yeah.

And probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever had the honor of meeting.

He noticed a long brown leather lace, wrapped twice around her neck. There was a thin rectangular ebony plate attached to it, less than two inches long. He could see the sigil carved crudely into the black wood.

“Mercenary, uh?” he said, another mischievous smile on his lips, eyes sparkling in the brutal sunlight. “I thought you guys never took sides?”

“Girl’s gotta eat,” Nea retorted. “Something tells me these guys would be willing to drop a pretty penny to get you.

The stranger pursed his lips as he eyed her—his look caught between sincere amusement and a hint of smugness. He cast a quick glance over her shoulder.

The four men were making their way through the last few tightly packed rows of the disorderly crowd, raising further vehement protests as they passed.

“You know,” he said, looking toward Nea, “under normal circumstances, I’d have loved to continue this pleasant conversation. But…”

The next second, he wrapped his left hand around the wrist holding the dagger, pulling the blade away from his neck in one swift movement, and sent his right knee slamming into her hip.

Nea stifled a grunt of pain as she toppled onto her side—and he took advantage to snatch her weapon from her with the flat of his hand against her knuckles. She got to her feet without allowing her body to fully touch the ground, rising to her full height to face him, eyes blazing menacingly.

The stranger had the dagger pointed at her, his unbearable smile once again on his lips. “Maybe next time, who knows?” he said between quick breaths.

He took one last look at his pursuers pushing the crowd away, before turning his attention back to Nea. “See you around… Blondie,” he said, stretching his smile to reveal a row of perfect white teeth.

Nea wrinkled her nose at the ridiculous nickname. He twirled the dagger in his hand with a flick of his wrist, catching it by the tip of the blade with his thumb and forefinger, and threw it toward the ground.

Nea took a step aside to avoid the weapon, staring angrily at the blade sinking vertically into the dry earth just in front of her feet. She looked up at the stranger—but he was already gone.

Less than five seconds later, the men chasing the stranger reached her level, shouting at passers-by to get out of the way. They passed her without a glance.

Breathless, Nea watched them as they rode on like a herd of buffalos. She bent down to retrieve her dagger, snatching it from the earth with an irritated gesture.

He had strength, she noted, not without a hint of surprise. The blade had been thrust to the hilt.

“Pretty boy,” Apiyo said to her left.

Nea sent her a doubtful glance, the crowd around them resuming the normal course of their day as if nothing had happened.

Chases were a recurrent thing on Karukera.

Apiyo’s mouth quirked upward in a knowing smile, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Arrogant and stupid,” Nea muttered, shaking her head. She put her weapon back at her hip. “He’ll soon find himself with another blade at his throat.”

Apiyo sighed dreamily, “Pity.”

Nea rolled her eyes, still annoyed by this short exchange with the stranger.

But she was also a little curious. It wasn’t every day she found an opponent capable of disarming her with such ease. Even less so to escape just as skillfully (and with as much gusto) the kind of trackers launched in his pursuit.

Given his abilities, she’d have thought he was a soldier. But his hands gave him away. They were well groomed, and the ring on his index finger was far too refined for this rank. Perhaps a member of a foreign court, then? His looks reminded her of Anshar. But he could just as easily have come from one of the southern territories, for all she knew.

“You know,” Apiyo said in her warm voice, “when I was talking about taking some time for yourself, this kind of specimen fits the bill.”

Nea frowned as she turned to her friend, staring at her as disgust made her nose wrinkle.

Apiyo shrugged, mischief shining in her eyes. “Wouldn’t do you any harm.”

“Okay, see you later,” Nea said, voice expressionless, as she turned away.

She made her way through the crowd strolling by, a sombre expression on her face. Her friend’s laugh accompanied her for several feet before it was drowned out by the hundreds of conversations.

• 2 •

The sun had passed below the horizon for a good hour now. The night was clear and uncluttered, the heat still muggy and stifling, barely relieved by a sea breeze from the west.

Nea strolled among the onlookers, her lips slightly curled upward with all this familiar, lively frenzy.

The town was swarming with locals and visitors, their faces joyful and cheeks flushed with rum. Many locals were still hard at work, finalizing the costumes or the decorations that would accompany the parades—all gathered in groups of varying numbers on the covered terraces of their colorful houses. The heavy, sweet smell of hibiscus petals perfumed the briny air saturated with humidity.

The discreet lapping of the water lazily caressing the ships moored along the quays echoed in the distance, almost drowned by the frenzied vibration of instruments—several groups were playing across the streets, rehearsing for the big day and entertaining the visitors. Percussion of all kinds and ancestral songs. Powerful rhythms that evoked earth, water, fire and air.

Madzi may not have officially started, but the excitement was already palpable in the smiles and conversations.

Madzi week was a hymn to Karukera—like the other annual festivals punctuating the island’s life. To the richness of its soil, fauna and flora. They celebrated the end of the dry season and the start of the rainy season. The gods were thanked for past and future harvests.

And adding to this dizzying energy roaming the streets of the island were the throbbing songs of thousands of frogs and the symphony of equally numerous crickets.

Nea had grown up with these noisy tropical nights.

She still remembered the first time she’d heard the very particular music of Karukera. How the serenade of frogs and crickets had risen in the last blaze of the setting sun as she’d taken refuge under the branches of the trees lining the small beach were she’d washed up. It had felt like she’d gone completely deaf so obsessive had the noise been.

Today, she found it hard to imagine spending a single night without that daily melody. Even though that music had also become a synonym for her prison.

Nea turned a corner, leaving the bustle of the main street behind. She made her way up the narrow alleyway reeking of bad alcohol and rubbish, to a recessed entrance at the far end on the left.

The turquoise paint on the door was peeling in places from the gusts of sea breeze, revealing the rough, faded wood underneath. The copper handle was oxidized by the salt. Above the entrance, the hanging sign in equally faded colors announced in convoluted letters the name of the place: Au Biloko.

Nea turned the knob and entered. The tavern was enhanced with heavy, dark wooden beams and two large, rustic metal chandeliers. Noisy patrons crowded the room, squeezing into every available space—all over the main room, on the steps of the wooden stairs leading to the first floor, and along the gallery serving the few rooms the establishment offered. A strong smell of alcohol, sweat and salt hung in the air.

Candles planted in mounds of old wax illuminated the exalted faces, sharpening all these sun-scarred features. A pockmarked skin, a missing eye, or an impressive scar could be glimpsed under the tricorns.

A few delicate silhouettes strolled among all this display of testosterone—voluptuous bodies draped in flowing dresses, charming smiles that served their curves to hands too often wandering and too rough.

Hands that, is they overstepped the mark, were thrown out of the establishment by the owner; Madame Mirembe. She kept a watchful and protective eye on her girls, and few were the men daring to confront her.

Is was unusual—even unthinkable—to see an unfamiliar face behind these walls. Those visiting the island usually stayed along the main streets, reluctant to venture into the town’s many winding alleys.

And for good reason.

The Biloko had long been claimed by all the worst scoundrels landing on Iliso. Here, as long as you had something to sell, you could always find a potential buyer. The black market, discreetly operating by candlelight, was almost as famous as the one in town.

Although what was traded or sold was a far cry from the colorful stalls filling the main square.

Nea made her way through the noisy patrons, searching for her appointment.

She’d dealt with these men more than once over the years. And she always knew how to ignite the craving flame in their eyes. A well-timed word, an invitation thrown in the air… There was always a loophole. Behind their pompuous airs and facade faces, it was easy enough to find the spark that would trigger them..

Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from getting into trouble once or twice. But she’d always managed to get out of it magnificently. Not to mention that it was rare for anyone to have fun playing with her.

He reputation preceded her.

Nea had no memory of her life before Karukera. When she’d first arrived on the docks, all that was left to her was her name and the dress she wore—the skirt and sleeves of which had barely survived her time at sea. She was just a kid with no past, no history, no identity.

She’d spent her first years on the island living from day to day. Pilfering and bartering whatever she could get her hands on, and sleeping where she could. It didn’t take her long to understand the laws and codes operating between locals and travelers.

She quickly became the name to know when looking to acquire rare objets.

Until she was arrested at the age of twelve, for killing two men who were too pushy—to say the least.

She was brought before Governor Oluwaseyi, who didn’t take long to see the potential in this filthy girl with pale hair and fierce eyes.

To keep her out of trouble—Nea had nevertheless stabbed two men and racked up a long string of thefts and shady dealings—the governor had offered to pay off her debt by enlisting in the royal guard.

Nea had accepted. Now with a roof over her head and a hot meal every day, she’d put her heart and soul into her apprenticeship.

By the age of fifteen, she wielded weapons better than anyone else, winning every hand-to-hand combat against the other recruits.

At seventeen, she was regularly sent on missions to various parts of the island. Missions that had became more and more dangerous as time went by, because it was known that she would carry them out without even having to lift a finger.

During the ten years she’d spent wearing her adopted island’s coat of arms, she never looked back. Never regretted her choice. She’d found her place and her identity.

But everything had changed three years earlier, when the world had collapsed on her shoulders.

She’d left Fort Wolimba to retreat far from everyone—unable to continue honoring her duties after what had happened.

Suddenly, the island that had welcomed her and educated her all those years had become foreign and hostile to her. She had wanted to run away. Leave this land and never look back. Forget everything.

But, of course, the governor did not agree. She’d accepted her resignation under the circumstances, but without removing her invisible chains. Nea still had a debt to Karukera.

So she’d continued accepting the missions brought to her. Without resisting. Waiting for the day when she could finally set sail and discover new horizons.

Nea tore herself away from the sprawling fingers of her past clinging to her arms, forcing her attention back into reality as she finally caught sight of her appointment.

He was seated at his usual table, in a corner to the right of the fireplace. Two of his sailors were standing behind him—their massive arms crossed over their even more massive torsos.

His old leather tricorn resting on his long black hair mated by salt and wind, he was glancing left and right, listening to the conversations buzzing in all direction with a careful ear. The slender ringed fingers of his right hand were tapping absentmindedly on the table, to a rhythm only he seemed to hear. The long scar on his left eye (splitting his eyebrow in the middle and running down his cheek, leaving the eye intact) stood out against the golden glow of the candles set on the table. His dark eyes, the same color as the wood of his ship, rose sharply when Nea stood out among the patrons.

“Captain Callahan!” Nea chanted as she approached.

She pulled the vacant chair facing the captain and dropped onto the seat, crossing her ankles on the edge of the table. She glanced at the charming face.

Captain Callahan (Cal, for short) was one of the most illustrious pirates of his generation. At just twenty-seven, he already had no fewer than sixteen ships under his command, and his exploits were repeated in every port in the world. He was renowned for his intransigence and business manners, but also for his thirst for discovery and ferocity in the attacks he launched on the unfortunates who crossed his path.

Nea had known him for several years now. He was the one who gave her the most complex missions—always sending her further afield to find what he wanted. The last time, it took Nea six months to comply with his request.

But she always honored her commissions.

“Your smile is a delight, as always,” Nea said nonchalantly, noting the slightly pinched look on the captain’s face.

The fine lines at the corners of his eyes were a bit paler than the rest of his face, from squinting against the sun.

“Maybe I’d be of a better composition if you turned up on time once in a while,” he said, arching his scarred brow.

She smirked, “You should learn to appreciate life’s little moments, Cal. It’d loosen you up.”

She watched the corner of his mouth curl slightly. A mischievous glint awoke in his dark gaze.

The captain leaned back in his chair. “You found it, judging by your confidence,” he said in a more relaxed tone.

“Obviously. I’d make a lousy merc if I didn’t.”

“Fine, then let’s get it over with. I’ve got other business to attend to before I go.”

“First the money,” Nea said, never losing her poise.

The captain pursed his lips to restraint his annoyance. He looked at the metallic glint in her eyes for a moment—a gaze sizing him up, sparkling with delight.

He nodded to the sailor behind him on his left. The man stepped forward to place a leather pouch on the table.

Nea smiled as the gold coins rattled briefly against each other as they hit the hardwood. She reached out an arm toward her payment, wasting no time in removing the leather lace fastening the pouch to gauge the total.

The captain watched her intently, following every hands inflections as she took her time to make sure her order was paid for. A warm lump rose in his chest, spreading a taste of impatience in his throat.

For the five years he’d known her, Nea had invariably taken her time counting her money. Even though she knew full well he always paid in full. It was her way of teasing him and reminding him that she never let her guard down.

When she was satisfied, Nea closed the pouch, carefully tucking it in the small bag hanging across her chest. Then she reached into one of the inside pockets of her jacket to retrieve a small black velvet bag.

She twirled it between her fingers for a moment, quietly sizing it up, before tossing it over the table to the captain. “Obsidian from Ecetír,” she said as he retrieved the bag with one hand. “Gotta say, it gave me quite the trouble, given it’s rarity, but…” She ended her sentence with a satisfied smile, her eyes following the captain’s hasty hands as he opened the bag to remove its content.

A shiny black stone, about the size of a hen’s egg, fell into the open palm of the captain. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile. “The last known artifact made from this obsidian deposit resides on the head of the heir of the Air bloodline,” he murmured, gazing lustfully at the rough stone in his palm. “A crown carved entirely from a single block, almost as old as the people who designed it,” he went on. He took it between his thumb and forefinger, raising it before him to admire it.

Nea studied the stone, which reflected the candles’ glow with roundness. Its color seemed to suck in the light around it—as if it were a piece of the darkest night the world had ever known. She could almost feel Ecetír’s residual magic dispersing in the air. Tingling her senses like a billion invisible particles floating around them.

“How did you get hold of it?” he asked at last, looking up at Nea. Greed shone in his dark eyes.

“I never reveal my sources,” she just said.

The captain watched her, respect in his gaze. He stowed his acquisition in an inside pocket of his jacket. “How long you staying in town?” he asked, picking up his glass of rum.

“Just for the night,” she said, casting a distracted glance to her left.

Two men were squabbling over a game of cards, one arguing the last move and the other refuting outrageously. Clubs, diamonds, hearts and spades flew around a second later, and the men started swinging fists—drawing the whole tavern’s attention to them.

Nea turned her head away, indifferent of the fight spreading rapidly behind her. She leveled her gaze toward the captain.

He was staring at her with a particular intensity from under his tricorn slightly bent over his brow. The depth of his eyes shone with a latent hunger—something she’d become familiar with.

“I guess there’s no time to lose, then,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Not really, no.”

The captain smirked at the elegant face staring back at him. He brought his glass to his mouth, drinking it in one long, impatient gulp.

• 3 •

The bedroom door flew open, slamming loudly against the wall.

Lips sealed in a ravenous kiss, Nea and the captain staggered into the darkened room—breaths bouncing off the walls, their shadows lengthening in the golden rectangle running across the floor.

The usual din of the tavern echoed from the main room. The occasional shattering of glasses. The shouts of Madame Mirembe, trying to control the brawl that had spread to the rest of the patrons.

His right arm firmly wrapped around Nea’s waist, Cal raised his free hand to slam the door shut, before swiveling her against the nearest wall. In the corridor, the captain’s two henchmen stood guard at the door, their massive, gruff faces carefully watching the tavern’s turmoil.

Now deprived of the soft light coming from the main room, the bedroom plunged into an almost total darkness. The corners of the rudimentary furniture were barely illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the two small windows overlooking the docks.

Nea muffled an exhale as her back knocked against the wall, her lips curling at the eagerness in Cal’s strokes and kisses. She gripped his long leather coat, pulling it off him with panting moves, her eyelids closing for a moment when he slid his mouth down her neck.

The coat dropped to the faded wood floor with a dull thud. Along with the tricorn.

Nea raised her hands to the captain’s shirt, almost ripping off the little buttons.

Cal grunted his pleasure against her neck, teeth grazing the warm skin just behind her ear. His calloused hands slid to her jaw, gripping it with gentle brutality before his lips were once again possessing hers.

Nea moaned against his tongue—fingertips roaming over his tanned chest, hips clinging to his with barely contained desire.

“You’re in a hurry,” he said against her lips as she removed his shirt.

He took off her jacket a second later, sending it and her bag hurtling across the room.

“I thought you had other business to attend to,” she said, her voice hoarse. “You’re the one in a hurry.”

“I was gone for almost two months,” he reminded her. His hands reached down to her belt, undoing it quickly.

The belt—weighed by the dagger, pouches, and other stuffs she always carried around—dropped to the floor with a loud clang.

“And you expect me to believe you haven’t found a body to keep you warm all this time?” she asked in a taunting whisper.

He purred, “They don’t have your rage.”

Her whole body went ablaze with the sweetness—the particular intensity in his voice, toes curling in her boots.

Their affair had been going on for just under a year. It had begun in this very tavern, in this very room, following a particularly heated exchange concerning a completely outlandish request from the captain. They’d hurled the most atrocious things at each other’s faces, before their anger had turned into a virulent passion that had consumed them until the early morning. Since then, they saw each other once or twice a month. Sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on Cal’s travels.

It suited Nea just fine. No feelings. No attachments. Just a bit of warmth gleaned from the tides.

She hadn’t told anyone around her. Partly because she was still ashamed of finding comfort in another man’s arms.

Three years had passed, but the crack that had opened in her that day, and shattered her soul, was still as vivid and painful as ever. She felt guilty of high treason, when she was just only clumsily filling the void left by Zion’s absence. A void that refused to be filled—no matter what she did.

Cal and her had always got on well together. Ever since their first deal. There was a respect between them. A history. Cal knew her well enough to know that there were doors she didn’t want open.

Unable to control her growing impatience, Nea tore her mouth from the captain’s. She placed a hand on his chest, forcing him to walk back toward the bed. Her head was spinning a little from their last kiss.

Callahan ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he traced her with his gaze, his feet obediently backing to the bed until his calves touched the wooden frame. He dropped on his back on the linen sheets, a hungry smile curling his mouth as she took off her shirt.

His desire grew even more when the bluish light of the night slithered down her bare breasts. His dark eyes roamed over her tanned skin, dotted with scars of different ages and sizes, and her arms almost entirely covered in tattoos—intricate geometric lines and symbols collected over the years. Like a reminder of everything she’d been through to get here.

It was an ancestral tradition on Karukera. Rituals that had gone for centuries, since the first tribes. Callahan didn’t know a single person on this island who didn’t have at least one tattoo on their body. These drawings celebrated births, unions, passages to adulthood, tragedies, important changes… Everything that could make up a life.

It was also a way for them to honor their gods. Unlike most other kingdoms of the known world, the people of Karukera had never built a temple to their deities. Instead, they honored them through songs, musics and dances, explaining that their faith lay in their hearts and that it was their bodies that were the temple. And if the body became the temple, why not decorate the walls?

Many pirates had converted to this art. Cal had a few himself, celebrating every ship he’d won and added under his flag over the years.

The last of Cal’s patience fractured in one fell swoop when Nea tugged at his waistband. He pulled himself upright in a swift move, grabbing her hips and flipping her onto the bed to stand over her. Leaning on one hand, he dipped to her neck again, nibbling that sensitive spot behind her ear as his free hand slithered down her skin—slender ringed fingers teasing every inch of her. From her throat and between her breasts. To her belly and then lower…

Nea arced off the bed when his hand slipped under her waistband to explore the hot space between her thighs, her nails clawing into the broad shoulders above her.

At this point, the fucking white noise looping in her head had finally subsided—giving way to a purely carnal outpouring. Lulled by the exquisite torment Cal was dexterously offering her, she tipped her head back and let her body take control over her thoughts, forgetting everything and obliviating her very self at the same time.

His desire pulsing stronger and stronger, Callahan closed his eyes, enthralled by Nea’s body moving against him, copying the rhythm of his strokes, and the drunken moans escaping her lips—a deep-throat sound reverberating in his skull. Muscles taut, he got up to rid them of the rest of their clothes.

Trousers, boots, extra daggers dutifully hidden… everything ended on the ground without mercy.

Nea arched as he thrust into her, her hips automatically copying his relentless moves.

Cal raised his head to kiss her full lips, heart slamming against his ribs. Their teeth clashed, before she swung him under her in a nimble, impatient movement. He lowered his hands to her hips as she straightened, his dark gaze settling on her bare chest, fingers digging into her warm curves.

Nea quickened their intimate dance, and he sat up—pressing his chest against hers and his arms wrapping around her waist.

Nea had this kind of letting go that drove him crazy. A brutality and a gentleness that blended and overflowed in her sighs. She hadn’t always been like that; a raw emotion on the verge of imploding.

Even if she had always been wild (she hadn’t really had a choice if she wanted to survive), she was far from the person she’d been when he’d met her.

Back then, she was must calmer and more composed. Proudly wearing the royal guard’s tunic and even the leather lace around her neck. She knew who she was.

He knew what had happened. People talk on Karukera. And he knew her well enough to know better than to broach the subject without her consent. He also knew that he was just a passing fancy. A distraction.

A distraction, perhaps, that would allow her to relieve some of the weigh she carried around day after day.

It suited him. He’d grown fond of Nea from the first time they’d done business together, and there was nothing he could refuse her.

Nea slid her fingers into the captain’s long dark hair, clutching the strands at the nape of his neck. Her body rocked with the growls he poured against her breasts and his merciless thrusts, and she surrendered. Completely. He throat released a hoarse cry against the heavy, clammy air permeating every bit of space.

Cal’s voice rumbled against her skin a few seconds later, their entwined bodies clenching to ecstasy as he tightened his grip around her waist in a compulsive move.

There was a long, silent beat. It floated around them, undulating in their thoughts kneaded with sighs—before reality came back to envelop them.

The din of the tavern from the closed door. The bustle of the streets below and the rhythm of distant drums. The lapping of waves against the ships’ hulls…

Her forehead resting on Cal’s shoulder, eyes closed, Nea allowed herself another full minute of pause. Of thoughtless in-between time where her muscles relaxed.

Then she straightened.

She met the captain’s dark gaze. His dilated pupils and swollen and dry lips. Her left hand slid absent-mindedly through his tangled hair—a tender gesture she didn’t even consider.

The hardest part was seeing Zion’s face superimposing. Even today.

To see his huge smile and his brown eyes surrounded by thick lashes. His hazel skin stretched over his chiseled features and his kinky hair he always kept very short.

All those lines, all those familiar curves, imposing themselves at her —but never giving her the chance to touch them one last time.

Nea blinked, erasing the picture haunting her mind.

She pulled away from Cal. “When are you leaving Iliso, again?” she asked.

“In three days,” he said. His hands still resting on her hips, he stretched out his arms to help her as she rose to her feet—his gaze lingering on her elegant curves. “We spend the week in Ubongo until Madzi is over, and then we’ll head north.”

He watched her as she got dressed, staring at her long, pale mane. Several fine strands had escaped her crumpled braid, giving her a sort of strange disheveled look that few people had witnessed. “And you?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Any work planned?”

“Nothing for now. Actually, I was thinking of taking some days off,” she admitted, shrugging an uncertain shoulder.

“Days off?” he said, brows arching as he grabbed his pants.

“Yeah,” she mumbled as she turned toward him, buckling her belt.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a single day off since I’ve known you.” He finished putting on his leather boots, before resting his elbows on his knees, looking up at Nea. “What are you going to do with all that time?”

“I don’t know, I could… I could finish renovating my house, or… or do stuff. I haven’t really thought about it,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

“That’s good,” Cal said with a smile.

Nea shrugged again—grey eyes roaming the floor with a distracted and hesitant air. Cal could literally see her idea unravelling with every flick of her lashes, crushed by her guilt.

“Nea…” he called softly, holding his hand.

He gently wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist, drawing her to him so she could position herself between his thighs. He raised his head, eyes more serious. “You’re entitled to stop now and then,” he said, studying the veil in her gaze. “No one’s going to judge you for that.”

He was right. No one would judge her.

She was doing just fine on her own.

It wasn’t the idea of taking some time off that made her anxious. But more the idea of having so much time to herself that she would have no choice, at some point, but to face her demons. To face all those hours of rest disguised as an inner storm. All that fake silence and calm, stretching painfully into infinity. Until she would find herself breathless and panting, on her knees in front of her mistakes.

• 4 •

Of course he had to be arrested by the royal guard…

Jahan swallowed a sigh. He glanced at the two guards walking on either side of him, each with a hand firmly wrapped around his arms.

He studied the impassive faces and proudly upturned chins staring straight ahead. The clacking of their high leather boots echoed against the dark stone walls of the long hallway—adding to the incessant clanking of the chains bounding his wrists.

Wall torches spaced every ten feet swayed their rippling flames against the contrasts, lengthening the shadows.

He’d managed to lose his pursuers, but not without causing a fair amount of chaos on the streets of Iliso. For someone who’d wanted to go unnoticed during his impromptu stay on Karukera, he could try again. These guys were tougher than barnacles.

His brief—albeit very pleasant—encounter with this mercenary at the market had cost him precious seconds, which he’d had to cushion by knocking over a dozen or so trolleys filled with fruits and vegetables. Not to mention all the baskets stuffed with various foods. One of the guys had ended up headfirst into a fish stall (much for Jahan’s delight) and he’d been well on his way out of the center town, before the royal guard caught him at a street corner.

Jahan looked up as they turned right into a wider hallway, focusing his gaze on the double wooden doors at the far end. Two motionless guards dressed in beige tunics bearing Karukera’s coat of arms (a leatherback sea turtle embroidered in gold threads) flanked the doors—each armed with a spear held vertically.

He lowered his eyes again, looking at the silver ring on his left forefinger. His family motto, finely engraved in the metal, seemed to be staring back at him.

Trust no one.

Minoo’s words—his younger sister—kept repeating themselves over and over in his mind. Like a redundant, heady rhythm that had accompanied him from the moment he’d read her letter, right up to his arrival on Karukera, and throughout the week he’d just spent on the island, hiding and trying to find a discreet way home.

Now just seconds away from meeting Governor Oluwaseyi, he knew he would have to use all the skill he could muster to stay under the radar. Because while his arrest by the guard offered him the privilege of hiding from his pursuers, it did nothing to diminish the precariousness of his situation.

The more the days passed stuck on this island, the more he put his family in danger. And the more Anshar’s new power could spread. He was playing against time and a mountain of unanswered questions.

Trust no one.

He still had a hard time believing that Sutekh could have knowingly overthrown the power in his kingdom. A man he’d known his entire life, renowned for his kindness, patience and thoughtful advice. A man valued for his wit and kindness, who’d devoted his entire life to the Pharaoh. What could have happened for him to change his behavior so drastically?

Jahan had doubted for a while. He’d hoped Minoo was mistaken. That she might even have made the whole thing up to force him to go home.

But the silence that had followed her last letter, and Sati’s prolonged absence, had been enough to corroborate his little sister’s claim. His dragon would’ve never stayed away from him for so long, had he known he was in danger.

No, he was going to have to fend for himself this time.

Jahan glanced cautiously at the two guards escorting him, keeping his attention focused on his chained hands. With slow movements, he used his left thumb to slide his ring toward the tip of his forefinger—and concealed the ring in the hollow of his fist.

He raised his head when they reached the double doors, blinking several times to get out of his thoughts. The guards on either side of the entrance reached an arm to grab a handle, pushing the doors open.