Title: we'll live in slow motion and be free
Summary: Bitterblue spends almost two years at sea, learning to love the boards beneath her feet and the people beside her. But Monsea draws her the way the moon pulls the tide. She cannot ignore its call any longer. Pirate!AU.
A/N: Inspired by the brief conversation Saf and Bitterblue have about pirates in the book, but also because I just really liked the idea of Pirate!Saf. It somehow turned into this monstrosity. That said, it was a blast to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! :) Takes place in a world where there are no Gracelings, but Bitterblue's father is still evil.
You've made it through the storm this far,
You've done this dear, it won't be hard...
There will be tomorrow,
The sun will light a sea of sorrow
~Weeping Willow, The Hush Sound
They're in Wester when it happens.
Dark shapes solidify out of nowhere and a knife is driven into Rood's stomach with frightening speed. Runnemood falls upon their attackers immediately, fury etched in every line of his face. Thiel and Darby draw their swords, kicking out and pushing, pulling her along. The night is a whirl of bodies and warm masses and blood—she stabs a man before she has time to think, and then Darby is gesturing—"Over here, keep your hood up, hurry!"
"Thiel," Bitterblue pants as he and Darby usher her into an empty barrel among one of the docked ships, ghostly, shadowy figures in the night. "Thiel, what are we going to do?"
Her protector's lips press into a thin line as he finds a lid to cover her. "You are going to survive," he says, pressing a bundle of papers into her hands. "Do you have your mother's ring?"
"Yes." Bitterblue touches her throat.
"Good. We'll be back for you by dawn, but if not then your job is to stay hidden and find a way to Monsea." Thiel hands her a bag of coins. "Once you're there, find the address on these letters; find the Council, show them your ring and the letters. Your cousin Po is part of it—he should recognize you. He will know what to do."
"Thiel!" Darby's voice cuts through the air. "They're coming. We must get away from here so they do not suspect."
Panic rises in Bitterblue's throat as understanding grips her. "Thiel, you can't. You'll die!"
A mask settles over Thiel's features. "It's been an honor serving you, Lady Queen." He touches her cheek, then drops the lid into place so that Bitterblue is plunged into darkness.
She listens, helplessly, to the sound of feet pattering away, of far-off shouts and the harsh clang of blades ringing against each other.
o.O.o
She wakes from her dream-fog with a surprised jolt, feels the barrel tipping forward, rolls out of it into a crouch, knives flashing.
Bitterblue scans her surroundings quickly. There are two men in front of her—lean, able, perhaps two years older, maybe less. They must have moved her barrel during the night; the wooden planks surrounding her indicate that she's in the cargo bay. Immediately after, she notices the unsteady motion of the floor beneath her feet and realizes what it must mean. The thought makes Bitterblue want to collapse in grief. Oh, Thiel, she thinks, and Darby, and Runnemood and Rood—what am I going to do without you all? She wants to scramble up into the sunlight to see how far they are from the city, if they've been sailing for long, but the two men block her way.
All of this crosses Bitterblue's mind in the span of a few seconds, but some of her panic and sorrow must bleed into her expression because the brown-haired man steps forward.
"Whoa there, lad," he says, his hands up, palms open in a gesture of peace.
"Lass," corrects the other. "And part Lienid, too, from the looks of it."
From under her hood, Bitterblue scrutinizes him. His hair is sandy, his face freckled, but he has gold studs in his ears and rings on his fingers, like her mother. Mother, Bitterblue grieves. She touches the pouch at her hip, where she'd stored the letters and the money last night.
Meanwhile, the brown-haired man questions his friend, "How can you tell?"
His friend ignores him. "We need to figure out what to do with her."
"Why, that's simple, isn't it? We can't just throw her overboard. I'm Teddy," he finally introduces. "And this here is Saf."
Saf tenses beside him, his—purple, Bitterblue realizes, they're purple—eyes flashing. "I'm going to find the captain," he mutters, pushing past Teddy.
Teddy gives her an apologetic grin. "Don't let him get to you—he's like that with most everyone at first."
Bitterblue shifts uncomfortably.
"You understand, of course, why we have to keep an eye on you," Teddy continues. "It's nothing personal, really, just we don't often have stowaways and our ship's a special case in particular."
An item in the corner, covered by a tarp, catches Bitterblue's eye. She squints, trying to form a picture in her head based on the contours. A small area at the base is exposed—it looks like gray stone, but sculpted. Bitterblue frowns.
"What, exactly, do you trade?"
Teddy laughs. "Lost things," he answers cryptically, before they hear feet stomping down the stairs. Saf returns, this time with a stern-faced woman at his side.
"All right, child. Lower your hood," the woman commands. "And put your knives away."
Bitterblue hesitates before doing as instructed. As her hood comes down, she holds her breath. Teddy, Saf, and the woman scan her face, but none of them show signs of recognition. And why would they? thinks Bitterblue, breathing a sigh of relief. She has been hiding from her ruthless father for six years now; few are alive who have seen or remember her face.
"What brings you aboard my ship?" asks the woman.
"I…was hiding," Bitterblue answers carefully, unsure of how much truth to tell.
"From who?"
"From thugs," says Bitterblue. "I crawled into one of the barrels and I must have fallen asleep."
"What do thugs want with the likes of you?" Saf asks, arms folded. His tone is wary.
The bag of coins is heavy at Bitterblue's hip; she decides to use it to her advantage. "I stole from them." She meets his gaze, unflinching.
Teddy laughs, breaking some of the tension. "Another street rat!" he chortles. "We seem to be a right magnet for them, aren't we, Helda?"
The woman—Helda, captain—Bitterblue thinks, matching names and faces, studies her. "What other skills do you have, besides pickpocketing?"
This, at least, is familiar ground. Bitterblue doesn't bother lying, determined to keep her place on the ship for a while, at least until she figures out where they're headed and what sort of goods they harbor. "I can read. I can use a knife and I'm good at mathematics," she lists easily.
"What's 465 by 50?" Helda quizzes.
"Twenty-three thousand, two-hundred fifty," Bitterblue answers after a beat. She wonders if the numbers have a particular meaning and looks around the room, trying to find something to match them with.
Helda and Teddy exchange glances. "Could be useful," comments Teddy.
Helda studies Bitterblue for a moment more before nodding her head slightly. "All right, let's take her up to meet the crew."
Saf manages to look horrified, annoyed, and angry all at once. "Helda, you can't be serious. We just found the girl and you're going to let her stay?"
Helda leans forward, eyes flashing. "Need I remind you, Sapphire, that we found you in much the same manner?"
Saf, to his credit, does not back down. "I was a baby," he clarifies. He indicates Bitterblue with a defiant lift of his chin. "She isn't." He storms off.
o.O.o
Bitterblue is introduced to each of the crew. Teddy, it turns out, is navigator, while Saf is boatswain, which makes sense, muses Bitterblue, watching him swing around to adjust the rigging. There's Holt, the strong, sturdy quartermaster, and Madlen, the doctor, whose one good eye examines Bitterblue with startling acuity. Fox has bright red hair to suit her name and is the ship's carpenter, while Bitterblue meets Smit, the master gunner, in passing. Bitterblue can sense them mentally assessing her worth in their heads and knows she has a lot to prove if she wants to earn her keep.
Helda, after showing Bitterblue to her quarters, gestures towards Bitterblue's pouch. "I want half of your coins," she instructs. "Think of it like insurance."
Bitterblue figures she's essentially paying for her safety, which is what Thiel would have wanted—Thiel, she thinks, heart struck by a sudden pang—so she hands the money over with little fuss.
Satisfied, Helda smiles slightly. "Welcome aboard."
o.O.o
She spends the next days swabbing the decks and learning how to tie knots. The sun beats down on her face, and the sea spray makes her feel as if salt is slowly collecting in her hair. Most of the others barely talk to her, but Teddy tries to make her feel as welcome as he can, telling her stories and asking questions.
"You still haven't told us your name, you know," he mentions one day.
Bitterblue looks up from her pail, rubbing at the sweat that glistens on her forehead. "Call me whatever you like," she suggests.
"Any suggestions, Saf?" Teddy calls out.
Saf snorts from his perch. "Do what you want, Teddy."
"How about Grayhood? Because of your cloak."
"That's no good." Saf swings down to join them, his bare feet braced against the deck. Bitterblue jumps slightly at his sudden proximity. "It doesn't match her personality."
"What do you suppose is my personality?" Bitterblue questions, crossing her arms and raising her chin slightly.
"That's easy, isn't it? It's all sparks." He arches one eyebrow at her. She can't tell if he's teasing or mocking.
"Sparks it is, then," Teddy decides, cheerful as usual. "So what's your story? I don't suppose you had any family to leave behind when you snuck aboard."
Bitterblue thinks of Rood, the blade half-sunken in his gut shiny in the moonlight. "No," she says. "Both my parents died a while ago."
"I'm sorry." Teddy touches her shoulder.
Bitterblue shrugs. "It's all right. I didn't care for my father much. It's my mother I miss." She feels Ashen's ring on the chain against her neck, tucked inside her tunic. "She's the one who taught me my numbers."
She senses Saf listening, despite the disinterested look on his face.
o.O.o
An excited shout brings Bitterblue to her feet.
Helda barges in, a swirl of face paint disguising her features. "Get dressed and grab a knife," she orders. "There'll be time for questions later."
Bitterblue emerges on deck to find that their ship is pulling alongside another—Monsean, from the looks of it.
"Hold your fire!" Helda commands, and it's then that Bitterblue notices the cannons bristling from their ship's sides.
Great seas, she thinks, what is going on here?
The men on board the other ship are in a confused but suspicious stance. Bitterblue notices that Saf and Fox have managed to board the other ship and are interrogating the leader now, holding up a wrinkled parchment to the man's face. Saf and Fox's faces are covered with paint, too, and the way it shimmers in the sunlight makes it hard to imagine exactly how they look. Bitterblue touches a hand to her own face—her fingers come away blue and sparkling, courtesy of Madlen.
Helda tosses Bitterblue a rope. "Come along now," she says, turning to call over her shoulder, "Holt, you're in charge!"
Bitterblue has no choice but to follow Helda's lead, swinging over to join Saf and Fox. For a brief moment, as she flies over the small stretch of sea separating the ships, she feels her stomach lurch, but then her feet hit the wood and she rolls to a stop.
"—your business," finishes the man, glaring at Saf.
"Look," says Saf, one hand resting lightly on the knife at his hip, "we don't want any trouble. We'll leave your other goods alone—we want only to see if you carry any of the items on this list. They're valuable items that were stolen during Leck's reign, and we're in the business of reclaiming them."
"You probably just want them for yourself," sniffs the man, "and 'sides, if they're so valuable, why's Monsea's council in such a hurry to get rid of 'em?"
Bitterblue's ears perk up at the word 'council' before she realizes the man is referring to the council that governs Monsea, not the Council that is looking to restore her to the throne safely.
"Because Monsea's council wants to pretend Leck's reign never happened," Saf says through gritted teeth, growing irritated.
Helda puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him, stepping in. "Has there been any word of the Queen?" she asks instead.
The man's eyes are hard and distrustful as he answers, but less so than when he was speaking to Saf. "Nothing," he says. "There are those who think she's somewhere out there, preparing to return, but most believe she must have died. Six years is a long time to hide, after all."
Bitterblue is careful to keep a blank face. It's then that she notices Fox has disappeared. She risks a glance towards Saf, trying to determine if he knows, too, but he only stares back with one eyebrow raised, as if questioning her gaze.
Fox emerges a short while later, scuttling back onto the deck, only this time she clutches a sack in her hands. "Sir!" someone shouts as Fox soars over their heads, landing back on their own ship gracefully, where Teddy pats her on the back. Holt watches from the steering wheel, stoic, silent.
"Now," Helda barely manages to say before everyone explodes into action around them. Saf whips out his blade just in time to stop the captain's sword. He kicks the man hard in the shin before grabbing Bitterblue's arm, shoving her towards the starboard side.
"Go," he hisses when she pauses at the rope, eyes darting to try and pinpoint Helda. Helda has managed to fight her way to another rope and is about to push off; relieved, Bitterblue turns her attention back to the task at hand.
When she makes it back to their ship, she turns to find Saf clambering higher up, fighting off his pursuers while trying to find a good place to jump from and swing himself across.
"Saf!" cries Bitterblue, swinging the rope back towards him with all her might. Saf catches it and clasps his knife between his teeth as he readies himself—behind him, a man is bearing down, sword raised in the air.
Bitterblue panics. She throws her knife, sobbing in relief when it sinks into the man's shoulder and not his chest. She doesn't want to kill anyone, not if she can help it. The man cries out in pain, dropping his sword and bringing his arm close to his side, giving Saf enough time to get away.
Smit fires one cannon towards the beak head, just enough to cause damage and serve as a warning, and then they are pulling away, trying to create as much distance as they can.
"Nice throw, Sparks," says Saf. He has a cut above his eyebrow—a bead of blood wells from it, mixing with the gold dust applied in a mask across his face. The corner of his lips quirk into an appreciative smile.
"That was my good knife," is all Bitterblue can think to say.
Saf grins a little wider. "We'll get you a new one, don't worry."
His statement brings all her questions surging to the forefront of her mind. "You're pirates, aren't you?"
"You musn't misunderstand," interjects Teddy. "We're honest men, really—we only steal certain things."
"What sort of things?"
"Things Leck stole—things he forced people to make for him without paying," explains Teddy. "It seems the Monsean council is eager to ship these goods away, to disguise the fact that they were ever made, so we stop their ships on the high seas and reclaim what we can."
"And how do you get the goods back to their rightful owners?"
"Through our trusted contacts. Sometimes we deliver them ourselves."
"But aren't you, for all intents and purposes, still considered criminals by most?" questions Bitterblue. "How do you ever dock? How'd you even get this ship?"
"Slow down, Sparks," says Saf from where he is being cleaned up by Madlen.
Teddy answers, "That's what the face paint is for—so that people never get a true good look at our faces. As for the ship, well, it's Helda's but we're licensed by the Lienid, so I guess you should call us privateers instead of pirates, if you'd like to get technical."
Bitterblue tries to wrap her mind around all the information Teddy is giving. "What does Lienid care about the Monsean people's complaints?"
"Well, it's not Lienid as a whole so much as it is one of their princes," Saf says. "We're employed by Prince Po and the Council, as part of the underground rebuilding efforts." His tone is one of admiration bordering on adoration.
A spark of hope flutters in Bitterblue's chest. "Have you met this Prince Po?"
Saf shakes his head. "Only Helda has spoken to him in person."
Bitterblue files the knowledge away, comforted in the fact that maybe she won't have to keep her identity secret from everyone on the ship. "So the Lienids gave you this ship, but you don't fly under any flag while at sea so you won't draw attention to them. But then when you enter port…"
"Why, then, we just lower our Lienid flag," says Teddy. "We've even got a charter, too, if anyone asks. It's quite brilliant."
o.O.o
"Easy there." It's Saf, to her surprise, who catches her when she stumbles and nearly falls the first time they disembark from the ship. Teddy presses against her other side—the two of them effectively cage her in as they walk down the gangplank, preventing her from bolting. Bitterblue has spent about a month at sea with them, but they are still wary, especially now that she knows their ship's secret purpose. She knows there are things they have kept from her—no one will let her read the scroll that contains an inventory of the items they are searching for, and she also hasn't been allowed to look at any of the items they have reclaimed. The itch to know what was in the sack Fox lifted all those weeks ago crawls over Bitterblue's skin, making her feel prickly and the slightest bit annoyed, especially since everyone else knows the sack's contents.
A burly man gets in their way, grunting when they bump into him. Out of the corner of her eye, Bitterblue watches as Saf deftly plucks a few coins from the man's pocket, his expression as unruffled as ever.
When they're out of earshot, she speaks. "I thought we were honest men."
Saf doesn't bother pretending. "Honest men have to eat."
"You see, the prince pays us a bit, but it's hardly enough," Teddy chats as they wander through the streets looking for a good deal. "We don't steal anything else from the merchant ships, of course, and we can't sell any of the items we've reclaimed. Sometimes we run across shipwrecks and there'll be sunken treasure, but that's rare and most of the time there's little left that hasn't been combed through before. So we supplement ourselves."
"Teddy, you talk too much," grunts Saf, picking up and inspecting an apple before he sets it back down.
Teddy winks at her. "Someone's got to keep the conversation going." Bitterblue likes having him around. His easy manners serve as a counterweight to Saf's coiled strength and guarded looks.
They finally come across some goods that seem to Saf and Teddy's liking, so they pick up provisions for the ship and head back. Bitterblue keeps pace with her long-legged companions and their swinging steps. Under the sunlight, with the cobblestones solid beneath her feet and the sounds of the city swirling in her ears, she feels at peace.
o.O.o
Saf saves her first.
It's nighttime in another port and Helda has let them off on the condition that they return to the ship by morning. Teddy is sick in his cot—food poisoning is what Madlen suspects.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" worries Bitterblue as Teddy bends over once more, groaning.
He waves her off, smiling weakly. "I'll be fine; it's nothing Madlen hasn't treated before. Go out and enjoy yourself." He lowers his voice, leaning towards her. "And keep an eye on Saf for me, would you? Sometimes he doesn't make the best choices."
That's how Bitterblue finds herself following Saf into a tavern. She picks a seat in the dark corner of the bar. Across the room, Saf stands against one wall, his arms folded and stance wide.
She finds herself entranced by the story being told by a man sitting on a stool in the center. He strums his lute, voice throaty as he recounts the exploits of a vile villain, complete with musical accompaniment at select parts. Bitterblue remembers the books she used to read, stories of knights and beasts and, later, political tomes, to prepare her for the kingdom she would someday rule. Monsea seems far away from this life of sailing and stopping, hiding and sneaking.
"Sparks." Bitterblue snaps out of her daze to see Saf sliding into the stool next to her. She doesn't bother asking how he figured out she was here. Out of the blue, he asks, "Care for an ale?"
"I've never tried."
"Now's as good a time to start as any." Saf holds up two fingers and slides some coins across to the bartender, who pockets them. A few minutes later their mugs arrive, liquid golden and frothing.
Bitterblue takes a hesitant sip. It burns a little as it slides down her throat, equal parts bitter and sweet. Feeling Saf's eyes on her, she tilts her head and drinks a little more. She winds up finishing the cup.
A little while later, the drink kicks in. Bitterblue feels lighter, more relaxed, her limbs looser. Her hood has come down and she feels a happy flush on her cheeks. Her gaze zips around the room, jumping from subject to subject with renewed vigor. She spots three men headed their way and taps on Saf's shoulder. "Do you know them?"
Saf opens his mouth to answer, but the men have moved in, surrounding them. They appear a little rough around the edges but don't seem to mean any harm. "Hello," Bitterblue says before frowning to herself. She isn't usually this welcoming, or talkative, but her introspective thoughts are chased away when one of the men speaks.
"You look like cheerful company, lass," he addresses her, ignoring Saf.
Saf tenses and moves to stand in front of her. "Watch yourself," he warns.
The man peers around Saf's shoulder, teeth bared in what Bitterblue guesses is supposed to be an inviting grin. "Let the lass speak for herself, aye?" he winks, one meaty hand reaching up to push Saf to the side.
Saf's fist smashes into the man's face. Really, Bitterblue thinks giddily, he needs to stop resolving disputes in this manner. She has time to think of little else as she and Saf sprint towards the door, a furious, hurt man and his two goons on their heels.
Saf pulls her down an alley and then he is urging her through the window of a deserted storeroom. He tumbles in after her, landing on a sack of flour, the powder puffing up in a white cloud. They huddle there, in the dark, as their pursuers quickly give up chase, most likely deciding they'd rather spend the rest of their night drinking instead of searching.
Blinking in the dark, Bitterblue's head feels a little clearer, the brief exertion bringing clear air into her lungs and mind. She can't discern Saf's features in the shadows, which, for some reason, puts her a little more at ease.
"Let me see your hand."
"What?"
"Your hand," repeats Bitterblue, stretching her own hand towards Saf. "That man seemed to have a pretty hard head. I don't imagine your knuckles made it out unscathed."
A sullen silence lingers between them before Saf lets her bring his hand into the moonlight. She studies it. His knuckles are faintly bruised, but it's his rings and the way the light glints off them that makes her catch her breath.
"They look all right," Bitterblue decides, sitting back on her haunches.
"Hm," Saf responds, but his tone has lost most of its usual gruffness.
"We should head back to the ship," says Bitterblue. "Unless you're in the mood to smash a few more things up?"
Saf laughs, then, and a strange sort of feeling pools in Bitterblue's stomach—pride, mixed with something else. She lets him climb out first before following, adjusting her hood and brushing some flour off her cloak.
"Come on, Sparks," Saf says.
o.O.o
At sea, Bitterblue receives her first present.
"Waterproof pouch," says Madlen. "For herbs and things. Every sailor should have one." Bitterblue accepts it gratefully, retrieving the letters from where she'd hidden them under her mattress and transferring them.
Teddy finds her later. "I've got a puzzle for you, Sparks."
On deck, Saf is playing with something that flashes gold in the sunlight. She draws nearer and discovers that it's a pocket watch, but the numbers are all wrong. She tries to shake the feeling that she's seen one like it before, a lifetime ago.
"What's that?" she asks.
"Remember the bag Fox retrieved?" answers Teddy. "There was a whole set of these in there."
"Does it work?" She reaches towards it—Saf lets her hold it. The metal feels cool in her hands.
"You're our mathematician, Sparks," says Teddy. "We were hoping you could figure it out."
Bitterblue runs through the numbers in her head, narrating her thought process aloud for Saf and Teddy to hear. "So…it's just about two o'clock this afternoon, according to this watch," she informs.
Teddy's eyes are crinkled in a smile and Saf chuckles as he reaches up to ring the bell four times, signifying that two hours have elapsed since he took the afternoon watch and that it is, indeed, two o'clock.
"Excellent job, Sparks."
o.O.o
The second time around, Bitterblue saves him.
They're in another pub when the fight breaks out, only tensions are higher in this one and someone pulls a knife that Teddy gets on the wrong end of. Saf is lost somewhere in the fray. Bitterblue slides herself under Teddy's weight and manages to hobble out with him. She hides him somewhere out of the way and gives him some cloth to staunch the bleeding.
"Wait here," she says as Teddy sucks in a shuddering gasp. She runs back to find Saf.
She spots him in the melee, with his hair that's white at the tips and the gold flashing in his ears. Darting into the fray, she notices that one of Saf's arms hangs limply at his side. When Bitterblue reaches him, she tugs on it. He roars in pain, but the pain turns his attention towards her.
"Saf, it's Teddy," she says urgently, begging him to understand.
Thankfully, he does, but in his desperation to get away he turns his back to the man barreling towards him. For someone who gets in fights so often, Saf is careless—or maybe, Bitterblue considers, his carelessness is what gets him into so many fights. She grabs a stool and jabs it into their attacker's groin before bolting.
Saf curses when Bitterblue leads him to Teddy, his face pale. He collapses on his knees, pushing a bloodied cloth aside to inspect the wound.
Between the two of them, they manage to get Teddy to the dock, faster than when Bitterblue had to bear his weight alone. Madlen assesses the whole situation with a wordless glance, setting Teddy down as she pulls the knife out. Saf hovers worriedly—eventually he proves too much of a distraction, because Madlen shoos him away.
Bitterblue follows him to where he slumps against the cabin door. His bows his head, staring at the ground. When Saf looks up, she reads the expression in his eyes: self-loathing. "This is all my fault," he says, jaw tense.
"No, it isn't."
"It is," counters Saf. "If I wasn't so reckless, if I weren't always looking for a fight…"
"No one knew that it would get as out of hand as it did," says Bitterblue, sinking to sit beside him. "And Madlen will fix him up, I know she will—she's a miracle worker."
Saf studies his hands before turning to her. "Sparks," he asks, probing, "do you think I'm dangerous?"
Bitterblue blinks at him. "Why do you ask?"
"Teddy worries I'm a bad influence on you."
Bitterblue can't help laughing a little. "Dear Teddy, always worrying about others," she says. "I chose to throw my lot in with you all. I think I know what I've gotten myself into."
Saf smiles slightly. "You haven't answered my question."
"Do you think you're dangerous?" she counters.
She can see him thinking of Teddy's face twisted in pain, and probably other things, bits and pieces of his life that she's never witnessed and can only guess at.
"Sometimes," he answers.
o.O.o
She turns seventeen out in the middle of the ocean. She can hardly believe it's been nine months since she joined the crew; by now she works alongside them as if she has known them all her life. Sometimes she wonders if it's all just a dream. Her knowledge of Monsea comes only through encounters with the ships they board and information picked up while in port. When she asks Helda why they don't sail too close to Monsea, Helda answers, "Things are dangerous right now for the likes of us—the Monsean council's mighty suspicious." They hand over their reclaimed goods to a Monsean merchant ship captained by one of Helda's 'trusted contacts' and begin to loop back up the coast, always on the lookout.
It's tiring work, but it also makes Bitterblue feel alive. She tells herself that she will find a way back to Monsea eventually, but for now it doesn't seem as if the council is doing an awful job of rebuilding the country, minor grievances aside.
Still, when Bitterblue stares out across the water that night, she can't help feeling guilty. Saf joins her at the railing. Together, they watch the inky black water lap against the side of the ship.
"It's my birthday," Bitterblue finds herself saying.
Saf looks at her, surprised. "Why didn't you say so earlier, Sparks?"
She shrugs. "I didn't see a point."
He's silent for a minute before he takes her hand and gently tugs her towards the mizzen mast. She startles at his touch. When they reach the ladder, he instructs her to climb.
She makes it halfway up before she freezes. The sea suddenly seems too big, stretching all around the ship. It could so easily swallow them, she realizes. It makes her limbs tremble.
"Sparks?" Saf's voice comes from below.
She closes her eyes, holding on to the rope more tightly. It sways a little under her weight. "I can't," she mutters, starting backwards.
"Wait—hold on, Sparks." Saf clambers up behind her, manages to turn her and get her arms around him. Bitterblue has little time to protest, squeezing him tightly as he continues to climb, hand over hand. She feels a tiny bit undignified, but mostly relieved.
They get to the mizzen top castle. There's wood beneath her feet here, at least, not the empty space between each rung of the ladder, and Bitterblue relaxes slightly. She clutches the railing tightly as she peers over the edge. The sea seems even bigger, but they're closer to the stars, too. Bitterblue looks up, dazzled by the sight of all the pinpricks of light shining down on them, touching her face, touching Saf's shoulders. She sits down, dizzy.
"It's beautiful," she says, her back against the pole for support.
Saf sits next to her. "The world seems less lonely when you're surrounded by all these stars."
Bitterblue is inclined to disagree. With the stars so close yet out of reach, she feels smaller. "Do you ever get homesick, Saf?"
Saf gestures to the wide expanse around them. "This is my home," he reminds. "My parents left me on this ship when I was a baby because of all the troubles in Monsea, and also probably because of my eyes—people are scared of strangeness." His mouth quirks. "Supposedly I've got family in Monsea, but I haven't yet had a chance to track them down." This is new information; Bitterblue stares at Saf, astonished.
"What about you, Sparks? Do you miss your home?"
Bitterblue thinks of her mother pushing her into Thiel's arms, face pale as she ordered, "Take her away from here, somewhere safe, somewhere he won't find her." She thinks of the snow crunching under her boots as they fled—it had sounded too loud in her ears; she was terrified that with every step they took they would be caught. She remembers her mother watching from the window, sending strength across the space between them. That hated castle, the dark gray stone she turned her back on, her father and his glinting grin—it all rushes back in. Sinking into an armchair by the fire later, unable to wrap her head around her mother's death. Thiel and her other protectors crouching in front of her, hands curled around her smaller fingers, whispering, "We will keep you safe."
"Sparks? You're crying." Saf's eyes are soft, worried. He turns to face her more fully, and this small gesture pulls another sob from Bitterblue. What kind of queen is she? Her mother and so many others sacrificed themselves to protect her, and here she is, as far from Monsea and her fate as she can be.
"Hey, shhh, it's all right," Saf soothes, reaching forward to cup her face. He runs his thumbs along her cheeks, wiping away her tears—forces her to look at him. "Listen to me, Sparks—you'll be all right."
Saf is close, so close. Bitterblue feels the moment spinning between them like a cord. If she pulls away, she knows it will snap. Reality will come rushing back in. Bitterblue wants so desperately to remain under the stars, to forget the revelations that have surfaced. So she remains frozen, waiting.
Saf leans forward.
Bitterblue hesitates, because it's Saf—Saf, with his skillful fingers and sharp eyes—Saf who is kissing her like this, like she is the answer to a question, like he is discovering secrets in their mingled breath. "Sparks," he murmurs, voice rough with an emotion she can't place. She opens herself to it, lets it drag her under, just she and Saf moving under the stars.
o.O.o
Teddy watches her watching Saf and shakes his head. "I suppose I should have warned you a lot earlier," he says, chagrined.
Bitterblue looks at him with wide eyes.
"He won't settle down, you know." Teddy nods his head towards Saf, perched in the main top castle, free as a bird, while helping Bitterblue break down one of the barrels. "No matter how much he likes you."
Bitterblue averts her eyes. "I'm not under any illusions," she assures. "I'm not looking to be married or anything like that."
Teddy flashes a rueful grin. "That won't make it hurt any less."
She tries to keep Teddy's words in mind but finds she can't bring herself to care. Around Saf, Bitterblue feels her heart expanding like a sail ballooned by wind. It both thrills and terrifies her.
But as the months pass, guilt creeps in. Guilt because the way Teddy talks to her and the way Saf touches her—without the weight of her secret—remind her that she is pretending. A lie by omission is still a lie.
Eventually, she cracks.
o.O.o
Helda looks up from the charts she's surveying as Bitterblue enters her room, shutting the door behind her. Bitterblue stands in front of Helda's desk. "Helda, I have something to confess."
Helda senses the hitch in Bitterblue's voice and leans forward, palms folded on her desk. "What is it?"
"I'm afraid I wasn't open about my identity when I first came aboard. The truth is…" Bitterblue hesitates. She hasn't planned her confession out completely, only knows that she has to tell someone and Helda is the only one she's sure she can trust. She pulls the letters from her pouch and pushes them across the desk. "The truth is," she continues, "that I've been on the run, hiding, for a while now, and that's why I didn't tell you at first." Finally, she produces Ashen's ring, setting it on the table. "It's me; I'm Bitterblue. I'm…I'm supposed to be queen of Monsea."
Helda digests it all in silence before reaching for Ashen's ring, turning it between her fingers. "What can you tell me about this ring?" she asks carefully.
"Why, it was my mother's," Bitterblue swallows. "It's the ring she wore for me. Because the stones matched my eyes."
Helda's eyes flit over Bitterblue's face, as if peeling back layers. Finally, she seems to deflate, sagging back in her chair. "I suspected something when you first came aboard, but then you didn't seem to show any indication…oh, child, why now? Why did you keep quiet for so long?"
Tears prick the corners of Bitterblue's eyes. "I'm sorry, Helda," she blurts. "I was scared, and then as time went on I…I wasn't sure I was ready to go back." The admission releases a heavy weight from her chest. She is supposed to be queen, but she is also scared out of her mind and woefully unprepared.
Helda's eyes soften as she scrutinizes Bitterblue. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown," she says. "You have some of her features too, you know. Not just her coloring."
Bitterblue takes a breath. "You…met my mother?"
Helda shakes her head. "No, I've only seen portraits. And one of you, too, when you were a child—I should have realized sooner. The Council has been searching for you."
Bitterblue lowers her head. "I know," she mumbles. Then, "That's another thing, Helda—someone else is after me, too. And they don't want me back on the throne."
Helda's face darkens. "Aye, there are those. You're lucky you ended up on this ship and not some other one." She returns Bitterblue's letters. "We're not scheduled to be in Monsea until five months from now, but when we arrive, I'll see to it that you get safely off the ship and find your cousin."
Bitterblue sags in relief. "Thank you."
o.O.o
Bitterblue finds it fitting that the night she turns eighteen is the night they reach Monsea. They don't enter the main port—instead, they sneak upriver. The night is quiet around them, like a blanket, and Bitterblue knows that the longer she stays on this ship the more likely her feet are to grow roots and prevent her from ever leaving.
And so it is in the dark, in the quiet circle of Saf's arms, that she stirs, waking herself to her true purpose. His brow is smoothed by sleep, the coiled tension dissipated from his body. She slides herself out of his embrace and into her clothes, which feel coarse after the smoothness of his skin. For a moment, standing there, watching him, listening to his breaths—to the breathing of the whole ship, its gentle motion—Bitterblue's heart swells.
But Monsea draws her the way the moon pulls the tide. She cannot ignore its call any longer.
Softly, she presses a kiss to Saf's shoulder, right above the Lienid markings encircling his arms. Then she gathers everything, every last trace of her two years, and disappears.
o.O.o
Helda has the night watch. She waits, at the ready, as Bitterblue steps into the moonlight, her belongings gathered in a bundle. Helda helps Bitterblue lower the bundle into a small rowboat. She squeezes Bitterblue's hand gently as Bitterblue joins her things, the boat creaking softly.
"Go now and be safe, Lady Queen."
Bitterblue nods gratefully, her words lodged in her throat. She straightens her shoulders and begins to row, eyes focused on the riverbank. The moon seems to illuminate a path through the water—towards shore, towards her destiny. Towards home. If she stares hard enough, she can imagine her mother's face watching over her from the moon.
"This kingdom will need you someday," her mother had whispered, cradling Bitterblue's head to her chest as her father paced on the other side of the door.
The woods come into view, sharpening from the shadows, like soldiers who have stood on guard waiting for her return.
I'm here, Mother, Bitterblue tells the sky.
I will try my best.
I'm home.