The great stench of London came to me before I even saw the city. Gagging, I backed away from the railing as The Misty Lady wound her way through the Thames River, hand clamped firmly over my mouth.

"Smells pretty rank, eh?" Jack asked as he came to stand beside me.

"It's… it's…" I trailed off.

"Hard to describe." Jack offered as he wrinkled his nose. "We're just here to reload and resupply before heading back out to sea. In fact, I'm thinking of jumping ship there and trying to go off on my own ship. I'm seventeen. Old enough to be a man or a Captain."

I watched the approaching city sprawl drift closer to us. James was somewhere here, without any knowledge that I was so close by. I gripped the railing until my fingernails dug into the flaky wood. James was attending some sort of naval academy. It had been so long since our last conversation on the hill overlooking Saint de Lune that I couldn't remember the name. Biting my lip, I felt apprehension grow as the full scale of the city came into view. It was so large that I couldn't see from the beginning to the end. Unlike Saint de Lune, which was small enough to run from end to end in under ten minutes, this place was overwhelmingly vast. Like comparing a little forest pond to the sea.

I shivered at the daunting thought of my quarry. It would take days, maybe weeks to find James. But after I had waited five years, it didn't seem so long after all.

"What's on your mind, love?" Jack quipped as he came to lean by me. His foul breath, matching the stench of the city, made my nose wrinkle. He frowned down at me, not comprehending.

"I'm thinking about being sick." I said frankly, smiling in spite of myself. Jack chuckled and took a long dappled feather from his headband, already bedecked with a string of colored beads and a small silver key hanging from a red thread. He tucked the feather behind my ear, smiling in approval.

"Do I look like an English lady?" I asked jokingly.

Jack regarded me thoughtfully. "You look like a pirate."

The brief moment of connection was broken. Stung, I marched into his quarters and slammed the door behind me.

I knew he hadn't meant to insult me. But it had touched a nerve. Deeply. Sighing, my blood already cooling, I plucked the feather from my hair and studied it. It was tan, dappled with snow-white, and as long as my forearm. It had to be an eagle feather, or a turkey feather. I traced the soft edge against my skin, waiting for the ship to dock.

The door opened. Jack leaned against the frame casually, a flask of rum in one hand. "Time to go."

Wordlessly, I left his cabin for the last time and walked past him. He tried to reach out for my hand, but I slapped it away. Two weeks after our one kiss aboard this ship, and Jack thought it meant we were betrothed. He followed me down the gangplank and into the bustling port, weaving to keep up with me.

"Do you even know where you're going?" He asked pointedly.

I glared at a large man after he rudely bumped into me without a second glance. I pulled out his compass, trying to focus on the rapidly spinning - but never stopping - needle.

"Where does this lovely James character live?" Jack piped up, taking the compass from my hand and slipping it into his pocket.

I frowned. The city of London seemed to stretch monotonously in either direction, unbroken by anything but narrow streets and tall buildings. Everywhere I looked, there were crowds of people. Hurried, hassled people. Not friendly and calm like those of Saint de Lune. I hugged my arms to my chest, wishing for home.

But that was impossible, thanks to the Ghents. Resigning myself to my fate, I looked at Jack sourly. "I'm not sure of the name. But he attends a naval academy somewhere here in London."

Jack tapped his chin thoughtfully. His small beard made scratching noises against his blackened fingernails. "Well, let's see if we can find the governor's house first. I'll bet it's on a hill somewhere, overlooking the rest of the city. Come on."

Jack stole someone's horse and helped me up. I couldn't help but think of James as we rode through the crowded streets, people leaping out of our way as we plowed through. He urged the stallion up a curving road, which wound like a coiled snake through the buildings. Eventually, the ramshackle buildings by the river changed into more substantial houses. Gradually, they spaced out and apart, and after crossing through a marked road, the buildings turned into gigantic, grand houses with huge pillars supporting the roofs and porcelain statues in the yards.

I bet the Norringtons live in this neighborhood, I thought as Jack wheeled the horse up another street and stopped at a formidable black iron gate. Two armed guards in crimson and white uniforms stood in front of the impressive gate, blocking any hope of entering.

"Go around the back." Jack urged. I dismounted and felt assurance rise in my chest as I saw the tall flag pole in the middle of the large yard, one flag donning England's colors and the other the Norrington coat of arms.

The guards kept their trained eyes on Jack as I pretended to leave. In reality, I snuck around into the back bushes of the neighbors and moved along the length of the stone wall. When I was well enough away from the prying eyes of the neighbors, I scaled the wall easily, my tunic loose and unconforming as the heavy layers of clothing that women typically wore. I jumped down onto the manicured green lawn of the Norrington's backyard and froze, waiting for a dog to start barking or a guard to come for me.

None came.

I sprinted across the lawn - just a huge, flat expanse of green - and pressed myself against the brown limestone walls of the manor. Red and green ivy covered most of the wall, climbing all the way up to the ramparts. The manor looked more like a fortress than a house. I tried each glass window, then realized how bad it would look if I broke into the Norrington's house. How awful would that look, after five years of absence? They would think I had become a thief.

Face hot, I hurried to the massive double doors at the front of the house. The guards were still watching Jack, who was staring up at the house, a worthy distraction. I stretched up on my toes and rapped the heavy knocker three times. It was a brass lion's face, intimidating and proclaiming the wealth and status of the Norrington's.

I stood, shaking, as I listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. For one panicked moment, I almost dove into the adjacent bushes. But then the door swung open, and a white-wigged man wearing a brown suit with ruffles at the throat stood before me. He took in my haggard appearance slowly.

"We don't hire prostitutes." He said at last, and my face flamed.

"I'm not a prostitute." I said instantly. "I'm an old family friend of the Norringtons."

The servant's frown deepened. "I'm sure you are."

His voice was heavy with sarcasm. Holding my temper in check, I persisted.

"Please, I've come a long way and I need to see them." I peered around his shoulder, trying to see inside. The inside of the house was massive.

The man blocked my view, shutting the door behind him. "Miss, if you please, leave, or I'll have to call the guards and have you escorted out."

I should have snuck in through the window. I thought. I tried again.

"You don't understand. My name is Grace Fisher. Surely they must have mentioned me!"

The servant's eyes flickered. "Yes, and I was given strict orders to have you escorted out by Admiral Norrington himself. Come along."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're lying."

The servant advanced. I took a step back. "Wait. Please. I've traveled so far."

But he was firm. "Cornelius! Abner! Escort this woman from my presence."

At once, the two red-coated guards turned from their posts by the gate. A gatemaster opened it for them. They advanced.

Panic made me brave. "James!" I screamed. "JAMES!"

The men froze. Clearly, they hadn't expected me to know the name of the one of the Norringtons, particularly the youngest one.

"Get her out of here." The servant ordered. "Now."

The two men moved swiftly. They both grabbed an arm, dragging me out. I fought every inch of the way, but they were firm. They dumped me outside the gate unceremoniously so that I stumbled and fell to my knees, scraping them. They let the gates slam shut.

Jack was there instantly. "Well, thankfully, I have a way of getting around the rules." He said, brushing off the dust from his shirt.

I glared at the guards. "What did he mean, he has orders to keep me out? Are sure this is the Norrington's house?"

Jack faltered. "Well… that's their coat of arms, isn't it?" He pointed to the unmistakable red flag snapping in the breeze.

Sighing, I conceded. He was right. For whatever reason, Lawrence Norrington didn't want me around.

But that wasn't a good enough reason for me. I had traveled over 250 miles to find James, and I wasn't going to leave without at least seeing him once more.

"Come on, dearie," Jack said. "Let's try the back way again. This time, don't bother knocking on the front door."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a pirate knows how to break into a house." I remarked dryly as Jack wheeled the horse around to the back of the property. He pointed to an open balcony on the second story of the grand manor, where a maid was shaking out clean laundry.

"See that flower trellis? Climb up it and that's how you'll get in. If you open a window, it'll attract too much attention. Just don't mention that you're with a pirate, alright?"

I smiled. "Why? Do you intend on accompanying me?"

Jack made a face. "I'll have to pass on that one, love. But I'll be waiting for you tonight. I'll come back for you here at sundown."

Filled with trepidation, I dismounted and waited for the maid to turn her back. Jack rode off. Feeling vulnerable and knowing that if I was caught by the guards again, they would be much less lenient than before.

After five minutes, the maid finished her chore and left the balcony. She didn't return. I cast a last furtive look around the property, and then scaled the wall once more. This time, I didn't bother knocking and instead followed Jack's instructions. Palms slick with sweat, I almost lost my grip on the white lattice of the trellis, the sweet wisteria making me sneeze. Trembling with consternation, I pressed my back against the wall of the house, listening for any sound. But it was just me and my labored breathing.

I entered the room. It was large, open, and filled with decorations that bespoke of the Norrington's wealth. I slipped unnoticed through the open door and down the rugged hall. Paintings hung on the corridor walls, scenes of landscapes and portraits that must have cost a hefty price. Each time I reached a door, I peered inside, looking for any sign of James, but there was none. In fact, the house looked so clean, so immaculate, that is was hard to believe anyone lived here at all.

After seven doors on each side of the corridor turned up empty, I decided to take my chances and try downstairs. I walked as quietly as I could on my worn sandals, listening hard for the presence of anyone else. I entered the kitchen quietly, listening hard, on edge, looking behind me to make sure I wasn't being followed.

And walked straight into Admiral Norrington.

The HMS Dauntless arrived in the balmy heat of Port Royal less than four months after we had departed England. Palm trees swayed in the hot wind, the salt tang of the sea permeating through the muggy air. I was sweltering under my uniform, fighting the near-constant threat of passing out. It was completely foreign from the constant cool of England.

"You'll get used to it." Commodore Roanoke said, as if he could read my thoughts as I stood on the balcony of his new and final home, a grand stone manor sitting near the top of the port. It was so similar to the village of Saint de Lune that it brought a twisting pang of homesickness in my gut, stronger than I'd ever felt.

But we were clear across the Atlantic now. This was the New World, not England.

"Tell me, Officer Norrington," Commodore Roanoke inquired as he poured himself a cup of brandy, "what lays so heavily upon your mind?"
I hid a chuckle. "To be completely frank, my lord, I feel like a roasting pig over a fire."

Commodore Roanoke made a noise of understanding. "A small price to pay for the rank you have earned. And you have earned it well. I have already penned my letter to the King. Upon your return to England, you will be a fully-fledged Lieutenant of the British Royal Navy. You will serve as commander of the Dauntless, second only to the Captain on board. You have done well, James."

I startled. Never before had he used my familiar name. "Thank you, sir."

Commodore Roanoke poured a second glass of brandy and nudged it toward me. I took it gratefully and took a swig, the night air cooling on my warm face.

"I am old." Commodore Roanoke sighed. "My wife and daughters have a new home here, in the Caribbean. I will never again command a ship, nor plunge a sword through the gullet of a pirate. My time as a soldier is over. Yours is only just beginning. Tell me… what do you plan to do, once you achieve your coveted status of Admiral?"

I took another drink of the brandy. It felt like fire as it burned its way into my stomach. "You sound as if you know for certain that I will be Admiral."

Commodore Roanoke nodded. "Indeed… I believe you will become what your father is. For a moment, would you humor an old man? My son perished in a battle years ago, and I cannot speak to my daughters as I speak to you."

Unsure of where he was going, I allowed him to continue. I gave a tiny nod. Commodore Roanoke let a gusty breath and relaxed in his chair. He dipped a chunk of bread into a bowl of stew and chewed for a moment, swallowing hard.

"My parents were nobles in the King's Court. From the time I was a small boy, I could see my whole life spread out, according to their plans. They detailed everything, from what I would wear to how I would talk and to what I would do. They wanted me to become a Commodore. But I wanted to be an artist."

I lifted a brow. It was hard to imagine the battle-scarred old man as anything but an old lion. "An artist?"

Commodore Roanoke chuckled. "Yes, an artist, of all things! You see, I have always loved to paint. Landscapes, people, animals… it was my greatest passion. I found myself working odd jobs just to afford supplies for my art. And people would buy them. Other nobles, to furnish their houses. Even the King, when he saw my painting of a regal warhorse. Ah, but I was young. And I let others decide my future for me." His eyes shuttered. "There was a young woman by the name of Mary Anna. She was fifteen, like me. She was poor, poorer than most. Thirteen brothers and sisters, and they lived in a house barely big enough for my mother's chambers to fit in. But we were young and very much in love. I remember telling my father that I wanted to marry her. He laughed and thought I was trying to make a joke. He grew angry when I insisted it was no joke. I loved Mary Anna, and I wanted to run away to Paris with her and be a painter."

Commodore Roanoke grew quiet. He took a long pull of his brandy and poured himself another. "But my father was firm. His dream was to see his only son become an officer in the British Royal Navy, to serve the king and defend his country. So the next day, he forced me and my family to relocate to Portugal. I was bound and gagged for part of the trip because I fought so hard. By the time I returned to London three years later, an officer in the Navy, Mary Anna had died of a common illness. An illness that could have been so easily treated in my social circle."

I sat, frozen, trying to absorb his words. I had never dreamed the old Commodore could have had so much in common with me. "She died?"

"Yes." Commodore Roanoke confirmed heavily. "She was only eighteen years old, a very gifted singer. I regret not returning home sooner. If I could, I would have run back to London at the first chance I had. Mary Anna would be my wife. And yes, we would be paupers in Paris, but I see now more than ever, at the twilight of my life, that all of the riches and glory I aspired to were vanity. Simple, utter, pointless vanity." He fixed his liquid brown eyes on me, imploring. "I see so much of myself in you, James. Your ambition, your aspirations, your drive to succeed and even your desire to please your father. But I caution you not to lose sight of what truly matters in life."

"And that is?"

He smiled. "Love."

I shook my head, trying to dislodge some of the weight of his words. "Sir, if you're asking me to sacrifice my career as a Royal Navy Officer, I cannot."

"I am not asking that of you, James." He assured me, staring thoughtfully off the balcony to the glistening waters of the Atlantic. "But I have noticed how you are often lost in thought. Do you think of your dreams to become Admiral, or something else?"

This time, it was me who took a full drink of the brandy. "Her name is Grace. I can't help it, sir… I love her."

"Well, by jove!" Commodore Roanoke exclaimed, banging his fist on the table. "Why don't you stop mooning and pining over her and just marry the girl already? Didn't you listen to anything I just told you?"

I flinched, startled by his outburst. "Marry her? I can't just sail across the Atlantic, walk up to her and say, 'Hello, Grace, remember me? We were children together years ago… will you marry me?' It just isn't done that way."

"Oh, come now, James!" Commodore Roanoke insisted. "Sail across the ocean and back to your village and sweep that girl off her feet. Would you rather marry someone your parents choose for you, or will you have the courage to marry someone you've chosen?"

I shook my head. "It just wouldn't work. After six years, what have I to offer her? I would be away at sea for months at a time, leaving her at home alone. Her family is in Saint de Lune, not London. She is a lady of quality and character. She deserves better."

Commodore Roanoke leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. I knew it had to do with the fact that he was now on his third glass of brandy, but it also something deeper. He was vulnerable like I had never seen him before. And something told me I probably wouldn't see him like this again, either.

"For Heaven's sake, son. Sometimes we must take matters into our own hands. You've had it easy, letting your parents decide for you all of your life. But will you take an opportunity for yourself and see where it takes you? Or would you rather let it pass by you, never to return?"

I leaned back in the chair, watching the endless expanse of dark water glittering in the light of the moon. Across the ocean was Grace, somewhere. She could have been married by now, or even dead. Between us was an oceanful of pirates, including her own father.

"This is your life, James," the old Commodore reminded me as he finished his third glass of brandy, "and you're the one who has to live with it."

Those were his last words before he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, about to pass out, leaving me alone with my conflicting thoughts about Grace and about my career.

If I had to choose, which one would I pick? And more importantly, which one could I live with?

I opened my mouth to scream, but quickly covered it with my hand. I backed up, terrified, hearing the words of the servant echo in my ears: I was given strict orders to have you escorted out by Admiral Norrington himself.

The Admiral had aged well in the five years I had not seen him. There was a new tinge of dignified gray at both temples, and he looked content, successful, and at peace. But when he looked at me, I saw those emotions disappear. Now, I saw shock, and regret.

"Sir, I…" I was lost for words. What did I say to this man, who was James' father, but also the same man who had spared my father's life for years simply because I was his daughter? What did I say to him, when he was the driving force behind James' departure from my life?

I couldn't think of what to do, so I did what came naturally: I curtsied in the presence of an Admiral.

Admiral Norrington said nothing. Even though James looked very much like his mother, I could see the same oval shape of his face repeated in his father's, the same proud posture. Afraid, I waited for him to say something, anything.

"It's been a long time, Grace." He said at last. I nodded once, hands clasped before me, trying not to meet his eye directly. But I couldn't help it. Even though it violated the unspoken rules of social class, Admiral Norrington was still James' father.

"Come." Admiral Norrington said, nodding to the kitchen. "I was about to make a pot of coffee, and I imagine you and I have some things to discuss."