MARION:
She was starting to get tired of pirates.
Mary ducked her head further into her piss-poor ale, her hood still well covering her head. Mila met her gaze across the small table, just as cloaked, her hands gathered loosely around her own tankard. The collection of rings she liked to wear glinted dully in the shitty tavern light.
Times like this, her parents' nonverbal communication would have been really useful.
Mila's eyes glittered as if in a similar thought. Her gaze flickered to the bar and then back. Mary shifted her head within her hood, the faintest inclination.
They were being watched.
"I don't know what conversation just went on," Sanders said, lips barely moving as he gazed into his ale, "but please do enlighten me."
Mary caught his gaze, flicking her own to the bar. Sanders' eyes-brown, but a deeper, darker hue than Mila's gold-flecked gaze-flashed with understanding. He was the perfect companion to have in a shithole like this-everyday attractive, human, at ease anywhere, and, most importantly, male.
He was the only one of the three of them unhooded, but by sheer fact of having a man at the table with them, they were attracting a third of their usual questioning gazes.
Except the gaze of the commander at the bar.
After leaving Orynth three weeks ago, they'd made it as far south as the Dead Islands before they'd picked up the trail. A rogue commander, previously unknown to partake in any nefarious activity, scouring the islands for men to join his cause-and his cause was conquering.
They'd promptly abandoned their passenger ship and plans and had spent the last several days camped within Skull's Bay.
"Do you reckon this fellow doesn't have some justification?" Sanders had asked, standing over the most recent map of the Dead Islands in their tiny inn room. Aelin herself had it made off of Rolfe's magic tattoo-a Yulemas gift, Mary was fairly certain, and a joke she didn't know enough history to fully understand.
"Because this is Mycenian territory," Mary told him. "All of it is."
"Mycenian?"
"Sea wyverns wielding legends in Aelin's pocket," Mila offered, in her beautifully logical way.
"Led by a former pirate captain my mother tangled with in her youth," Mary said.
"Ah," Sanders said, noting the emphasis Mary placed on 'youth'. "Sometime in her former career, then?"
"Then during the war," Mila said.
"She may or may not have faked the return of a legend to spur Rolfe and his kin into action," Mary admitted.
"The return of a legend?"
"Sea wyverns," Mila said, studying the map. "Incidentally Mary has a cousin with a particular fondness for masquerading as one."
"An inherited fondness, one may dare to venture," Mary said. "Is this island volcanic?"
"Looks so," said Mila.
"Excellent."
Sanders shook his head. "I hope to all the apparently dead gods that my daughters turn out quieter than the pair of you."
Mary grinned. "Wouldn't that be terribly boring?"
Sanders begrudgingly smiled back. "You're certainly entertaining. So what plan do we have to watch this fellow while he prances about causing trouble?"
"Watching him, I'd say," Mila said, glancing to Mary. Mary nodded. "If this notion came upon him magically, then the more we can observe this presence at work the more help we can give."
"You are expected at the Torre Cesme in Antica in two weeks," Sanders pointed out.
"I sent word to Aunt Nesryn," Mila said.
"The current empress of the khaganate," Mary said, with a note of pride. "Mila is her favourite."
"That's because I'm the quietest. I also haven't set any part of her palace on fire."
"That was one time-"
Sanders held up a hand. He had, in the past weeks, proved to be one of Mary's most liked humans. Illia always had good taste in friends. Sanders was no exception-funny, drily so, and easygoing enough to walk onto any adventure. Mila liked to ask him about his country, which had a canal that froze over every winter in its capital, and a city full of people who ice skated to the shops in the snowy months, and hills that rolled endlessly on into the horizon. Sanders was Crown Prince, but the King having yet to die, Sanders still had freedom.
He knew Illia from a time of war, and Mary still hadn't gotten the nerve to ask him about it.
"Ladies," Sanders prompted. "Action?"
"We join his cause?" Mila offered.
"Excellent idea," said Mary.
Mila nodded. "You'll have to dye your hair again. I'll fix the colour."
Mary touched her long silver braid with regret. "I've just gotten the ruddiness out of it from last time."
"You can choose a different colour, love," Mila offered. "We could try you as a brunette,"
"You're making me into your ideal woman."
"Mary, if I were to craft my ideal woman, she wouldn't have been anything like you."
Mary tilted her head, blinking.
"That is," Mila amended, still smiling, "she would've been, oh, I don't know-raven-haired and prone to libraries. Likely very quiet."
"Say more."
"You," Mila said, "transformed my definition of 'ideal woman.'"
Mary said, "And you transformed mine." Mila had transformed Mary's entire world.
Sanders said, with genuine emotion, "You two are so sweet."
And now they were in another shitty tavern, waiting for this potential revolutionary to walk in.
They'd ended on Mary being the one to enlist. "You're the most convincing," Mila pointed out. Mila was the most gifted healer of her generation, but her acting left something to be desired, and Sanders, being in foreign territory, was at somewhat of a natural disadvantage.
So Mary dyed her hair dark and crafted the bare outlines of a character in her mind-the aura of a person who would come looking for trouble. Someone who had never felt at home anywhere and would do anything just to feel like she was alive.
The commander, or would-be usurper, was a nondescript sort of man. Fair-skinned, dark haired, unlikely to have met very much opposition in his life. Probably had some kind of tragic backstory that played into his natural power-he'd been a captain in and around these islands, and probably capable of finding trouble without any dark influence. He was, in Mary's experience, the kind of ordinary person who held a level of power over everyone else just on basis of how they'd happened to be born-in his case, male and fair-skinned, and that was likely all he needed to be to attract a force that sought people of power.
If that was how it worked. Marion still couldn't have said for certain-and that played into exactly why she remained sitting at this bar, for the third day in a row, on the basis of scattered descriptions from drunk pirates, and thank gods, their lead had finally walked in.
And had just noticed she was Fae.
That was the cause of the dark gaze on hers. Mary raised her eyes, holding his for a moment, and gave him the half-smile she knew irritated absolutely everyone.
His eyes flicked to the bar.
Marion stood, nodding as if in dismissal to her companions, and then wove through the room full of pirates and vagabonds until she reached the bar, and the rebel's side.
Her senses tingled, but he didn't exude any energy of dark magic.
Mary put her back to the bar and propped her elbows on it, scanning the crowd. "Hello," she said.
"I've no interest in whores or conversation," he said bluntly.
"Fantastic," Mary said easily, and caught his eye and tilted her head. "I want to join your cause."
He blinked serenely.
Her magic prickled at his gaze. It was inhuman. Mary would rather be the only inhuman in the room.
"You're Fae," he said shortly.
"What's your point?" she asked bluntly.
She was travel worn, dirt beneath her fingers, weapons present but hands held callouses from weapons, and she carried her mother's striking face, but she currently had messily braided dark hair and the same blue eyes of at least two people she alone was aware of.
"Why would a bored Fae female be in Skull's Bay?" he asked bluntly.
"When she likes trouble," Mary said sweetly.
The man shoved off of the counter. "A good attempt. Fae are of the north. My cause is not."
"Wait," she said. A note of desperation.
He turned, her voice catching on his humanity, on her wide eyes, and pretty face.
"I-" Mary swallowed. "I can shift into a bird," she said, voice low. "I can carry messages and spy for you."
He paused.
"I have nothing left to lose," she said, a crack in her voice.
He took four steps towards her and stood over her, glaring down with their chests so close that every inhuman instinct in her body set to roaring. The embers in her blood flared to life.
"Let me be clear," he said. "I do not give a shit about your tragic past or backstory or whatever bullshit trauma has led you here. If you betray me, I will slit your throat and feed your entrails to your animal companions."
Now that was a creative idea.
"Clear?" he snapped.
"Yes," she got out, the barest whisper.
His hand was on hers, a brush of a slip of paper. "I do not pay, and I promise nothing," he said.
"What a sell," she managed around a dry mouth.
"You seek trouble, and I offered it," he said shortly, then turned and walked out without further comment.
` Mary watched the door swing shut behind him, and hid her smile.
In the interest of the spies, entourage and eyes that no doubt accompanied the man, Mila and Sanders remained where they were, their eyes carefully averted. Mary exhaled visibly for the credit of appearing nervous, scanning the bar again, and turned back to her drink, slipping the paper up her sleeve.
Several minutes passed. In her periphery she watched first one, then two hooded figures silently disentangle themselves from the bar and disappear. Her instincts had settled, and her ale, piss poor to begin with, was warm.
Mary scanned the bar again. Her gaze snagged on a familiar figure.
Her heart dropped to her toes.
She turned back to the bar and closed her eyes. Gods. Oh, gods. Of course she would come all the way out here and run into someone in her mother's pocket. Please don't notice me please don't notice me please don't-
"Hello, Marion."
Mary kept her gaze perfectly forwards. "Hello, Rolfe."
The captain settled easily onto the stool at her right. "Should I inquire as to what, exactly, you're doing in the Dead Islands when everyone believes you to be halfway across the southern sea?"
Mary tilted her head. "Should I inquire as to what a man of your age is doing in Skull's Bay?"
Rolfe kept his eyes trained forwards. Well into his seventies, he had aged wiry, hardened by sea life and, Mary had long suspected, made rather invulnerable by magic. His eyes still snapped like the pirate he was. "There are few people in my life I wish had not taken reproduction so seriously," he said.
"My mother is undoubtedly one of them."
"The hair suits you."
Mary scowled at her nondescript dark hair.
Rolfe said, half into his ale, "You've inherited a lot of her."
Everyone said that. Everything was always about that. "Is there a point to cornering me at the bar, or are you enjoying the sound of your own voice?" Mary asked.
"And here I was believing you were the one with the sweet temperament."
"Talk to Brigan," she said shortly. "No one sees the sugar beneath Illia's storm, anyway."
Rolfe's eyes flickered, the exact hue of sea glass. "Why are you here?"
"I got bored."
"Bullshit."
"Do you doubt a spoiled princess' ability to look for trouble?"
"Any spoiled princess self aware enough to comment on her own search for a fight is far too clever to get into one without provocation. Why are you here."
"Why do you care?"
"Because," Rolfe said evenly, setting his eyes on hers. "The last time a Galathynius was here, she brought an army of demons down on my territory-and she brought goddess and legends with her."
"The gods are dead."
"Apparently. Now tell me why someone with Aelin of the Wildfire's gifts is running around my territory."
Mary tilted her head. "I thought Illium was your territory."
Rolfe gritted his teeth.
Mary smiled. "Don't mess up your pretty teeth, Rolfe. They're one of your better features."
"Give me one reason not to expose you in front of this entire tavern."
"Oh, good, another man attempting to educate me." Mary giddily crossed a leg over the other and began counting off on her fingers. "One, I fail to recall when I asked for your gods-damned opinion on my business. Two, not a damn soul in here would believe you. Three, because I might have a cadre of Fae warriors walking around your city at my beck and call. And four, because I could burn you to ash without lifting a finger," she said sweetly.
"Could you?" He asked, unchecked.
Mary smiled, eyes alighting to molten fire. "Try me."
Rolfe held the gaze for the barest heartbeat before dropping it.
Mary said, to her ale, "You wouldn't dare."
"Then take pity on an old man."
Mary glanced sideways at him. "Yes, you truly exude piteous elderly energy."
"Your mother and I have an alliance."
Mary picked at her nails. "I know, but I'm bored."
"You wouldn't."
"You really need to stop trying to tell me what to do."
Rolfe scanned the bar. "Is the healer with you?"
Mary waved a hand. "How should I know?"
"Your warriors would be noticed."
"You really would think," she said serenely, smiling with fully pointed canines.
Rolfe grit his teeth again. "Why. Are. You. Here."
Mary tilted her head. "Losing patience, Rolfey?"
Rolfe glared daggers.
"You tell me why you've dragged your ass all the way down the coast," Mary drawled, examining her nails again, "and I'll tell you why I've deigned to visit this piss-poor excuse of a territory."
Bravado-all bravado. But Rolfe, an Aelin survivor, bought Mary's mimicry without hesitation.
"I hate you," Rolfe said serenely.
"You bothered me, Captain." Mary waggled flame-laced fingers at him. "Any regrets?"
"I'm here for the same reasons you are."
"Shitty ale?"
"Rebellion."
"Ah," Mary said, nodding. "That would be the cause of the usurper whose ranks I've just joined."
Rolfe's mouth damn near fell open.
"Told you," Mary said, focusing again on her nails, in dire need of filing. "I'm terribly bored."
"Does Aelin know you're here?"
Ah. The question Mary had been avoiding. The line between her and her mother so often blurred-so much of herself was made of Aelin, of every beautiful and fearsome part of her, every piece of armour Mary donned at an instant's notice. But the armour fell away when it was impossible to ignore that Marion was not Aelin.
Sanders abruptly hopped up onto the stool on Rolfe's left. "Barkeep," he drawled, in a loud and strikingly accurate Islands accent. "More of your finest for my finest friends!"
The words were just barely slurred. Mary kept her face perfectly neutral as Rolfe fixed a glare on the newcomer. Sanders beamed back, all innocence. "Hello friend," he said blithely, and then poked the legendary captain in his chest and announced, "Strong one, are you?"
"I will cut off your hands," Rolfe said evenly.
Sanders dissolved into laughter.
"Seems like you're busy, Rolfey," Mary said, off her own stool in an instant. "See you around."
She vanished into the crowd as Sanders crawled up onto his stool and shouted, "Queen's ale for all and ale for the queen!"
"Ale for the queen," roared the tavern, which, Mary decided as she tugged her hood up, eyes picking out Mila in the maze of bodies, must have been an Erilea bar saying Illia had taught him. Mila's hand was suddenly in hers as they disappeared-just another pair of hoods in a raucous bar, Sanders leaping off his stool into the maze, Rolfe's gaze-however capable-already losing them in the crush of bodies.
"That was brilliant," Mary told Sanders, linking arms with him as they wound through the alleyways of Skull's Bay. "I'll name my firstborn after you."
Sanders grinned. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion. The fellow seemed to be bothering you-and I doubted you wanted any kind of fuss."
"So you made a bigger one?" Mila asked.
"It's a specialty. Who was that bloke, anyway?"
"Rolfe," Mary said.
"That was him," Mila said in dismay.
Mary nodded, searching her thoughts.
"Rolfe, the pirate legend captain bloke, Rolfe?" Sanders exclaimed.
"Of Aelin allianceship fame," Mary said grimly.
"He wouldn't," Mila said.
"Wagering on my mother's reaction to his spying on me, likely not. But I certainly pissed him off."
"Why is he here?"
Mary glanced down the alley. "Same reason we are. I told him I joined the rebel ranks."
"Mary."
Sanders said, "Pardon me, but don't we want subtlety?"
"The game was up as soon as Rolfe recognized me," Mary said. "Now he's intrigued. And he's intrigued enough to watch what I do. And," she added, ducking down a side street, "I hinted at several members of my father's cadre being with us."
Mila said, "So he may assume you're here on Aelin's business."
"Everyone assumes that," Mary said. "I'm Aelin's at every known corner of the world." It came out dark and bitter, and she swallowed against the hard rise of emotion in her throat. "He'll assume I'm hers," she managed. "That I'm her tool. He won't touch me until he's absolutely certain that's not true-and I don't think he ever will."
Mila's eyes were soft on hers. "Mary…"
"It serves our purpose," Mary said. "That's the end of it. We're in, by the way."
Sanders blinked. "In with the rebel leader?"
Mary held up the slip of paper, an address struck down on it in deep black lines. "Apparently revolution doesn't pay well."
"A travesty," Sanders said, straight-faced.
"This is for tomorrow night," Mary said, waving the slip. "So everyone gets to enjoy a night by the ocean."
"Or not with us," Mila said, half smiling ast Sanders. "If you would like a break of some kind."
"I shut up sometimes," Mary said.
"'Sometimes' being the operative word there, Marion," Mila said drily.
Sanders half smiled. "I suppose I don't have to worry about you two being capable of defending yourselves."
Mary waved a flame-wreathed hand at him. "Never."
Sanders nodded. "I'm going exploring. My girls will never forgive me if I don't return with a collection of pirate tales."
"See you tonight?" Mila asked.
Sanders saluted and meandered off-whistling, the very image of a nonchalant male without a care in the world.
How liberating that must be.
Mila slipped her arm around Mary's waist. "My," she said softly. "Whatever shall we do in an empty inn room, all by ourselves?"
"Can't think of a damned thing," Mary said, a smile tugging at her mouth.
"Well," Mila said. "I'll just have to teach you then."
The ocean at nightfall was just wild enough for Mary.
The waves batted endlessly at the cliffs, the horizon just barely rimmed in crimson and gold, and she was alone amidst all the silence.
There was everything and nothing left to feel.
Time alone with Mila after several weeks of travel and stolen moments in a tiny cabin had been nothing short of wonderful. And then Mary had lain there in the silence and felt… defeated.
Like she was going through the motions of her life without having any say in it. Repeating the same actions over and over because she was afraid to do anything differently. Never exactly sure of how she fit into everything.
Was she supposed to want more? Should she crave adventure and legend in the way so many members of her family did? Did she need to make her mark on history? Was sitting still something she was averse to or did she just keep moving because everyone else did? What did she need to make herself happy, and was being happy what was most important to her?
Mila's scent, embers and eucalyptus, reached Mary before her footfalls. Mary remained silent and still, watching the waves, as Mila joined her. She stood at Mary's back for a moment, her fingertips gently brushing Mary's shoulder blades.
"It's not the end of it," Mila said.
Mary blinked up at her.
Mila sat down next to Mary, folding her legs under her. She was still dressed like a man, her legs made very long by her pants, her head tilted as she examined Mary.
They were fifteen the first time she'd looked at Mary like that. Mary had never been able to unsee that look.
"Everyone who thinks you are your mother doesn't realize the necessity of your good imitation," Mila said.
Marion rested her cheek on her knees, looking up at Mila. Mila tucked her hair behind her ears. It was getting long again, brushing her shoulders. "It is ridiculous of people to assume you are Aelin," Mila said. "People do not replicate."
"They like to assume I'm hers. Not that I am her."
"I don't think that's strictly true, dear. You have two gifts in your favour here-your uncanny imitation of your mother, and your instinct for when someone will believe you have no personality of your own. An instinct that only works when the person in question knows your mother. Rolfe believes you to be Aelin's imitation-twenty year old Aelin, no less. Which means he has absolutely no concept of your ability to be kind, and soft, and quietly clever. He'll always expect you to come blazing in the front door, not slipping in through the back one."
"You're brilliant," Mary said softly.
"I know," Mila said, half a smile.
Mary set her gaze on the ocean. "I don't know who the person in between the imitations is. I'm a mirror to everyone, Mila. I reflect them."
"I know who you are," Mila said. "And I would fall in love with her over and over again.
"I love you, Mila Westfall," Mary said.
"I would follow you across any sea," Mila said. "Because you followed me across mine. If nothing else-you are the girl who followed me."
That was someone Mary would always be.