A/N: Happy anniversary to us! The first chapter of "The Gift" was published one year ago this week! Thank you so much for sticking with my story and reading through this insane year. I'm so grateful for all of you! After this chapter I think we have everything in place for the final push (except for the last big surprise twist, because we can't have an adventure story without one of those). Here we go!

The Gift

Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply


"This bitch again?" Talia hollers. "Find the bird, you said." Outraged sarcasm drips from her words. "Just a nice little jaunt to see a soothsayer, you said. Well, now Doubar's having a breakdown on the docks, Firouz seems to think he can take him apart and fix him like he fixes his gizmos, we've got yet another secret sibling weeping all over the place, and now this crazy bitch is back!" She fixes Rongar with an icy glare. "There is not enough treasure in the world, buddy, to keep me from jumping ship just as soon as I figure out how."

Yes, Rongar knows, and he can't blame her. She has every right to run. This was supposed to be an uneventful journey, no risk to anyone but him, and he was convinced he could keep his presence in Bollnah a secret long enough to get the information he needed and get out. What troubles him most is that he has no idea how he managed to fuck things up so badly so quickly, because he has no idea what's going on. It would be one thing if Ali Rashid were lying in wait for him, but he's not. Zorah insists she didn't betray him and he believes her, but there's a mass of guards in the courtyard, winding up the stairs, and spilling into the room. Two have Talia tightly by the arms, and he's about to be next. He'd say he deserves it for returning to Bollnah after Ali Rashid's threats, but that's not Ali Rashid standing before him. It's Rumina, and her presence is so jarring that Rongar's usually lightning-quick mind is left grasping at handfuls of nothing, unable to puzzle out any reasonable explanation. She shouldn't be here. Ali Rashid should.

Rongar steadies himself as the dark sorceress paces slowly toward him, her steps silken and purposeful. He tries to look on the bright side. At least his sister didn't betray him this time. And many voyages under Sinbad end up in near-disaster, too. That even Sinbad commits these life-or-death blunders should make him feel a little better, but as Rumina nears Rongar finds that it doesn't. She's eerily beautiful, with the grace and charm of a snake, sinuous and sleek. Today she's dressed in black and blood red, which he hopes isn't a sign of her mood. Big, pretty eyes smoky with kohl blink at his cloaked, hooded figure, and a smile of wicked satisfaction curls her painted lips.

She thinks he's Sinbad. She must. It's the only explanation that makes even a little sense. She called him "dearest" just a moment ago, and he knows perfectly well that he's not dear to her. He's pretty sure she doesn't even know his name. She won't be pleased in a moment when she realizes who she caught in her trap. It was baited for Sinbad, he understands now, and she clearly has no inkling that anyone else might possibly have risen to the bait. But Sinbad wasn't looking for a soothsayer, and has no ties to Bollnah as far as Rongar knows, so how Rumina expected to get him here, he has no clue.

"It's not wise to irritate a concubine, you know, dearest," she says. The smile she wears is dangerous as poison. "They get nasty quickly, and they have very little to do all day but dream up imaginative forms of payback. The one you snubbed will likely receive another whipping for leaving the palace without permission. Though she did bring back the news her dear prince wanted, so he may go easy on her. Then again, he may not." One bare, elegant shoulder shrugs lightly. "Not my problem either way."

Rongar doesn't move as Rumina approaches. There's no point. There are far too many guards for an attack to be of any use, and since that's the case, he's already exactly where he needs to be: between Rumina and his sister. She seems not to be interested in Zorah, and he wants to keep it that way. He promised his parents on their deathbed to always protect her, and while he's done a terrible job thus far, he can't just give up. He'll gladly sacrifice his life to ensure her safety. This is the meaning of family, at least in his eyes. The loss of his throne, his homeland, his voice don't matter, but the loss of his sister will. He's been pulled in too many conflicting directions lately as loyalty and honor demand divergent actions, but right now, in this moment, he knows where he belongs. He can do nothing for Firouz and Doubar down at the docks, nothing for Sinbad and Maeve so far north, but he can fight to keep Rumina away from Zorah, and he will.

"Cat got your tongue, sailor?" Rumina giggles. Rongar wants to open his mouth and show her that, no, someone else did. Not a cat, but a snake as devious as the woman before him. "You're surprised to see me, no doubt," Rumina continues. Rongar hates the sound of her laugh. It's the laugh of a small child, and it disgusts him. No grown woman should sound like that. Talia brays like a donkey when she laughs, and he far prefers her roars. They're honest. They're real. Everything about Rumina is artifice, except for the danger she poses.

"Business here kept me occupied longer than I wished. Still, we're together again now, and all this trouble will be worth it in the end. They do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder." She touches the glowing red stone fastened around her throat. She must have switched out the chain, because it's much shorter now. She placed a band of black leather between her skin and the golden links, most likely for comfort, but it still looks tight enough to choke her smooth throat.

"Hey. Listen. Whatever this is, I'm really only tangentially involved," Talia says as she casts a calculating glance toward the door. "I'm just a friend of a friend. An acquaintance of an acquaintance, really. So I'm just gonna…" She tries to jerk away from the guards holding her, but they're stronger than she is. She jumps up, landing with both booted feet on the toes of one guard, and he doubles over in pain. She shakes him off with ease, but another swiftly takes his place and a third grasps the hilt of her cutlass, drawing her sword smoothly from its sheath and disarming her. Rongar isn't sure how she planned to escape, anyway. A phalanx of guards blocks the door, and they're not budging for one angry little pirate.

"You, harbor trash," Rumina says, whirling to face Talia, "have a handsome price on your head in most of the neighboring lands."

Talia snarls.

Rumina wrinkles her pretty nose in distaste at the pirate's ugly grimace. "I don't much care about the money, but the prince will, and he's been quite the accommodating host." She turns back to Rongar's cloaked form. "I hope you're paying attention to my generosity. Good boys get rewards. It's a lesson you should have learned by now."

"Just so you know," Talia growls, "I curse all of you unto the umpteenth generation. You and your devil of a soothsayer, too!" she snaps at Rongar.

He already knows; she doesn't have to spell it out for him. He failed, she's trapped, and she has every right to curse him. He's also fairly sure, considering the situation, that he'll be the last of his line anyway, so her curse isn't all that much of a threat.

"Let him go," Zorah pleads, stepping swiftly to Rongar's side. "Let him go, dark one. He's not the man you seek."

"Your part in this is over. You told your prince what he wanted to know, confirming that catching the hawk would lure Sinbad here. That's all I needed, which means that if you want to keep your head you will now hold your tongue. I've seen the scars your dear prince left on you. You may think your gift keeps you immune from his temper, but I can see for myself that it does not."

Zorah flinches as if slapped, and a burst of fury takes Rongar. Scars? What scars? Ali Rashid pledged Zorah's safety in return for Rongar's surrender and exile. He moves his arm under his cloak, gently trying to draw Zorah back behind him. She needs to stay away from Rumina and not draw the sorceress's attention. Whatever's going on here, she'll only get hurt if she continues to argue with Rumina.

But Zorah ignores his gentle coaxing, remaining firmly at his side. "I tell you, this isn't the sailor you want!" she insists.

"He's exactly the sailor I want. Ali Rashid keeps asking why I bother, why this one is worth all the trouble I've gone to. I thought he of all people would understand that once I decide something is mine, it stays mine. Nobody gets to tell me differently. But, then, our sweet prince isn't sentimental like I am." A small giggle leaves her mouth. "One girl is the same as another to him. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I'm partial to my sailor. Maybe because he's led me on quite the impressive chase, but even Sinbad can't evade fate forever."

She turns to Rongar's silent, cloaked form. "Now, dearest, let's talk. I ran into some...complications...that kept me occupied and away from you for a time. Trusting Scratch, it turns out, was not the best idea. He had the gall to double-cross me after I double-crossed him. I mean, what was he expecting? That I would just hand you over without a catch? I was forced to make a new alliance as a result of his betrayal. But now we're both here, you and I, and you're going to obey this time. You don't have a choice anymore. Samhain is very near, too near to continue these childish games." She lifts her immaculate hands and draws back his hood.

The dumbstruck look on her face is almost worth being captured. Almost. Rongar lifts his head proudly as he stares her down. He is not the man she wants, the man she thought she trapped, but he is the rightful prince of this realm. He's also not above a feeling of deep satisfaction when she lets out a high-pitched squeal of rage and falls back two quick steps.

Talia roars with laughter.

Rumina explodes. "You're not Sinbad! You're the mute! Where is my Sinbad?"

Rongar refuses to answer. Sinbad is not hers. He never was. He's his own free man, and though he tried his best to hide it, his heart belongs to their northern sister. No part of him belongs to the witch, and no part ever will. He'll let Scratch take his soul before he surrenders to Rumina.

Talia cackles, her hoots of laughter long and loud and, to Rongar's ears, perfectly delightful. She fights for air as she laughs. "You thought...he was…" She wheezes, doubling over, holding her belly as she roars. Even the guards don't try to restrain her. "Good...gods, woman! They...oh, that's too...they look nothing alike! Even under...a cloak!" Tears stream from her eyes. She's the color of Doubar when his ire's up, and Rongar thinks she's beautiful because she's so gloriously joyful. "They move nothing alike! Stand...nothing alike! Have you no eyes? You may want Sinbad, but you sure don't know him."

Rumina's hand whips out, quick as a striking snake. Magic may be her forte, but she's still apparently human enough that her first instinct is to strike with her body. She slaps Talia across the face hard. Rongar winces in sympathy, not for the pain but for the affront. Rumina isn't physically strong, but an open-handed slap to the face is a deep insult in any land.

Talia rights herself swiftly. She slaps Rumina back just as hard, still laughing loudly, and doesn't even protest when the guards regain control of her arms. They bind them behind her for good measure, but she just laughs.

"Okay, okay. That's the best laugh I've had in ages. I'm almost ready to forgive you," she says to Rongar, tears streaking her face.

He's grateful for her grace, but he's fairly sure he didn't cause this mix-up, which means he can't take credit for her laughter. He never gave anyone the impression that he was Sinbad. He never gave anyone any impression at all, hiding under his cloak deliberately so he wouldn't be seen. All he can assume is that Shirez mistook something Talia said during their walk through the city, though he honestly can't figure out what.

Rumina stands, stunned, holding her palm to the red splotch on her cheek where a gutter-bred piratess just dared to slap her. Her pretty mouth hangs open in shock. Rongar is almost ready to howl with laughter himself, except he knows the aftermath won't be pretty once Rumina recovers her outrage. She trembles with fury as she regains control of herself.

Rongar expects Talia to be the victim of her next attack, but he's wrong. Rumina whirls, hand still pressed to her stinging cheek, and advances on Zorah until Rongar steps between them, blocking her path. "You said!" she screeches. "You said the hawk would lure Sinbad! I'll have your head for this treachery!"

"I said the bird would lure the ship," Zorah corrects, "and it did. I claimed nothing about who would be on board. You weren't listening carefully enough. This gift is very precise, often to a fault. Like a horse with blinders, I see only what it shows, not the bigger picture. I didn't even know my brother would be on the ship you seek."

"Your brother." Rumina eyes Rongar icily. "Because of course he is. Worthless, the pair of you. A soothsayer who can't see the desert for the sand, and a silent sailor useless without his captain." She advances on Rongar and grabs roughly at his bandoleer, jerking hard to try to pull him down to her level. Her arm has no muscle, and he doesn't budge. "Where is Sinbad?" she demands of him again.

He regards her in perfect silence, attempting no explanation. Telling her the truth won't harm Sinbad, not if he's with Maeve somewhere safe from dark magic, but Rumina doesn't deserve an answer and he refuses to give her the satisfaction.

"I'm sorry, brother," Zorah says, close at his side. "I've told you before, this gift is a blessing but also a curse. This is the curse. I saw that you would come to me, but not how. I would have refused Ali Rashid and his new witch if I thought their scheming would cause you harm."

Rongar bows his head to her, closing his eyes for a brief moment as acceptance of this situation washes over him. He believes her. She betrayed him knowingly before, but not this time. Not again. Whatever trap Rumina laid, she meant to catch Sinbad. Rongar sailed unknowingly into the midst of something he doesn't understand, something that involves both Rumina and Ali Rashid. It's a cruel twist of fate, but an innocent one. Zorah didn't know. He didn't know. How could they?

"Guards!" Rumina commands. "Search the city. Find Sinbad. Seize the Nomad and everyone on board. Kill his Celtic witch and any who resist. Only the captain matters to me. The rest are better bait than the hawk, but ultimately expendable. Understand?"

Rongar moves swiftly. He catches Zorah up in one arm and darts for the window. There are guards down there, too, but he has to try. Whatever's going on here, he can't let his sister be caught up in it and he can't let the soldiers take the Nomad. Doubar and Firouz are at the docks, and they're vulnerable because they don't know what's coming.

"Not so fast!" Rumina's voice rings out, dark and dangerous. The feel of magic, like the shimmer before a lightning strike, hovers close. "Who said you could duck out early? A soothsayer is always a valuable commodity, even a defective one, and you, as I said, are bait. Guards! Take them to the palace. Just a moment and they won't resist." A string of words in a foreign language leaves Rumina's mouth. They bubble and hiss like boiling oil. A moment later he slumps and his world goes black.


Maeve lies quiet in her big bed, Keely warm at her side. Her head rests lightly against her sister's as she breathes the soft scents of female skin and the ink stains on her smock. She's tired and beginning to feel chilled, and would far rather have Sinbad, but Cairpra ordered him downstairs a little while ago, insisting on a thorough tour of the household to familiarize herself with its layout and the rest of the inhabitants. Maeve wanted to make Keely go instead, but her sister has had all the Cairpra she can take for now. She needs a break, and Maeve can stand the separation for a little while. Finleigh is fine, and she's not freezing yet. Both she and her daughter will sleep well this afternoon, which is probably for the best after fighting with Keely for a chunk of the morning.

Keely grunts softly as her son turns inside her. Maeve can feel the movement, her own swollen belly pressed lightly against her sister's. Fin responds to the jostle with her own jab, and Maeve can't decide whether that's funny or poignant. Her daughter will be born alongside Keely's son, just as Mia and Rory were, and she likes the thought that Fin will have this friend right from the start. They won't grow up as close as Mia and Rory, because Maeve has no intention of remaining here permanently, but they'll be exactly the same age, and this bond will remain. Maeve hopes it's enough for Finleigh, because she really, really doesn't want to give her girl a sibling. She'll give her the world, her daughter's birthright as heir to the master of the seven seas. But not a little brother or sister. She can't take the thought of going through this again.

"Oof." Keely scowls and pulls her ink-stained smock up over her belly, her hand rubbing firmly at the spot her baby just pummeled. "I like helping other women do this much more than doing it myself."

Yeah, Maeve knows. Keely has always been fascinated by the workings of the body, childbirth particularly but not exclusively. In another lifetime, in another land, she might have become a learned physician. As it stands, she's content running a large and growing household and ministering to the locals when they have need. But she's no more comfortable than Maeve these days as her lying-in nears. She's perfectly healthy and Maeve is envious of her mobility, however awkward, but she's also a small-boned woman carrying a baby who seems determined to catch up to his father's size before he's born. "Are you worried he's getting too big in there?" Maeve presses her palm to her sister's belly, feeling her nephew's response.

"No. Not yet. I just look ridiculous because I'm so short. He's bigger than his sisters were, but he's fine." Keely's inky fingers trace the light brown line running down the middle of her belly. Maeve doesn't have one, but Keely says this isn't unusual for redheads and not to worry. Maeve isn't. She has far too much to worry about already; she doesn't need to add a lack of stripes to the list.

Today, those worries include her sister. Keely's a Celt woman and therefore as tough as the land that birthed her, but she's struggling. Maeve saw it before, but it was never more plain than today. Keely has never been wary of strangers, nor hostile to anyone. Not before Antoine left. She's intimidating, yes. Hostile, no. But she very clearly does not want Cairpra here, and Maeve isn't sure why. They're both very assertive personalities, but so are Keelyand Maeve and they manage. She's worried that the compounded tension of pregnancy, three missing family members, a new apprentice, harvest, and Maeve's own condition may have finally brought her sister to the edge of what she can handle. Maeve can't blame her. She's near it herself, and she still has Sinbad by her side. Antoine left Keely alone, something Sinbad will never willingly do. Maeve doubted him before, when the tension between herself and Doubar was still simmering. She assumed that, if forced to choose, he would always side with his brother. But when the explosion came, he didn't. Maybe because of Doubar's final violent actions, or maybe Sinbad was always more firmly hers than she realized. The reason doesn't matter now. What does is his warm, supportive presence, the loyalty that keeps him at her side. He followed her north without hesitation, though keeping still behind stone walls is no easier for him than it is for her. He chose her, his chéile and his child, over his brother. Antoine made a different choice, and Maeve is afraid it's this more than anything else that's breaking Keely slowly down.

"I never expected to be doing this with you, you know," Keely says, slipping an arm around Maeve's sharp shoulders. They nestle together on the big bed, Maeve buried once more under her pile of blankets. "Wren, sure. We had Mia and Rory together, and she's always either pregnant or nursing. In fact, I think she may be carrying again now, but it's none of my business until she tells me so. But sìthichean conceive so rarely that I doubted Nessa would ever join us, even before Dermott was cursed. And you...I don't know. You were so sure you didn't want a man, or the children that inevitably come with one, and I believed you."

Maeve laughs wryly. "You should have believed me. I meant it. I still do. Sinbad was an accident, Fin a means to an end. I love her desperately, but that doesn't change the fact that she was conceived to save her father's soul. I'd never have done it otherwise."

"You keep telling yourself that." Keely shifts, supporting her belly with her arm. "You're better at lying to yourself than you are at lying to me. I don't know what that says about you."

"Fuck off."

"You fuck off. You just don't want to accept the truth. That's fine. I can't make you. I learned long ago that screaming at you is useless. Nothing gets through that thick skull of yours unless you want it to."

"So why do you keep picking fights if screaming at me is so pointless?"

"Because you're infuriating!" Keely pinches her arm. Maeve shoves her sister, but in her current weakened state it does little but make Keely laugh. "Face it, little sister. You were done for the moment you met that man. It took a while for you to accept, and Scratch and Rumina hurried things along faster than you would have chosen. But the bond was already there, and once you start regularly fucking, children are inevitable. You can try your hardest to watch your cycles, make him pull out, and use the herbs that inhibit conception, but no method is foolproof. That belly was always going to be the result."

Maeve scowls. She does not like having things summed up so neatly like this, as if all her choices, all her goals and desires, mean nothing. "I don't believe in fate," she says firmly.

"Neither do I. I'm not talking about fate. I'm talking about human nature—or maybe animal nature. I don't even know. I guess there are probably some people in this world who feel no bodily desire, either for men or for women, but you're not one of them. You have hangups, but you still want. That means children were always going to come. It's just a question of how you view them. A hurdle to overcome? A burden to bear? Or something else?" Keely looks her full in the face, her green eyes glowing softly in the warm golden sunlight.

"Fin isn't a burden, or a regret," Maeve insists. She still feels conflicted about the way this happened, how she was forced to make a choice she wasn't ready to make. She'd far rather have let things with Sinbad develop at their own pace, no matter how slow. But that doesn't change how she feels about her daughter. "Sinbad calls her his guardian angel. I'm not a fan of those angel-things, feathery avengers supposedly waging war on behalf of their god. But in this case, that's exactly what she is. She's here to save and safeguard him. She's his hero."

"I know. I wish all fathers felt like that about their daughters." Keely's face darkens. Maeve slips her arms around her and curls close. She's talking about her neighbors, the people she ministers to, but not just them.

"Ant still loves Mia and Lily," she says softly. "And you."

"Who said we were talking about Antoine?" Keely demands, pushing her away.

"Now who's lying to herself?"

Keely's green gaze turns sharp. "I don't lie to myself—that's all you. I don't have time for that shit."

It's true, and also very much not. Keely is usually much better than Maeve is at accepting hard truths. That's why, Maeve suspects, she's the warrior and Keely is not. It's a fundamental difference in their characters. Maeve fights to change the things she finds intolerable, things she knows in her heart are wrong, even when the fight is hopeless. Sinbad is the same. Keely is not. Despite her strident personality, she's not a fighter at heart. She's too pragmatic for that, not idealistic enough. She accepts the tragedies of life as they unfold, and does what she can to heal the aftermath. Usually. The loss of Antoine has proved to be a pain she cannot, thus far, fully accept.

Gentle wind wafts through the window, setting the gauzy curtains dancing. The very distinct, beloved smell of crisp leaves and ripening apples meets Maeve's nose. Autumn is here: she can't lie to herself about the season any longer. The rains have not yet set in, sunshine still mellow and warm, but cold is coming, and with it Samhain.

"I won't leave you," Maeve says quietly. She catches her sister's hand as Keely tries to draw it away. "Not like he did. They did," she corrects, acknowledging the absence of Nessa.

Keely's small, callused hand is warm. After a moment's struggle, she gives up and squeezes back. Her touch is firm and steady, but her eyes are dull. "You will. You always do."

"No," Maeve insists. "Not like them. I'm not a plant and I can't put down roots, but I always come back. Don't I?"

"Yeah." Keely ducks her head, breaking eye contact, but her hand remains solid in Maeve's. "You always do."

"Then trust me. Ant abandoned all of us, and I'd never do that to you. Sinbad and I will search for him when we can travel again. Him, Dermott, Nessa, Dim-Dim—everyone. I promise." Maeve doesn't know what else she can possibly do, but whatever it is, she'll do it. Keely doesn't deserve to lose the father of her children, a solid and good man who never once gave any indication that he wanted to leave before Nessa disappeared and forced an excruciating choice.

"What good will that do if he doesn't want to be found?" Keely's voice is sharp, but she settles her body next to Maeve's once more, knocking the side of her head gently into her sister's. "He's sìthiche, in case you forgot. He can fly, and he can travel magically better than any human sorcerer. If he wanted to come home, he would."

Which means he either doesn't want to return to his family, or he's dead. Maeve hears the truth very clearly, though Keely refuses to voice it. There's a strong likelihood she's about to give birth to a son who will never meet his father. She's not the first woman to face this heartache, but Maeve never believed Antoine was capable of abandoning his family. He's been Keely's since she was a teenager, and while they both happily take other partners during the teas from time to time, their emotional commitment to each other has never, never wavered. Keely never cared that he had wings. He never cared that she didn't. And Maeve has never seen a father as devoted to his daughters as Antoine.

But when Nessa drew a line by disappearing, likely intent on searching for Dermott, he was forced to make a choice. That decision has devastated Maeve's family and left them all reeling, but Keely especially, though she does her best to conceal it, for the sake of her daughters and her own self.

Keely draws a slow breath. Maeve feels her sharp shoulder rise slightly with the inhalation. "Do you know why I didn't like Sinbad at first?"

"Because he's a cocky bastard, always a little too sure of himself? Because he's a sailor, and you know their reputation? Because he's a hero, and since trouble follows me anyway, hanging around him is just asking for more?"

Keely snickers. "Yes, all of that. But also because he solidified a truth I didn't want to admit to myself. That you were never coming back to stay, not even if you managed to free Dermott."

Maeve inhales slowly. She wants to protest, wants to resist this accusation, but she can't. It's true. Even without Sinbad, she could never settle permanently. She's a wanderer, whether by blood or circumstance. She doesn't know how to be anything else. She feels the tug even now, as her body remains too damaged to respond. And she knows her siblings are not the same. Not even Keely. Not even Dermott. He enjoys sailing with Sinbad's crew, but he's tired, and tired of being cursed. All he wants in the world is his human form back, the chance to be with Nessa and hopefully regain what they've lost, though he can never make up for the years apart. Maeve yearns to give that to him, but she honestly admits she never considered how her life would change once his is restored. Freed from her vow to him, what might she do? Before Sinbad, she supposes she would have returned to Breakwater for a time, but she knows herself too well to think that she would remain.

"No," she's forced to admit. "I can't stay forever. But that doesn't mean I'm like Ant, or even Nessa." She has to roam, but that doesn't mean she ever abandons her people. She holds the curve of her belly, cradling Fin's head gently. Keely showed her how to feel for her little spine, how to gauge where she is and how she lies, and now it's almost as if she can see her there, under her skin, curled up in her warm little home. Fin would be dead without Keely's magic, her knowledge. For that reason alone, Maeve could never abandon her sister even if she wanted to.

"You were always a little different. Off. Not like other girls. But it seems you've found a man who doesn't mind. It's really kind of nauseating how much that sailor burns for you." Keely resettles against her, some of the tension bleeding out of her frame. "I'm a little surprised the both of you have obeyed so well about not having sex. But, then, I guess every woman is different. Some of my clients don't want their men anywhere near them when they're carrying. Others can't get enough."

"I thought sex wasn't good for pregnant women?"

"Bullshit. An ancient taboo with no basis in fact." Keely waves this away. "And don't tell me you stopped after you knew you were carrying. I won't believe you."

Maeve doesn't bother denying it. Sinbad's body felt too good, and she was denied every part of him except the sweetness of that small escape in the middle of the night, when dark and silence enveloped the Nomad. She cares little for taboos and isn't sorry that she broke this one. "So why am I forbidden now?"

"Because no one knows what sets off an early birth, and I don't want to take any chances. I know he knows how to be gentle, because he's been nothing else these past weeks. You can bring him off if you really want to, though I don't see why you would. It's just messy and boring if you're not getting anything out of it, and makes your wrist or jaw tired. But whatever. Not my business. My business is keeping that baby inside you for as long as possible, and because I don't know what's dangerous and what's not, I don't want anything happening between your legs that doesn't have to. Orgasms in particular seem like a terrible idea, since I don't want your muscles down there getting confused again."

"They seem like a great idea to me," Maeve grumbles, but in truth this is not an edict she's willing to defy for the sake of momentary pleasure, no matter how good it would feel to release all the tension her body's carrying. Her daughter's life and Sinbad's soul are at stake, and she'd be foolish to take chances Keely doesn't want her to.

"If I thought it was safe, I'd let you have at it. Hell, I'd order you to. You've been in a terrible mood, and a good fuck or three generally fixes that pretty well." Keely inspects the broken nail on one of her thumbs, nibbling at the jagged edge. "I would if I could. Yet another reason I'm pissed that he's gone."

"I'm not in a terrible mood. You're in a terrible mood."

"Liar."

Maeve kicks her sister, which does nothing but make her calf cramp up. She hisses and reaches for the puny, withered muscle as it clamps down and refuses to let go. "I fucking hate this!" she growls, struggling to reach without rising, her belly firmly in the way.

"Let me." Keely tugs at the blankets. "I told you that you have to massage and gently work those muscles even while you're lying down, or else you'll be an even bigger mess when you do get up again."

"Don't touch me," Maeve snaps, refusing to relinquish her blankets. "I'm cold, and I still have bruises from the last time you did that."

"Well, then make Sinbad do it!"

"Can't. You just got through telling me no sex—again—and he gets worked up easily."

"Men." Keely rolls her eyes, but she stops trying to remove Maeve's blankets as the cramp in her leg eases.

"Oh, like you and Ant are any better." They're not. In fact, they're worse, but Maeve chooses not to taunt her sister any further. Antoine is gone, there's a reasonable probability that he's dead, and Keely doesn't need reminding that they used to go at it like rabbits every time they found a free moment. She rests her head back against her pillow and flexes her leg slowly as the muscle continues to spasm.

"Are you really cold?" Keely presses the back of her fingers lightly against Maeve's cheek. "You feel okay."

"I'll live. Just don't uncover me."

"Wren should be coming up with food soon. Sinbad hasn't been gone that long. I think you may just be hungry." Keely glances at the door.

Hungry, yes, and tired from spending the morning screaming at her sister. A simple argument shouldn't wear her out, but she can't deny that it did. Biting back impatience with her condition, Maeve exhales a deep breath and attempts to release the tension in her body. She can't get better if she's constantly angry with herself. Keely told her so, and she's adult enough to admit that her sister is right no matter how much she hates it.

"I'm sorry," she says, the words leaving her mouth without her permission or control. Yes, she's definitely hungry, and she also needs Sinbad to return. She can tell not only by the cold creeping up her limbs, but by the way her mind loosens, allowing things to escape without her consent.

"Good gods, what for now? I told you before to quit that." Keely flops at her side. Her eyes glitter with irritation. That color is not a normal human green, and it disturbs many people who meet her. It's never bothered Maeve. Her sister is what she is, and Maeve has no wish to change her.

"For not recognizing her," Maeve says. "Your mother. For not realizing sooner." She nestles against the warmth of her sister's sharp little self, as she did countless nights when they were younger. Her body remembers this well, and while Keely is not Sinbad, the familiarity brings its own comfort.

"My mother?" Keely lifts her head and stares at her. "That night was chaos. Did you even see her? How could you possibly expect to recognize her now, a dozen years later?"

Maeve cannot answer this question, but she feels guilty nonetheless. For making the mistake. For subjecting Keely to that vision of her dead mother bathed in Scratch's cold grey light, so malevolent and unnatural. Even the memory of it is deeply upsetting, and as Finleigh moves restlessly within her, Maeve knows she's not the only one who feels it. Fin is probably hungry, but she's also extremely responsive to her mother's moods. Maeve inhales sharply as her daughter's hand or heel hits something inside that twinges.

"Breathe," Keely says beside her. "What hurts?"

"I'm fine," Maeve snaps. "I've been breathing for twenty years, I don't need anyone reminding me to do it."

"Well, then do it right!" Keely glares. "I like you much better when you're yelling at me instead of wallowing in guilt for things you can't control." She stretches, and Maeve hears several little clicks as her spine pops. "Honestly. With you and Sinbad moping all over the place and now your southern sorceress poking her nose into everything, I'm at the end of my rope. If you weren't so desperately sick, I'd kick you all out."

"You would not," Maeve says easily. She's comforted by the familiarity of her sister's grumbling, and unbothered by her idle threats. "Besides, it's my house."

"It is not. The council gave it to you, but it belongs to me. I'm the one who keeps everything running."

Maeve isn't sure this is true, but it doesn't matter. Antoine made her believe for a short while that her family was lost to her, but now that she's recovered and thinking more clearly, she knows better. Keely will never forsake her, not even if Ant demanded it. "Fine, you keep everything running. So tell me you're really okay after seeing your mother's face again after so long, and I'll let it go."

Keely exhales a swift, irritated breath. "I'm fine. There's no use in getting weepy-eyed over a picture in a bowl of water."

Maeve isn't convinced. There may be no use in it, but as she's learned lately, that doesn't necessarily stop pain from coming. "She was your mother."

"And I lost her a very long time ago." Keely shifts, hauling herself upright with a grunt of effort. "Look, you win. I admit it. It bothers me that Scratch used her face and didn't even know who she was. It feels like an insult. But who did he actually hurt? She's gone. She doesn't need protecting."

"She may not. You may."

Keely laughs.

Maeve scowls. "I'm serious."

"I know. I know you are." Keely chuckles, but the laughter isn't unkind. A wistful smile touches one corner of her mouth, both sweet and somehow sad at the same time. "I'm fine, little sister. I promise. It was a jolt. But I buried her long ago. If your meddling sorceress showed me pictures of Ant or Ness I might have started bawling in front of everyone. I want my family back, but the one I want is the one we built together. My mother died trying to save the lives of innocent people. I'm proud of that, and at peace with it."

With her legs crossed in front of her, Keely's pregnant belly looks like an egg cradled in a nest. She rests her hands on her knees and regards her sister with calm green eyes.

"The thing you don't understand, Maeve, the thing I've never been able to get through your thick skull, is that the past can't hurt you if you don't let it. I talk about my mother and how she died because I refuse to let that night hold me prisoner. If you tell a story enough times, it starts to feel like just that: a story. A tale like so many others. I know it really happened. I'll hear those children scream for the rest of my life. But I'm the storyteller now. I can pick it up and put it down as I choose; it doesn't control me. You never learned to do that, because you never tried. You bury everything so deep—your father, the fire, everything that brings you pain—and you expect it to stay buried. But the past doesn't work like that."

Keely opens her hand, and a tiny, slender vine appears in her cupped palm. It grows swiftly, entwining around her fingers, curling lovingly along her wrist. "The past isn't a vanquished enemy that goes down and stays down. It's more like a seed. It changes when you bury it deep, where you can't see. Maybe it sprouts as you would expect, or maybe it doesn't come up at all, or maybe suddenly you find yourself with a riot of turnips in the middle of your cabbage patch. Uh...I got off track. Is this analogy making any sense at all?"

"No," Maeve says flatly, staring at the vine in her sister's hand. "And that's creepy. Put that thing outside."

"No worse than you setting everything alight every five seconds," Keely mutters, but she goes to the window and drops the little vine to the ground. "That's going to take root, by the way. Climb its way up the wall eventually. It's not creepy, it's a metaphor."

"Fuck off. I haven't accidentally set anything on fire in ages. My control's much better than it was." Maeve scowls. Her magic is slowly returning, but Keely still forbids her from using it. It's for the best, but she still feels hampered by the loss. Finleigh moves restlessly inside her and Maeve rubs her belly gently, sympathizing with her daughter. They're both hungry, and she's almost ready to send Keely downstairs even though no one likes leaving her alone these days. "You're really not upset that I couldn't recognize her?"

Keely returns to her side. "I honestly don't remember, because so much of that night is a chaotic blur, but I don't think you ever saw her. She died quickly, and you were trying so hard to get the other children away from the fire."

Not that it did any good. Only Maeve and Keely survived that night. Maeve breathes softly with her sister. They're bound by fire and grief, ordeal and sacrifice, the shedding of blood, not the sharing of it. That doesn't matter—it's never mattered. They emerged from the fire a bonded pair. Dermott knew it. He never even tried to separate them, and when they left the wreckage of Brí Leith, they left it as a family.

"I don't remember," Maeve says softly, her sister's frame warm beside her. She slammed the doors of memory shut on Brí Leith more than a decade ago and has not willingly opened them since. Even Sinbad only knows because Antoine has a big mouth. She didn't tell him, and she doesn't know that she ever would have. She doesn't begrudge him the knowledge, but the pain of the telling is not a price she's willing to pay. She's not Keely. "There's so many details I don't remember. Maybe I only imagine I saw her because you told me she was there."

"I know." Keely takes her hand and interlaces their fingers, squeezing hard. She's small but strong, hardy as a little highland pony. "Some details are branded into my brain. Others are lost in the haze."

Maeve asks a question she knows she should not. She blames it on Fin, her growling stomach, Sinbad's absence. "Will Ant be a story, too? Will you tell your girls, so they don't forget him?" Keely hasn't so far. She doesn't talk about Ant at all unless she has to.

Keely's sharp little fist connects with her shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Ow! Quit that. I'm pregnant, and that was a serious question."

"I'm pregnant, too, so that excuse is not going to fly."

"I just wanted to know if you were going to take your own advice."

"Shut up." Keely's voice is bitter, but behind it Maeve can hear the hurt. And, though she does not want to cause her sister more pain, there's something she needs to point out.

"You were going to leave him, you know." She wraps her long fingers around Keely's wrist lightly, holding her still. Her sister's skin is warm, her pulse strong against the pads of her fingers. She has the physical strength Maeve currently lacks, but inside they're both barely holding together. "You were going to come with me when I left. Travel south, where you knew he couldn't follow. For my sake, and Dermott's. You were going to make the same choice he made when he chased after Nessa. Even when you knew you were carrying Mia. That didn't stop you. I did."

Silence greets her words. Maeve wonders if she's finally pushed her sister too far. Years of vicious fights haven't fazed either of them, but she's never seen Keely look quite like this. Like a pillow ripped apart for the wash, its stuffing removed. Or like a statue of herself, blank and devoid of emotion. Maeve only spoke the truth, a truth she thinks her sister needs to hear. But she wonders if now was maybe not the right time.

"I'm sorry," she says swiftly. "And I'm sorry for apologizing, but I mean it. I know I hurt you then, when I wouldn't let you hunt Rumina with me. When I left. But we both couldn't keep putting our lives on hold, and yours was staring you in the face. A home. A vocation. A family. You just couldn't see it because you were too wrapped up in Dermott's curse and my choice to leave."

Keely's arm jerks weakly, but it's a halfhearted defense at best and her wrist doesn't leave Maeve's light grip. A faltering breath trickles from her mouth. "He never argued with me. Never tried to make me change my mind." Her eyes fix on her sister. "That was all you."

"Because he loved you enough to let you go, and was too afraid to hurt you to argue about it." A small smile touches Maeve's lips. Hard truths are usually Keely's job to tell, not hers, but in this case their positions are reversed and have been since Maeve left and would not allow Keely to come with her. "Arguing with you was my job. It always has been. That's what friends and sisters can do that lovers can't. You needed to stay north to start your new life and protect Mia, but you were too dense to see it. Ant probably should have tried to convince you, just like Sinbad should have demanded that I leave the Nomad far earlier than I did. But that's a different kind of love, and they couldn't do it. I, however, have no problem knocking sense into you."

Keely laughs. It's a breathy sound, delicate and faint, but it's there. "You can't knock sense into me. You have none. You and Dermott both. It's always been my job to knock it into you."

And then they're both laughing loudly, and crying too, and Maeve gives herself over to it helplessly. After Fin is born she'll reassert control over her emotions. For now, she gives up. Keely manages to find a position where she can wrap her arms around her without their bellies in the way, and Maeve holds her sister tightly. She hopes Keely understands, because she has no more words, or at least not intelligible ones. She bawls into her sister's shoulder as Keely laughs into hers, and the sounds are basically the same, and come from the same place. Lost mothers buried and unburied, choices made, loyalties tested. Sinbad chose Maeve over his brother. Antoine chose his sister, but Keely would have done the same if Maeve had given her the choice, and somehow that seems to ease her pain, though it can't bring back the people they've lost.

In the middle of their loud, sniffling mess, the door opens.

"Not again."

"Calm down, Sinbad." Wren steps through the doorway, a tray in her hands. "They're just hungry. You know this."

"I will never understand sisters," he mutters, ushering Cairpra into the room.

Maeve lifts her head from Keely's shoulder, wiping at her eyes. Warmth blooms in her belly with his return, and whether that's the magic or just her own emotions she doesn't know and doesn't care. "You don't have to understand. Fin and I are cold. Will you bring me—where's my blanket?"


Rongar groans softly. Everything hurts. Why does coming out of a magical sleep hurt? It makes no sense. Did he crash too hard into the ground when the spell took hold? Did he injure himself somehow? He digs his fingers into his eyes and rubs hard, trying to assess his body as his consciousness slowly comes back into focus. He feels like he's trying to think through a fog as thick as the one that enveloped the City of Mist. His head throbs with pain, particularly the spot where it cracked against the stone floor of Zorah's room when he fell. He's not in that room now. His body knows it, even as his mind struggles to wake. He knows what happened before Rumina cast her spell, but he doesn't know how long he was out or what happened in the meantime.

As his brain slowly clears, he focuses on what his senses tell him. Humid air touches his cheek, thick with the promise of rain but fresh against his skin. He's outside, then. He manages to shift his head, easing the ache in his skull. His cheek rubs against something coarse below him: rough-hewn wood. Something warm pressed against his back moves: another person. His nose, when he inhales, brings him the scents of dirt and gravel and wild animals, strong and pungent but not necessarily unpleasant. None of this makes any sense to his muddled brain and his brow furrows as he forces his eyes open. His vision blurs, then steadies.

A cage. He's lying in a metal cage with a rough wooden floor, surrounded by thick bars on all five sides. Beside him, Talia groans softly as she begins to wake. She rolls onto her side, away from his back, hiding her eyes in the crook of her arm. Her head must hurt as badly as his, and he's sorry for it—for all of this. He'll find a way to get them out, he swears it.

But where is Zorah? His eyes dart around their prison, but he and Talia are alone within the bars. Worry explodes in him. Zorah admitted that he was her brother, admitted that she knew he would return. That makes her just as culpable as he, and once Ali Rashid finds out, he'll be furious at them both. So why isn't Zorah locked up, too?

Outside the bars of their cage, a dark figure slowly paces into view. Rumina. Rongar eyes her warily. She strolls along a wide pathway of immaculate white quartz gravel, lined with many more cages. Some are empty, but some hold exotic animals that look no happier at their imprisonment than he is. He tries to raise his head but pain crashes down and he's forced back to stillness. From his spot lying in a painful heap on the floor, he can see into some of the nearby cages. He recognizes some of the animals from his journeys with Sinbad or drawings in books, but some he does not. The cage directly across from him holds two huddled lumps that he's not sure are even alive. He can't tell what they are, but they're not moving. He recognizes a sickly tiger a few cages down, and spies an enormous monkey covered in hair almost as red as Maeve's.

"Well?" Rumina asks as she nears. Rongar hears the crunch of gravel, and a guard captain emerges from beyond his field of vision. He bows low to her.

"We secured the Nomad as requested. One man was captured, but I'm afraid he's not the sailor you're looking for. I'm not sure he's a proper sailor at all." He motions to someone behind him.

Rongar cautiously attempts to raise his head again. The world spins, but he manages. His eyes widen as two guards in grey cloaks haul Firouz forward. The man's hands are bound tightly behind him, he's dirty and disheveled, and a dark trickle of blood has dried along his hairline. He lifts his head defiantly as he faces Rumina. Rongar is proud. Yes, Firouz was captured, but he clearly put up a valiant fight first. Rongar sends a silent apology to his best friend. They shouldn't have come here, he knows that now, though he still has no idea what's going on. Rumina wants Sinbad, of course, as she always has. But there's more here. He can sense it.

Rumina's lovely mouth curls in disgust. "That is certainly not Sinbad. That's his pet tinkerer. He's harmless."

"Harmless?" The guard captain frowns. "He killed two of my men, and injured more. He threw a smoking stick that exploded when one of my men caught it, and set fire to the dock with a contraption that fired a beam of light as a crossbow fires an arrow. I wouldn't call him harmless by any definition."

Good for Firouz. He was caught unawares, but he did well. He managed to do more than Talia or Rongar himself, in fact. But where is Doubar? Worry erupts in Rongar's gut. He needs to know where Zorah is, and now Doubar, too. He was at the docks with Firouz, and if he hasn't been captured that means he's on his own with no one to watch over him. That's not a good idea right now.

"If your soldiers were bested by Sinbad's tinkerer, I suggest you replace them with better men," Rumina says dryly. "I have very little faith in your ability to find Sinbad if you can't even handle his pets. I caught the mute and the harbor trash on my own. How many men did it take to bring me just the scholar?"

Rongar slowly brings his legs close to his body, urging his torso upright. Rumina ignores him. The floor of his prison is about knee-height to the guards beyond the bars.

"I come from a well-placed family, I'll have you know," Firouz says indignantly. "I was trained in weaponry from a young age, in accordance with custom. I may not have Sinbad's gift, but I can defend myself."

A small, amused smile touches the corners of Rumina's mouth. "Little good those lessons did you in the end, did they? You should have stayed at home and played with your contraptions, not joined up with a group of troublemaking sailors."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Firouz demands, which is exactly what Rongar would like to know. "How did you know we would come? I'd never even heard of this kingdom before Rongar pointed it out."

The sound of heavy, booted feet on gravel reaches Rongar's ears, and a moment later the last person in the world he wants to see comes into view. Ali Rashid halts next to Rumina, the smile on his face just as unpleasant as Rongar remembers it.

"Are you the ruler here?" Firouz asks, undaunted by the stranger. "What's this all about? I wasn't even on your land! I was on my ship, minding my own business, when suddenly I was surrounded by soldiers. If you're in charge here, why are you allowing this...this witch...to do as she pleases? She can't be trusted—whatever she promised you, she won't deliver. She'll turn on you. She's evil."

Ali Rashid's smile turns cold. "I can't be trusted, either. Remember that before you open your mouth in front of strangers again. Harmless tinkerer or not, I'm not surprised you sail with a hero. Not with your attitude. Good and evil are meaningless words, something I thought any scholar would know. The only measure of a man that matters is how high he sets his goals, and how successful he is at attaining them. My little raven here came to me with very lofty goals, and offered a fair trade for my assistance. Why shouldn't I agree, if it enriches me as well? Ultimately labels such as good and evil simply get in the way of free enterprise."

"That's not how honest traders operate!" Firouz protests.

Ali Rashid ignores him. "Why are these prisoners outside?" he demands of the guard captain, gesturing at the cage holding Talia and Rongar. "I have ample dungeons. They should be in there, not fouling my menagerie."

"Your pardon, majesty," the man says, bowing deeply. He looks anxious, eyes darting nervously below his metal helm. "The dungeons are full of tax evaders. There's no room to cram another body in. The sorceress said to put them here instead."

"They're not evading your taxes!" Firouz protests, his voice rising in pitch along with his temper. Talia groans as she sits up slowly beside Rongar, holding her head. "Don't you have eyes? Can't you see what's going on? What you've done to your people? They can't pay because you've bled them dry! That's not their fault!"

"You tell 'em, Mr. Genius," Talia says with approval. "I have no idea what's going on here, but even I wouldn't imprison someone I'd already robbed for having nothing when I try to rob him again."

A tiny smile touches the corners of Rongar's mouth despite the situation. Sinbad's morals must be rubbing off on the piratess. That, or deep down she's a better person than she's willing to admit.

"I ordered them locked up here." Rumina lays an elegant hand on Ali Rashid's bare arm. "It's true that your dungeons are full, and it's better this way anyway. They're close to the hawk, which means all the bait is in the same place."

A shrill shriek sounds from a cage across from Rongar and down a small distance. He knows that sound, and a burst of grim triumph fills him. Wings flap angrily within the bars as Dermott cries his defiance at his captors once more. Rongar watches the familiar sight of the angry hawk with welcome. At least he accomplished this small thing. He found Dermott, and proved that the hawk didn't go feral or abandon Maeve. He's here, caught behind bars, just as the rest of the crew now are. Most of the rest of the crew, Rongar acknowledges. He's now lost Doubar, but he's found Dermott. How long the hawk has been here, he doesn't know—long enough for Rumina to spin this plot, whatever it is.

Ali Rashid frowns at Rumina. "I don't like them so close to my new pets. The tinkerer is nothing to me, but the Black Rose has a reputation for a reason and I've had dealings with the mute in the past. I don't want them breaking loose and setting my treasures free."

"These treasures?" Rumina glances at the cage across from Rongar, containing the unmoving lumps he cannot identify. "They won't get far, even if you left the door unlocked yourself. The effects of cold iron take a while to wear off. They're not going anywhere."

This seems to appease Ali Rashid for the moment. He doesn't protest the location of his prisoners any longer, and instead turns his attention to Rongar. He smiles, the gesture both cruel and triumphant as he steps close to Rongar's prison. He looks like he hasn't aged at all in the years Rongar has been gone, his arrogance just as unbearable now as it was then. He's tall and imposing, as broad in the chest as Rongar himself, powerfully built and hard as granite. He towers over Rumina.

"Hello again, Prince Rongar." His voice is rich with the pleasure of conquest. "My little raven has brought me quite the unexpected windfall. The Black Rose of Oman was gift enough, but then I discovered you buried in a cloak next to her. It seems not even your dear sister predicted that you sail for Sinbad."

"Rongar?" Firouz says softly. Bewilderment creases his face as he stands with his hands bound tightly behind him, guards at his shoulders.

Rongar forces himself to his feet. He will not face his greatest enemy on the floor as if in supplication, even if he is behind bars. He would tell Firouz and Talia everything if he could, but Ali Rashid took that ability from him. He will not take any more, Rongar vows. Whatever led to this moment doesn't matter. He was willing to leave his homeland in disgrace the first time to ensure Zorah's safety. But Zorah is now missing, Rongar's new family is in danger, and he's seen the devastation Ali Rashid wreaked on his kingdom. Enough is enough. This can't continue.

"I did warn you never to return, under pain of both your death and your sister's," Ali Rashid says. His voice is deceptively pleasant and smooth on the surface, but there's a bed of knives underneath. "You only live now because my little raven desires it. You are apparently tempting bait for your captain. Once he appears and my sorceress is satisfied, your life is forfeit. Are we clear? I was extremely lenient with you the last time, allowing you to live, and yet you repaid my kindness with treachery. It will not happen again."

No, it won't. Rongar won't allow it. He'll see Ali Rashid dead this time, not only for what he's done to Bollnah, but for allying himself with Rumina and threatening the Nomad crew. They're Rongar's family, and the time for appeasement is over.

Ali Rashid's lips draw back from his teeth like the snarl of a dangerous beast, though Rongar thinks it's supposed to be a smile. No warmth reaches his eyes. "For now, I suppose you may enjoy my menagerie. How do you like it?" He laughs. "The menagerie is my favorite addition to your palace. You never had one, which doesn't say much for you as a prince. I'm extremely fond of beautiful and exotic creatures, myself. My harem and my menagerie were my first projects after I took the throne. I own women and beasts from the furthest reaches of the known world. It pleases me more than anything else to inspect my girls, or stroll the pathways of my outdoor collection. I own lions. Bears. Hyenas. They have furious strength and power, but I am stronger. I hold them. I keep them. They only live because they please me more alive than they would as rugs, and as soon as that changes, rugs they will become. You don't understand the pleasure of that power, which is why I was able to take everything from you so easily."

No, Rongar doesn't understand it, though he also doesn't believe that this is what allowed Ali Rashid to usurp him. He's met many successful rulers in his travels with Sinbad who are not cruel or sadistic, and do not wield power as a weapon. He had no menagerie because he doesn't believe in keeping wild animals in cages. He had no harem because he believes the same of human souls, both male and female. He paid his servants well, and kept no slaves either to warm his bed or scrub his floors. His people doubted his ability as a ruler when Ali Rashid and his gang of thieves started making trouble, but he suspects most of his former subjects regret their choices now.

"What should we do with the tinkerer, majesty?" the guard captain asks hesitantly.

"Put him in with these others for now," Rumina answers, though the question was directed at the prince. Ali Rashid watches her with a warning in his eyes, but says nothing. "They'll be gone soon, anyway. The sailors are bait for Sinbad, and the girl belongs to your prince now. I can't imagine he'll want to keep her for long."

"Not long," Ali Rashid agrees, eyeing Talia with distaste. "She's too old and not nearly lovely enough to join my household, and the price on her head is more tempting than the fun of breaking a woman I do not want. She'll go to whichever neighboring kingdom offers me the most for her head."

"Listen, dickless," Talia sneers, "I'm the Black Rose of Oman. Queen in my own right, though not of any kingdom you recognize. I'm getting out of here. Your head will be the one rolling when I do, not mine. Hear me?" She slams her fist against the bars of the cage. They clang and rattle sharply, and Rongar sees one of the creatures in the cage across from him flinch. At least he knows that one is alive, whatever it is.

"I have more than a dozen children to counter your assessment of my anatomy," Ali Rashid says calmly. "Try a more original insult next time."

"You only think you do. I doubt even half are actually yours. We met one of your girls trolling for sailors down by the docks."

"I'm aware." Though his surface remains placid as a still reflecting pool, Rongar can see that this insult to his manhood has actually touched Ali Rashid uncomfortably deep. "She's being dealt with."

"Because that's the manly thing to do," Talia taunts. "Beating a girl because you can't keep her in line. That's your failure you're taking out of her skin, not hers." Rongar suppresses a wry smile, but he'd rather have Talia with him than anyone else, if he has to be stuck in this situation. She's getting under Ali Rashid's skin in a way that will grate at the man for days.

"I told you to get rid of that one ages ago, anyway," Rumina mutters. She doesn't even glance Firouz's way as the guards unlock the door and quickly shove him into the cage. Rongar doesn't bother trying to rush the door. He's still foggy and slow from Rumina's sleep spell, and the menagerie is crawling with guards. He'll get everyone out, he swears it, but not this minute. That would be suicide.

"Pigs," Talia mutters as she kneels by Firouz's side. The guards shoved him in without untying his hands first, and he fell on his face as he stumbled through the doorway without his arms to catch him. Talia curses them roundly as she picks at the knots binding his wrists.

"I'm not getting rid of Shirez," Ali Rashid says firmly. "She was expensive, and she amuses me. She's the only swan in my flock with any spirit." His black eyes twinkle like jet and his mouth creases with a dangerously playful smile. "Maybe that's why you intrigued me so much, little raven, when you appeared at my court."

"Were you bored, dear prince?" Rumina blinks at him coquettishly. Rongar thinks he might be sick.

"I do believe I was," Ali Rashid agrees. "I never stay anywhere more than a few years—no longer than it takes to solidify control and glean all I can. Bollnah is no longer a challenge and has little left to offer. I was about to send out scouts to find a likely new home when you fell into my lap, a little raven with the proverbial thorn in her wing. It was a fortuitous meeting for both, I believe."

"It will be," Rumina promises. "Once I get what I was promised." One eyebrow arches at him with very clear intent.

"Patience, raven. You get nothing for nothing here. You pouted and got your way with your father, I know, but that doesn't work with me."

"You have what you were promised," she insists, pointing at the cage across from Rongar. "Your new so-called treasures, lured by the hawk just as your defective soothsayer predicted."

"And for their price, I agreed to give you the hawk and let you use my resources to lure and capture your sailor. I have done what I promised; it's not my fault that you can't find him."

"You also promised me help for this!" Rumina tugs on the glowing red stone fastened around her neck, its chain too snug to allow movement.

"I said I would consider it, but not without a price. You helped me capture my treasures in return for your sailor. I require something more if you want more."

"You have them!" Rumina gestures impatiently at the cage full of sailors. "Once Sinbad comes to rescue them, you can keep or dispose of them as you please. His brother is around somewhere, too. Dumb as dirt but strong as an ox. I'm sure you could find a use for that brawn."

"It may be an even trade," Ali Rashid says, his eyebrows lifting as he considers. "I don't care about the tinkerer or the ox, but the price on the Rose's head is twice what I paid for any of my girls, and it may rise if I can egg several kingdoms into a bidding war. She must be very good at what she does if they all want her dead so badly. And this one," he nods at Rongar, "is an even better prize."

"Why do you care so much about the mute? He was prince, I got that much."

"Dear little raven. Who do you think muted him?" Ali Rashid takes her hand. "Rongar is the only ruler I have ever challenged who came close to defeating me. I cut out his tongue but let him live because his sister, the soothsayer, would never have continued to aid me if I killed him. She has knowledge I desperately need, knowledge she's refused thus far to give me. She all but put me on her brother's throne, but even then there were lines she would not cross. We'll see if she feels differently now."

Talia glares at Rongar as she helps Firouz sit upright, his arms finally free of the rope. "I've had it. That's it. Once I get out of here, I refuse to adventure with Sinbad and the rest of you any more. No more good guys! It's the crooked ones from here on out for me. All of you heroes are hiding tragic pasts that eventually catch up with you, bite me in the ass for tagging along, and I'm done."

"I'm not hiding a tragic past," Firouz says as he rubs his wrists, working circulation back into his swollen purple hands. "I'm an open book. I was born to comfortably well-off parents and tutored—"

"Close that book, Mr. Genius, unless it will help us break out of here. That's the only story I'm interested in," Talia orders.

"You don't like sailing with Sinbad?" Rumina paces closer to the bars of the cage. "I have an easy way out. Tell me where he's hiding. Why did he send you and the mute has-been prince to the soothsayer instead of going himself? That was the key, the thing all my spies were looking for. Sinbad was supposed to come here seeking your Celt's precious pet."

"She said the ship would come," Talia corrects. "Not Sinbad. I heard her. She's an odd one, but she was perfectly clear. It's not her fault you didn't listen. Or mine. Why should I tell you anything? Your traitor prince there plans to sell me to the highest bidder. You want my help? I'm happy to negotiate, but you get nothing for nothing, same as with him."

"I'm not a traitor," Ali Rashid says. "I was never Rongar's subject, so there was no betrayal. His guardsmen, his advisors, and even his sister are another story. You want a traitor to blame? Zorah gave me the means to do it all, and I promised her nothing in return. One of the best bargains I ever made." He chuckles. The sound is ice on Rongar's spine. "And it's possible I may not sell you. At least, not all of you. The buyer may only want your head."

Talia makes a vulgar gesture at him through the bars of her prison. It's not a common gesture on Bollnah, but it needs no translation. "Ditch Prince Dickless, lady. Then we can talk about Sinbad. Not before."

"Talk all you like, wench, but you don't belong to my raven any longer. She gave you to me. If she wants my help removing that piece of jewelry, which I assure you she does, you will remain mine," Ali Rashid says.

Both Rumina and Talia glare, but there's nothing they can do. Rumina seems to want Ali Rashid's help, whatever that means, more than she wants information about Sinbad's location. For himself, Rongar wouldn't mind if Talia bargained her way out of certain death. He got her into this mess, and it doesn't really matter if she double-crosses Sinbad this time. He's safe so long as he stays north with Maeve, and he gave no indication when he left that he planned to return soon. Talia can blabber all she wants; it will do Rumina no good.

As Rumina curses Talia at length, Rongar seizes the opportunity to take fuller stock of his surroundings. He's desperate for any means of escape. They've all been in tight spots before, but usually Sinbad appears in the nick of time to bail them out. This time, their captain isn't coming. They're going to have to rescue themselves. Rongar takes Firouz by the shoulder and shakes him gently. He's sorry for getting them in this mess, and he promises he'll explain everything just as soon as he can. Firouz smiles and places his hand over Rongar's. It's a gesture of acceptance, of quiet forgiveness, and Rongar is more grateful than he can express.

Their prison isn't large, maybe four generous paces long by two wide, and only just tall enough to stand up in. All the cages in the menagerie are set on wagon wheels so they can be moved at will without freeing the animals. There are other enclosures, too, Rongar sees, beyond the pathways lined with cages. A murky green pond surrounded by a metal fence probably holds crocodiles, and in a pen further away he spies creatures that he swears look like someone sewed the front half of a deer to the back half of a zebra. He can't see a perimeter fence around the menagerie, which is good, but there are servants at work and guards patrolling the palace grounds. He doubts they'll be able to get away unnoticed while the sun shines, once they figure out how to escape the bars. They'll have to wait until nightfall. And he still has to figure out where Zorah is. Does Ali Rashid believe she knew nothing of Rongar's return, or has he punished her for betrayal? Rongar needs to know, but he can't ask. Even if he could speak, he doesn't trust Ali Rashid or Rumina to tell him the truth.

In the cage across from him, one of the creatures stirs. Rongar still can't tell what they are. The overcast light and the shadows of the bars make it impossible to tell at this angle, and there's little movement to give him any clues. Whatever they are, Ali Rashid prizes them highly. They were his payment for aiding Rumina. Because of this, Rongar vows, when he gets loose he'll either free the beasts if they're healthy enough to run or grant them a swift, merciful death if not. They don't deserve to spend a lifetime trapped so miserably, and the loss will enrage Ali Rashid.

"What of the Celt?" Rumina demands when she finally ceases her tantrum. "You don't want to tell me where Sinbad is? Fine. But I've warned him too many times about his filthy peasant. She sticks out in a crowd like a giant red thumb, so why can't my guards find any trace of her?"

"My guards," Ali Rashid corrects. A small frown creases his brow.

"Of course, my prince." Rumina smiles, but Rongar can see the flicker of annoyance behind it. She's tolerating Ali Rashid's command because she needs his help, but she's not happy about it. She's not the kind of woman who suffers his imperious manner meekly. Rongar wonders how long she can bear the subservience and flattery necessary to deal with the man. Not long, he suspects. She's a despot herself, and two of those with differing agendas adds up to eventual disaster. She's going to blow. Whether that can possibly be used to his advantage Rongar doesn't know. He hopes so. He also sort of hopes he's around to see it, though he knows he'd be better off far, far away.

"A Celt?" Ali Rashid's frown is replaced by an expression of keen interest. "A girl? Your sailor keeps a surriyya?"

"She's not a slave!" Firouz protests. "She would never stand for that. She's a member of the crew, a warrior and a sailor just like the rest of us. Also an apprentice sorceress," he adds as an afterthought. "You really don't want to mess with her."

From his cage down the row, Dermott screeches his agreement.

Ali Rashid looks at him blankly. "Women don't sail. Or fight."

"Uh, hello?" Talia stomps her foot, setting the cage rattling. "I'm standing right here!"

"Present prisoner excepted," the prince grants. "Is your Celt a beauty? I don't have one in my household yet. Finding one at market has been a challenge. My procurers said they nearly captured a perfect one in Cairo some moons back, but she got away. They say Celts, like tigers, don't take well to captivity."

Rumina looks horrified. "She's a savage. Why would you want to pollute your household with that?"

"It could be an interesting challenge. We'll see what she looks like when my guards catch her. If she's pretty enough, I'll agree to the bargain. You give me the Black Rose, Prince Rongar, and the Celt, and I will give you the help you seek against the demon Scratch."

Rumina's eyes gleam bright. "Three sailors for the price of the Sword of Imra?"

"The use of the sword to free you from your punishment," Ali Rashid corrects. "No one but me touches the sword, and none ever will." He smirks at Rongar. "You never did, did you? Because you weren't its keeper. That was your sister's job. She gave it to me willingly, you know. She was a very poor choice to guard such a powerful enchanted weapon."

Rongar has no rejoinder. In hindsight, yes, Zorah was a poor choice to safeguard anything. She was young and too easily misled by a handsome man who knew how to talk his way into anything. If Rongar ever regains enough control that the sword is within his power, he'll either destroy it or put it into the keeping of someone much older and wiser, someone better suited to see through trickery. Dim-Dim would be an excellent choice, should they ever find him. Cairpra would, as well.

"What if the Celt isn't here?" Rumina demands. "I've told Sinbad over and over to get rid of her. She's a filthy barbarian, and a loudmouthed nuisance. He may have finally listened to me. I want a guarantee of your aid, and I don't want it to rest on whether you find that redheaded heathen pretty enough to bed."

"She's not here, actually," Talia says, and Rongar can tell from the malicious gleam in her eye that she doesn't want Rumina to get whatever help she's seeking from Ali Rashid. Dermott squawks loudly, and Rongar swears it's a sound of relief.

"Nothing that leaves your lips can be trusted," Ali Rashid says, waving away her claim.

"Duh. Pirate queen, remember? But Maeve isn't here, whether you want to believe me or not. Sinbad didn't get rid of her, but she's not here just the same."

"How badly did you threaten her?" Ali Rashid looks at Rumina with mild interest. "Enough that she would have left on her own? Hid away to save her skin?"

"Maeve would never hide from the likes of Rumina," Firouz insists, shaking his hands and flexing his fingers to encourage circulation.

She wouldn't, Rongar agrees. Not for her own sake. She's not afraid of Rumina, though she probably should be. The dark sorceress has more training and therefore more power, but Maeve just doesn't think that way. She doesn't know how to back down even when she should. She's only missing now for the sake of the child she carries, the child meant to save Sinbad's soul. And Rongar is very glad of it. She did her best to hide her growing belly, but if Rumina saw her now, so close to Samhain, she would know. It's best, no matter how tragic the circumstances of their retreat, that she and Sinbad aren't here for Rumina to find. The palace guards can search the entire island inch by inch if they like, it won't do any good.

Ali Rashid regards Rongar's expression, the way he presses against the bars as he listens to the conversation. "You know where the wench is." It's not a question. It's a command.

Rongar nods. Lying is pointless—of course he knows. He was Maeve's silent shadow from the time she conceived until she left the Nomad, watching over her when Sinbad could not. He was the only other person on board who knew the truth, knew how important it was that she be kept safe. Of course he knows where she is now, and the only reason he didn't immediately sail north to her aid when Sinbad gave him the Nomad was his trust that her kin could help and protect her far better than anyone else. Now he faces his greatest enemy, Maeve's greatest enemy beside him. They want to know where she is. Telling them will not harm her, but Rongar isn't interested in giving them the satisfaction.

"Tell my little raven what she wants to know," Ali Rashid commands.

Rongar shakes his head firmly. No. Maeve is safe, but Rumina doesn't deserve that knowledge. She deserves to stew.

"Sinbad is here," Rumina insists, pacing the immaculate white gravel walkway between the cages. "He has to be. He would never leave his ship and his crew. His ox of a brother is probably dead drunk in the corner of a tavern and your men simply didn't look hard enough. But the Celt—Sinbad may have hidden her away somewhere."

"He did," Talia agrees, taking a heavy seat on the floor of the cage. She smiles cheekily up at her captors. "She's safely hidden away far from here. But if you want to know where, that will cost you. And if you want to know before her baby's born, that will cost you even more."

Rumina's eyes blaze and she grips the bars separating her from Talia, pressing close. "You're a filthy liar."

"Very." Talia's grin is wide. "But even filthy liars can tell the truth sometimes. I should know. So should you, because you're one yourself."

Ali Rashid's fist slams down on the bars of the cage with a tremendous crash that rattles Rongar's bones and makes both shapeless lumps in the cage across from him flinch. The giant orange monkey hoots its displeasure and Dermott shrieks his fury, his wings flapping ineffectually at the bars of his cage.

"Enough!" Ali Rashid's voice rises to a shout. "I'm done playing games. Tell her, Rongar. Tell her where the wench is, and I'll do something for you. A trade. I'll tell you where your sister is."

Rongar shakes his head firmly. He doesn't even consider it. He can't trust anything Ali Rashid says, so the bait doesn't tempt him. He needs to find Zorah, but he'll have to do it on his own.

"Why are you being like that?" Talia blinks at him. "They can't touch her. That pretty guy with Sinbad, the one with all the sons, was very clear about that. Not even Scratch can get to her. So why keep lying?"

Rongar shakes his head firmly. Rumina doesn't deserve the truth, even if it can't hurt Maeve. She deserves to wait, and wonder, and worry.

Across the pathway, one of the shapeless lumps slowly lifts its head. "Don't," it croaks. "Don't say."


A/N: A huge thank you to atamascolily for her help in editing and reshaping this chapter!