Zavier

High up in the crow's nest, the chill night wind swam around Zavier, but he didn't notice it. He stared out at the endless sea. Splinters of moonlight pierced the cloud bank now and then, dropping reflections on the smooth glass surface of the ocean.

Below faint glows from lanterns along the deck acted as reminders that he wasn't alone in the world. He glanced down, catching a flash of golden hair as a lantern swayed.

The smell of the port hit Zavier as the carriage bumped along the cobblestones: salt and fish. The music of rough men's voices filled his ears. As the carriage slowed, due to the dense throng, Zavier let go and dropped to the hard street and the carriage continued, never knowing it had carried a stowaway.

He scrambled to his feet to avoid being trampled. Shoulders knocked into him as the cologne of ale invaded his nose. Dressed as he was in a borrowed servant's attire, no one looked twice at him. Why would they, whoever expected to see a Prince at the port, unguarded?

Fighting the tide of sailors, Zavier made his way along the docks, searching the line of ships. He dodged and ducked around packs of men hauling in their cargo. If he got bumped and shouted at, he returned the kindness, furthering the illusion that he was no one of importance.

When he spotted the Sea Siren, he let out a breath of relief, it hadn't departed yet. Near the gangplank stood a tower of crates. One by one he watched as sailors grabbed hold of one and heaved them up to the ship.

Acting confident, Zavier stole forward and seized one of the crates. He nearly fell over under the weight but managed to keep his ground. Ducking his head, he climbed the gangplank. All the sailors on deck were too busy to notice a boy who wasn't supposed to be there.

By the wheel, Zavier spotted Captain Isla talking with her husband. Zavier paused, he'd heard that Raif was a nobleman, but looking at him, Zavier didn't understand how that could be true. Raif's face was unshaven, his shirt hung open at the top, his sleeves were rolled up showing tanned forearms and his boots were scuffed. He didn't look like a duke, he looked free.

Peeling his eyes away, Zavier hurried on, ducking into the stairwell to the lower decks. He'd been on enough ships that he knew how to find the cargo hold. He slowed his steps as he let his eyes adjust to the dimness. The hold smelled inviting with a million hints of spices all stored away. After placing his crate amongst others, he climbed over piles to tuck himself into a corner to wait.

Men came and went, but none of them were any the wiser to the hidden boy. Zavier wriggled, getting more comfortable, he would have to stay here until they were far enough at sea it wouldn't make sense to turn around. He closed his eyes, imagining one of the servants eventually finding his letter to his parents. He didn't want them to worry after all.

He'd kept it simple, "I have gone to be a pirate. Do not worry about me. Zavier." He doubted they would listen to his request.

At last, the sailors stopped loading the cargo hold and Zavier felt as the ship left the docks, letting the tide carry it away. The gentle rocking put him to sleep. He didn't know how long it had been when the approaching of boots and a muttered oath woke him.

"Could have done it himself, but no, he had to make me. That's that last time I play for favors at dice."

The voice surprised Zavier because it wasn't a male's, it wasn't even a woman's, it sounded like a girl's. A young girl's. Unable to help himself, Zavier raised his head, trying to get a look at the girl. As he shifted, the girl swung around, her lantern blinding him. He squinted and she gasped. Zavier dropped down again, even though he knew it was pointless, he'd been seen.

The girl raised her lantern as she drew closer and Zavier could see strands of golden hair and crystal blue, inquisitive eyes.

"What are you hiding from?" she asked.

There was only one answer to that. "Being a prince."

The rattle of the rigging forced Zavier to push aside the memory. He leaned his head back against the mast, knowing who came to join him and wishing it was the other half of the set. But wishing for that was dangerous, no future he could see held her in it.

A million futures he'd imagined, yes. But he didn't live in the world of imagination.

"Are you hiding?" Cyrus asked.

Zavier draped his arm over his bent knee. "If I am, could you blame me?"

"No, I couldn't."

Cyrus sat down on the other side of the mast, legs dangling over the side. Zavier raised his left hand, touching a faint white scar on his palm.

"Do you think she will ever stop hating me?" he asked.

Behind him, Cyrus let out a sigh.

"The problem is, she doesn't just hate you. If she did, it might eventually fade. But..."

"I know."

Zavier dropped his hand and stared up at the mass of clouds that blotted out the stars.

"And what about you?" he asked. "Do you hate me?"

"Zavier, you're one of the closest friends I have, I don't hate you. I understand. But then again I'm not in love with you, so I can think clearly."

"Emotions or not that has not been your sister's strongest quality."

Cyrus snorted which made Zavier feel a bit more at home on the ship.

"I want you to know that I never meant-"

"I know. Maybe one day she will be able to see that."

"I am not sure I will live to see that day."

Silence settled around them, disturbed only by the creak of the ship and the whistling of the wind.

"I'm sorry about your guards," Cyrus said.

Zavier curled his fist, fighting against the images of his friends struck down, their lives stolen from them. Could any of them have survived? He didn't think so. But if they had had he then left them behind. Should he have stayed to know for certain? Guilt beat against him like the waves against the hull. He would never be able to repay their sacrifice. He would never be worthy of it.

"They deserved better," he said. He spoke softly, wishing the wind would carry his words away, an apology to the families now living with an empty seat at a table.

"I met them, I don't think they would believe their deaths wasted," Cyrus said.

Zavier couldn't respond, how would they believe that? They died for a title. And not one Zavier even wanted. It made his guilt twist inside him. As if his guilt manifested to further taunt him, Princess Lydia stepped onto the deck. Here was a girl whose loss of a sister meant Zavier's freedom. He loathed himself for the thought.

Lydia glanced towards the helm, but Alwyn kept her gaze straight ahead. Shivering, Lydia wrapped her arms around herself and walked to the front of the ship. She leaned against the railing, huddled.

"You should talk to her," Cyrus said.

Zavier fought back a grimace at the idea.

"She does not want my company?" Zavier said.

He might as well have been the cause for her family's death with how many times he wished to break from the betrothal.

"The company of someone who has lost people he cares about, I think she would. You understand."

It was guilt, not compassion that forced Zavier out of the crow's nest and down the rigging. When he dropped to the deck, he glanced at Alwyn. It was a mistake, she looked like she wanted to hit him. But at the same time, he also saw a spark that said she wanted him to walk towards her, not away. But he knew he couldn't.

With her eyes throwing knives at his back, Zavier crossed to where the Princess stood. He rested his arms against the weather-worn wood, leaving space between them. She didn't look at him, still hugging herself. Her loose shirt fluttered with the breeze and she shuddered.

Even though he knew it would send a volley of hateful arrows at him, Zavier removed his coat and held it out to Lydia. She finally looked at him and again he saw the raw grief he'd first noticed earlier that day. Uncurling herself, she slid her arms into the sleeves. The coat drowned her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Zavier nodded, wishing this could be the end of his comfort, but knowing Cyrus watched them and would berate him for offering so little.

When Lydia returned to gaze out to the sea, Zavier did as well. Words failed him. He swallowed but his throat felt tight. He clasped his hands and glanced at her. When he'd first met her, she'd brimmed with life. Her smile lit up her face. She spoke with a bright inflection that made him think of springtime when the flowers first burst through the ground.

But now, death had taken that vibrancy from her.

"Princess," Zavier said. "I have no words to express how truly sorry I am for your loss."

She blinked and Zavier saw the glint of tears.

"After my sister met you," Lydia said, looking away from him. "She told me she was happy for the betrothal."

Zavier rooted his feet to the deck, fighting the urge to run away. 'Happy', Princess Vienna had been happy when Zavier only ever felt anger, resentment, and resignation. Even dead, the Princess was a better royal than him.

"I thought," Lydia continued quietly. "That she said this because she saw how handsome you were." She shook her head and Zavier tried not to feel awkward with the comment. "But now, I don't think that's what she meant, I think she was truly happy to unite our kingdoms." She knotted her fingers together. "She was a better royal than I could ever dream to be...she should be here...not me."

Zavier didn't know what to say, stunned that they should both share the guilt of living and shame for not being worthy of their titles. He was saved from answering by Cyrus's shout.

"Ship spotted!"

Zavier swung around, searching for the ship. But in the near darkness, he couldn't see anything. He raced across the deck to the stern, reaching it at the same time as Cyrus. Outlined against the horizon was a shadow of a ship, the dark sails catching pieces of moonlight.

"You couldn't have warned me earlier?" Alwyn said to Cyrus. "What were you doing up there, sleeping?"

"I didn't see it," he said. "I'm going to wake everyone."

"What are the chances they are coming for us?" Alwyn asked, still at the helm and glaring at the fast-approaching ship. "For her?"

Zavier turned around as Lydia froze halfway to them, hearing Alwyn's question. She wrapped Zavier's coat around her and he saw a tremor of fear go through her.

Neither of them said anything, but they were thinking it: the chances were high.

Zavier met Alwyn's eyes. For a breath, she looked at him as she always had, ready for a challenge. Any challenge as long as he was willing to be by her side. But in the next instant, she broke away, lips pressed firmly together in anger.

A familiar strand of guilt cut into his heart. It seemed every path he'd taken ended with his failure. Footsteps hurried up the stairwell and the deck flooded with the crew. Joric rushed to Zavier's side.

Wilder moved to Lydia. He rested one hand on her arm and spoke low. Even from the distance, Zavier could see the way Lydia gazed up at Wilder, the trust she placed on him. Alwyn had once given him that look. But he'd lost it. He doubted he'd ever earn it back.

Cyrus brought an eyeglass out and peered through it. Alwyn handed the wheel off to Mick and took Cyrus's side, Sparrow settling in next to her.

"Are you able to see anything?" Alwyn asked.

Cyrus lowered the glass, frowning. "Not yet. It's still too dark but they are gaining at an alarming rate."

"Can we find a Current and outdistance them?" Zavier asked, not looking at Alwyn.

"The closest Current is a day away," Alwyn answered.

The ship drew closer, a glow from their lanterns brightened, appearing like a rising sun. It didn't offer the hope of a new day, but the fear of the unknown. Wilder joined them.

"Details," he said, sounding like the one in charge.

Alwyn bristled and Cyrus spoke before his sister could snap at him.

"So far, we have very little," he said. "Except that we will not be able to outrun them. They are traveling too fast."

Beside Zavier, Joric crossed his arms, scowling. Zavier could tell what he was thinking, if Zavier's guard were still alive and with them, this would not be an issue. They were some of the best-trained soldiers and would be able to handle any situation. But now all that remained was Joric and they were on a ship with a Princess and a band of sailors.

"May I?" Wilder asked Cyrus.

Cyrus handed over the eyeglass. After a minute, Wilder lowered the scope, his gaze still trained on the ship. There was a determined set to his jaw. He turned to the group. Even being the youngest of them, he stood with a confidence of a leader.

"We can't outrun them or outfight them, but we can outsmart them," he said. "I need you to bring whatever barrels you can up on deck-"

Alwyn stepped up to him. "How dare you give orders on our ship."

Wilder leveled her with a cool look. "I don't care what you think."

He pointed to the approaching ship, that seemed to loam out of the darkness towards them.

"That is a rower ship. Two men to each oar, five oars on each side. We are outnumbered. As far as I see it, I'm the only one here with tactical training that can save us." He eyed Alwyn up and down. "Unless you want to tell me you've been trained to outmaneuver a larger force?"

Zavier wanted to applaud Wilder for his courage because Alwyn looked murderous.

"What do we need to do?" Cyrus said.

"Get as many barrels as you can onto the deck, wrap extra cloaks around them. If you have hats place them on top. Light lanterns and place them behind the barrels. We can at least disguise how outnumbered we are. Once they get close, I'll handle the rest."

The sailors ran off to do as they were told, but Zavier stayed behind, having a feeling he might have to intercede before Alwyn killed Wilder.

"I can handle the attackers," Alwyn said.

"No, you can't," Wilder said. "You will either get all of us killed or you will hand over Princess Lydia."

Furious, Alwyn planted her hands on her hips, glowering up at Wilder.

"I said your princess would get safely to Loria, and I stand by that."

To his credit, he met her gaze.

"I don't trust you," Wilder said.

"You doubt my word!"

"Yes, because to someone who has not only lost her home but her entire family you have shown nothing but coldness. Tell me, captain, is that someone you would trust not to hand her over to save your own skin?"

Alwyn opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Curling her fists, she stormed away. Nodding to Wilder, Zavier left to aid in the deception. By the time they had their fake men in place the ship was nearly upon them. Joric appeared at Zavier's side, holding his sword. Zavier strapped it on, the weight of it was reassuring. Standing by the mainmast, Wilder talked low to Lydia who seemed terrified.

"You have to listen to me," he said.

"No," she said. "I'm not going to hide away, not knowing what is happening."

"But I need you to be safe," Wilder said, tension in his voice.

"The safest place for me is next to you, we both know that."

As Zavier watched, he felt an intimacy in the way they leaned towards each other, the urgency in their gestures.

"I can't have you next to me, not when I'll be drawing everyone's attention," Wilder said.

Even though he sensed this was not his place, Zavier walked forward. "The Princess can stand with Joric and me. We will see to it that she is safe."

Wilder glanced from Joric to Zavier. "Very well." He faced Lydia. "Ly, tie up your hair, they can't know that you're here."

As Lydia fumbled for a piece of leather to tie back her hair, Wilder dragged a crate to the railing of the ship. He stood on it, facing the deck. He surveyed the scene and nodded as if finding the disguised barrels acceptable.

"Stand in front of the barrels in groups, it will appear our numbers are double," he said. "I have no intention of letting any of you die tonight. And so I'm asking you to trust me. Stay at the ready, but do not draw your weapons yet. We can not show fear."

Without waiting to see that his order was obeyed, Wilder turned around. On his back, he wore his sheath of arrows and bow, as well as his sword. Zavier noted that Alwyn bore holes into the back of Wilder's head while strangling her sword's hilt.

Part of him wished to gently pry her fingers off and tell her...he wasn't sure what but it didn't matter, he figured his neck would be the next thing she strangled. So instead, he took his place in front of the princess, blocking most of her body with his, Joric coming to stand with him.

The shout of a man calling orders cut into the tense silence that hung over the ship. Oars splashed in the water, breaking from the sea's hold. Like a wraith, the ship drew alongside the Sea Siren. Men crowded the deck railing, weapons gleaming, faces eager for a fight. Most held hooks knotted with a length of rope, ready to toss them over.

Zavier took in a slow breath like Joric taught him, willing his heart to remain steady, even as his body flooded with adrenaline, preparing for a fight.

"What business do you have?" Wilder called out.

A man in a striking coat strode down from the helm. Zavier curled his hand around his sword hilt. The way this man walked spoke of control. The sailors around him parted and fell quiet.

"We want Princess Lydia," the captain said. "Hand her over and you may all go free."

Wilder stood with his arms crossed, exuding an air of disinterest. Zavier heard Lydia inhale a shaky breath. He felt as she clutched the back of his shirt and the shiver that ran through her. His heart tugged with sympathy for her. She'd already seen her family killed before her eyes, now she faced the fact that that same fate might be hers.

"What makes you believe that we have her?" Wilder asked.

"Because I am not a fool," the captain said.

"I see, that would make you the captain of this ship then?"

The captain dipped his head. In a breath, Wilder unhooked his bow, strung an arrow, and fired. He moved so quickly Zavier barely registered what had happened until he saw the captain clutching his chest where an arrow protruded from it. He toppled to the deck amidst his stunned crew. With deliberate slowness, Wilder extracted another arrow and rested it on the string.

"And who is the first mate?" he asked.

The sailors all shifted and exchanged glances.

"I merely want to talk to him," he said, though the statement was belied by the fact that Wilder drew back the arrow. As he pointed it at the sailors, they all scrambled away. Zavier watched, impressed by the fear one act had infused into these hardened men.

"You said you were here for the Princess," Wilder said. "Well then, come get her."

One reckless sailor towards the end of the ship threw his hook across. Wilder released his arrow severing the rope. The hook fell to the deck with a thunk as the rope dropped into the water. In a blink, Wilder had another arrow aimed at the sailor's chest.

"Are you the first mate then?"

The sailor raised his hands and stumbled backward.

"If you are not going to come get the Princess, then leave. If you do not, I will pick you off one by one."

To enhance this point, Wilder let his