she can finish, there are two blades at each of their throats and spines, poised and ready to plunge should they move. It's eight against four, but for all they know, it's four against four.

"At least this night won't be as dull as the others." She's trying to get a response out of us, but nothing comes. "For whatever it is you want, we'll trade it for something in return."

"That's funny," I say, pocketing the coin and stepping into the moonlight. "I don't ever recall you being one for fair trade. Or any trade aside from theft for that matter."

Her three companions stiffen, causing The Bhaltayr to dig in the blades enough to draw a little trickle of blood. But she's still calm, her hands unmoving like Fauna's before she makes a quick move. I see her squint and smirk at the familiar expression. Not many days went by when she didn't look at me like that five years ago. "Who are you?"

"An old friend."

"You don't sound familiar."

"Probably not. Manhood hit me not long after I last saw you last."

She squints her eyes, scanning me head to toe this time. I take the opportunity to do the same, finding that I have rather missed the style of Pirates. The loose black pants and the boots that overlap them just over her knees. The white tunic beneath the corset styled red and black vest, with her long captain's coat pulled tight around her waist by a wide belt. She's even got the blue bandana tied beneath her father's feathered hat. I don't recall a day when she didn't have the bandana across her forehead, disappearing under her hair on one side and over the other parted half. The loose thick wavy hair is a new style though. It used to always be braided one way or another when I knew her, as she always complained that it got in her way. It rather suits her oblong face, filled cheeks, and kohl-lined brown eyes that it lays in its natural length now.

I turn my body just slightly, letting the moonlight reflect off of one of the blades at my hip. Her eyes catch it, and then they go as wide as the grin that rises to her face. "King Arthur, is that you?"

"In the flesh, my dear," I sing, sketching a sloppy bow that the pirates normally give. "Or should I say, Comandante?"

"You always were one for a dramatic entrance. Do you mind?" She gestures to the blades against her skin.

I look to Vlad over her shoulder and give him a nod. They let them go, then walk over to stand behind me and in front of where Darius is leaning against the wall. They haven't noticed him yet, and I'd like to keep it that way until I'm certain they're not friends of Xaxias, nor would they exchange information for payment or to save their own asses. You can never be too careful, even if they're long-lost friends.

"I see you and your sister have expanded your mystery club." She evaluates the Bhaltayr with a trained eye.

"They're not half bad."

"I can see that. I assume you're here to make sure I don't back out of my promise."

My face falls. "What promise?"

"The one I made to your sister, of course." She squints. "I've made no other promise but one in my life, and that was to my father before he died."

"My condolences for your father's passing, but I don't know what promise you're talking about."

It's her turn for her expression to falter. "She didn't tell you?" Her eyes narrow again, only this time with suspicion of an entirely different manner. When she knew us, my sister and I never hid anything from each other. We were quite attached at the hip most of our lives, only separating for missions. Secrets got people killed, and we didn't want to keep any from each other. At least, we used to not want to do so.

"Things are...complicated," I explain as vaguely as possible. She takes note of my pointed pause and glances at the main street behind her. Even shadows have ears that catch everything and mouths that they relay to their masters.

"So she said. You're not going to tell me anything else, are you?" I stay silent, knowing that she's not one to tell me anything either unless I have something to pay her in kind with. Better to have my own information to offer than give it away now. "Very well. Come, let us talk somewhere with less wandering ears."

She starts walking deeper into the alley, her goons following. I let them set the border between me and her before turning and trailing them at a respectable enough distance. Not sure if they figured out who I was, but better they know I mean her no harm and feel that they could stop me if I tried.

Fredal sits near the Emric Cliffs, which means that if she's all the way up here while her ship is down at the dock some five-hundred and fifty feet down, then she walked up those hundreds of steps for a reason to be in town, and supplies are not something that Fredal has too much to offer in regards to suppling ships. Their port is all but a few piss poor docks that are missing a few planks of wood you have to leap over.

I pull up my sketchy mental map of where we are and find that we're heading south to where there are more houses than buildings that go straight up. We keep going through the neighborhood, and I suddenly realize that this is a good place to hide those in your convoy so you could lure in people and rob them. Of course, with Darius's help, they wouldn't last very long, and I'd rather try to make a negotiation than have any amount of death on our hands.

There's one house with its lights still on in the late night, and she walks right through the gates and up the small walkway. Garrison and I share a look, then follow her to the porch steps. A house, of all places, wasn't on my list for a safe place without wandering ears. Not to mention that the house is only one story and no bigger than the Layara cabin. Then again, we are managing to fit sixteen people in there.

She knocks on the door twice and then looks back at us.

I scan the porch, trying to see into the closed curtained windows. I don't recognize the place. "Whose house is this?"

"I believe your sister said that it was your grandfather's."

Before I can ask what she means, the door opens and I find Papa Pernell standing in the doorway with a wide smile. Aging hasn't been kind to him, but he's still wild with energy despite the hickory cane and hunched shoulders.

"Well if it isn't the pirate fairy. I thought you were to be on your way." His voice is still the same. Still full of warmth and smooth as a baby's bottom. That's how Fey described it, at least. Not sure I'd ever describe someone's voice as smooth as a baby's bottom.

"We were, but we ran into an old friend." She steps aside, her goons doing the same, and he looks right at me and his face falls. That wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting.

"By the Gods." I don't even open my mouth before he's stumbling down the stairs and pulling me into a hug. Definitely not the reaction I was expecting.

It's been a while since I've had a hug. A lot longer since I've hugged someone who's family - or like family. He may not be our actual grandfather, but he's always treated us like his own children – or grandchildren. Whenever we had a mission in Fredal – which we had at least once a year – we'd always visit him in his restaurant. We never stayed with him, nor met his family out of fear that our enemies might try and hurt him to get to us. So we only ever spoke at the restaurant, keeping our friendship to a strict us three knowing only. I'm not even sure we got around to telling our father what he meant to us, though something tells me he strongly suspected.

He pulls back, but just enough to put one of his hands on the balaclava over my cheek. "I suppose your being here brings no good news of you finding your sister."

"You know-"

"Of course I know," he scoffs, sounding entirely offended. "I own a restaurant with a gossip hall beneath it, for Saint's sake. And before you ask, I haven't heard anything regarding her whereabouts aside from what happened at the festival, but I do know who it is who took her. Come, I'll share my knowledge over spiced tea and cookies my wife just made. Though I'll have to heat up more water for you and all your new friends." He looks over the Bhaltayr and Darius, eyes pausing their gentle manner as he does so.

"Kiitos," I say, using his native language. He never demands payment in return for his kind behavior, and a thank you hardly ever seems enough, but it's all he'll take and all he ever gladly accepts. Everything else he refuses to take.

He gives my cheek a few taps and then turns and walks back up the stairs. He's had a limp in his left leg since I've known him, and he doesn't seem to like talking about it, but I still have a target on whoever crippled him. I tried slowly prying it from him once, but he quickly caught on and told me to worry about my own legs and not some old withered ones.

We all file in behind him, cramming into the living room that's brightly lit. There are candles on every surface and small paintings of young faces resembling him in between them. I've never seen so many small photos of a family. We surely didn't have any, though I wish we did. Everything about this house screams the word home. The couches are comfortable and big enough for half of us to share, the fire's warm, there are signs of several people sharing the space, and larger paintings of Papa, his wife, and their three children still in their early youth on the surrounding walls. Two boys and the youngest a girl.

I walk over to a set of candles that only holds one photo within them, and gawk when I realize the photo is of me and Fauna. Our balaclavas are up, hoods down, and I have my arm around her. We never posed for anything, let alone let anyone have the chance to capture such a thing.

"Ah." An older woman with long white, silky hair, green eyes, and wrinkles comes up beside me. It's easy to place her as Papa's wife, and she's shorter than the paintings suggest, but just as beautiful and warm smiled. "I always wondered if I'd meet the children my husband spent so much time painting some two years ago."

"He painted this?" I look at the small photo again, leaning closer to admire the meticulous detail work within it.

"Oh yes, he's painted everything in this house. A hobby of his, I suppose. If he's not cooking, he's painting." She shakes her head in feigned annoyance, but her eyes gleam with a look I've seen on many faces.

I dip my chin toward her, opting for the smaller greeting if only because I saw the hesitation she had when walking up to him. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Pernell."

"And you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure my husband doesn't put paprika instead of cinnamon in your tea. Master cook, he may be, but his eyesight is waning and he refuses to get spectacles." This time she does bear the whole emotion of annoyance and leaves with a scowl.

I can't help the tight clench my heart gives as I watch Papa and his wife stand side by side in the kitchen looking as happy and content as ever. That should've been my parents. They should've lived through their old ages and grown old together. They should've had more time than they were given, and it's hard to know that no one's life is guaranteed to last as long as this. No one is guaranteed happiness, and that's not something I'm in the action of currently accepting.

Svenja and the small bit of her crew took the couch, leaving the Bhaltayr to stand along the walls of the living room. Each group watches the other, tensions at bay for the moment, but still there. The pirates may be outnumbered, but I knew very well of how they are as slippery as slick eels.

"So," I say walking to stand next to Darius who's releasing the damper on his power. The room's warming up rather quickly, and the last thing I need is for Papa's house to be burned down. "Why are you here, Svenja?"

"Why are you here, Arthur?"

Right. Information for information.

I cross my arms and go for a different tactic. "Have you not heard?"

"I've been at sea for the past three cycles. Before that, I was at my port enjoying my life before your sister's letter fell onto my desk."

I pause, calculating when Fauna would've had to send the letter for Svenja to be here now. A glance, and I find the others doing the same. At least, I think they're doing the same. It's hard to tell with their own hoods down. No wonder so many people give Fey and me strange looks. They can't see a damn thing we're thinking or feeling.

I look back to Svenja and take a deep breath. "It's a long story."

"So is mine," she counters swiftly. "Shorten it."

"Well, long story short, our mother was the elemental Queen of Thralia, a title and power now belonging to my sister through their rules of inheritance, and a bad guy wants her power for himself so he kidnapped her and is now somewhere – we don't know where – likely torturing her for both information and cooperation."

"Correction, she let herself be captured." I glare at Garrison, wanting nothing more than to punch him because that little fact is not one I need to be reminded of.

Svenja's eyes don't miss a thing. The tensing of statures, the shifting feet, the curling fists...Much as I may train and teach them how to not give away their tells, it took me years to master all of my own. Svenja, per usual, never bothers to hide her emotions, pirates rarely do, but they have keener eyes than most, and treasure isn't always just gold and money. It's things that can give you leverage. Things that can give you power.

She looks at everyone again, her lips tilting into a smirk. "And I'm guessing the reason behind that is because she wanted to save all of your sorry asses."

"No." Darius's answer comes immediately and has her smirk faltering.

"So then there's no reason for thirteen other men to be on the same search for her as her brother? No connection aside from...what?"

"Ah, ah, ah," I intercede, keeping anyone from answering. "A piece of information for a piece of information, Svenja."

Her jaw ticks in annoyance that I still remember their ways, but she still grins widely. "Can't blame a girl for trying. We're here because your sister sent me a letter five cycles ago."

"Saying what?"

"She was calling in my life debt."

"Life debt?" Alex asks, his crossed arms unfolding. I recognize the gleam in her eyes and know that she's already finding treasures of her own to hold close until it's of use. If it's any consolation, I have no idea what she's talking about either. Fauna never mentioned anything about a life debt to Svenja, nor has she spoken much of our pirate friend since we left the docks. A thing we silently agreed upon, as even then we knew better than to get attached to anyone or anything before it could be stripped away.

She turns back to me, expression turning serious. "While you and Clarice were aboard my father's ship, there was an assassination attempt on my life."  

"What?" The man to her right looks just as stunned as me.

"Relax," she tells the both of us, her eyes keeping him from demanding something of the person he technically does the answering to. "It was poorly conceived and horribly carried out. Nonetheless, your sister and I had both just entered our teens and were rightfully curious about the happenings of the crew when the lights were out. So we snuck out of bed and went snooping about the ship. I remember a door at which I've never been through, so I led her to it, only to be thrown against the ship's wall and held by my throat a few feet off the ground. She didn't hesitate to jump on his back and slit his throat before he could do more than give me a few bruises and a sore throat. We didn't want my father or anyone else finding out, as he would've likely given us both more bruises for our idiocy of going out alone. So we dragged the man's body to one of the cannon holes and threw him overboard.

"We cleaned away his blood and then threw the rags out after him. When I brought up the problem of my neck, she grabbed a bandana and carefully put it around it to conceal the darkening marks. She tied one around hers as well, that way people would think it was just some silly girl thing. The next morning, when my father asked me why I wasn't talking, she grabbed one of his quills and parchments and wrote down that we challenged each other to see who could go the longest without talking. It lasted that cycle or so until the bruises disappeared, and everyone was finally glad to not be hearing our squeals as we gossiped about the handsome men on board."

I remember that cycle. Heathens, I was one of the people who thought that the bandanas were just some silly girl thing I didn't quite understand. I also tried my hardest to get one of them to talk, but no matter what, they wouldn't make a single noise. Not even if I painted my face and jumped out of the shadows to scare them. Though I think Fauna punched me in the nose when I tried that.

"What was her request to fulfill the life debt?" She raises one of her eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes.

A piece of information for a piece of information.

It's Darius who answers her silent demand. "We're her friends. At first, we wanted nothing to do with her. She flipped our world on its side, threw us around like rag dolls, and called us shitty names. But when we needed her, when someone threatened to turn our world that was suddenly right side up, back onto its side, she was there to put a knife to their throats. Before she was a black stranger that we couldn't trust."

"And now?"

"She's more." Again he has no hesitation. Svenja narrows her eyes, likely determining that Darius and Fauna were entirely more.

"A soul sister then?" she pushes, practically edging him to say what he walked around.

"That's one way to put it," Mal responds just as evenly.

"Hmmm. Well, in that case. Her letter consisted of a few words. The writing looked rushed, as the ink was smudged and the letters in a sloppy mess. If I hadn't known her writing from before, I would've likely not realized that it was she who asked for me to bring my calvary to Vandaria's western border."

I can practically feel the whole atmosphere of the room switch like the flip of a blade. "She what?"

"What did the letter say - exactly," I demand, ignoring Winston. "Word for word."

She hesitates, and for a second I think I'm going to have to give her another piece of information to get her answer, but then she looks at Darius who hasn't even moved a millimeter and opens her mouth. "You owe me a life debt. Portside. Second new moon. Be discreet."

"How did you know she meant Vandaria's western border and not that of any other kingdom?" Darius asks a little too calmly for my taste. We've all slowly drifted closer to where she sits between her four goons on the couch.

Papa Pernell and his wife walk in with trays filled with mugs and cookies. I take the tray from Papa who's attempting to carry it with one hand and set it on the table in the center of the room. I hand out mugs to keep my hands from doing something reckless because Fauna pulled another rabbit out of her hat. She's really gotta stop doing that.

"Portside. It refers to the left side of a ship, and it was only common knowledge that she meant Fernweh. There's no other place she spoke so dearly of, not to mention it was the only place she vowed to protect so long as she lived when I knew her. We can't reach Fernweh directly, so Vandaria's western – portside – border was what she was clearly referring to. I gathered all of our ships and their crews and then set a schedule for each small fraction of