Then the captain barked her name—“Bard!”—and pointed at a group struggling with the crates, and she went to lend a hand. Just like that—only not just like that, of course, for there were many taut nights and fights won, first against and then beside the other men, and blood spilled and ships taken—Lila Bard became a member of the Night Spire’s crew.
IV
Once aboard the Night Spire, Lila barely said a word (Kell would have been thrilled). She spent every moment trying to learn Arnesian, cobbling together a vocabulary—but as fast as she was on the uptake, it was still easier to simply listen than engage.
The crew spent a fair amount of time tossing words her way, trying to figure out her native tongue, but it was Alucard Emery who found her out.
Lila had only been on board a week when the captain stumbled across her one night cussing at Caster, her flintlock, for being a waterlogged piece of shit with its last bullet jammed in the barrel.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
Lila looked up and saw Alucard standing there. At first she thought her Arnesian must be improving, because she understood his words without thinking, but then she realized he wasn’t speaking Arnesian. He was speaking English. Not only that, but his accent had the crisp enunciation and smooth execution of someone fluent in the royal tongue. Not like the court-climbers who fumbled over words, offering them up like a party trick. No, like Kell, or Rhy. Someone who had been raised with it balanced on their lips.
A world away, in the grey streets of Lila’s old city, that fluency would mean little, but here, it meant neither of them were simple sailors.
In a last-ditch effort at salvaging her secret, Lila pretended not to understand him. “Oh don’t go dumb on me now, Bard,” he said. “You’re just becoming interesting.”
They were alone on the stretch of ship, tucked beneath the lip of the upper deck. Lila’s fingers drifted to the knife at her waist, but Alucard held up a hand.
“Why don’t we take this conversation to my chambers?” he asked, eyes glinting. “Unless you want to make a scene.”
Lila supposed it would be better not to slit the captain’s throat in plain sight.
No, it could be done in private.
* * *
The moment they were alone, Lila spun on him. “You speak Eng—” she started, then caught herself. “High Royal.” That was what they called it here.
“Obviously,” said Alucard before sliding effortlessly into Arnesian. “But it is not my native tongue.”
“Tac,” countered Lila in the same language. “Who says it is mine?”
Alucard gave her a playful grin and returned to English. “First, because your Arnesian is awful,” he chided. “And second, because it’s a law of the universe that all men swear in their native tongue. And I must say, your usage was quite colorful.”
Lila clenched her teeth, annoyed at her mistake as Alucard led her into his cabin. It was elegant but cozy, with a bed in a nook along one wall and a hearth along the other, two high-backed chairs before a pale fire. A white cat lay curled on a dark wooden desk, like a paperweight atop the maps. It flicked its tail at their arrival and opened one lavender eye as Alucard crossed to the desk, riffling through some papers. He scratched the cat absently behind the ears.
“Esa,” he said, by way of introduction. “Mistress of my ship.”
His back was to Lila now, and her hand drifted once more to the knife at her hip. But before she could reach the weapon, Alucard’s fingers twitched and the blade jumped from its sheath and flew into his hand, hilt striking against palm. He hadn’t even looked up. Lila’s eyes narrowed. In the week she’d been aboard, she hadn’t seen anyone do magic. Alucard turned toward her now with an easy grin, as if she hadn’t been about to assault him. He tossed the knife casually onto the desk (the sound made Esa flick her tail again).
“You can kill me later,” he said, gesturing to the two chairs before the fire. “First, let’s talk.”
A decanter sat on a table between the chairs, along with two glasses, and Alucard poured a drink the color of berries and held it out to Lila. She didn’t take it.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I’m fond of High Royal,” he said, “and I miss having someone to speak it with.” It was a sentiment Lila understood. The sheer relief of talking after so long silent was like stretching muscles after poor sleep, working the stiffness out. “I wouldn’t want it to rust while I’m out at sea.”
He sank into one of the chairs and downed the drink himself, the gem in his brow glinting in the hearth light. He tipped the empty glass at the other chair and Lila considered him, and her options, then lowered herself into it. The decanter of purple wine sat on the table between them. She poured herself a glass and leaned back, imitating Alucard’s posture, her drink braced on the arm of the chair, legs stretched out, boots crossed at the ankle. The picture of nonchalance. He twisted one of his rings absently, a silver feather curled into a band.
For a long moment, they considered each other in silence, like two chess players before the first move. Lila had always hated chess. Never had the patience for it.
Alucard was the first to move, the first to speak. “Who are you?”
“I told you,” she said simply. “My name is Bard.”
“Bard,” he said. “There’s no noble house by that name. Which family do you truly hail from? The Rosec? The Casin? The Loreni?”
Lila snorted soundlessly but didn’t answer. Alucard was making an assumption, the only assumption an Arnesian would make: that because she spoke English, or High Royal—she must be noble. A member of the court, taught to flash English words like jewels, intent on impressing a royal, claiming a title, a crown. She pictured the prince, Rhy, with his easy charm and his flirtatious air. She could probably have kept his attention, if she’d wanted to. And then her thoughts drifted to Kell, standing like a shadow behind the flamboyant heir. Kell, with his reddish hair and his black eye and his perpetual frown.
“Fine,” cut in Alucard. “An easier question. Do you have a first name, Miss Bard?” Lila raised a brow. “Yes, yes, I know you’re a woman. You might actually pass for a very pretty boy back at court, but the kind of men who work on ships tend to have a bit more …”
“Muscle?” she ventured.
“I was going to say facial hair.”
Lila smirked despite herself. “How long have you known?”
“Since you came aboard.”
“But you let me stay.”
“I found you curious.” Alucard refilled his glass. “Tell me, what brought you to my ship?”
“Your men.”
“But I saw you that day. You wanted to come aboard.”
Lila considered him, then said, “I liked your ship. It looked expensive.”
“Oh, it is.”
“I was going to wait for the crew to go ashore, and then kill you and take the Spire as my own.”
“How candid,” he drawled, sipping his wine.
Lila shrugged. “I’ve always wanted a pirate ship.”
At that, Alucard laughed. “What makes you think I’m a pirate, Miss Bard?”
Lila’s face fell. She didn’t understand. She’d seen them take a ship just the day before, even though she’d been confined to the Spire, had watched from the nest as they fought, and raided, and sailed on with a fresh bounty. “What else would you be?”