Page 34 of The War of Four Winters

Humble was hardly the word. The captain's cabin spanned the entire stern of the ship, with windows that would have offered a magnificent view of the sea in clearer weather. Now they revealed only swirling mist illuminated by the strange, phosphorescent life that dwelled in Saltmire's waters. The cabin itself was a riot of color and texture. Thick Savarran carpets covered the floor, silk hangings in jewel tones adorned the walls, and intricately carved furniture of dark wood gleamed in the lamplight.

"You've done well for yourself," I remarked, trying not to sound impressed. "For a pirate."

"Creative redistributor of excessive wealth," Tariq corrected with a wink. He shrugged out of his elaborate coat and tossed it over a chair. Bash, his miniature dragon, immediately curled up on the discarded garment. "And I prefer 'gentleman adventurer' if titles are necessary."

Caris, who had insisted on accompanying me, picked up an empty goblet and sniffed it.

"My dear commander," Tariq lamented, "if I wanted to eliminate my newfound brother, I'd hardly do it so clumsily. In Savarra, we havepeoplefor such delicate matters. Poison at a first meeting lacks both artistry and proper etiquette." He flashed a grin. "Besides, in Savarra, it’s considered rude not to attempt an assassination or two. It's a mark of respect."

"You'll forgive us if your word alone isn't a sufficient guarantee," Caris replied, her expression remaining professionally neutral.

Tariq sighed dramatically. "Such suspicion. Very well, then." He reached for the goblet Caris had just examined, drained it in one long swallow, then offered her a dazzling smile. "Satisfied? Or shall I wait a reasonable interval to prove my continued respiration?"

The corner of Yisra's mouth twitched, the closest to a smile I'd seen from the weathered captain. "Your reputation precedes you, Al'Sharif," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Three merchant guilds have put bounties on your head."

"Only three?" He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I must be losing my touch. It was five last time I checked." His golden eyes sparkled with mischief as he poured more wine into our goblets. "Though I must say, the price on my head has risen considerably. Twenty thousand silver pieces from the Brucia Merchant's Guild alone! I'm thinking of turning myself in just to see if the pauper queen actually has that much coin."

The evening meal passed with similar banter, Tariq entertaining us with outrageous tales of his exploits that sounded too fantastic to be true, yet carried enough specific detail to suggest at least some basis in fact. Through it all, Bash remained curled on his coat, occasionally opening one golden eye to assess us before returning to sleep.

After the remnants of our meal had been cleared away by members of Tariq's crew, Captain Yisra stretched and rose. "I should return to my ship. The storm may be stronger than expected, and I'd feel better keeping watch."

"A prudent decision," Tariq agreed. "Though nothing in Saltmire will threaten vessels flying our flags. The locals know better."

I raised an eyebrow. "Locals? What locals could possibly inhabit this place?"

Tariq's smile was enigmatic. "Saltmire has its permanent residents. They keep to themselves unless disturbed." He shrugged. "We have an understanding."

Caris stood as well, her hand never far from her sword. "I should accompany the captain."

"Are you certain, Commander?" Tariq asked, reaching for an ornate wooden box on a nearby shelf. "I was about to introduce my brother to the finer points of Savarran hospitality." He opened the box to reveal several small bottles nestled in velvet, filled with amber and ruby liquids. "These spirits rarely make it beyond Savarra's borders."

Caris glanced at me, clearly torn between her duty to stay by my side and her discomfort with our host.

"I'll be fine," I assured her. "Post guards on deck if it eases your mind, but I suspect if our host wanted to harm me, he's had ample opportunity."

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. "Two guards at the cabin door, two more on deck. I'll return at first light."

Once they departed, Tariq's posture visibly relaxed. "Finally," he sighed, selecting one of the bottles from his collection. "I find it difficult to properly enjoy myself with people who look like they're contemplating the most efficient way to separate my head from my shoulders."

"That's just Caris's natural expression," I said, settling more comfortably in my chair. "She looks at everyone that way."

"Even you? Her lord and master?" He uncorked the bottle, releasing a scent like honey, spice, and fire into the air.

"I'm not her master," I corrected sharply. "No one is. The Broken Blades serve Ruith by choice, not compulsion."

Tariq's eyebrows rose slightly at my tone. "Interesting." He poured a small amount of the amber liquid into two tiny, intricately carved cups. "You seem rather sensitive about the distinction."

I accepted the offered cup, but didn't drink. "I was a slave not long ago. The distinction matters."

Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a nod of respect. "Well then," he said, raising his cup. "To freedom, in all its complicated glory."

The liquor burned a path down my throat, warming me from the inside out. It tasted of desert spices and sunlight, utterly foreign but not unpleasant.

"What is this?" I asked, examining the empty cup.

"Safra," he replied, already refilling our cups. "Desert honey fermented with rare spices, then distilled under the full moon. The process is a closely guarded secret, passed down through certain Savarran families for generations."

Outside, the wind howled around the ship, making the lanterns sway gently. The strange, muffled quality of sound in Saltmire transformed the storm's fury into something almost musical, a backdrop to our unusual reunion.

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