Page 95 of Pirate Witch
“This was an air shaft for the old mine,” I explain as we reach a hole in the ground, about four feet across and half-heartedly covered in rotten planks of wood. “I’m hoping it will be easier for him to come here. If Acelin even answers.”
I almost hope he doesn’t, but the high priestesses are right; we don’t have a lot of options.
One thing that has come up a lot recently is how few ships the Eagle actually sent against us. Her hubris in believing that the witches were easy targets has actually worked to her advantage. Most of her fleet is safe in Cawshome, ready to defend her against our attack. Our fleet, in comparison, is mostly pirates and fishermen.
We need greater numbers on our side.
Danika clasps my shoulder in greeting. “We must hope he does.”
I whirl on my heel and sink into a bow. I’d expected only my friend, but all of the high priestesses appear to have turned out for this. Sophie, Rachel, Elodie, Danika, and the Meliad high priestess, Agatha, are all wearing armoured clothing—like it will make a difference—and they stand side by side in a show of unity.
Elsie and Reva linger on the fringes of their group, the latter hovering protectively behind our grieving Solar.
My heart broke for my friend when she lost Cooper. She cried the entire way through his funeral. Ever since then, she’s withdrawn into herself, snapping at us whenever we try to draw her out of her shell. This isn’t normal for the expressive Solar, and the longer it continues, the more worried I become.
“The Eagle might have lost her mage,” Sophie counsels, oblivious to the concerned look I’m shooting Elsie. “But she still has her own powers—the ones granted to her by taking her ‘mortal cure.’ Her Alchemist is a deadly opponent as well. They will be on their guard, but the wraiths are a wild card they won’t expect.”
I sigh. We’ve had this argument before. I lose every time because the numbers are so heavily stacked against us. Nodding, I draw Acelin’s crystal from my pouch and hold it out.
Is it me, or does it look brighter than before?
Dutifully, I tap my fingernail across the rough surface.
Nothing happens.
It takes a lot of effort not to sigh with relief. “I said they wouldn’t—”
A chill skirts down my spine just as fog erupts from the crystal, followed by a lone, red-eyed wraith.
“Why have you called me back?” Acelin demands, glaring at the group of witches before settling his sights on me. “We made an agreement.”
Sophie shoulders past me, putting herself directly in front of the wraith without showing even a hint of fear. “We wished to thank you for your assistance,” the Mother Solar begins. “And reassure you that we won’t reopen the mines now that we know the impact they had on your people.”
The wraith stares at her, unblinking, for so long that it becomes uncomfortable. Does he know this is just a flattering pleasantry? Intended to ease the way into the real reason he’s been summoned? Or do wraiths not have those kinds of political subtleties?
For one absurd second, I wish that we—instead of calling him here for war—were summoning him to try to understand his people better. To forge diplomatic ties with the mysterious creatures from beneath the earth rather than an alliance of bloodshed. It’s a very Solar thought, but I suppose war can make anyone wish for peace—even assassins.
“You are welcome,” Acelin finally replies. “Now leave us in peace, and ensure we are not disturbed again.” He turns away.
“They want your help,” I interrupt before any of the other high priestesses can say something else. “They want you to do what you did here, but in Cawshome. We’re going against the Eagle, and we don’t have enough soldiers to win the battle.”
The high priestesses glare at me. Tough. They never made the original bargain. They don’t really appreciate what the wraiths have suffered, or how appalling their request is in light of how the surface people have treated them. Right now, we owe him honesty before flattery, and I intend to give it to him.
“Our Shadow speaks hastily—” Agatha begins, but Acelin’s eyes flash.
“But she speaks the truth?”
Danika nods. “Yes.”
Acelin’s face is too skeletal to express emotions in the way I’m used to seeing them, but there’s no denying the way his jaw clenches in fury.
“My people are not soldiers to be ordered around. We are not pawns for use in your war. All we wish is to be left alone, yet even when you’re not murdering us, you feel you’re entitled to use us in other ways. No. We have suffered enough for the convenience of people above the surface.”
The vitriol in his words shocks the high priestesses, and more than one of them takes a step back. They weren’t expecting this; I realise. They honestly thought they had something to offer a completely self-sustaining society which is so very different from their own.
“We can trade,” Danika begins, hopefully. “Surely there must be something your people need?”
Acelin shakes his head and looks at me. “Did you not explain to them what we are? How we live?”
