Page 16 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

She yanked her arm away and said distastefully, “Pirate.”

Irritation crossed through her as a smile grew on his face. He had a charming smile, but she still hated it. He was at least a half-foot taller than her, and despite his unkempt facial scruff and his tangled, unruly brown hair, he was rather handsome. As the pirate rested his eyes on hers, her heart hammered. Every fiber of her body was taut with annoyance.

“Placing your hands on a stranger is quite frowned upon where I come from,” she said.

Nola stepped to the side, but the pirate moved swiftly, blocking her from passing him. For a short moment, they stared at each other as if they were both hypnotized by a precious jewel. That stare alone caused her stomach to lurch. However, she scrunched up her face and slammed her heel on his toe, which caused him to wince and move out of her way.

“Blimey, woman—”

“Woman?”

“What? Are you not a woman?” he asked, but she only scowled at him.

He bit his bottom lip. “Prince Elijah isn’t someone you want to be minglin’ with, in or outside the palace walls. I’m tryin’ to help you out here by givin’ you a warnin’, but clearly, you don’t give a bloody hell.”

Her eyes snuck a glance at the palace walls.

“Oh, I am quite aware of what kind of family they are. It’s not as if the prince gave me much of a choice. Nor is it any of your business.”

The pirate pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Who are you?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Nola’s mouth set in a hard line and did not answer the stranger’s question.

He gave her a bitter look. “Fine. Get yourself killed. What do I care?” he said. Then moved past her, bumping into her shoulder, making her almost tumble to the ground.

“Pillock!” she shouted in his direction, watching him join a group of pirates near a booth selling barrels of rum. “Typical pirates!” she spouted, straightening her robe.

Nola tried not to pay much attention to them, as pirates were not known to be the kindest bunch to visit Zemira. They were often spotted at smaller marketplaces near the Lardbrak’s village—more than in the city. From what her father had explained, they avoided getting too close to the palace walls.

“Nola!” her parents shouted in unison when she came back to the tent.

“I’m fine, but maybe we should head back,” she said calmly, trying not to alarm her parents.

“He knows, don’t ’e?” her mother asked frantically.

The girl looked back at the palace gates. “Yes,” she said. “But he seemed not to care.”

As those words left her lips, she heard a faint cry come from down the line of vendors, closer to where the main entrance to the palace was. The king’s guard filed out of the gates, along with two sheeracats.

“Father?” she rushed to Duncan. But as close as they were to the drawbridge, it was most likely that the guards had already seen them.

“Get the ’orses ready,” Val hissed.

“It’s too late, Mother,” Nola said, “They’ll see us fleeing and target us.”

Nola had always been ready for the sheeracats’ visits. It happened twice a year—once after spring and another shortly after the last snow. Sheeracats were much larger than an average house feline. Their limbs were long, their eyes midnight black, their body hairless but rough like tree bark.

It was not their appearance that was frightening; it was their ability to heighten their sense of smell and sniff out creatures such as Nola—those who held magic.

The Lardbrak’s had always hidden their daughter well during their visits to Baylin. Their basement was not just an empty cellar. Duncan had created a tunnel that led out of the village and south of the city walls, so if there was ever trouble, trouble involving the king’s guard, Nola had a way out.

The wicked creatures would usually sniff around the cottage looking for something not human. Still, Nola’s scent was never strong enough to pique the cats’ interest. They would leave and not come back until the next round of visits. However, the market was a new place for Nola—one with no basement or tunnel.

The prince must have sent them,she thought. But why? If he had cared so much about me being a siren, he would have taken me when I was alone with him. Unless they are looking for someone else—or something else.

“Secure each exit! No one leaves the marketplace,” one of the guards with the most buttons on his jacket yelled from his ebony horse.

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