#surprise chapter!

Chuckles from the gathered pirate lords, who were finally starting to see Rolfe’s rationale. 

“I know it sounds stupid, and you don’t have to like it, but if we as pirates are to keep our traditions alive, we’ve got to adapt.” Rolfe cast his eyes slowly around the room, meeting each lord’s stare. “Aye?”

Muttered “ayes” from around the table.

“Right. Now--”

“Just a minute now, Yer Bloody Majesty.” Darrow stood, bracing his palms on the table. “How’re we deciding who sails with who? If’n I’ve got to put up with someone’s bullshit, I’m likely to shoot him meself.” He sat back down, having spoken his piece. Low murmurs of agreement and snorts and snickers sounded around the room. 

“Hell, I hadn’t quite thought that through,” Rolfe admitted.

“Better think quickly then,” Darrow grunted.

“Hmm.” Rolfe considered for a moment. “Right. Here’s how it’s working, and you lot can all shut up and listen. I’ll give a list of who’s sailing with whom, and if you don’t like it, just keep your friendly distance unless fired upon. Clear?”

“Clear,” came the response, albeit grudgingly.

“Good. Now. Let’s talk strategy and plans. For we can’t have a conquest without some planning, can we?”

“The hell we can’t,” Rowan contradicted, slouching in his chair. 

“Oh? And just how has not having any plan helped you in the last few weeks, Whitethorn?” Rolfe raised a brow.

Rowan went silent, pressing his lips together in tense irritation. Across the table, Aelin muffled her smirk. It wouldn’t be at all necessary to laugh, not when Rolfe was already doing a fine job of needling Whitethorn. 

“Point proven.” Rolfe turned back to the charts. “Now then, my lords…”

~

“He’s put us with fucking Galathynius,” Rowan growled, storming into his cabin with his lieutenants following in his wake. “Asshole.”

“Shit,” Lorcan grumbled, “she’s never going to let up on us.”

“She?” Vaughan’s eyes bugged out with shock. He’d been in charge of the ship while Rowan, Lorcan, and Gavriel were occupied at the pirate lords’ council, so he hadn’t yet heard of Aelin’s true identity.

“She,” Rowan confirmed. “Captain Aelin Galathynius, daughter of Rhoe, took the pseudonym Ash while at sea because nobody would take a woman pirate seriously.”

“You can’t say that isn’t true,” Vaughan mused. “Even we learned she was trouble.”

“Shut up,” Rowan grumbled, “I don’t need any more reminders.”

“So what’s the plan then, Cap? Just keep as far from Galathynius as we can?” Gavriel smoothly redirected the conversation.

“Aye, pretty much.” Rowan’s eyes flashed with a brief spark of anger. “Though he’s gone and put Galathynius as the flotilla head, so we’re going to be subject to whatever the hell she asks. Godsdammit!” He slammed his hands against one wall of his cabin. “Bastard knew exactly what he was doing.”

“You know how Rolfe is with his fucked-up little games,” Lorcan interjected. “He was probably waiting for this exact opportunity, if I do say so myself.”

“Probably,” Rowan acceded. “Sneaky fucker.”

“Does this mean you’ll have to meet with Captain Galathynius?” Vaughan asked, ever the pragmatist.

“Sadly yes,” Rowan sighed. “She asked for this evening. Her, me, and Allsbrook, the heads of our unit. We’re allowed to bring a couple of men, of course. Gav, you’ll come, yeah?”

“Of course, Cap.”

“Vaughan, too. Lor, you’ll take charge of the Doranelle while we’re away.”

“Aye, Cap.”

“Vaughan, you’re coming too. You haven’t met Galathynius yet; I think you should.”

“Captain, that sounds awfully like sarcasm.”

“Me? Sarcastic?” Rowan smirked. “Never.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Cap.” Vaughan smirked right back. “Aye, I’ll come with you. Meet Captain Galathynius for myself. See what she’s like.”

“Aggravating,” Rowan grunted under his breath. “Damned aggravating is what she’s like.”

~

“My thanks to everyone for being willing to meet on such short notice,” Aelin announced, striding into the meeting room with Manon, Elide, and Lysandra at her back. “Are we all here?”

“No,” Ren Allsbrook returned snarkily, sprawling in his chair. 

“I don’t need any of your sass, Allsbrook,” Aelin snorted, kicking his chair upright. 

He yowled a curse and sat up straight, waiting for her to speak.

“Right,” Aelin began, pacing a slow circle around the table, “first off, I am sorry to disappoint those of you who were expecting me to be Rhoe’s son. As you can hopefully tell, I am in fact his daughter. Any stories you might have heard about me being trained by Rolfe are true.” She folded her hands behind her back. “After Father died, Rolfe took me on as an apprentice. I spent a few years kicking Ren’s ass in training, and after a while I got dumped out at sea with a small ship and crew, ordered to make Rolfe proud.”

Ren grumbled something about damned training games under his breath, scowling.

“So you’ve been made flotilla head purely because you’re Rolfe’s golden child?” Lorcan scoffed from his stance behind Rowan’s chair.

“Oh, Salvaterre,” Aelin crooned, clicking her tongue, “I had hoped your time spend under my command had taught you better than to question my authority. But clearly, you just never learn.”

Vaughan stifled a snicker, watching Lorcan’s face go red with irritation. 

“No,” Aelin continued, “Rolfe made me flotilla head because he has assigned us to travel out to Fenharrow, and out of the three of us, I’ve accumulated the most time in those waters.”

“Rather unlike Rolfe to be so practical,” Rowan snorted.

Aelin’s turquoise eyes trained on him, narrowing ever so slightly. “Is it?”

Upon consideration, he really had no response.

She smirked. “Well then. I won’t bother laying out any nitty-gritty orders, mainly because both of you are competent captains who, unlike some, don’t need to be told which course to set to get to Fenharrow. A few things, though.” She dropped into the seat at the head of the table, looking Rowan and Ren dead in the eyes. “First, and this is mostly for you, Ren, we are not going chasing after Royal Navy. Is that clear?” Her eyes like steel.

“Clear,” Rowan nodded.

“Clear,” Ren grunted, obviously not terribly pleased with that order.

“If they choose to chase and attack us, we will of course return fire and blast them to hell. However, we will not be veering off course to needle them, much as we want to. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Rowan and Ren replied.

“Excellent. Other than that, I really have no stipulations. If you spot a prize, you may chase it, but do not stray too far from the rest of us, as we don’t need your stupid ass bringing all hell down upon yourself. And you know what happens if you fall behind. And because we are supposed to be a unit, please do consider flagging for help if you’re stuck. Furthermore, do not forget that we are pretending to be merchantmen, and merchants don’t typically sail all that well.” That drew wry chuckles from the pirates gathered in the room. “That’s all the basic stuff I have for you. We sail tomorrow with the tide, so make all the preparations you need to make, because I am not waiting. That means you, Allsbrook.”

Ren grumbled under his breath. “Aye, Captain,” he returned, scraping his chair back and standing. He offered her a brief salute before leaving the room, his two lieutenants flanking him.

“I like her,” Vaughan murmured to Rowan, thinking Aelin wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Why thank you,” Aelin grinned, taking a seat on the edge of the table and smiling sweetly at Vaughan. “At least one of Whitethorn’s men has some manners.”

“There’s no need to be rude, Captain,” Rowan snarked, propping his booted feet up, “Vaughan here is the only one of my lieutenants who hasn’t yet had the joy of making your acquaintance.”

“It certainly is a joy,” Aelin agreed, swinging her legs like a child.

“Not when you steal my goddamned shit,” Rowan grunted.

“Oh dear, are your feathers still in a ruffle about that?” she crooned. “Pipe down, Whitethorn, I promised you I’d take good care of your precious little coin collection and good care I have taken. The best care, in fact.”

“Yeah, you cared them right into Rolfe’s safe, I’ll bet.”

“The hell would I do that?” she scoffed. “My loot, my property.”

“Like fuck it is,” Rowan snarled, ire sparking in his eyes. “I collected every single one of those coins, Galathynius, and you--” He cut himself off before he could finish, words failing him.

“I what?” She crooked a brow. “I better return them? Surely you know better than that,” she tutted.

“I damn well do,” he grumbled. 

“Don’t ruffle your feathers any further, you buzzard,” she chided, slipping one hand into her pocket. “And I can prove that I haven’t pawned your precious little collection.” She tossed a small leather pouch to him, its contents clinking against the weathered wooden tabletop. Rowan snatched the pouch, tipping it out into his hand.

“How--how the fuck did you know these were the ones I worried about?” he gasped, stunned to see each of his ten ancient, carefully collected and preserved Wendlynite coins glinting in the palm of his hand. 

“Not hard to tell when they’re wrapped in oilcloth and separated from the rest. Though I did wonder, why Wendlynite coins? Sentiment, perhaps? No,” she hummed, “the fierce Captain Whitethorn couldn’t possibly have any of that weak sentiment.”

“Shut up,” Rowan groaned. “If you must know, yes. Sentiment.”

“How cute,” Aelin cooed. She hopped off the table, brushing off her jacket. “Anyway. I really should go back to my ship. Which, by the way, you have never been within a day or two’s journey of.”

“Lies,” Rowan smirked, smug. “We fired upon you in the Iron Isles. Or have you already blocked that unfortunate incident from your mind?”

“That, as you may soon discover, was not the Terrasen, darling.” And blowing a kiss over her shoulder, she sauntered away.

Unable to process what she’d just said, Rowan stared at her receding figure, his mind momentarily stalled both by the “darling” and the kiss she’d tossed, his good sense overwhelmed by the very male part of him that saw Aelin Galathynius’s stunning beauty and yelled at him to chase her down and kiss her senseless. He shook his head, shoving down that damned traitorous part of him. Literally.

“Captain!” Gav bumped his shoulder. “Ship’s not going to walk to you, y’know!”

“Dick,” Rowan huffed, resuming his pace towards the Doranelle. Once aboard, he called out his orders, sending his crew into a flurry of activity. Sails were set, the crew who’d gone into the town were rounded up, provisions came aboard--and yes, this time there was plenty of rum--and all preparations for leaving the next morning went underway. After all, Galathynius wasn’t going to wait for any stragglers.

~

“He likes you, y’know,” Elide teased, nudging Aelin with her elbow. “Or did you conveniently not see the look of complete horny surprise on his face when you called him ‘darling?’”

“Oh, I’m very well aware of how he reacted,” Aelin smirked. “That’s why I called him that.”

“Uh huh. That, and you’re just as horny.”

“Bitch!” Aelin gasped. “I most certainly am not!”

“And what was it you told me not that long ago about hot tattooed guys with long hair?” Elide arched a brow. “Someone’s a damn hypocrite.”

“Goddammit,” Aelin grumbled. “Fine, El, the man’s more than easy on the eyes. But I am not and have never been horny for him. I’ve got a ship to run and others to command.”

“And damn do you like being in charge,” Elide snickered.

“Shut up!” Aelin hissed, the tips of her ears flaring red. “Shit, Elide, you know me far too well.”

Elide winked, striding up the Terrasen’s gangplank. “Love you too, Cap!”

Aelin sighed dramatically as she too headed up her gangplank and made her way to her cabin, rolling out her navigational charts across her desk. They were to sail for Fenharrow, meaning they would travel the very same path she’d just taken coming from the Iron Isles to the Keep, which meant…fun. Oh yes indeed. A crooked, slightly evil grin slipped onto her face as she charted a path to Fenharrow. And then two more, for a good pirate always had a contingency plan or three. And, as luck and her own slightly wicked scheming would have it, all three courses passed near or through the Iron Isles. Excellent. That meant she could send the Orynth on a quick supply run into Perranth and meet up with her when the Terrasen, the Doranelle, and the Murtaugh (Ren’s ship) passed by the Isles. 

Which, of course, meant that Rowan Whitethorn and his crew would be introduced to the ship which they had actually fired upon and be properly flabbergasted at the sight of Aelin’s lovely little decoy ship. 

Oh, she could not wait to see their faces.

~~~

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