A pirate princess and a cursed assassin find their fates intertwined in this gorgeous and thrilling adventure.
Ananna of the Tanarau abandons ship when her parents try to marry her off to an ally pirate clan. She wants to captain her own boat, not serve as second-in-command to a handsome and clueless man. But her escape has dire consequences when she learns that her fiancé’s clan has sent an assassin after her.
And when this assassin, Naji, finally finds her, things get even worse. Ananna inadvertently triggers a nasty curse—with a life-altering result. Now, Ananna and Naji are forced to become uneasy allies as they work to complete three impossible tasks that will cure the curse.
Unfortunately, Naji has enemies from the shadowy world known as the Mists, and Ananna must face the repercussions of betraying her engagement that set her off on her adventures. Together, the two must break the curse, escape their enemies, and come to terms with their growing romantic attraction.
Magic of Blood and Sea CHAPTER ONE I ain’t never been one to trust beautiful people, and Tarrin of the Hariri was the most beautiful man I ever saw. You know how in the temples they got those paintings of all the gods and goddesses hanging on the wall above the row of prayer candles? And you’re supposed to meditate on them so as the gods can hear your request better? Tarrin of the Hariri looked just like one of those paintings. Golden skin and huge black eyes and this smile that probably worked on every girl from here to the ice-islands. I hated him on sight.
We were standing in the Hariris’ garden, Mama and Papa flanking me on either side like a couple of armed guards. The sea crashed against the big marble wall, spray misting soft and salty across my face. I licked it away and Mama jabbed me in the side with the butt of her sword.
“So I take it all the arrangements are in order?” asked Captain Hariri, Tarrin’s father. “You’re ready to finalize our agreement?”
“Soon as we make the trade,” Papa said.
I glowered at the word “trade” and squirmed around in my too-tight silk dress. My breasts squeezed out the top of it, not on purpose. I know that sort of thing is supposed to be appealing to men but you wouldn’t know it talking to me. At least the dress was a real pretty one, the color of cinnamon and draped the way the court ladies wore ’em a couple of seasons ago. We’d nicked it off a merchant ship a few months back. Mama had said it suited me when we were on board Papa’s boat and she was lining my eyes with kohl and pinning my hair on top of my head, trying to turn me into a beauty. I could tell by the expression on Mistress Hariri’s face that it hadn’t worked.
“Tarrin!” Captain Hariri lifted his hand and Tarrin slunk out of the shadow of the gazebo where he’d been standing alongside his mother. The air was full up with these tiny white flowers from the trees nearby, and a couple of blossoms caught in Tarrin’s hair. He was dressed like his father, in dusty old aristocratic clothes, and that was the only sign either of ’em were pirates like me and my parents.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ananna of the Tanarau.” He bowed, hinging at the waist. He said my name wrong. Mama shoved me forward, and I stumbled over the hem of my dress, stained first with seawater from clomping around on the boat and then with sand from walking through Lisirra to get to this stupid garden. The Hariris were the only clan in the whole Confederation that spent more time on land than they did at sea.
Tarrin and I stared at each other for a few seconds, until Mama jabbed me in the back again, and I spat out one of the questions she made me memorize: “Have you got a ship yet?”
Tarrin beamed. “A sleek little frigate, plucked out of the emperor’s own fleet. Fastest ship on the water.”
“Yeah?” I said. “You got a crew for that ship or we just gonna look at her from the wall over there?”
“Ananna,” Mama hissed, even as Papa tried to stifle a laugh.
Tarrin’s face crumpled up and he looked at me like a little kid that knows you’re teasing him but doesn’t get the joke. “Finest crew out of the western islands.” It sounded rehearsed. “I got great plans for her, Mistress Tanarau.” He opened his eyes up real wide and his face glowed. “I want to take her out to the Isles of the Sky.”
I about choked on my own spit. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Surely a girl raised on the Tanarau doesn’t fear the Isles of the Sky.”
I glared at him. The air in the garden was hot and still, like pure sunlight, and even though the horrors I’d heard about the Isles of the Sky seemed distant and made-up here, Tarrin’s little plan set my nerves on edge. Even if he probably wasn’t talking truth: nobody makes a path for the Isles of the Sky, on account of folks going mad from visiting that little chain of islands. They’ll change you and change you until you ain’t even human no more. They’re pure magic, that’s what Mama told me. They’re the place where magic comes from.
“I know the difference between bravery and stupidity,” I said. Tarrin laughed, but he looked uncomfortable, and his father was glowering and squinting into the sunlight.
“She’s joking,” Mama said.
“No, I ain’t.”
Mama cuffed me hard on the back of the head. I stumbled forward and bumped right up against Tarrin. Under the gazebo, his mother scowled in her fancy silks.
“It does sound like a nice ship, though,” I muttered, rubbing at my head.
Captain Hariri puffed out his chest and coughed. “Why don’t you show Mistress Tanarau your ship, boy?”
Tarrin gave him this real withering look, with enough nastiness in it to poison Lisirra’s main water well, then turned back to me and flashed me one of his lady-slaying smiles. I sighed, but my head still stung from where Mama’d smacked me, and I figured anything was better than fidgeting around in my dress while Papa and Captain Hariri yammered about the best way for the Tanarau clan to sack along the Jokja coast, now that the Tanarau had all the power of the Hariri and her rich-man’s armada behind them. Thanks to me, Papa would’ve said, even though I ain’t had no say in it.
Tarrin led me down this narrow staircase that took us away from the garden and up to the water’s edge. Sure enough, a frigate bobbed in the ocean, the wood polished and waxed, the sails dyed pale blue—wedding sails.
“You ain’t flying colors yet,” I said.
Tarrin’s face got dark and stormy. “Father hasn’t given me the right. Said I have to prove myself first.”
“So if we get married, we gotta sail colorless?” I frowned.
“If we get married?” Tarrin turned to me. “I thought it was a done deal! Father and Captain Tanarau have been discussing it for months.” He paused. “This better not be some Tanarau trick.”
“Trust me, it ain’t.”
“’Cause I’ll tell you now, my father isn’t afraid to send the assassins after his enemies.”
“Oh, how old do you think I am? Five?” I walked up to the edge of the pier and thumped the boat’s side with my palm. The wood was sturdy beneath my touch and smooth as silk. “I ain’t afraid of assassin stories no more.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “But the Isles of the Sky, that’s another matter.” I paused. “That’s why you want to go north, ain’t it? ’Cause of your father?”
Tarrin didn’t answer at first. Then he pushed his hair back away from his forehead and kind of smiled at me and said, “How did you know?”
“Any fool could see it.”
Tarrin looked at me, his eyes big and dark. “Do you really think it’s stupid?”
He smiled. “I like how honest you are with me.”
I almost felt sorry for him then, ’cause I figured, with a face like that, ain’t no girl ever been honest to him in his whole life.
“We could always fly Tanarau colors,” I suggested. “’Stead of Hariri ones. That way you don’t have to wor—”
Tarrin laughed. “Please. That would be even worse.”
The wrong answer. I spun away from him, tripped on my damn dress hem again, and followed the path around the side of the cliff that headed back to the front of the Hariris’ manor. Tarrin trailed behind me, spitting out apologies—as if it mattered. We were getting married whether or not I hated him, whether or not Mistress Hariri thought I was too ugly to join in with her clan. See, Captain Hariri was low-ranked among the loose assortment of cutthroats and thieves that formed the Confederation. Papa wasn’t.
There are three ways of bettering yourself in the Pirates’ Confederation, Mama told me once: murder, mutiny, and marriage. Figures the Hariri clan would be the sort to choose the most outwardly respectable of the three.
I was up at street level by now, surrounded by fruit trees and vines hanging with bright flowers. The air in Lisirra always smells like cardamom and rosewater, especially in the garden district, which was where Captain Hariri kept his manor. It was built on a busy street, near a day market, and merchant camels paraded past its front garden, stirring up great clouds of dust. An idea swirled around in my head, not quite fully formed: a way out of the fix of arranged marriage.
“Mistress Tanarau!” Tarrin ran up beside me. “There’s nothing interesting up here. The market’s terrible.” He pouted. “Don’t you want to go aboard my ship?”
“Be aboard it plenty soon enough.” I kept watching those camels. The merchants always tied them off at their street-stalls, loose, lazy knots that weren’t nothing a pirate princess couldn’t untangle in five seconds flat.
Papa told me once that you should never let a door slam shut on you. “Even if you can’t quite figure out how to work it in the moment,” he’d said. He wasn’t never one to miss an opportunity, and I am nothing if not my father’s daughter. Even if the bastard did want to marry me off.
I took off down the street, hoisting my skirt up over my boots—none of the proper ladies shoes we’d had on the boat had been in my size—so I wouldn’t trip on it. Tarrin followed close behind, whining about his boat and then asking why I wanted to go to the day market.
“’Cause,” I snapped, skirt flaring out as I faced him. “I’m thirsty, and I ain’t had a sweet lime drink in half a year. Can only get ’em in Lisirra.”
“Oh,” said Tarrin. “Well, you should have said something—”
I turned away from him and stalked toward the market’s entrance, all festooned with vines from the nearby gardens. The market was small, like Tarrin said, the vendors selling mostly cut flowers and food. I breezed past a sign advertising sweet lime drinks, not letting myself look back at Tarrin. I love sweet lime drinks, to be sure, but that ain’t what I was after.
It didn’t take me long to find a vendor that would suit my needs. He actually found me, shouting the Lisirran slang for Empire nobility. I’m pretty sure he used it as a joke. Still, I glanced at him when he called it out, and his hands sparkled and shone like he’d found a way to catch sunlight. He sold jewelry, most of it fake, but some of it pretty valuable—I figured he must not be able to tell the difference.
But most important of all, he had a camel, tied to a wooden pole with some thin, fraying rope, the knot already starting to come undone in the heat.
Tarrin caught up with me and squinted at the vendor.
“You want to apologize for laughing at me,” I said, “buy me a necklace.”
“To wear at our wedding?”
“Sure.” I fixed my eyes on the camel. It snorted and pawed at the ground. I’ve always liked camels, all hunchbacked and threadbare like a well-loved blanket.
Tarrin sauntered up to the vendor, grin fixed in place. The vendor asked him if he wanted something for the lady.
I didn’t hear Tarrin’s response. By then, I was already at the camel, my hands yanking at the knot. It dissolved quick as salt in water, sliding to the bottom of the pole.
I used that same pole to vault myself up on the saddle nestled between the two humps on the camel’s back, hiking the skirt of my dress up around my waist. I leaned forward and went “tut” into his ear like I’d seen the stall vendors do a thousand times. The camel trotted forward. I dug the heels of my boots into his side and we shot off, the camel kicking up great clouds of golden dirt, me clinging to his neck in my silk dress, the pretty braids of my hairstyle coming unraveled in the wind.
The vendor shouted behind me, angry curses that would’ve made a real lady blush. Then Tarrin joined in, screaming at me to come back, hollering that he hadn’t been joking about the assassins. I squeezed my eyes shut and tugged hard on the camel’s reins and listened to the gusts of air shoving out of his nostrils. He smelled awful, like dung and the too-hot-sun, but I didn’t care: We were wound up together, me and that camel.
I slapped his reins against his neck like he was a horse and willed him to take me away, away from my marriage and my double-crossing parents. And he did.
All of Tarrin’s hollering aside, we galloped out of the garden district without much trouble. I didn’t know how to direct the camel—as Papa always told me, my people ride on boats, not animals—but the camel seemed less keen on going back to that vendor than I did. He turned down one street and then another, threading deeper and deeper into the crush of white clay buildings. Eventually he slowed to a walk, and together we ambled along a wide, sunny street lined with drying laundry.
I didn’t recognize this part of the city.
There weren’t as many people out, no vendors or bright-colored shop signs painted on the building walls. Women stuck their heads out of windows as we rode past, eyebrows cocked up like we were the funniest thing they’d seen all day. I might have waved at them under different circumstances, but right now I had to figure out how to lay low for a while. Escaping’s always easy, Papa taught me (he’d been talking about jail, not marriage, but still). Staying escaped is the hard part.
I found this sliver of an alley and pushed at the camel’s neck to get him to turn. He snorted and shook his big shaggy head, then trudged forward.
“Thanks, camel.” The air was cooler here: A breeze streamed between the two buildings and their roofs blocked out the sun. I slid off the camel’s back and straightened out my dress. The fabric was coated with dust and golden camel hairs in addition to the mud-and-saltwater stains at the hem, and I imagined it probably smelled like camel now too.
I patted the camel on the head and he blinked at me, his eyes dark and gleaming and intelligent.
“Thanks,” I told him again. I wasn’t used to getting around on the backs of animals, and it seemed improper not to let him know I appreciated his help. “You just got me out of a marriage.”
The camel tilted his head a little like he understood.
“And you’re free now,” I added. “You don’t have to haul around all that fake jewelry.” I scratched at the side of his face. “Find somebody who’ll give you a bath this time, you understand?”
He blinked at me but didn’t move. I gave him a gentle shove, and he turned and trotted out into the open street. Myself, I just slumped down in the dust and tried to decide what to do next. I figured I had to let the camel go ’cause I was too conspicuous on him. Together we’d wound pretty deeply into Lisirra’s residential mazes, but most people, when they see a girl in a fancy dress on a camel—that’s something they’re going to remember. Which meant I needed to get rid of the dress next, ideally for money. Not that I have any qualms about thievery, but it’s always easier to do things on the up and up when you can.
I stood and swiped my hands over the dress a few times, trying to get rid of the dust and the camel hairs. I pulled my hair down so it fell thick and frizzy and black around my bare shoulders. Then I followed the alley away from the triangle of light where I’d entered, emerging on another sun-filled street, this one more bustling than the other. A group of kids chased each other around, shrieking and laughing. Women in airy cream-colored dresses and lacy scarves carried baskets of figs and dates and nuts, or dead chickens trussed up in strings, or jars of water. I needed one of those dresses.
One of the first lessons Papa ever taught me, back when I could barely totter around belowdeck, was how to sneak around. “One of the most important aspects of our work,” he always said. “Don’t underestimate it.” And sneaking around in public is actually the easiest thing in the whole world, ’cause all you have to do is stride purposefully ahead like you own the place, which was easy given my silk dress. I jutted my chin out a little bit and kept my shoulders straight, and people just stepped out of the way for me, their eyes lowered. I went on like this until I found a laundry line strung up between two buildings, white fabric flapping on it like the sails of our boat.
The thought stopped me dead. She wasn’t my boat no more. Never would be. I’d every intention of finishing what I started, like Papa always taught me. But finishing what I started meant I’d never get to see that boat again. I’d spent all my seventeen years aboard her, and now I’d never get to climb up to the top of her rigging and gaze out at the gray-lined horizon drawn like a loop around us. Hell, I’d probably never even go back to the pirates’ islands in the west, or dance the Confederation dances again, or listen to some old cutthroat tell his war stories while I drifted off to sleep in a rope hammock I’d tied myself.
A cart rolled by then, kicking up a great cloud of dust that set me to coughing. The sand stung my eyes, and I told myself it was the sand drawing out my tears as I rubbed them away with the palm of my hand. There was no point dwelling on the past. I couldn’t marry Tarrin and I couldn’t go home. If I wanted to let myself get morose, I could do it after I had money and a plan.
I ducked into the alley. The laundry wasn’t hung up too high, and I could tell that if I jumped I’d be able to grab a few pieces before I hit the ground again. I pressed myself against the side of the building and waited until the street was clear, then I tucked my skirts around my waist, ran, jumped, spread my arms out wide, and grabbed hold of as much fabric as I could. The line sagged beneath my weight; I gave a good strong tug and the clothes came free. I balled them up and took off running down the alleyway. Not that it mattered; no one saw me.
At the next street over I strode regally along again till I found a dark empty corner where I could change. I’d managed to nick two scarves in addition to the dress, so I draped one over my head in the Lisirran style and folded my silk dress up in the other. I figured I could pass for a Lisirran even though I’ve a darker complexion than most of the folks in Lisirra. Hopefully no one would notice I was still wearing my clunky black seaboots underneath the airy dress—those would mark me as a pirate for sure. The dress was a bit tight across my chest and hips too, but most dresses are, and the fabric was at least thick enough to hide the lines of the Pirates’ Confederation tattoo arching across my stomach.
I knew the next step was to find a day market where I could sell my marriage dress. I couldn’t go back to the one where I stole the camel, of course, but fortunately for me there are day markets scattered all over the city. Of course, Lisirra is a sprawling crawling tricky place, like all civilized places, full of so many happenings and people and strange little buildings that it’s easy to get lost. I only knew my way around certain districts—those close to the water and those known to shelter crooks and others of my ilk. That is to say, the places where my parents and the Hariri clan would be first to look. And I had no idea where the closest day market was.
I strolled along the street for a while, long enough that my throat started to ache from thirst. It was hotter here than it had been in the garden district, I guess ’cause it was later in the day, and everyone seemed to have retreated into the cool shade of the houses. I walked close to the buildings, trying to stay beneath the thin line of their cast shadows. Didn’t do me much good.
Eventually I slouched down in another shady alley to rest, sticking the marriage dress behind my head like a pillow. The heat made me drowsy, and I could barely keep my eyes open. . . .
It was a couple of women, speaking the Lisirran dialect of the Empire tongue. I peeked around the edge of the building. Both a little older than me, both with water pitchers tucked against the outward swell of their hips. One of the women laughed and a bit of water splashed out of her pitcher and sank into the sand.
“Excuse me!” My throat scratched when I talked, spitting out perfect Empire. The two women fell silent and stared at me. “Excuse me, is there a market nearby? I have a dress to sell.”
“A market?” The taller of the women frowned. “No, the closest is in the garden district.” I must have looked crestfallen, ’cause she added, “There’s another near the desert wall. Biggest in the city. You can sell anything there.”
The other woman glanced at the sky. “It’ll close before you get there, though,” she said. She was right; I must have fallen asleep in the alley after all, ’cause the light had changed, turned gilded and thick. I was supposed to have been married by now.
“Do you need water?” the taller woman asked me.
I nodded, making my eyes big. Figured the kohl had probably spread over half my face by now, which could only help.
The taller woman smiled. She had a kind-looking face, soft and unlined, and I figured her for a mother who hadn’t had more than one kid yet. The other scowled at her, probably hating the idea of showing kindness to a beggar.
“There’s a public fountain nearby,” she said. “Cut through the alleys, two streets over to the west.” She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a piece of pressed copper and tossed it to me. Enough to buy a skein plus water to fill it. I bowed to thank her, rattling off some temple blessing Mama had taught me back when I was learning proper thieving. Begging ain’t thieving, of course, but I ain’t so proud I’m gonna turn down free money.
The two women shuffled away, and I followed their directions to the fountain, which sparkled clean and fresh in the light of the setting sun. Took every ounce of willpower not to race forward and shove my whole face into it.
I reined myself in, though, and I got the skein and the water no problem. The sun had disappeared behind the line of buildings, and magic-cast lamps were twinkling on one by one, bathing the streets in a soft hazy glow. I could smell food drifting out of the open windows and my stomach grumbled something fierce. I managed to snatch a couple of meat-and-mint pies cooling on a windowsill, and I ate them in an out-of-the-way public courtyard, tucking myself under a fig tree. They were the best pies I’d ever tasted, the crust flaky and golden, the meat tender. I licked the grease off my fingers and took a couple of swigs of water.
I didn’t much want to sleep outside—it’s tough to get any real sleep, ’cause you wake up at the littlest noise, thinking it’s an attack—but I also figured I didn’t have much choice in the matter. I curled up next to the fig tree and used the marriage dress as a pillow again, although this time I yanked my knife out of my boot and kept it tucked in my hand while I slept. It helps.
I had trouble falling asleep. Not so much ’cause of being outside, though, but ’cause I kept thinking about the Tanarau and my traitorous parents: Mama smoking her pipe up on deck, shouting insults at the crew, Papa teaching me how to swing a sword all proper. It’s funny, ’cause all my life I’ve loved Lisirra and the desert, so much so that I used to sleep belowdeck, nestled up among the silks and rugs we’d plundered from the merchant ships, and now that it looked like I’d be whiling away the rest of my days here in civilization, all I wanted was to go back to the ocean.
Figures that when I finally fell asleep, I dreamt I was in the desert. Only it wasn’t the Empire desert. In my dream, all the sand had melted into black glass like it had been scorched, and lightning ripped the sky into pieces. I was lost, and I wanted somebody to find me, ’cause I knew I was gonna die, though it wasn’t clear to me if my being found would save me or kill me.
I woke up with a pounding heart. It was still night out, the shadows cold without the heat of the sun, and I could feel ’em on my skin, this prickling crawling up my arm like a bug.
My dress was damp with sweat, but the knife was a reassuring weight in the palm of my hand. I pushed myself up to standing. Ain’t nobody out, just the shadows and the stars, and for a few minutes I stood there breathing and wishing the last remnants of the dream would fade. But that weird feeling of wanting to be found and not wanting to be found stuck with me.
Maybe the dream was the gods telling me I wasn’t sure about leaving home. Well, I wasn’t gonna listen to ’em.
I took a couple more drinks from the skein, then tucked my knife in the sash of my dress and headed toward the desert wall. I was still shaky from the dream and figured I wasn’t going to be sleeping much more tonight, so I might as well take advantage of the night’s coolness and get to the day market right as it opened.
Cassandra Rose Clarke is the author of Our Lady of the Ice. She grew up in south Texas and currently lives in a suburb of Houston, where she writes and teaches composition at a local college. Cassandra’s first adult novel, The Mad Scientist’s Daughter, was a finalist for the 2013 Philip K. Dick Award, and her YA novel, The Assassin’s Curse, was nominated for YALSA’s 2014 Best Fiction for Young Adults. Her short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons and Daily Science Fiction. Visit her at CassandraRoseClarke.com.