And he knew he should have felt more than relief.
But he didn’t.
Alucard was ushered home, past Anisa’s desperate hugs, her worried clinging, and dressed in the rich blue and bright silver of the Emery line, the cloth cut to hide the ruins of his wrists, the bruises that blossomed at his throat. He was made to look the part of a noble and then marched to the royal palace, to the Rose Hall, to face the king and queen, his heart pounding with every forward step, hoping and dreading that the prince would be there.
But as he stepped through, he saw that the place beside the thrones was empty.
Only Kell waited at the open door, those two-tone eyes hard and unblinking. Alucard grabbed Kell’s arm, and the Antari looked at him with such bald loathing, it nearly burned his hand. But he did not withdraw.
“I must see him.”
“Oh, you must?” sneered Kell. “You are owed nothing.” That black eye, unreadable, but the blue glowed with anger. “Twice you broke my brother’s heart. You will not have another chance. Get on your ship and sail away. You are not welcome here.”
“This is my home,” snapped Alucard.
“It was. You burned it down.”
Then Berras’s hand, heavier than any chain on his shoulder, as he was led forward like a reckless child. As he dropped to one knee before the king and queen.
“We are sorry to hear about your father,” said Queen Emira.
Then you did not know him well enough, thought Alucard.
“You have had a trying month,” said King Maxim. “You have made mistakes, and you have paid for them. And we hope that you have learned.”
“I have, Your Majesty,” said Alucard, and it was true. He had learned that blood was crueler than water. Had learned the value of his own freedom. Learned that pain was a thing to be endured, and love was not worth the cost.
“Very well,” said the king, and he was pardoned.
It was, he knew, a kindness granted only by his birth, a mercy bought and paid for by his family name.
And so, he was forgiven.
Forgiven, but not free.
King Maxim’s voice rang low through the hall. “Your brother says you long to sail,” announced the king, “and so you sail for me.”
What is the difference between a pirate and a privateer?
The approval of a king.
The ship, he learned, was waiting at the docks.
It was a gift, and a dismissal.
From the palace.
From London.
Alucard felt numb as Berras marched him down the marble steps, past the tents of the market that wouldn’t open until dark, when he was already gone, toward the docks.
The ship stood proud, a gleaming midnight vessel, its name painted silver along the polished wood.
The Night Spire.
Alucard approached the ramp, feeling less like the captain of a ship and more like a prisoner, sentenced to a floating cell.
He heard the footsteps crashing down the dock and spun, hoping, hoping, hoping—but it was Anisa, the light of her magic trailing in the air like sparks.
Berras reached to catch her arm, but she was too quick, around him in an instant, burying her face against Alucard’s front.
“Do you have to go?” she whimpered.
He lifted her chin. “Nis,” he said, managing a smile. “It is a mission from the king himself. It is an honor. You wouldn’t want me to refuse.”
Tears streamed down his sister’s face, but she shook her head, and he hugged her close, only to be met by a soft squeak, a mew from somewhere beneath her cloak.
She opened it, revealing the small white kitten. “Her name’s Esa. A cat is good luck aboard a ship,” she said, pressing the kitten into his arms, “and she will keep you safe.”
Esa buried herself against his chest, a second, softly beating heart.
And then Berras took her arm, and for once he was grateful as his brother held his sister back. He turned, the kitten clutched safe against his collar, and boarded the ship.
His ship.
As the Spire drew out of the berth, Alucard looked up one last time, craning his head toward the royal palace. He searched the upper windows, the rooms he knew so well, hoping to glimpse a shadow there, to find some promise of the prince.
But the curtains were all drawn.
And so Alucard turned and took the ship’s wheel, and when the Night Spire sailed out of London, he kept his back to the city and his gaze ahead, until the red light of the river was gone.
* * *
Three years at sea.
It was long enough for wounds to heal and scars to form, silver and smooth. Long enough to change the map of one’s skin, to transform a proud noble into a shrewd captain. Long enough to hone one’s magic, and bury one’s heart behind charm and wit.
And long enough, he hoped, to weather this.
The wind picked up, the Night Spire rocking in the sudden breeze.
Bard said nothing, and Alucard was grateful for the silence, his attention focused on the place where the river met the sky. The place where nothing became a distant shimmer of light. Not magic, but glass and stone and gold, catching the sun.
The first glimmers of the royal palace.
Alucard steadied himself at the rail as London drew close, closer than it had in a thousand days, for he had counted every one.
Had dreamed of, and dreaded, this moment.
But he kept his hands on the wheel, the ship pointed toward the palace. He was done sailing away from his life.
It was time to go home.
I dropped into the Imperium airspace, my engines running hot. My little ship rattled and hummed underneath me and, not for the first time, I wondered how long the My Heart Will Go On would hold together. There was nothing inherently wrong with her except that I’d put her together from pieces I found in a scrapyard. And she was doing her best, just like me.
“Hold it together, Sis,” I murmured as I checked my scanners. Yep, yep, all good. Nothing worse than a little too much heat coming out of hyperspace. My ship would be fine. Me, on the other hand, I wasn’t so sure. Just because I couldn’t see any hostiles didn’t mean they weren’t out there hiding.