The jungle never truly slept. The night was filled with the sounds of thriving life, from the chirping of insects to the chatter of bats. As Rye and Tyria fled, the sounds of snapping twigs and crackling leaves under their hooves were drowned out in the cacophony.
Rye followed her dark silhouette, his mind whirling with hopes and doubts. As he stumbled through the underbrush, the fearful thoughts raced through his head. Can I trust her?
He was still unsure if this was a true rescue attempt, or another of Breyr’s games. It would certainly be like the Nordpony to give him just enough rope to hang himself. Tyria’s loyalties were the only question. Had she been truthful? Or was she still working for Breyr?
Rye rubbed his shoulder, shivering. He was still weak from Breyr’s latest torture, totally vulnerable should this prove to be a trap. But at this point, the chance of escape was worth the risk of recapture.
And I want to trust her.
It might be the lovesick fool inside him talking, but it was still true. Rye desperately wanted to believe her, to know that she was the real thing; to know that despite the ugly black mark on his shoulder, Tyria was somepony he could trust implicitly. But if she isn’t?
His hoofsteps faltered. The hurt of another betrayal would be too much to bear. But what was he supposed to do? Ask her?
“Rye?” he heard her whisper. Noticing that he had stopped, Tyria turned back to him. “Hurry up, Rye! Our window isn’t very large.”
If she is working for Breyr, she’ll just lie. Rye bent his head in the darkness. But… if I don’t trust her to tell the truth now, can I ever trust her again?
He looked up at Tyria’s silhouette. “Tyria?”
She approached, close enough that he could see the faintest shadows of her face in what little moonlight filtered through the canopy. “What’s wrong, Rye? We need to keep moving.”
“Please, Tyria. Tell me the truth.” His shoulders slumped. “Did Breyr tell you to let me out?”
There was a moment of silence. Then, her voice cracking, Tyria asked, “Do you really think I would do that to you, Rye?”
“I don’t know, Tyria. And that’s the problem.” Rye sagged further. Honesty. We have to build this on honesty. “Today, when he was done with me, Breyr told me ‘the girl is my creature now, whether she knows it or not.’ And then you come to me, offering the hope of freedom…”
“Rye.” Tyria laid a hoof on his shoulder. “This, this… wound I’ve made between us, I can’t… I can’t undo it. I wish to the Goddess that I could, but I can’t. And I know you can’t forgive me. But I can try my best to make amends.” Her voice shook. “Please, let me make amends.”
The hurt in her voice told him all he needed to know. She’s being honest. He felt his heart lift with hope. “You’re wrong, Tyria.” Rye finally raised his head. He touched her hoof with his own. “I can forgive you.”
“How?” He heard the guilt and loathing in her voice, as clear as day. “I stabbed you in the back, just like Viridian—”
Listen to her. She’s tearing herself apart for helping him. Doing it again would hurt her even more than you.
Suddenly he was filled with certainty. “No, Tyria. You did what you did to save my life. I wish you’d told me about your offer to Breyr, but… I understand.”
“But I burned—” Tyria choked back tears. “I burned that skull into your skin and—”
“Thank you.” Rye grabbed her shoulders. He felt her stiffen in shock at his words. “Thank you, Tyria. If you hadn’t done it, he’s have stuck my head in that brazier and watched my face burn.” He rubbed his shoulder again. “This… this I can live with.”
“You really…?” Tyria sounded hopeful, disbelieving.
“Really.” Rye was delighted to find he meant it. “I forgive you. End of story.”
He couldn’t tell in the darkness, but he thought she was wiping her eyes. “Thank you, Rye. I’ll never let you down again, I swear.”
“And I’ll do the same for you.” Rye grinned, though she couldn’t see it. “Does this mean you can start smiling again?”
She laughed through tears. “I can try.”
“Good. You’ve got a beautiful smile.”
Tyria sniffed one last time. “Thank you, Ambassador,” she said with a hint of playfulness.
Glad to hear her sounding at least slightly happy again, Rye nodded. “Should we get moving, then?”
“Yes,” she said, once more composed. “I tried to give us as much time as possible, but we need to reach the beach in the next fifteen minutes.”
“Then lead on.”
Rye’s spirits rose as they continued into the jungle. The wound, as Tyria called it, would take time to heal, but they had at least bandaged it. Now, they were free to… what? Pursue this relationship? You don’t even know if she likes you.
Oh, she does. Would she have agreed to go to the theater if she didn’t?
But what if you’re wrong? Was the ‘smile’ thing coming on too strong? What if…
They forged deeper through the foliage, as Rye continued wrestling with hopes and fears—albeit of a different kind.
After a few more minutes fumbling in the dark, they broke through the trees to find themselves on a long dirt path. The canopy above was thinner, enough for Rye to see the ground. He recognized it as the path that led down to the beach from the pirate camp. “Uh, Tyria, shouldn’t we stick to the jungle? What if somepony comes walking down from the camp?”
Tyria shook her head. “Nopony should be out this late. Most of the sailors in the camp are shipping out on the Nightingale tomorrow. They should all be asleep by now. No one wants to make ready to sail with a hangover.”
Rye frowned. “If you say so…”
Suddenly, a muffled voice came from down the trail. Rye and Tyria looked at each other, eyes wide. “Hide,” she hissed, and the two dived off the road into a stand of ferns.
From the direction of the beach, Rye could see the growing glow of a lantern. The voices, too, grew clearer. One spoke loudly, “I’m not a carrier pigeon, Viridian.”
Rye’s stomach dropped. He felt Tyria go rigid beside him.
“I understand, Captain, but our confidant in Zyre has requested I send someone with more details on next month’s operation. And you’re headed that direction anyway…”
“If that idiot can’t remember simple instructions, maybe ye want somepony else for the job.” The two figures had come into view. It was indeed Breyr, accompanied by the captain of the ship Rye and Tyria had arrived on. The two of them were followed by another zebra, who had a lantern hanging from a saddle on his back. On the saddle was hitched a barrel marked with the blazing bird-lion of Grypha. Rye’s eyes narrowed.
Breyr’s voice chilled slightly. “I don’t make mistakes when choosing personnel, Zevan.”
“So ye say.” They were close enough now that Rye could see their faces in the lantern light. “I still have my worries about the other one, that griffon. If the Watch puts any pressure on him, he’ll crack like an egg. Mark me words.”
“It hardly matters, at this late stage. We’ve got more than enough powder.”
They passed Rye and Tyria’s hiding place. Rye felt Tyria start moving forward, and grabbed her shoulders with his hooves. No, he mouthed. She snarled under her breath, but stilled.
The trio of pirates carried on up the trail. The captain, Zevan, gave a grunt. “Aye, perhaps, but the captains—meself included—have some concerns about yer plan. We’re pirates, boss, not soldiers. Why not loot the city and head back out to sea, where we’re strong?”
“Try to have some vision, Zevan. We can rule Zyre, not simply ransack it. Trust me.” Their voices receded into the distance as they vanished into the trees.
Tyria shook Rye’s hooves off her shoulders. She growled. “You shouldn’t have stopped me.”
Rye looked at her, concerned. “Tyria, there were three of them. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“He used me.” She stamped a hoof. “To hurt you.”
The look in her eyes reminded Rye uncomfortably of the one Breyr had given him after torturing him. “Tyria, don’t get caught up in looking for revenge.”
“He needs to die, Rye. He’s caused too much damage already.”
“Maybe so, but if you attack him right here you’ll just get us both killed.”
Tyria gritted her teeth. “So we just let him go? No. It’s worth the risk.” She made as if to move after Breyr’s group.
“Wait!” Rye tried to keep his voice low. “If we die here, Zyre will have no warning about the pirates.”
“If he dies, they won’t need one.”
Rye pulled her back to face him. “Tyria!” He brought his hooves up, helplessly. “I can’t—I can’t lose you, Tyria. Please. Don’t throw your life away for this.”
She paused, touching a hoof to her chest. “Rye…”
Blushing, he looked away. “I, um… I just meant…”
Tyria smiled. “That’s sweet of you, Rye.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Okay. I’ll let this go for now.” She opened them, her face hardening. “But if I ever get another chance, don’t stop me.”
“Stop you?” Rye bared his teeth. “You’ll have to wait in line.”
* * *
They reached the end of the trail a few minutes later, finally free of the jungle. Tyria slowed to a halt, looking up and inhaling. “That’s something, isn’t it?”
Rye stopped, awestruck at the scene before him. The moon was nearly full tonight, low in the crystal-clear sky over the bay. The dark shadow of the Mare glared down at the Earth, glowering like it had for centuries. The bright lunar reflection shimmered in the water, like liquid silver dancing on the waves. The Nightingale was still the only large ship in the bay, rocking gently back and forth in the water. The full splendor of the stars could be seen tonight, no longer hidden by the lights of Zyre.
A breeze carried the smell of salt water to his nose. Rye had a brief flash of the rag and the pitcher, and gasped. He sat heavily, clutching his chest and panting.
“Rye?” Tyria sat next to him. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head wordlessly, trying to calm his breathing. “F-fine,” he stammered. “I’ll be fine.” With a few deep breaths, he managed to slow his racing heart. “Just a… mild stress reaction.” Oh, Goddess, I’m going to start dreaming about that rag as often as the bugs…
Tyria’s face looked pale in the moonlight. “Does this happen often?”
Rye grimaced, ashamed to show her such a stupid weakness. She was going to think he was unbalanced. “Occasionally, in dark, wet places. I don’t like caves.”
“Oh.” Her eyes lit with understanding. “Does this have anything to do with those caverns under the Antlerwood?”
“Let’s get going,” said Rye, standing up and dusting himself. “We can’t have much time left.”
She nodded warily. “If you’re sure you’re okay…”
“I’m fine,” he said curtly. “Let’s go.”
They made their way down onto the beach. The dirt turned to sand beneath their hooves as they reached the shoreline proper. Tyria led him into the maze of crates and barrels that stood along the beachfront, threading through them with the ease of practice. Rye whispered, “How many times have you done this?”
She whispered back over her shoulder, “I did three trial runs; one in the day, two at night. We’ve got about two minutes left. Plenty of time.”
Rye felt warm water rush over his hooves, and found that he was now ankle-deep in the surf. One of the boats that ferried between the shore and the Nightingale stood before him, oars sticking out of the middle.
Tyria tossed the bundle of food into the boat and pressed her back up against the boat’s aft. Rye joined her, and slowly the boat slid into the water. Tyria gave him a boost over the side, then clambered in after him.
“Grab an oar,” she said, picking one up. Rye watched her lock it into place on the side of the boat, and mimicked her actions on the opposite side. Sitting side-by-side, facing the back of the boat, they placed both hooves on their respective oars, and began to row.
The boat began to pull away from the shore, despite Rye’s inexpert efforts to move the oar. Soon, they were out on the bay, gliding silently through the water.
“Are we heading to the ship?” he asked, listening to the quiet swirling of the water as the oars slipped through it.
“No,” said Tyria, looking around at the beach for pirates. “We’re heading out of the bay.”
Rye felt a twinge of concern. “We’re not taking this little thing out on the ocean, are we?”
“No.” Tyria grunted as she pulled the oar hard to turn them. “Once we get to the bay’s exit, we’re turning right and heading down the coast a ways.”
Rye nodded. “So we’re stealing the boat to throw them off the trail?”
“Exactly.” Tyria smiled. She paused in her rowing to touch his elbow. “Here, don’t be so rigid. Move your forelegs in a circle, like this.”
He relaxed his legs and instantly found the rowing less tiring. “Thanks.” He looked over at her. “You know a lot about lifeboats?”
“Lifeboats, dinghies, schooners, brigantines, ships-of-the-line… if you can name it, my father taught me to sail on one.” Tyria smiled wryly. “I never thought I’d use any of it. I didn’t want to be a sailor.”
“Well, it’s coming in handy. I’ll have to thank him if I ever meet him.”
Tyria gave a thoughtful look upward. “You may, someday.”
Rye felt uncertain hope flutter in his chest. “And you’ll have to meet my parents sometime. My father would like you. Kindred artists, in different mediums.”
She laughed. “Art? Oh, just wait.”
“Hm?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Tonight is all about art,” she said, enigmatically. She tapped his elbow again. “Loosen up those forelegs.”
The boat slipped out of the bay, and they turned south to follow the coastline. Rye gazed out at the endless ocean on the horizon. “Where do you think we are?”
“Somewhere west of the Serpent Archipelago,” Tyria answered, scanning the shore. “None of the Vipers can tell me for sure, though.”
“What, they don’t know where their own base is?”
“Well, that’s the interesting thing,” she said, still searching for something on the shore. “Almost all the pirates I’ve talked to are new recruits. Fairly new, anyway. Most haven’t been part of the Vipers for more than a few months, and few of those have even been out to sea yet. Viridian wasn’t lying when he said Zevan needed sailors.”
“Strange. My briefing said the pirates were pretty professional.”
“These aren’t the regulars.” Tyria broke away from the shore to give him a look of mutual curiosity. “Most of the pirate captains’ original crew are off in Zyre doing… something for Viridian.”
“Hmm.” Rye scratched the back of his neck. “What was it he said? ‘We can rule Zyre, not just ransack it.’ He’s got to be planning something bigger than a simple raid.”
“So what do we tell the Marquis?” Tyria turned back to the shore.
“Well, if we get that far, we’ll have to tell her what area of the sea to start looking in. If the Navy finds this place before Breyr strikes, he won’t have the chance to carry out whatever he’s plotting.”
Leaving her alone to scan the shoreline, Rye pulled a canteen from the bag of food and swashed his mouth out with water to rid it of the taste of brine. He spat it over the side of the boat, feeling moderately fresher. Tyria finally caught sight of whatever she was looking for, and muttered, “Aha!” She pulled hard, and the boat began to turn toward shore. Rye caught a glimpse of a piece of green fabric tied around one of the palms near the edge of the jungle; it must be her signal.
He felt the boat grind up onto the sand, and jumped over the sides to land in the shallows. Tyria tossed both oars back into the middle of the boat and joined him. She took the rope connected to the bow and yanked on it. “Come on, we need to pull it out of the water.”
It was far harder than pushing it out in the first place had been, but together they dragged the little boat up onto the shore and toward the nearby edge of the jungle. They managed to get it inside the trees, where it would be all but invisible from the water.
“There,” said Tyria, panting. “A boat and all the supplies from your cage are missing. That should keep them looking out at sea for a few days. They won’t find this here for at least a week.”
“So if we’re not leaving in this…”
“We’re leaving on the Nightingale.” Tyria grinned at him.
Rye blinked in surprise. “Uh… You’re supposed to be part of the crew, but I don’t think Zevan is going to just ignore me joining his ship unannounced.”
“Ah, but you won’t be.” Tyria’s grin widened. “It’s time for that art I mentioned.” She gestured at a sack lying beneath the tree marked by the green fabric.
She grabbed the sack and upended it. Clothes, bottles, and cosmetic products tumbled out into the sand. Rye stared at the lot of them, baffled. “Where’d you get this junk?”
Tyria sifted through the pile. “Junk? This stuff’s worth more than my salary. These are luxury goods the pirates ‘liberated’ from some Zebrican merchant ship.” She glanced up. “Take your robes off.”
Rye coughed. “Excuse me?”
“Robes. Off.” Tyria gave them an insistent tug. Rye, feeling a little embarrassed, unclasped them, and let the canary yellow fabric fall to the ground.
Tyria rummaged through the stolen goods some more. “Drat, I thought I put a torch in here…”
Rye concentrated for a moment, and suddenly the area around them was lit with a warm orange light. Tyria looked up in surprise at his glowing horn. “Oh! Rye, I didn’t think peg—” She stopped, and clamped her mouth shut.
“Didn’t think pegacorns could do magic?” Rye smiled gently. “We can’t, except for this. Well, I can’t, anyway—I’ve never met another.”
“Well, at least it’s a useful trick.” Tyria held up a puffy, white shirt. “Put this on over your wings.”
After a few minutes of trying on clothing, Rye’s disguise included the shirt, a loose brown vest, and a green bandana that he wore like a cap over his head and ears. It did nothing to hide his horn, but the bright green drew attention away from his face. He pushed to include a tricorn hat and eyepatch, but Tyria vetoed them both, saying, “The object is to make you not stand out, remember?”
Acquiescing with a shrug, Rye tugged on his collar. He gave his new outfit a look over, grinning. “Well, this is going to be fun.”
Tyria sighed. “There’s that ‘adventurous spirit’ again. I went to a lot of work to put this escape together, Rye; try not to blow it by running around yelling yarrrrr.”
“I’ll try to resist,” he said, scrunching up his face. “Avast, me hearties.”
Rolling her eyes, Tyria pulled out a brush and a pad of brown makeup. “All right. Now to turn you piebald.”
She began putting large patches of brown into his exposed coat. Soon, he had a spot covering most of the left side of his face, and another large one peeking out from under the shirt over his back. Smaller speckles joined them on his neck and legs. “There,” said Tyria, sitting back with a satisfied smile. “Now you look like a regular Shelby unicorn.”
Rye had to admit, it was a good cover for his height. The spotted ponies of Shelby, a little region in the Equestrian province of Helmfast, were notoriously small. “Hopefully I won’t look quite so short with all those zebras around.”
“You should be fine,” said Tyria. “Just keep a low profile.” She grinned.
Rye gave her a dry look. “You know, that was funny about the first fifty times I heard it.”
“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t resist.” Tyria began rummaging through her makeup collection once again.
Rye rubbed a hoof against his face, and was pleased to see it came away free of brown. “Well, this stuff dries fast, but how’s it do in water?”
“It’s supposed to be waterproof. That’s why it’s so expensive. Supposedly the high society ladies can wear this out in the rain, and never worry about it running.” Tyria began applying more makeup to her brush. “But I wouldn’t believe the marketing pitch. It’s more like water resistant. Still, a little sea spray shouldn’t hurt it. So long as you don’t go swimming, you should be fine.”
She moved behind him with her brush. Rye jumped a little when he felt her hoof on his flank. “Uh, Tyria?”
“Hold still. We have to disguise your cutie mark, too.”
He felt the feathery touch of the brush as it trailed along his flank. Rye swallowed, intimately aware of her every touch. He hoped nervously that his body would behave while she was working back there. “So what are you drawing?”
“I decided to alter the olive branch rather than cover it,” she said absently. “I’m just doubling the branches to turn the mark into a laurel wreath.”
“For victory, eh?” Rye smiled. “Nice touch.” His tail twitched as she rested her hoof next to the brush, pressing down to hold him still. He inhaled. Think about paperwork think about paperwork think about paperwork…
At last, Tyria finished her work. Rye relaxed as she pulled away, having thankfully avoided any unauthorized salutes from below. Both his flanks now bore green laurels, the old pegasi symbol of triumph. Rye gave them a thoughtful examination. “You know, that’s not bad. Maybe I should get those tattooed on.”
“I think the olive branch fits you better, Ambassador,” said Tyria, amused.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Well, then, the transformation is complete. Where to next?”
“We take the long way back through the jungle to the barracks in camp. We’ll try to catch some sleep before call tomorrow morning. Once the crew heads down to the beach, just follow orders and try to stay out of the way of the bosun, the first mate, and the captain.”
“Do they all know what I look like?”
Tyria bit her lip, pondering. “Probably not. Just Captain Zevan. And I’d avoid him in any case. Still, best not to draw any unwarranted attention.”
“Right.” Rye removed the last few pieces of parchment and other detritus from the pockets of his yellow robes, and folded them up. He slid them under his shirt, padding the vest against his chest.
“Rye…” Tyria began, but he held up a hoof.
“No. I’m not leaving my robes behind.” He thumped a hoof on his chest. “I earned these by beating Breyr once before. I’m not letting him make me give them up.”
She sighed. “Well, I suppose if somepony’s taking off your shirt, we’re caught already.”
He managed to quash the several idiotic suggestions that statement brought to mind. Visions of Tyria undoing his collar swam through his head. Goddess, get yourself under control, boy. He doused his horn so that Tyria couldn’t see how red his face was. “Let’s head off, then.”
They dived back into the jungle, this time headed for the camp. Rye felt an energy that he’d been missing ever since their capture back in Zyre. Finally, they were being proactive, taking the initiative. The air felt charged with possibilities. He and Tyria talked, not about their coming escape attempt or their pasts, but about hobbies, favorite books, foods… For the first time in weeks, Rye felt at ease. Looking into Tyria’s eyes in the moonlight, he could almost forget the horrifying experiences of the last few days.
It took them at least twenty minutes to force their way through the dense foliage, but eventually they stumbled back out onto the beach lining the bay. The moon had flown across the sky, close to setting. That meant daylight was only a few hours away; their time was running short.
They set off for the line of cargo at a brisk pace, planning to cut through and head for the dirt path. As they walked through the stacks of crates, Rye slowed. “Wait a minute, Tyria.”
“Hm?”
“Do you still have the cell key?”
She blinked. “Yes. Why?”
Rye swallowed. “Because Breyr has been spying on us.”
Tyria whirled. “What?”
“Not tonight!” Rye waved a hoof to calm her. “But he overheard our… our fight, last night.”
“Oh.” Tyria looked at the ground, downcast. “I know. He’s been doing it since the first night, I suspect. He… he already knows I have the key, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then won’t he know you’re responsible when I’m missing tomorrow?” Rye felt a pit of nervous fear in his stomach.
“Well, yes… but who else would he blame, anyway?” Tyria pulled her mane back anxiously. “Besides, I’m planning on us being away from the island before Breyr even knows you’re gone. We’re supposed to set sail very early tomorrow.”
“I hope you’re right.” Rye rubbed his shoulder. “You don’t want to make him angry.”
“Yes, I do.” Tyria’s eyes narrowed. “I want to make him furious. Just… after we’re gone.”
Suddenly, they heard the unmistakable jangle of metal. Both of them froze.
“Hey, who’s out there?” called an unfamiliar voice. The glow of lantern light warmed a stack of nearby crates. Rye could hear hoofsteps in the sand.
He hissed in panic, “What do we do?” If they were caught down here with the sugar, it wouldn’t matter that he was disguised. The pirates would think they were stealing from the loot, and break their legs—or worse.
Tyria’s head whirled back and forth. There was nowhere to hide; all the stacks of crates were very orderly, with no convenient nooks or crannies. If they ran, they’d surely make so much noise that they would be caught. The hoofsteps drew closer.
Rye spun in a circle, looking for a way out, but finding none. He turned back to Tyria, opening his mouth in dismay.
She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss.
Caught totally off-guard, Rye had exactly two thoughts: Is this really the best time? And then, who cares?
He closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. Tyria’s lips were soft and warm. He could still faintly smell the makeup on his face, mingling with the scent of her mane. Rye pulled her closer, conscious thought vanishing in a blaze of primal happiness.
“Hey!” yelled the voice again, and Rye’s eyes snapped open to find a zebra standing behind them, holding a lamp.
Tyria broke the kiss, pulling away. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide as she stammered, “H-hey, Zad.” She turned quickly to face the zebra. “What are you doing out here?”
The zebra scowled at them both. “My job, Tyria. I’m supposed to make sure no one messes around with the loot.” He gave Rye a glare that seemed a little more malicious than was professional. “Who are you?”
Rye, still feeling blitzed, blinked. He said the first thing that came to mind. “M’name’s Apricot.”
“Apricot, eh? And where’d you come from?”
Still stumbling over her words, Tyria said, “He j-joined up about the same time as I did. We wanted to make a little money t-together, so…”
The tic in the zebra’s jaw jerked. “And what are you two doing out here in the dead of night?” His jealous tone said that he was pretty sure already.
“Looking at the, uh, the ship,” babbled Tyria. “I’ve always loved ships. My dad taught me to sail, as a filly, I was hoping to get a good look at the, the Nightingale, since I’ll be working on her, and, uh, you know, I thought R-er, Apricot might like to see, uh, see it… too. So, yeah,” she finished lamely.
The zebra looked like he was wrestling with himself. “Get out of here. Go back to camp. And don’t let me catch you ‘shipgazing’ out here again.”
Tyria’s head bobbed. “Okay. Come on, Apricot.” Rye nodded, and followed her. As they left the crates behind, he heard the thud of a hoof colliding with wood, and grinned. That’s right, you piratical pig, she’s taken.
They slowed as they finally made it out of earshot from the beach. An awkward silence had set in. Tyria was studying her hooves intently, while Rye couldn’t stop pulling on his collar. He took a nervous breath.
At last, the two of them stopped, standing at the edge of the jungle trail. Tyria’s tail swished back and forth, as she tried to speak. “Rye… back there on the beach, I panicked, it was the only thing I could think of—sorry that I just—I didn’t even warn you… You’re not angry, are y—”
He grabbed her uniform and kissed her. She dropped all pretense of reluctance and returned it vigorously, wrapping her forelegs around his neck to pull him closer. The mechanics of the kiss were a little awkward, as Tyria was at least half a head taller than him, but neither particularly cared. They stayed locked together for a few sweet moments, before Rye pulled his head back with a gasp for air.
Tyria was also panting. “We shouldn’t—You’re an ambassador, Rye; I’m military—it’s just not—”
“What, station appropriate?” Rye shook his head and they kissed again, flushed with tension and relief. “My mother’s military, and my father’s a baker. We can make it work, Tyria.”
She pressed her sweet, sweet lips against his again, holding him so tightly it hurt. She lifted her head. “I want to, Rye, I do. But—”
“Is it the wings? The horn?”
“Goddess, no,” she said, and they shared another brief kiss. “If anyone has a problem with that, they can bite me.”
“Then what? Is it your father?” he asked, still out of breath. She looked beautiful in the moonlight, the pale white glowed in her mane and lit up that artistic spark in her eyes. Her tattered khakis were disheveled and rumpled. “Forget about him. If the Princess’s personal ambassador isn’t good enough for him, nopony ever will be.”
“No, Rye, that’s just it,” she said, finally relaxing her death grip on the back of his neck. “You’re the Princess’s personal ambassador. I’m just a nobody from a crap posting in some foreign country, I’m not…”
“Tyria.” Rye brushed a strand of her mane out of her eyes. “Don’t ever think you aren’t good enough for anything. You’re better than I could ever have dreamed of.”
“Oh, Rye…” She kissed him once again, and the words stopped for a few minutes.
She was the one to eventually pull away. “Okay, Rye. But let’s… let’s at least wait to pursue this any further until we’re back in Zyre.”
Rye blinked in sudden panic. “Is it something I said?”
“No!” Tyria shook her head, still trying to get her breath back. “Just… we’re in a lot of danger here. We shouldn’t let ourselves be… distracted.”
“Tyria, I’ve been distracted since that day in the markets.” Rye grinned. “Besides, the danger’s what makes it fun.”
“I told you, lack of survival instinct.” After another short necking session, Tyria gave a half-regretful, half-joyful sigh. “Rye, we… we should get going. It’s only a few hours till dawn.”
Still dazed and exhilarated, Rye nodded, beaming. “To the sleeping quarters, then.”
They walked back to the camp, stealing kisses along the way. By the time they reached the building where the crew of the Nightingale was sleeping, Rye felt like he was being driven mad by a vicious, wonderful cocktail of love and hormones.
The building was dark inside, but enough moonlight filtered through the doorway to illuminate the ring of beds around the walls. Tyria pointed to the sole empty bunk. “That’s mine,” she whispered, wary of waking any of the zebras around them.
“Only one bed again?” Rye grinned stupidly.
Tyria laughed, before hastily converting it into a whispered giggle. “I got the bed last time, you take it this time.”
“We could share…”
“Not a good idea. Low profile, remember?” She kissed him. “Right now I don’t think I could keep my hooves off of you. Besides, it’s not big enough for us both.”
With a regretful nod, Rye agreed. “Good night, then, Tyria.”
“Good night, Rye.” They shared one last kiss, and then Tyria lay down beside the bed to sleep.
Rye rolled onto the mattress, lying on his back and looking up at the dark ceiling. He felt positively bubbly, his head still swimming. If I get any sleep in, it’ll be a miracle. He gave a happy sigh, and rolled over to bury his face in the pillow. Tomorrow will be interesting. I wonder what life as a pirate is really like…
* * *
“All right, you dogs, get your arses moving!”
Tyria’s eyes snapped open. In an instant she was plunged back into basic training, visions of water survival exercises leaping to the front of her brain. She bolted upright, nearly throwing a salute before remembering where she was.
A burly zebra with mean eyes was standing in the barracks doorway, surrounded by sunlight. “Come on, you layabouts, you can sleep when you’re dead. We’ve got a ship to make ready! Be about it!”
All around her, zebras were stumbling out of their beds, tugging on scraps of green cloth. “Aye aye, Bos’n,” one of them slurred.
Rye, asleep in the bed next to her, stretched and yawned. Tyria gave him a discreet nudge. “Get up, Rye,” she whispered. “Don’t draw attention.”
He rolled off to stand on the other side of the bed, giving another bleary yawn. “Mornin’ already?”
“Aye, you idiot,” roared the bosun. “And who’re you?” Tyria cursed inwardly.
“Apricot, sir,” said Rye, the sleepiness in his face instantly replaced with near-panic. “I’m new.”
“Apricot? What are you, a damned fruit?” The bosun snarled. “You ponies have the stupidest names.” He looked around at all of them and shouted, “All right, you lot. The boss is short on zebrapower at the moment, so he’s dumped you miserable excuses for sailors in my lap. I expect you to learn fast; I run a tight ship. The captain wants the Nightingale out of the bay in an hour and a half, so get to it. Move!”
Tyria and Rye were caught up in the mass of zebras as they scurried out of the building. She recognized a few of them. Lem, Zibben, and a few other regulars from the bar were there, but there was no sign of Zad. The group headed down for the beach with surprising swiftness. Tyria lost sight of Rye in the crowd, feeling a flash of anxiety. Still, the bosun had easily accepted Rye’s presence as a regular pirate recruit; perhaps they could pull this off after all.
As they reached the shore and piled into the boats, the mental fog of early morning had cleared enough for Tyria to remember the night before. She blushed as she helped row her boat out into the bay, smiling. She hadn’t meant to be so… forward, last night, but she couldn’t even pretend to herself that she regretted that kiss. It had been better than the dream she’d had, that night back in her apartment. She sighed happily.
“What’s up with you?” asked Lem, who was sitting in front of her.
“Oh, just thinking about how I’ll spend my take.” Tyria blinked, focusing. She glanced over her shoulder to see that they had nearly pulled alongside the Nightingale. As they came to a stop in the shadow of the ship, Tyria steered them up to one of the four rope ladders that hung down from the sides. The zebras in the boat began climbing up.
Lem, the last one to go, turned to Tyria. “You got it?”
She nodded. He scrambled up the ladder, leaving her in the boat with the oars. She wrapped a leg through one of the ladder rungs to secure herself and the boat to the ship while the sailors above winched down hooks. She fastened them to the rings at the boat’s fore and aft, then tugged to signal the zebras above to pull her up.
The boats rose to the deck, swaying in the air. Once they reached the end of the rope from the pulleys, Tyria made sure the oars were securely tied to one of the seats, then hopped out onto the deck.
All around, zebras were scurrying across the deck. Tyria was reminded of the many sailing trips her father had taken her on during the time between his tours. She smiled, remembering the cool breezes off the waves of the Ceracen. The winds in the Carriagibbean were far warmer, thankfully.
She scanned the ship, looking for Rye, but she paused when her eyes landed on a group of zebras preparing to winch up the mainsail’s yard. Tyria nearly choked. The idiots hadn’t untied the lines securing it to the railings.
“Hey!” she yelled, running up to them. She recognized one of the zebras, having met him on the island before. “Zin, what are you doing? Get those lines down before you hoist the yard, or you’ll break the bloody railings.”
The zebras blinked and looked at each other sheepishly. Tyria frowned at one of them. “Zelvin, right? You get the starboard line. Zin, you get the port line. The rest of you, wait till they’re done, then hoist up the yard.”
They nodded. Rolling her eyes, Tyria left to seek out Rye. He had to be somewhere around here. She was worried that his bouts of seasickness might have come back. But before she could locate him, her attention was caught once again as she passed near the starboard railing. Several of the rigging lines had been tied so poorly that they’d come undone at the first firm tug. Grimacing, she undid the knots and began retying them.
“Good work, there, Metrel,” said a voice from behind her. She turned to see the bosun.
“Sir.” She nodded.
“Oh, don’t sir me, girl. You ain’t in the military.” The bosun inspected her knots. “Though I’d say from these that you have had some experience in the Navy.”
“Aye,” she said, trying to sound more casual. “A few years.”
“Well, keep it up,” said the bosun with a smile. “Most of these idiots couldn’t sail a fishing boat, let alone the Nightingale. They’ll shape up soon enough, but until then, I’m relying on you, Lem, Zibben, and the other few zebras who know what they’re doing.” He shook his head.
Tyria tilted her head. “Where is your regular crew?”
He shrugged. “Boss has been sending most of the Vipers’ experienced members into Zyre. As for what, well, I’m not in the group that needs-to-know, as he loves to say.” He turned to leave. “Carry on, Miss Metrel.”
With another nod, Tyria bent over the railing to finish tying the last line. Once that was done, she resumed her search. At last, she spotted a short unicorn with brown spots, standing near the main mast, doing a good job of looking busy without actually touching anything.
She walked up next to him and nudged his leg. Rye turned around, and his face lit up when he saw her. “Hi, Tyria.”
Tyria smiled. “The disguise works, at least. I can barely pick you out among the rest of these pirates.”
“Good,” he said, looking around nervously. “How much longer before we set off?”
“Shouldn’t be long,” she said, taking another glance up at the mainsail, which was still furled under the yard. “I don’t think the captain’s on board yet, though.”
“Yes, he is,” said Rye, paling. He pointed over Tyria’s shoulder, and she turned to see Zevan stepping off of the rope ladder onto the deck.
Followed by Viridian.
Tyria’s stomach went into free-fall. “Rye, get below decks. Now.”
“Tyria, he’s going to—”
“I can handle it. Go, before they start wondering when they recruited the little stallion from Shelby.”
With a fearful nod, Rye patted her shoulder. “Be safe, Tyria.”
“I will. Now go!” She watched him flee for the open grate and stairs leading down into the belly of the ship. Her heart was thumping hard, as she turned to see Zevan, Viridian, and the bosun all talking to each other.
“Thank you, boatswain,” she heard Viridian say quietly, before the blue-eyed pony and his zebra captain left the bosun and begin walking in her direction.
Tyria made her way to the back of the ship, trying to stay calm. She walked up the stairs to the raised aft section, where the ship’s wheel and navigation suite lay. Bending down over the stern railing, she busied herself with another knot. Please, Celestia, don’t let them be here for me.
But she knew they must be. Why else would Viridian himself have come? It was not long before she heard the wood behind her creak under hooves.
“Miss Metrel.” Viridian’s normally warm tone was noticeably cooler today. “I’m glad to see you’re getting situated in your new workspace.”
She stood slowly, turning around to face him. “She’s a wonderful ship.”
Across from the balcony, the sails finally began to unfurl. For one brief, happy moment, Tyria lost herself in the billowing white cloth, thinking back to those happy days she and her father had spent on the wharfs of Cairoan.
Viridian’s voice brought her back to the present. “Zevan, go see that your ship is ready.”
“Aye, boss,” said the zebra, taking his leave.
Now, she was relatively alone with Viridian. Tyria glanced at the railing. If she tackled him, she might send them both over. But she didn’t know if he could swim or not; it was doubtful she could drown him before the crew intervened. And… after last night, she found that she was not so willing to give up her life to end his.
Viridian walked to the port side of the stern deck, looking out at the island. “Come here, Miss Metrel.”
Unwillingly, she dragged her hooves over to stand beside him. He pointed out at the beach. “Do you see that?”
Tyria blinked, wary. She leaned out over the railing, scanning the beach. “See what?”
Viridian’s hoof came down on her head, smashing the side of her face into the railing. Tyria fell to the deck, clutching her head. Stars danced in her eyes, and she tasted blood. Above her, Viridian snarled. “Now do you see it? There’s a boat missing from my beach.”
Massaging her cheek, Tyria looked up at him. She raised an eyebrow. In cool tones, she asked, “Do you think somepony stole it?”
Viridian wrapped a hoof in the ragged lapels of her ruined khaki uniform and slammed her back against the railing. He pressed a foreleg against her neck, leaning her out over the edge of the ship. “Don’t play coy with me, Tyria,” he said in a dangerous whisper, “I’m not in the mood for games today.”
Despite the hoof cutting off most of her air, Tyria’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter, Viridian? Disappointed that you’ve lost your favorite toy?”
“Where is he?”
Her eyes flicked past him to look at the mouth of the bay. “By now, I should hope somewhere far away.”
Viridian growled. “He won’t make it ten leagues in that tiny boat. He’ll capsize and die before the day is over.”
“You’re so angry,” Tyria said, curiously. “Were you honestly arrogant enough to think that just because you knew I had the key, I wouldn’t let him out?” She grinned. “You underestimated me.”
Abruptly, he released the pressure on her neck. “No,” he said, quietly. “I underestimated his feelings for you.”
Tyria blinked. “Oh,” she said, realizing the truth. She laughed. “Oh, Viridian, you cold-hearted bastard. So that’s what the branding was about.”
“Yes,” said Viridian, still deadly quiet. “I thought I had finally killed his will to resist, to escape. His trust in you. It seems I was wrong.”
“You were,” she said, with a victorious smile. “You should have used a stronger poison, viper.”
Viridian’s ear twitched. “The boatswain tells me that you’re one of the few sailors on this ship who can help get it running. As my long-term goals depend on the success of these raids, it’s in my interest to see my ships as well-crewed as possible.” His eye quivered. “And I’ve always put business before personal satisfaction.”
Except when it comes to Rye, she thought, but she just stared coolly back into his eyes.
“So, Tyria, here’s what happens now.” He yanked her closer. “You are going to serve on the Nightingale for the foreseeable future. Captain Zevan will be watching you closely. If he sees any sign of treachery, he’ll have you hanged from the main yard.” His eyes narrowed, those piercing blue irises carving into her soul. “But please, don’t make him kill you just yet. Because when I find Rye Strudel—and believe me, I will—I want to personally disembowel you before his eyes.”
He released her, and turned away. Tyria lay on the deck, rubbing her throat, and watched him leave. As his tail vanished down the stairs, she wondered why on earth she was still alive. He wanted to kill me. He was going to, too, but he thought better of it for some reason. Right when he… he said that thing about Rye’s feelings for me.
She staggered to the railing just in time to see Viridian’s boat pull away from the ship. She watched him go, pondering. An irrepressible cheer began to rise in her. She'd done it after all. She'd won.
We still have to get off of the ship, and back to Zyre. But that seemed almost trivial compared to escaping the island. Tyria stood, grinning, as Zevan and several other zebras ascended to the stern deck.
The captain gave her an ill-favored look. “Get down to the main deck, Metrel. We’re weighing anchor.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, calmly. She gave Zevan a little bow, and made her way down to the main deck.
As the anchor raised from the water, dozens of oars plunged into the water. The Nightingale pulled out of the bay, catching the wind as she left. Tyria watched the sails billow and smiled. And off we go. She looked back at the island as it disappeared behind them. Don’t worry, Viridian. We’ll be back soon enough. And this time, we’ll have the entire Zyran Navy at our backs.