Saltfire and Iron Crowns

He's on this island. I know he's on this island. "Search every inch of the island!" I roar, the fury in my voice barely leashed. It has never felt this lawless. I've spent my whole damn life trying to smother the primitive chaos inside my chest. The best taught me how. Nessa hangs at my side like a watchful bird while I strap weapons over my body, readying myself for the siege I've set loose against this tiny, worthless isle. I've come a long way from the Marrow Vale for this day. For this moment. This retribution. Four years have passed since I stepped onto that ship a girl, planning to trail Lucien Marot into whatever adventure his life offered, lured by his sickly sweet promises and his gift for making women weak in bed. He preyed on my circumstances, on how little protection I had. "Corvin always wanted this day for you," Nessa says, placing my blade in my hand, its hilt crusted with ruby jewels--a gift from the man who rescued me, the man who became more of a father than my own blood ever was. He is why I stand here now, the only reason I survived Lucien at all. "He watches over us." "Killing him may not mend your wounds, Mirelle." From the weapons spread before me, I take Corvin's pistol and Torren's scimitar. "But it will give me justice." As I brush past her, savage for blood, she catches the back of my neck, one of the few with enough nerve to halt me when I get like this. "Savor it, and come back with peace in your head. You deserve to hear him scream." She understands. I nod and leave her to command the Nightwake, stepping from the Captain's quarters into the dim passageways that open toward the broad, magnificent deck. Buckles climbing my boot flash in the hard sunlight, throwing shards of glare in every direction and picking out the impressive mahogany square-rig brig beneath me. My ship now--once Corvin's, once Captain Corvin's. He died in my arms and left his dearest possession in my hands. The crew needed a long while to understand that choice. I look out and watch my men and women make war on the wealthy people of Vespera. I've ordered them to rip through every damn villa in this province until he's found, until he's hauled to my feet. It will taste even sweeter if I'm the one who finds him. Summer wind brings spice and incense on the air, sharpening my senses as I stomp from the oak gangplank onto orange gravel. Cayenne. Sage. Firewood. My legs have done nothing for three months at sea, so they stretch into long strides until I'm running as hard as I can, shoving past an old man scrambling from his home with an armful of wealth. He has no notion my crew were given no order to strip them bare today. There is only one treasure I want from this land. "Move," I snarl at a woman hurrying past with her child. The girl is too young to understand what a siege is. Her eyes cannot make sense of why I carry steel in both hands, why I wrench open every wardrobe and door in this estate only to find nothing, why I scream when the rooms are empty. By the time I leave their house empty-handed for the next one, and the next, and the next, they're crouched behind steiolla bushes in bloom. Torren, the other hand I trust most, is choking answers out of a man. Big as a gate and built of iron, he has the poor bastard dangling nearly a good foot over the dirt. "You know his whereabouts. She said so." I slow at the vicious confession in his voice. Neither man hears me coming, but the moment the gentleman looks at me, I know he understands exactly who I am and who is directing this war. "Wraith. That's the--"