He pauses, but I can tell he isn’t done, so I don’t interrupt.

“I used to think it was an insult to the gods, to let all of those gems litter the ocean floor, but I think it’s the kindest thing we can do. It isn’t as if we can put them back in the mines. At least this way, no one can abuse them.”

For a beat, I don’t say anything, but I can hold my tongue only so long. “I’m more concerned about the slaves who go down with the ships that refuse to surrender.”

He isn’t surprised by my retort. Instead, he only seems tired. It’s not a new argument.

“It’s a high cost to pay,” he allows, though he sounds distant, lost in his own thoughts. “Sometimes it seems worth it, sometimes it doesn’t.”

* * *

—

When the Smoke fires her first cannon, shaking the ship so strongly that my unlit candle falls off my desk, Spiros doesn’t jump in surprise like I do. He barely even seems to hear it, though it leaves my ears ringing. He leans against my door like he half expects me to bolt through it at any moment.

“How many years have you been with Dragonsbane?” I ask him from my perch on the edge of my bed. I feel like I have to shout to hear myself. Once the cannon fire begins, it’s constant, though at least it all seems to be coming from our ship.

He shrugs and slides down the door until he’s sitting, arms braced on either side of him to prepare for the next cannon blast.

“Since before the siege,” he says. “I don’t really remember life before, honestly, but I know my father joined her crew after my mother died. Before that, we were in Naphia,” he says, naming an Astrean town at the base of the Grulain mountain range.

“Naphia is beautiful,” I say. “I only went there once with my mother before the siege, but the lavender fields had just bloomed and it was so lovely.”

Spiros only shrugs again. “I suppose. We went back a few years ago—Dragonsbane had been hired by refugees hiding out in the mountains and we passed through Naphia on our way. It was…” He pauses. “There was nothing. The village had been leveled and burned. The lavender fields, too. It was just barren land, like no one had ever set foot there before us. Dozens of generations, obliterated.”

My chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I know what it is to lose your home.”

He shakes his head. “The Smoke is my home.”

Another cannon fires, making the ship shudder. I wince, clenching my hands at my sides until it stills. “I can’t imagine growing up like this. Always under attack.”

He gives me a funny look and I realize what I said.

“Well, not like this, at any rate,” I amend. “Those attacks were—” I break off for another cannon blast. “Quieter.”

“They aren’t firing back,” he says after a few beats. “It’s only our fire. We must have taken them by surprise and now they’ll be scrambling. It’ll be an easy haul.”

It’s difficult to imagine the Kalovaxians scrambling. In my experience, they have always been stoic and steely warriors always two steps ahead of their enemies, but there’s a reason Dragonsbane has managed to evade them for so long. In spite of everything, I respect her.

“What’ll happen now?” I ask.

He considers it for a moment, dark eyes growing thoughtful. “They’ll wave the white flag soon—that means surrender.”

“I know what a white flag is,” I say. “The Kalovaxians use it as a metaphor, though I always heard that their ships aren’t equipped with them—death before surrender and all that.”

He laughs. “Those are strong words, but they’re only words. Kalovaxians have a survival instinct, just like anyone. They’ll fly their undershirts if they need to.”

Gods know I saw enough Kalovaxian courtiers trample over one another in order to save their reputations and pride—I can only imagine how they would act if their lives were at stake. But even as I think that, I remember being in that tunnel with S?ren and holding my dagger to his back. I remember him telling me to do it.

“I assume S?ren is secure in the brig?” I ask Spiros.

Spiros frowns. “He has his guards to keep him there.”

“Just like I have you?”

He gives a snort. “His aren’t nearly as friendly as I am.”

“And after the Kalovaxians surrender?” I ask. “What’s next?”

Spiros leans back against the door opposite me, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll pull up alongside them and secure our ship to theirs. I don’t have to tell you that Kalovaxians are crafty—they’ll have men lying in wait, hoping to surprise us when we board. I suppose they think it’s a clever ploy, but they all do it. We send our strongest on first, ready for a fight, and what resistance they have is taken out quickly. Usually that’s my job.”

“Sounds like a dangerous one,” I say. “Especially since Artemisia beat you so handily when you dueled.”

Spiros smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “Dueling is different from battle—Art knows that, too. There’s no grace to battle, no need for style. You only need to move faster and hit harder than your opponents. Dueling is more like a dance—you respect your partner, you understand them. It’s as much a chess match as a physical sport. That’s the part I’ve gotten rusty with.”

“And then?” I prompt.

He shrugs. “Then the rest of the crew boards. We take what we need—money, clothes, valuables. The captain tries to pry some information from them, but even with her knife at their throats, they still fear the Kaiser more. They rarely say a useful word, and when they do, it usually proves false.”

“So she kills them,” I finish. It’s hardly sportsmanlike, but neither is conquering defenseless countries.

“It’ll all be over before much longer,” Spiros says.

I nod, but I’m hardly listening to him. A wisp of an idea is taking shape in my mind, slowly becoming corporeal. It will mean acting quickly, and it will mean going against Dragonsbane’s orders, but I only let myself hesitate for a few seconds before giving Spiros my most charming smile.

“I’d imagine it’s difficult for you, Spiros, being stuck down here with me while all the action is happening.”

Spiros frowns, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t mind,” he says, but his eyes give away the lie.

“At least you’re much safer down here,” I say.

Instead of placating him, my words only agitate him further, and he pushes off from the door, beginning to pace.

“It’ll be over soon,” he says again.

I pretend to consider it for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be something,” I say slowly, “if the last thing those Kalovaxian men saw before they died was me?”

Spiros is quiet for a moment. “Dragonsbane gave specific orders that you were to stay in your cabin,” he says.

“Of course,” I say. “My aunt wants to keep me safe, I understand that. But I won’t be in any danger after we’ve boarded them. You said so yourself.”

He hesitates, and I can see my words getting to him—not to mention his own desire to be a part of the action—but it isn’t enough. His loyalty to Dragonsbane is unwavering. I try another tactic, making my voice small.

“Art told me that when she kills Kalovaxians, she takes back a little of what they took from her,” I tell him. His wince is slight, but it’s there. I continue. “I would like to take something back from them as well, Spiros. Please.”

“If I did let you,” he says slowly, “you wouldn’t do anything foolish? Art says you’re prone to foolishness.”

I can’t help but laugh, knowing that Artemisia would call what I’m about to do the height of foolishness. “I promise I won’t,” I tell him. “But we’ll also need to bring Prinz S?ren with us.”

He’s alarmed at the idea. “The Prinz is a prisoner, a Kalovaxian prisoner,” he says. “Why would we bring him to interrogate other Kalovaxians?”

I smile. “Because those men respect S?ren as much as you respect Dragonsbane. And he will be on our side.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” Spiros says, shaking his head. “He’s an enemy. Dragonsbane will get information from the Kalovaxians, just as she always does.”

“Good information?” I ask, and he hesitates. “You said very little of it ever actually checks out. Because they’re talking to an enemy, not someone they believe to be an ally. Like S?ren. He’s weakened and unarmed, easy for his guards to handle even without chains.”

“I won’t go against my captain’s orders,” Spiros says quietly, but that isn’t a no.

“You aren’t,” I tell him. “You’re following your queen’s. You’re going to go fetch Heron. He isn’t one for violence, so you’ll find him in his cabin. Once you have him, you’re going to meet me in the brig.”