POV: Beth
It didn’t take long for the port to decide what sort of girl “Mae” was.
Not noble. Not special. Not important.
Just another set of hands at The Crooked Gull, another body ducking swinging fists and flying bottles, another pair of ears catching secrets nobody thought were worth guarding. That suited me. Let them see a tavern girl and nothing more. Small things were easy to ignore—and small things slipped through cracks.
By the end of the week, I knew which sailors paid honestly and which palmed coins, which corners of the tavern stayed safest when a brawl erupted, which tables turned violent fastest. I learned the side streets that filled with knife fights after midnight and the stalls that would trade bruised fruit for an hour of lifting crates.
I also learned which men to fear.
Three of them started appearing every other night. They sat at the same back table, backs to the wall, eyes on everything. They didn’t drink much, didn’t laugh much, never joined the loud games. Clothes cleaner than the usual rabble. Weapons well kept. Their presence prickled against my skin.
The first time I brought them ale, they watched me in a way that made my fingers itch for the knife in my apron.
“You’re new,” the tallest said. A pale scar cut across his neck like someone had once tried to unmake him. “Don’t remember you from the last time we docked.”
“Then you weren’t paying attention,” I said, setting down the mugs.
He smirked. “We pay attention to useful things.”
“Good,” I replied. “Then you’ll notice I keep the drinks coming if you keep your hands to yourselves.”
One of the others snorted. “Mouthy, aren’t you?”
The third didn’t speak at all. He only watched me, eyes cold and evaluating, the way Adrian’s had been on the church steps. I carried their stares back to the bar like invisible bruises.
“They from any crew?” I asked the barkeep later, voice low.
He glanced their way. “Half-banished. Too cruel for some captains, too stupid for others. They sniff around anything that smells like easy coin.” His jaw tightened. “Don’t agree to nothing with them.”
“I won’t,” I said.
The port didn’t care what I promised.
An afternoon between shifts, I slipped out into the alley to dump a bucket of kitchen scraps. The air was thick with heat and rot. Behind me, the tavern door slammed.
I whirled.
The trio stood between me and the street, blocking the light. Scar-Neck grinned, teeth too white for his face.
“Mae,” he said. “Our captain could use a girl like you.”
My grip tightened on the bucket handle. “I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t heard the offer,” he replied. “Good pay. Protection. We heard you turned down other crews. You think you’re too good to steal with the rest of us?”
“I think I like choosing my own chains,” I answered. “Or not wearing any.”
The silent one stepped closer until his shadow swallowed my boots. “Freedom’s expensive out here,” he murmured. “Wrong enemies, and you end up floating facedown in the harbor. Come with us, and they’ll think twice before touching you.” His fingers brushed a strand of my hair.
I slapped his hand away. “Don’t.”
Scar-Neck’s smile faded. “You don’t have anyone,” he said. “No crew. No flag. No family. You vanish, no one notices.”
The words hit, cruel and accurate.
For a heartbeat, the old fear rose: the fear of being nothing, no one, lost between worlds. Governor’s daughter Beth would have begged. The girl from the church steps might have bargained.
Mae smiled.
“If I vanish,” I said, tilting my head, “you lose the only girl in this alley willing to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” he scoffed.
“That your captain sounds desperate.”
His eyes narrowed.
I took a step forward, forcing my voice steady. “If she’s so strong, why send three dogs to drag in one tavern girl? Why not let me come on my knees like everyone else?”
The silent one’s jaw twitched. Scar-Neck’s hand slid toward the knife at his belt. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Better than letting you play with me,” I snapped.
He lunged, grabbing my arm hard enough to bruise. “You don’t get to say no.”
My heart hammered—but fear had teeth now.
I swung the full bucket straight into his face.
Metal cracked against bone. Rotten scraps splattered across his eyes and mouth. He yelled, staggering back, blood pouring from his nose.
“Get her!” one of the others roared.
I didn’t wait.
I leapt sideways, boots slipping on muck, and scrambled up a stack of crates like they were ship rigging. Fingers clawed at my boots—missed by inches. I threw myself over the top, landed hard on the other side, shoulder slamming a barrel.
“Crazy bitch!” Scar-Neck shouted, voice muffled by his broken nose.
I slammed my shoulder into the back door. It flew open. I tumbled into the kitchen in a pile of bruises and adrenaline.
The cook glared over his ladle. “You plan on breaking my door every day, girl?”
“Just… testing the hinges,” I panted, kicking it shut.
They didn’t follow me inside. But for the next few days, whenever I stepped out alone, I felt eyes tracking me from the edges of the crowd. They had decided I was trouble. Trouble rarely survived long, here.
That night, after my shift, I chose the long way back to my room. The streets nearer the docks were cooler, the air sharper with real sea instead of stale sweat. I counted my coins as I walked. Pitiful, but mine. Maybe a step toward bribing a guard, or buying information about Rowan’s prison. Maybe a step toward a blade that would drink Adrian’s blood.
“Pretty coin bag for a tavern mouse,” a voice drawled.
I stopped.
Four men peeled out of an alley ahead, blocking the narrow lane. Different faces this time—local gang, by the look of them. Scarred knuckles, mismatched weapons, eyes bright with powder and greed. One twirled a knife lazily, watching my hands.
“Evening,” I said, slipping the coin pouch into my inner pocket.
“Evening,” knife-man echoed. “We heard you’ve been getting bold. Throwing buckets. Mouthing off. Thought we’d help remind you of your place.”
“My place is tired and wanting a bed,” I answered. “Move.”
They laughed. The sound had no humor.
“Here’s how it goes,” knife-man said. “You hand over your coin. Anything else shiny. We let you walk.”
“And if I don’t?” I asked.
His grin widened. “Then you find out how much blood this street can drink.”
My pulse pounded in my throat. Behind me, another man moved in, cutting off my retreat. Four of them. One of me. No barkeep with a club. No Kaine. No Alaric.
Just Mae.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think I like that game.”
Knife-man’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can fight us all, girl?”
“No,” I said. “I think I can make you fight each other.”
They blinked, thrown for a second.
“How?” the one behind me scoffed.
“You’re thieves,” I said. “Which means you don’t trust each other. I pull out the coins, toss them up. Whoever catches keeps them. If the others are too slow to take them, that’s not my fault.”
Greed flickered across faces, ugly and eager.
“What’s to stop you running while we’re busy?” knife-man asked.
“Maybe nothing,” I said. “Maybe I’m faster than you. But if you gut me now, you get whatever’s in my pocket. If you let me throw it, you get a chance at all of it. And men like you never say no to better odds.”
He hesitated.
I saw it: the moment hunger outweighed sense.
“Do it,” he said. “Slow.”
My fingers curled around the pouch. I pulled it out just enough for the coins to glint in the moonlight, then weighed it in my palm, making a show of its heft. Four pairs of eyes followed it like starving dogs.
“One,” I said, taking a small step to the side.
They shifted with me.
“Two…”
I tossed the bag high into the air—
—and dropped flat.
All four lunged. Two crashed into each other. One slammed into the wall. Knife-man grabbed the pouch mid-air and roared in triumph.
The others turned on him instantly.
“Mine!”
“You bastard, give it—”
Steel flashed.
While they shouted and shoved, I rolled, scrambled to my feet, and sprinted. A hand snagged my coat and tore fabric, but I ripped free and ran harder, boots slapping cobblestones, lungs burning.
Behind me, their curses rose, no longer aimed at me, but at each other.
Before they recovered, I spun on my heel and cut down a side alley, their voices fading behind me as they fought over the prize I’d dangled in front of their noses.
By the time the crooked sign of The Gull swung into view again, my legs felt like water. I pressed my back to the wall in the shadows and slid down, chest heaving, laughter bubbling up—half-wild, half-delighted.
I had done that.
No father to intervene.
No captain to order, threaten, or save me.
Just my own mind, my own lies, my own choice.
Terror still buzzed under my skin, but something new sat beside it:
The first, small taste of power. Not borrowed from anyone else. Not given but made.