Archive of Our Own ^beta

But the description of ‘pale skin, dark hair, red eyes, and burn scars like vines and foliage’ had spread like wildfire following her return from her Summit seven years ago, and now anybody who paid attention to international politics in the seven kingdoms knew her name, her face, and what she’d done.

A lot had happened since the end of that Summit. She and the friends she’d made there had all gone their separate ways, back to homes and back to the lives that trapped them there. Much like she’d fostered peace on the Isle, now Irina had fostered friendship from her ship on the seas, sailing from nation to nation and carrying communication, gifts, messages, and sometimes passengers from one to the next. It was her ship now, the Amor Almar, and after seven years many outside of Hise had forgotten that it had once belonged to the famed pirate Blackthorn.

At the negotiations seven years ago, Irina had fought her way tooth and nail (metaphorically speaking) to bartering a diplomatic release of her mother, and when she’d arrived in Hise she’d immediately reassembled the crew of the Amor Almar to sail for Corval and bring Catherine home. She’d been weak, and shaky, and her hair had been shorn off at the nape of her neck, but to Irina the sight of her mother alive and awake had been a drink of cool water after months without rain.

Catherine had taken one look at her daughter and crew, waiting on the dock for her like an honor parade, and burst into tears. She’d broken away from the Corvali guards who’d escorted her out and run down the walkway, bare feet smacking against the wooden planks, to throw her arms around her daughter like Irina had been the one presumed dead for five years. The guards had looked on in astonishment, watching the woman who had refused to submit for five years break down at the sight of a tiny girl with scars across half her face, but Zarad (who’d visited to facilitate the exchange, like the good diplomatic friend he was) had worn a kind expression.

Irina had captained the ship home, standing with a strength to her spine and resolve in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, and when they’d finally docked in Hise once again her mother had stood at the helm beside her and smiled.

“I think my time here has come to a true end, now. This ship loves you, my little peacemaker, so please take good care of her.”

They’d shared a small, secret smile then, before disembarking to meet Piotr on the pier. He wept harder than both of them had, falling to his knees as he reached his wife and wrapping his arms tight around her waist, all propriety thrown to the wind at the sight of his girls safe and sound and home at last.

Her family whole once again, Irina had done her best to forget the other empty place inside her heart, where something else had been left behind.

And yet here she was, again, docking at the Isle’s pier and wrapping a scarf tight around her hair and face to shield her from prying eyes as she leapt off of her ship with ease to tie it tight to the wooden poles of the walkway and indicate her crew to lower the bridge from the deck. This year’s Hisean delegates were a rowdy, joyous bunch, two young men and three women and two absolutely lovely individuals of an entirely undefined gender, and all together they were rather a force of nature as they disembarked and made their way down the pier in a storm of chatter and laughter and brightly-colored cloth.

It eased her heart, to see them. They, hopefully, wouldn’t have to face the trials and tension she had endured in her time as a delegate. Instead, it would be best if their seven weeks here were nothing but joy and laughter and young love blossoming like the Maiden’s Vigil flower Emmett had shown her so long ago. (He’d gifted her with seeds the first time she’d visited him after the Summit, but she’d never really gotten around to planting them. After all, she’d already been freed from her tower, so there was no point letting her tears fall for an escape now).

Irina turned, raising her hand to signal Callum to start unloading all of the goods and supplies they’d transported as well, and failed to stop herself from gasping out loud when an all-too-familiar voice sounded above her ear.

“The Isle staff can assist you with the supplies, Captain.”

Did he recognize her? He had to, she had waved with her scarred hand after all and he’d seen that hand many times over, but it had been seven years and not a word. Irina found herself at a loss for words, spine frozen and lungs suddenly empty as she tried to force herself to turn around and face him, look into those eyes she’d seen in her dreams for seven years and ask where have you been. Instead, she nodded curtly and flashed a quick series of sailor’s signs to her first mate, who saluted and set about passing on the instructions to the rest of the crew. She caught hold of a rope and swung herself back onto the deck, where Callum raised his scarred eyebrow at her curiously.

“Would that happen to be the fellow you’ve been dreaming about, little miss?”

Irina frowned. “I don’t want to talk about it, Callum. Now get your ass in gear, we promised Lairde Eirian and Captain Franjelica we’d transport their things personally.”

Her first mate sighed dramatically. “Ah, would that we were still pirates, and could just steal their things away! Joking, joking, little miss,” He raised his hands in defense at her pointed stare, laughing easily, “You know we’re all happy with whatever you want us to be, right?”

“…” Against her will, a small smile curled at the corners of her lips. “Of course, Cal. Now, you and Peggy should take Frankie’s things up to her room, and I’ll grab some of the staff here to help me with Eirian’s. Be back here by suppertime, we’ll eat while docked and sail in the morning.”

Callum laughed and saluted her sharply, sunlight glinting off the gray hairs starting to appear at his temples and the edges of his bushy eyebrows. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

“Oh, stuff it.” She ducked inside to retrieve Eirian’s belongings — Cordelia would never forgive her if she let her sibling’s things be ruined, which is likely why Eirian had cheekily requested that she herself deliver them — and hauled them onto the deck, waving over a young woman with red hair and a few young men to help her carry the load.

She was already well inside the castle itself when she realized that the long red braid in front of her was almost eerily familiar. Skies above, this was just one walk down memory lane after another, wasn’t it? It probably wasn’t a good idea to speak up, but Irina couldn’t help it — the girl had been one of her first and dearest friends on the Isle. “Great crested waves, Ria, that isn’t you, is it?”

“Wha—” True to form, Ria yelped in surprise, but her grip on the smaller case she was carrying didn’t even falter, and she only turned briefly to glance at Irina with wide grey eyes. Her face was more mature but still round and open, freckles sprinkled liberally across her nose and cheekbones like flecks of sunlight. “—goodness, Lady Irina! I had no idea! It’s been ever so long, how are you?”

Supposing that she may as well bare her face, Irina tugged off the scarf around her head with one hand and draped it over her shoulder, smiling back at her once-time maid in what almost felt like genuine delight. “I’ve been well. Sailing, mostly — would you know, a good group of us from the last Summit have all but become pen-pals, and I’ve ended up as the courier for all of them. And since Mom gave me her ship, well —” She laughed, a little sheepish, “—I just haven’t really left it. But how are you, Ria? And everyone else — Imogen, Sayra, even that fusspot head butler!”

Ria giggled, nudging open the door to Eirian’s assigned room with one rounded hip and directing their small procession inside. “Oh, things have been wonderful here! Sayra and I are on different assignments this year, but she’s been quite happy. Started helping in the gardens a lot, which I think she likes a good deal more than being a lady’s maid. And Immie’s just lovely — would you know, she’s found herself a suitor?”

“No! Really?” Irina couldn’t help but gasp appropriately in response. “That’s wonderful news!”

Smile dimpling her cheeks, Ria nodded and set about bustling around the room, taking dresses and suits from the largest chest and brushing them out carefully before hanging them in the armoire with a grace she hadn’t possessed seven years earlier. “It is, isn’t it? And they’ll all want to see you, of course — I don’t suppose you could stay for dinner, Lady Irina?”

“Oh, just Irina now, none of those titles and whatnot.” She’d left that behind the moment she returned from the Summit. Politics were important, but she had found her own calling now, and it didn’t require that old title any longer. Besides, her mother had taken surprisingly adeptly to being ‘the Lady of Ravenskeep’, and was more than skilled enough at talking for both of them (it was amazing how well piracy and captainship could lend themselves to politics). “If you must, call me Captain, but really my name is more than enough.”

A gentle laugh escaped her friend, who was attempting to puzzle out the correct way to hang one of Eirian’s more elaborate outfits. “Irina, then. Would you have time to join us for dinner?”

“I suppose.” The crew would survive a night without her — hell, they’d probably celebrate it. “Just let me tell my first mate, yeah? And you’ll have to give me directions — it’s been seven years since I was here, and I’m pretty sure your dinner won’t be where mine often was.”

Ria smiled. “I’ll send someone to find you. Oh, I’ve missed you, La— Irina.”

“And I you, Ria.”

They shared a small, warm moment, before the maid pursed her lips together and held out the garment in her hands towards Irina with a petulant look. “Now, how in the world am I supposed to hang this? You know the Lairde, you must know how their clothes are meant to look, right?”

Irina laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Ria, Irina decided, had gotten all together too sly and quick-witted in the years since she’d seen her last.

After all, there had to be a deeper reason for why it was Jasper, of all people, that the apple-haired maid sent to tap her shoulder and drag her out of her reveries as she sat beside the post her ship was tethered to. He was just as tall as she remembered, with the same sort of ethereal beauty as he’d possessed seven years earlier (and probably, she suspected, for a good while before that). His hair had grown longer, and now instead of just brushing his shoulders it fell past them, pulled back and fastened with a tidy violet band so dark it was almost black (he still wore his bangs in a braid, which amused her for no particular reason).

And just like in her memories, his eyes continued to captivate her. They were the first thing about him she’d really noticed, the first part of him that made her start to think he might not be a danger to her and the first thing about him she’d found beautiful. Now, painted with the multihued glow of the sunset behind them, she remembered those feelings all over again.

She was going to strangle Ria with her own braid when they got the castle, for making her heart go through this obscene gymnastics routine yet again.

“Ria told me you’ll be joining us for dinner.”

It took a great deal of willpower for her to not flinch, nor gasp, nor lunge forward to wrap herself around him so they’d never part again— “That’s correct. She said Sayra and Imogen would like to see me before I set sail again, and one dinner without me won’t kill my crew.”

The corner of his lip twitched. “So this was your ship. I had wondered.”

“Had you?”

One eyebrow tilted delicately upwards as he offered her a hand up and they made their way to the castle. “I’d heard that Blackthorn’s daughter had taken up her mantle, and a fair number of military fleets seemed quite happy for it.” His eyes, usually a crystalline lilac, were amaranthine in the light of the setting sun and gentle. “I’m glad to see it’s true.”

That just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair of him to fall back into that, those kind words and kind thoughts for her sake even though she still didn’t really deserve them, after so many years of absence. How come he could just assume to know what the past seven years had been like for her?

But she didn’t say that. Instead, she responded with a polite, “Yes, they’re certainly relieved that my pirate days seem to be over, though I do believe I’ve put a shipping vessel or two out of business.”

“I find myself entirely unsurprised.”

“Yes, well,” What was she going to say here? It’s been a while since she’d been like this, mentally tongue-tied by an individual person’s presence, “It earns my crew a living, and I do have quite a few friends to visit.”

Jasper nodded, expression thoughtful beneath the neutrality (she’d learned to read past his composure many years ago, and the time she’d spent remembering every face she’d seen him make had only helped). “Indeed.”

They fell silent after that, continuing together into the castle and through the hallways to a part of the staff quarters she’d never entered before, not even when she’d been investigating that storm-forsaken murder. She can hear the laughter and talk from the main hall upstairs, where the delegates are milling about and meeting each other (many for the first time) and possibly even falling in love. But down here, as Jasper leads her towards a different echo of voices, it feels warm in an entirely different way.

The welcome feast, in her slightly faded memories, had felt warm like everyone within was a small sun and doing their best to shine brightly. The room he lead her into, full of bodies and happy chatter and delicious (if simpler) smells, was warm in the way a cozy evening by a hearth-fire was warm. Rather than the glow of stars, it had the glow of family.

Ria spotted them as they entered and waved brightly, beckoning them over to a couple of empty seats she had clearly saved for them, and Irina found she didn’t have any energy to be irritated with the redhead for sending Jasper to guide her after all. She was seated at one of the many tables, with Sayra, Imogen, and a young man Irina didn’t recognize but assumed to be Imogen’s new paramour, and they all quickly scooted around to make room for Irina and Jasper to sit down.

“Lad— oh, I mean, Miss Irina!” Imogen was, as ever, unfailing polite and soft-spoken, though her hair was now tied up in a fluffy bun with a few strands falling free to frame her face. She leaned over to give Irina a quick hug before pulling back with cheeks flushed pink and twining her fingers with those of the man beside her. “Ria said she’d told you, and— well, this is Oliver.”

Irina eyed him sternly. She was only perhaps a year older than Imogen, but after having defending the other girl’s life in an official trial, there were definitely some protective feelings stirring up in her chest. “Well, Oliver, I hope you know that if you break Imogen’s heart, I’ll be making another visit back here to break a few other things of yours. Understood?”

Commendably, Oliver didn’t flinch or raise a confused eyebrow despite being outright threatened with bodily harm by a tiny woman who still looked young enough to be his little sister (Irina had always looked young for her age, but adulthood seemed to have reached its peak in her twentieth or twenty-first year, and she hadn’t grown a lick since then). As Ria stifled laughter and Sayra patted a beet-red Imogen on the back, he responded, “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

“Good.”

Looking up from Imogen, Sayra smiled across the table at her. “It is good to see you again, Irina.” The dark-haired maid wore the same hairstyle as she had so many years before, but her bangs were clipped back across the top of her head now and her clothes were of a practical cut in rich greens and browns. Irina had always been fond of, if a little intimidated by, her tall maid, and seeing Sayra now in a less formal manner just reminded her of why she had grown to like the older woman anyways.

“Likewise. Ria said you’re working in the gardens now?”

Sayra’s usually composed face lit up, and she launched into a calm but clearly enthusiastic description of the work she was now doing, caring for the hedges and flowers and plotting out different garden arrangements that would both keep the soil healthy and make the area look nice and interesting. Irina leaned forward to listen as she ate, and almost managed to entirely distract herself from Jasper’s quiet presence beside her for the remainder of the meal.

Unlike meals with the delegates and with nobility in general, the staff dinner was short and practical, as they dined in shifts and had work to return to afterwards. Thankfully, Irina was by now in the practice of eating quickly (she did have a ship to captain, after all), and didn’t have any trouble finishing her portion by the time everything was done. They all cleaned up together, washing their own dishes and setting them in tidy stacks to dry, and she endured cheerful conversation and greetings and questions from what seemed to be every servant who had been working there when she was a delegate (and a few who definitely hadn’t).

Clearly, ripples had been made.

Ria hurried off to help her new assigned delegate prepare for bed (not Eirian, sadly, but a sweet girl from Arland whom she’d described over dinner as ‘a precious thing, much too kind for a world like hers’), and Imogen and Oliver excused themselves to go do a bit more work in the linens room before retiring for bed together.

For a moment, Sayra looked as though she was going to offer to walk Irina back to her ship, but then her eyes flickered around the room for a bit and lit up with a sly sort of light. “I don’t suppose you’d like to stay the night, would you?”

“The night?” Oh, Irina knew where this was going, and a small part of her sorely wished she had an excuse to accept. “It’s nice of you to offer, but my crew’ll be waiting for me, and I’m rather fond of my quarters on the ship. I’ve painted constellations on the ceiling, you see,” She explained enthusiastically, covering up her moment of apprehension at the realization that Sayra had probably been planning to leave her in Jasper’s room overnight, and why had all her friends turned out to be sly buggers? “So I look up each night and I can count the stars even when the sky’s bound to rumble up a storm.”

The once-maid only looks slightly chagrined. “I see. That does sound like a lovely sight, don’t you think, Jasper?”

“Irina’s paintings often are, yes.”

Oh, blast him to the furthest sea and into a coral reef. It was absolutely unfair of him to sound so matter-of-fact like that. 

Sayra raised a slim eyebrow thoughtfully, before yawning wide and stretching. “Well, I’ve an early morning tomorrow. Since you’re not staying the night, perhaps Jasper could escort you back to your ship? It wouldn’t do for you to get lost in here, after all.”

Damn it. Irina definitely couldn’t refuse that one.

They made it out of the castle and onto the winding stone pathway that lead to the dock in silence, surrounding by the whisper of the breeze and the quiet chirping of a few birds who hadn’t yet gone to sleep. Night had fallen around them, and the stars were starting to peek out and glitter in the sky above. The moon was just a thin sliver, but even the faint light it cast managed to turn Jasper’s hair into spun silver, and Irina found herself looking at it before she could consciously remind herself not to.