left, promising to reveal its whereabouts only to another bearing the mark so they could find their way home.”
Those simple words had struck a chord within Valeria. A surge of hope had taken root, that maybe there was a place she belonged, maybe she could have a home—a family. It had been her saving grace. When she’d asked Carrow where she could find Tobias, he’d shaken his head saying they’d lost touch over the years. He’d told her where he last saw the man and that’s where she had started her search.
Tobias had been a hard person to track down. When she discovered he was a slave who’d worked the same ship for the last ten years, she knew there was no way she could buy him. His owner wouldn’t sell and she understood why. Tobias kept the ship’s slaves happy and working together well. He was a good slave master because he was a slave himself and understood them.
That’s how she’d ended up here, shoveling coal into the engine in a heat hot enough to scorch the demons of hell themselves. She’d found him, but for all her hard work, answers were still managing to evade her.
Her frustration knew no bounds.
A popping noise caught her attention. She turned and her eyes widened. The temperature gauge was well past the red. Her head swiveled to check the pipes and, sure enough, they were shaking.
Before she could shout a warning, the first explosion hit and threw her backwards, slamming her into the blinding burn of the hot metal wall. Ignoring the pain, she scrambled to her feet and pushed through the panicked slaves to the hold door. She started barking orders and within seconds several of the stronger slaves were helping her push the heavy, metal door open. Val had no wish to be burned alive and sprang free the moment the doors parted. Sprinting up the stairs all the way to the top deck of the ship, she stopped dead. The crew on board The Apollo was involved in a desperate attempt to outrun a ship, cannons blazing.
One problem. It wasn’t her ship.
Chapter 5
“Attention, Captain on deck.”
The shouted title wherever he went was something he was still getting used to. The sharp click of heels, the eyes forward, and the rigid backs were all signs of respect for his position. What he wanted as a captain in DeCadia’s Royal Navy was the respect of his men and woman for him as their leader. He knew that would only come with time.
They were good sailors. He was still getting to know each of them, even so the very fact they were here put them a step ahead of most on DeCadia. They had joined the Royal Navy, which meant they still believed in order. Amidst the pirating, killing, and plundering that were becoming the norm across the skies, here were a few that made the decision to put their lives on the side of law and freedom.
Captain Stephen Tiberius Cross walked the deck of his ship, The Dragoon , with his first sergeant by his side. The air washed around him and would have had his long, black hair in a frenzy had it not been for the ponytail that kept it in place. His clothes were the military uniform for an officer in the Royal Navy; black pressed pants, boots so shiny they reflected the sun itself and a crimson shirt with intricate gold buttons. A coordinating black and red jacket, large enough to cover his broad shoulders, travelled down his back till the end met his boots. The usual triangle-shaped hat that went with his position was lying in his quarters in some forgotten corner. He never understood the allure of needless headwear when traveling through so much rushing wind.
Stephen trekked up and down his ranks of men and women at arms. This was the inspection where he was supposed to find some miniscule problem with their uniforms or weapons. He was expected to find whatever mistake he could and chew them out in front of their comrades. It wasn’t something he enjoyed; still he knew it had to be done. Order had to be maintained in their own ranks if they were going to bring stability back