The cot in the holding cell was thin and lumpy. The stuffing in the mattress had been squeezed and smashed into a shape that Zora would never be comfortable on. And so she leaned against the wall beside it, putting on her gruffest face, and waiting for her interrogators.

  The leaning was a frustrating experience as well. The room, and probably the whole internment ward with it, was laced with gold magic wards that dampened Zora’s ability to call red magic.

  The lock on the door rattled open as a paladin doorman let in a small priestess. It took the pirate a moment to recognize the skinny girl as one of Cayd’s friends from the beach. In fact, it was the still-dirty edges of her habit that gave it away.

  “Good afternoon,” she said with a bow. “I am Sister Maribel on a temporary assignment to this cathedral and I will be dictating the Church of the Will’s grievances with you.”

  “My charges,” Zora corrected.

  “No ma’am,” Maribel shook her head. “The Church will first present you with the grievances. You will be offered an opportunity to respond in writing. And once that has, or has not been completed according to your choice, the documentation package will be delivered to the Justicar of the region, currently Justicar Helmshead of the Crossroads Protectorate.

  “At which point the Justicar will decide your charges, which will then be presented with you along with the date and time of your hearing.”

  Zora grumbled. “What a waste of time.”

  Maribel did not respond. Instead, she withdrew a parchment envelope and began to open it.

  Zora did not listen to her read the list of “grievances.” She knew everything she had done. Whether it was to make her life easier, bring fortune to her crew, or please that monster that chased her, she made sure she remembered. It would have depended more on whether or not the Church knew. Although, as far as Zora was concerned, there was more than enough to take off her head.

  So she counted on the fact that her crew and the god of the entire world’s seas were biding their time to launch a rescue expedition. The Church seemed to be counting on that, too. Her holding cell was on the innermost level of the Cathedral’s internment ward. The small window, barely the size of Zora’s head and twice as high up the wall, was looking in at one of the cloister courtyards.

  “And finally, conspiracy to infiltrate property of the Church of the Will on behalf of another god, goddess, or divine entity.” Maribel read the final line and looked up. “There lie your grievances as submitted by the Cathedral of Dawnbreak in the Southwest Diocese of The March. Do you have a response?”

  Zora stood up from the wall, standing tall, and lifting her chin. “I did what I did for my crew. And I do now what I do for my crew, too. I can do what I do for you. But only if you join my crew, too.”

  The Rhyme of the Pirate Captain had been written by a schoolteacher in Gavundar’s capital a century ago, and though it was meant for children, or maybe because of that, actual pirate captains adopted it. And Zora never got tired of watching the Church stenographers roll their eyes and grumble as they wrote the stupid lyrics on their official documents.

  Maribel did not give her the pleasure of an overt response. She smiled a small smile and bowed lightly. “Thank you for your time, Captain. You will be contacted soon by interrogators who wish to know your side of these grievances for historical purposes. Please remember that whatever you say to an interrogator will not be submitted as an official response to grievances to the Justicar, but may be utilized in the decision of sentencing in the event that charges are carried out against you.” Maribel turned and left, the door locking behind her.

  The girl was good, Zora noted. Memorized every word. Pretty damned impressive for a gal so young. Too bad she was all too tightly wrapped up in those priest clothes to put those talents to any real use.

  With Maribel gone, Zora was back to waiting. She had messed up the night before. Not that they could have necessarily prepared for the Church to anticipate their attack. Nothing they, nor Tidus had known made it seem like the washway would be defended.

  And, Zora had to admit, the washway had been a risk to begin with.

  The more she thought about what had happened, the bigger a mistake it seemed to be. It was a gross risk to put herself on the landing team. Tidus had tried to stop her, too. Her pride and her fear took hold.

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  But there was something there in that cell. Or rather, something missing. The monster’s shadow. She did not feel it in the small room.

  Her thoughts were interrupted with the door unlocking again. Zora braced herself to go face-to-face with some massive tough-guy paladin, or maybe some sharp nosed, snide-faced whippet of a woman.

  Instead, she was greeted with the warm smile of a black skinned southern Gavundari, shaved bald and wrapped up in thick, ugly, brown robes.

  “You.” She was short with it, swishing as much venom around her tongue as she could for the single syllable.

  “I brought you your dinner, Captain,” Cayd said softly. He did not ask before pulling over the room’s small, shaky table and placing the metal tray on it.

  Zora eyed the tray as best as she could without looking at it or Cayd. The food actually looked good. A shallow bowl of stew, thick cuts of red meat and dark colored vegetables floated in the broth. A crumb-covered slice of bread sat beside it.

  And on the other end of the tray was the same two dishes again.

  “Oh no,” Zora said, dropping her defiance in favor of indignity. “You’d be damned if you were going to eat dinner with me.”

  “Not the first person to call me damned,” Cayd said with a shrug as he plucked one of the two spoons from the platter and sat on one end of the cot. “And I’d much rather be damned over a dinner than over something more morose.”

  “Talk slick. Still won’t get my company.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t need it.” Cayd took a bite of the bread and smiled at Zora.

  She watched with vitriol as he took another bite, then sampled the stew. Try as she might, she could not find it in her to hate this man. Maybe it was his non-lethal behavior on the beach. Maybe it was the fact that he always seemed so damn happy to see her. Made her sick. Furious, even. But still, she could not hate him.

  “It may serve to have some salt,” Cayd mused as he took another spoonful of the stew. He looked to Zora for her agreement, or at least acknowledgement.

  She only stared daggers.

  “It’s not bad, though. Not at all for boring Church food.”

  Then, Zora’s own body betrayed her. Tantalized by the smell of bread and meat, and uneasy from nearly a day without so much as a cracker, her gut growled with hunger.

  Grumbling, she grabbed the bowl, bread, and free spoon from the tray. She watched with disdain as Cayd slid himself further down the cot to give her room to sit. And decidedly, Zora turned to the stone wall, and sat on the cold floor.

  Cayd let out a laugh. “I do not know why you are being so childish.”

  “I don’t know why you’re helping the Church arrest me.”

  “Oh, I didn't really do that. Well, not until you tried to kill me, that is.”

  Zora bit her tongue. He did spill a lot less blood than she and her crew had. In fact, Cayd bearing witness to the murder of those paladins would most likely mean Zora would not be the only one hanged when all was said and done. A few more members of the crew would go on one final adventure with her.

  “How is it?” Cayd asked.

  He was right. The food was not bad. Much better than anything she and her crew could cook up in the middle of the open sea. “It’s fine.”

  “This is prisoner food, too,” Cayd said with surprise. “The prisoners back home? They’d be lucky to have a bread heel broken up into a glass of milk.”

  “I feel the Church brings pain to its prisons in other ways. You know, I have to wait for some Justicar three cities over to tell me I’m going to die?”

  Cayd frowned. “Is that certain?”

  “Yeah, the girlie in the habit just told me.”

  “That you are going to die?”

  “Oh!” Zora said, understanding. “No, no. That it would take a while to find out. Almost certainly, though. I’ve done a lot to make the Church mad. A lot of boats sank. A lot of relics robbed.”

  Cayd looked sad at his meal as he stirred his stew. “Can I ask why?”

  Zora bristled, suddenly realizing she had been talking to the man. “Why are you interrogating me for them?”

  “I’m not.” The man looked to the door, calling Zora’s attention for the first time to a faint glow around the handle. “It’s not much. Just muffling our speech. The guard hears us but can only make out some words here and there.”

  Zora got even more upset. “Aren’t we a little old to be sneaking dinner dates? Just because I’m in here with a bed doesn’t mean I can have you climbing in with the key.”

  “Zora, it’s not like that.”

  “Not like that my ass,” she barked. “You act like I’ve never been in a room with a man before. You swoop in, answers to all problems, slinging magic around to sweep us off our feet. Get off it, Gavundari.” She snatched a mouthful of stew meat from her bowl and inhaled it with the finality of an eating competition contestant.

  Cayd frowned. “Sounds like you have had bad taste in men.” He stood up, putting his half-eaten meal on the metal tray. Even the clatter of the dishes sounded hurt, though the sorcerer could not pinpoint why her words stabbed so deeply. He walked to the door and wiped away the blue light. “Someone will be by later to pick this up.”

  “Just like trash to leave trash behind,” Zora sputtered, her mouth still full as Cayd grabbed the latch.

  The Gavundari looked back, eyes sad, mouth smiling warmly. “Have a good evening, Captain Zora.” The lock clattered and Cayd was gone.

  Zora shifted as she took another bite. That was definitely not going to be the last she saw of him.

  And for some reason that triggered a small smile.