Work Text:
At first, you’d thought you were hallucinating.
You couldn’t remember the last time your captors had given you, given anyone in the brig, water, and the beginning of a spiral into insanity wouldn’t have exactly surprised you.
Explosions, gunshots, the screams of dying men. You’d imagined the entire crew dropping dead many times so it wasn’t a shock that this was where your madness would begin. You just closed your eyes, tried to pretend you weren’t in chains, and reveled in the sound.
And then the door to the brig was broken down, and your eyes shot open. You moved to the front of your cell, gripping the cold bars as you looked to see what sort of new danger had been brought upon you.
Instead, you were met with a cocky-looking man—though he hardly appeared old enough to be called a man—a pistol in his relaxed grip and another hanging by his side. His bright teal frock coat didn’t belong in a dingy place such as this.
“Hello, all,” he said pleasantly. “I am happy to say this ship has been commandeered.”
Your grip slackened. “What?”
Your question was drowned out by immediate rioting by all the other prisoners, and the man glanced at the woman by his side. She took one of her two axes from its place at her hip and walked over to your cell. Her golden eyes gleamed, and her axe moved in a barely visible flash. She’d chopped the lock clean off, and the cell door creaked open. The whole brig had fallen silent.
You took another step back, eyes still wide. The man walked up next to her, peering inside your cell at all the prisoners bunched in together, but when his eyes met yours, they widened. His entire body went rigid for a moment, so imperceptible that you thought you’d imagined it when he looked away.
“I have no desire to keep you all here against your will,” he said. “Call me your liberator, call me your savior, call me a captain who just hates slavers—it doesn’t matter to me right now. The only thing that matters to me right now is that this is my ship.”
“Are we free?” you asked.
Again, the captain’s expression changed ever so slightly when he looked at you—this time, you knew you hadn’t imagined it.
“Yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. “You’re free.”
You couldn’t help but smile yourself, and the chains around your wrists felt lighter knowing they would be off soon.
The captain cleared his throat as he turned away, looking at the rest of the prisoners. “Now, do any of you know where they keep the keys on this ship? If we can’t find them, Tamar here will use those handy axes on your shackles.”
Someone spoke up and the captain sent one of his men off to retrieve them, then he looked at the golden-eyed woman. Shu, no doubt. “Tamar, get the rest of these cells open then bring them above deck. I’d like to make a speech.”
She nodded and got to work. Soon enough, you were breathing in salty air and reveling in the wind on your face. You’d been below deck for far too long, and the feeling of sunlight on your skin was glorious. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and just enjoy it. Your mind blocked out the spilled blood and dead bodies of the crew that you had to walk through. You wouldn’t shed any tears for them, but you weren’t accustomed to the brutality that your parents sheltered you from.
“I’d like to introduce myself to you all.” You opened your eyes and the captain was speaking, standing in front of the orderly line you’d all formed. The Shu woman from before—Tamar, he called her—stood at his left, and a similarly golden-eyed man had just joined them. Between his size and her axes, you were quite thankful they were—at least for now—on your side.
“You can call me Sturmhond,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me, perhaps you haven’t. I don’t particularly care. As you likely saw, each and every man and woman previously aboard this ship is dead, in case you doubted my promises to your freedom. That is what I care about.”
The thought would have normally made bile rise in your throat. You may not have been accustomed, but you liked to believe you weren’t wholly naive.
“But I want to be clear,” the captain said, “this is not a rescue. This is an opportunity.”
Sturmhond gestured with his head and a woman stepped forward, lithe with wispy hair divided into two braids. She moved her hands apart and concentrated, and with a few concise movements, the cuffs around your wrists broke apart and fell to the ground. Your eyes widened, and the exacerbated clatter made you glance down the line, same as some of the others—she removed everyone’s shackles at once.
Sturmhond kept company with Grisha. You knew the captain was Ravkan from his accent, but any connection to the Grand Palace and the King sent unease trickling down your spine. The chances were small, what with how much time Grisha spent in the Little Palace—Saints, the Fabrikator might not even be Ravkan—but there was still a chance. The last thing you needed was to be recognized.
“We didn’t really need the keys,” Sturmhond said with a boyish smile. Again, you were struck by how out of place he looked—he should have been in university, not heading operations like this. “I just wanted to make you all squirm a little. Tamar’s axes are quite terrifying.”
“Who says we want any part of your opportunities?” asked a man from down the line.
“Because I’m allowing you the choice,” the captain said. “Those of you who wish to be free of the sea and her constraints, we are by the Zemeni border. You will be dropped at the nearest harbor, and your fate will be back in your control.”
There were grumblings throughout your fellow prisoners and you glanced at them. It was a better offer than any of you would have gotten, a chance for freedom that you thought was long past you. Novyi Zem had no grief with Ravka, so you would be safe enough there. You could get a job working the fields or in a factory, and once you had enough you could book passage back to Ravka. You could find your family again.
Your throat tightened. You ran from them—that was why you were here in the first place. Maybe it would be better to try and start a new life all together, nameless in Novyi Zem. No one would ask questions, you were sure of it. You would be in control of your fate again.
And then the captain got a glint in his eye. Your spine straightened almost on instinct.
“As for those of you who want revenge,” he tilted his head, “you can earn a place in my crew.”
“Why would we work for you?” a woman from across the brig shouted. “We’ve got our freedom!”
“Because there is little more satisfying than causing the destruction of those who tried to destroy you,” Sturmhond said. “And because the sea is rather lovely when you’re not a captive.”
“That is my opportunity to you all.” He clasped his hands together, the wind ruffling his red hair. “A chance to help those like you, and put slavers at the bottom of the ocean where they belong.”
“Why would we want to work with pirates?” you spoke up. “We have lives to get back to. And half of us aren’t fighters.”
You didn’t know what it was about you that made Sturmhond’s expression shift just so each time he looked at you, but it was beginning to irk you.
“Privateer, actually,” he corrected. His voice was annoyingly smooth, and his unyielding confidence even more irritating. “As I said, it’s your choice. And it will take us three days to reach Novyi Zem, so you will have time to decide.”
You huffed a laugh, but decided to stay silent. You’d dealt with too many men like him, but it wasn’t a bother—in three days, you would be back in the same position you were in before your bad luck struck.
“Now,” the captain said with an equally smooth smile, folding his hands behind his back, “any questions?”
Nobody spoke up. Whether it was out of fear or simple ambivalence you didn’t know, but you didn’t feel like getting on the captain’s bad side. You planned to keep your head down for three days and figure it all out in Novyi Zem.
“Wonderful. We’ll divide our forces between this ship and the Volkvolny,” he said. “Any of you who wish to transfer ships will be allowed.” His lip curled as he looked around the dingy conditions of the slaver ship. “I doubt you want to spend much more time on board this wreck.”
“Some of my crew will get you situated as we prepare to set sail,” Sturmhond continued. “If you find you have any burning questions later, save them or direct them to Tolya here.” He gestured to the Shu man as tall as a tree standing by him, and he only looked slightly irritated to be given up like that.
“I suppose the only thing left to do is officially welcome you aboard.” Sturmhond swept an arm through the air. “I hope you’ve all earned your sea legs.”
He walked off, Tolya and Tamar following him. They must’ve been his first mates—you were immensely glad they weren’t against you, what with his size and her axes.
But as he did, you couldn’t help but stare. The strangest feeling had come over you during his speech, one that was exacerbated every time he passed the slightest glance at you, every time his expression changed. He was just… unnatural. Unsettling.
You allowed yourself a deep breath and shook your head, trying to focus on the crewmember that was speaking to you all. You didn’t care if he was unnatural or unsettling—you would be gone in three days.
All you had to do was keep your head down.
-
Sleep wasn’t easy after the day you’d had, but your tired limbs won out after an hour or so of staring at the ceiling. The cot you’d been assigned wasn’t much for comfort, but it might as well have been the plushest mattress you’d ever felt after what you’d been sleeping on before.
You slowly opened your eyes, your grogginess fighting against you at every step, because you had the dimmest feeling that something was wrong. When you saw golden eyes above you, you nearly screamed.
You thankfully held it in, but you could feel your heart hammering in your chest.
“What are you doing here?” you whispered.
“Sturmhond wishes to speak to you,” Tamar said, wholly unfazed as if she did this all the time. She probably did.
“Why?”
“My job isn’t to ask questions,” Tamar said. She left it at that, and you sighed as you pulled yourself out of the hammock. You followed her, squinting in an attempt not to bump into anything in the darkness. The Volkvolny wasn’t familiar to you yet, but it was easier once you were above deck. You rubbed the grogginess out of your eyes when she opened the door to the captain’s quarters for you.
She didn’t follow you in, and you didn’t know whether it was a relief or not.
“Ah. You’re here.” Sturmhond turned around from a cabinet, holding a bottle of kvas, a slight smile on his lips. “Drink?”
“You didn’t just invite me here for a nightcap,” you said placidly, “did you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I thought it would remind you of home.”
You frowned. “You’re Ravkan. Who’s to say I am too?”
“How did you know I was Ravkan?”
“Your accent.”
“Then how do you think I knew you were Ravkan?”
“Maybe I will need a drink,” you said bitterly. “It’s the only way I think I can keep dealing with you.”
Sturmhond sighed as he poured a fair amount into two cups. “Such harsh words for a noble girl. Quite a stroke of bad luck for the daughter of a duke to end up on a slaver’s ship.”
“Who’s to say I’m the daughter of a duke?” you asked.
He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want to keep playing this game?”
You crossed your arms in response, and he shook his head with a chuckle.
“An accent gives quite a bit away,” Sturmhond said. “It’s also obvious to anyone that looks at you—and I assume you have quite a few admirers. You speak Ravkan like a princess, like you were taught in schools rather than the streets. You have a gleam in your eye that says you still have hope. And,” he looked you up and down, “you carry yourself with confidence despite your position. Not the attitude of a girl on the other side of the ditch.”
Your lip curled. “How astute of you.”
“Thank you,” he said with a smile.
“Born and raised in Os Alta,” you acquiesced. You offered a thin smile of your own back. “And I suppose you’re correct. Bad luck seems to follow me as of late.”
“You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you claiming that my rescuing you is a continuation of your bad luck?”
“I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, captain.”
“Sturmhond,” he said.
Your lips twitched in a momentary smile. “I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, Sturmhond.”
“It isn’t,” he agreed, taking a sip of kvas, “it’s an opportunity. I’m just curious of what drove your choice.”
You crossed your arms. “Strange of a pirate to be so curious about a prisoner.”
“Privateer,” Sturmhond corrected, “and you’re no longer a prisoner.”
“My point still stands,” you said wryly.
“Is it wrong of me to be curious?” he asked.
“It’s pointless,” you said. “And if you’re done with your little interrogation, I’d like to get back to sleep.”
“I’m not here to be your enemy.” He sat up, taking another sip of his drink. “Surely you understand that.”
“I understand it perfectly well,” you said. “I just don’t see why you care.”
“Fine,” he amended, “I’ll let you be. Just one more question.” Sturmhond sat up in his chair, leaning forward as he looked you straight in the eye. His were the strangest shade of green. “Why did you run?”
You actually recoiled at his question, your reflex winning over any desire to hold back your emotions. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t waver. “I thought my question was quite clear.”
You picked up the cup he’d poured for you and threw it back. The kvas burned your throat—your tolerance never was all that—but it didn’t make much difference with the scowl already on your face.
“You don’t get to ask me questions, pirate.”
“Privateer,” you heard him correct, and it only made you slam the door harder on your way out.
-
Three days of keeping your head down should have been easy. Sturmhond, however, appeared to have a different agenda.
He ignored you for the entire next day, but that night, Tamar was waiting for you before you could even get to the barracks.
“Seriously?” you asked. “Did he not get my message clearly enough last night?”
She shrugged. “He just asked to see you again. I don’t know why.”
You sighed and made an offhanded gesture. “Fine. Let’s go.”
You opened the door yourself this time when she got you there, not even bothering to shut it as you stared at Sturmhond.
“What are you playing at?” you demanded.
“Good evening to you as well,” he said. “How did you sleep?”
“What are you playing at,” you repeated flatly.
“I’m not playing at anything,” he said. “Is it a crime to enjoy your company?”
Your jaw ticked, and your hands clenched into fists. “If you’re after what I—”
“I’m not after anything,” he assured with a frown, “and certainly not what you’re thinking.”
His interruption peeved you, but you found that you actually believed him. The tension eased from your shoulders ever so slightly.
“…Good,” you said after a moment. “But I still don’t understand the need for these meetings. I plan to be gone by tomorrow.”
“Because I know you,” he said. “You may not know me, but I consider myself generally knowledgeable of Ravka and its upper class.”
“What,” you said wryly, “do you want my advice on how best to rob them?”
“Of course not,” Sturmhond said. “I wouldn’t need your advice for that.”
You huffed a laugh. “So what do you want?”
“I’ve been at sea for quite some time,” he said, “and you’ve only just left Ravka. I’d very much appreciate it if you could share some of your insider knowledge on the Lantsovs.”
“You assume I have any.”
“I assume that the woman who used to be Nikolai Lantsov’s betrothed would have some,” Sturmhond replied smoothly.
Your heart stuttered for a beat at the mention of Nikolai. Any doubt Sturmhond might have had over his claim had to have dissolved with your expression.
He arched an eyebrow. “Well?”
You allowed yourself a deep breath before you finally took the seat across from him.
“Fine,” you said. “You’ve got me. I’m the daughter of a Ravkan duke and I used to be engaged to a Lantsov prince. Did you just want to prove your knowledge?”
“Not at all.” Sturmhond wisely poured an additional glass—brandy rather than kvas, thankfully. You needed something stronger if you were to deal with this. “I want your knowledge.”
“My being betrothed to Nikolai is why I don’t know as much as you think,” you said. You downed half the glass at once and your chest burned less than the memory. “Nikolai and I were to be wed when we were of age, yes, but he disappeared before I got the chance.”
“Disappeared?”
You nodded. “He was meant to come back after his service so we could prepare for the wedding. Instead,” your lips curled in a disdainful smile, “he up and left. The king broke off our engagement and I haven’t heard a word from Nikolai since.”
Sturmhond frowned. “My deepest apologies.”
You shrugged. “He made his choice. Apparently he’s in Ketterdam studying, but I very much doubt that. He was never good at sitting still. But wherever he is, I hope he’s still alive.” You huffed a laugh. “I cannot imagine Vasily taking the throne.”
“I’m sure he is still alive,” Sturmhond said. “And I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten you.”
“How kind of you,” you said dryly.
He was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “You say you plan to be gone by tomorrow. Does your plan include returning to Ravka?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I ran from my family and my fate, and that’s why I ended up here. I don’t think I can go back just yet.”
“And what fate did you run from?” Sturmhond asked.
“A marriage I didn’t want,” you said plainly.
“As opposed to the marriage you did want.”
“Are we done here?” you asked. “Because I don’t think you need to know more of my personal life.”
Sturmhond smiled after a moment and nodded. “Yes. But I’d like to see you one more time tomorrow, before we officially part ways.”
“You’re not going to change my mind,” you said.
“And I don’t intend to. There’s just one last thing I wish to share with you.”
“And you can’t do that now?” you asked wryly.
“Patience is a virtue, darling.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He held up his hands. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You’re very strange for a pirate,” you said.
“I’m quite normal for a privateer,” Sturmhond said.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head as you stood. “Enjoy the rest of your night, privateer.”
You felt his eyes on you as you left, and now more than ever you couldn’t shake that feeling. You looked at Tamar as you shut the door.
“How long have you been part of his crew?”
“A few years,” she said.
“Do you ever get used to him?”
Her lips quirked into a smile. “No.”
You sighed as the two of you started to walk. “What a surprise.”
-
You were at Sturmhond’s door the next afternoon, Tamar by your side. She hadn’t come to deliver you, but on your way there she told you she would be joining you. You certainly weren’t going to refuse her.
As usual, you didn’t bother to knock. As usual, Sturmhond was sitting at his desk. Tamar followed you in and shut the door, not as usual. Your brows knit together slightly.
“You actually came,” he said.
“Consider me intrigued,” you said. “I couldn’t just walk off and never know what you wanted to ‘share with me’.”
The corner of his mouth curled up into an achingly familiar smile. “You’re just as fiery as I remember.”
“We just met,” you said dryly.
“On the contrary.” Sturmhond sat up, and he removed his jacket. A metal pin glinted on his vest, a crowned double eagle. The Lantsov coat of arms. Your frown deepened. “You spent the other day describing our lost time together.”
“I’m…” you blinked and shook your head. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m Nikolai Lantsov,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me say all my titles, though.”
For a moment, you just stared at him. And then you laughed in complete disbelief.
“Is that what this is? You consider me a fool?”
“On the contrary,” he repeated. “It is because of your intelligence that I deigned to reveal myself.” He offered a wry smile. “And because you don’t hate me the way you should.”
“You cannot just say something so absurd and expect to believe it,” you said. “Anyone can rummage up a coat of arms. I have not heard and or received a single word from Nikolai, and now I am supposed to believe that he is right in front of me?”
“It sounds absurd when you put it like that,” Sturmhond said with a frown.
“Because it is absurd,” you enunciated. “I actually thank you for this, because now I know I’m making the correct choice. You may be a good captain, but you are a complete blackguard.”
You turned and offered a tight smile to Tamar. “Please move. I’d like to leave.”
“He speaks the truth,” Tamar said. “I promise you. He’s Nikolai Lantsov. My brother tailored him into Sturmhond at the beginning of all this, when we joined his crew. ”
You paused and looked back at the pirate claiming to be the man you loved. “What?”
“Nikolai Lantsov is much more valuable as a hostage on the seas,” he said. “No one spares a second glance at Sturmhond.”
“Then change him back,” you said, looking back at Tamar. “Get your brother and make him change him back if you want even the slightest chance of me believing these lies.”
“They are not lies,” she insisted. “And I’m not the best tailor.”
“You’re both Grisha,” you said flatly.
“Heartrenders,” Sturmhond (Nikolai?) supplied. “My most trusted crew. Come on, Tamar— I believe in you. Work your magic.”
She rolled her eyes as she walked over to him, and though your immediate instinct was to take the exit you’d been given, you crossed your arms and waited as she did her work. It didn’t take long for his muddy green eyes to change to hazel, his red hair to blonde. A slightly less broken nose.
He… he looked like the Nikolai you knew. It was staggering to just be standing across from him—or at least a mirror image of him—after so long apart. Older, more weathered, but with the same glint in his eye. The same glint that you looked forward to with each day, the glint that you remembered when you didn’t have him anymore.
“That doesn’t mean much,” you finally said, glancing away. “If you can tailor him into Sturmhond, surely you can tailor him into a Lantsov.”
“You overestimate my tailoring abilities,” Tamar said dryly.
“I still don’t trust it,” you said, and you started again for the door.
“When we were seven, I convinced you to sneak out of our etiquette lessons and go down to the river,” he suddenly said. Your hand froze on the door. “You scraped yourself on a particularly sharp rock while we were traversing the waters—you still have the scar on your ankle.”
You turned around. “How do you know that?”
“My father held a party and your family attended,” he continued. “We were ten and it was the most boring night possible. We evaded our parents’ attention and snuck off to the kitchens.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so many pastries in my life.”
A smile of your own, almost subconscious, began to form on your lips. You hadn’t thought of that party in years.
“And when I was fifteen, the year before I enlisted, I did the worst thing I could have done to your father.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I took one of his prized swords and did all sorts of moves trying to impress you—I only managed to dent it and get banned from your home for months.”
“I can’t believe you remember that,” you murmured.
“And…” he sighed and opened his drawer, rummaging around for a moment. He held a ring between his fingers when he emerged, and your heart stopped beating for a second. “I still have this.”
Your hand was shaking when you reached beneath your collar and took hold of the string around your neck. You pulled it into view, and the ring hanging on the bottom glinted in the light.
Your engagement rings still matched perfectly.
Nikolai’s smile was bright as you remembered as the realization hit. “And you still have yours.”
“Of course I do,” you said. “It was a lot of work to keep it in my possession.”
“I’m glad you went through it, then.”
“It really is you,” you whispered, letting your makeshift necklace fall back against your skin. “I— I just don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you playing pretend as a pirate?”
“Privateer,” he corrected. He glanced over at Tamar, still holding her post. “Could you give us a moment alone?”
She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. The room felt smaller with just you and Nikolai in it, with the man you were meant to marry who left you in the past.
“I do this because I can do much more to help Ravka from the seas as Sturmhond than gallivanting around court as a second son—a bastard son at that. My parents appreciate Sturmhond much more than they would Prince Nikolai.”
“I appreciated Prince Nikolai,” you said. “I appreciated just Nikolai. You could have at least sent a letter.”
“I know,” Nikolai said. To his credit, he did look mournful. “If there is one thing I regret about all of this, it is how I left you. I said what I said the other day because it’s true—I have not forgotten you. I never did.”
“Then why go through all of this with me?” you asked. “Why annoy me into spending time with you?”
“Because I’ve always been quite good at annoying you,” Nikolai said wryly, then his expression sobered. “And because… I didn’t know how you would feel about me after all this time. Everything you said yesterday was true—I did leave you, and I haven’t said a word to you since. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated me, and if you did, I didn’t want to force myself back into your life.” He managed another small smile. “Fortunately for me, you did not hate me.”
“I could never hate you, Nikolai,” you murmured. “I— I loved you. For a long time, and I think I still might.”
“Even more fortunate for me,” he said softly.
“So why didn’t you come back?” you asked.
“I…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Still cut in a military style. “You talked about how you despised your parents for forcing you into a marriage at such a young age. I didn’t want to force you into a life with me. If I had known you—” he chuckled, a boyish smile on his lips— “if I had known you loved me, I don’t know if Sturmhond would have ever come into fruition.”
“You are the reason I was here,” you said. “My parents thought they struck gold when the king agreed to a marriage between us. I thought I had struck gold as well, in you—a marriage my parents wanted couldn’t have been all bad if you were meant to be my husband. But you left that in the dust, and they still wanted a husband for me.”
“A marriage you didn’t want,” he echoed, his eyes soft.
You nodded. “They did all the work behind the scenes—I was going to meet him on our wedding day, some Kerch banker’s son. And I just… couldn’t face a life like that. So I ran. And with all the luck in the world—” you gestured lazily— “I ended up here.”
“Then I suppose it’s only fair that I ended up rescuing you,” Nikolai said.
“I thought this wasn’t a rescue,” you said wryly.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No. It’s still an opportunity— one I think you’ll like much more.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I plan to go back and take the throne someday,” Nikolai said, moving around his desk to be closer to you. “But I don’t want to miss another moment with you, not now. So until then,” he took your hand, encasing it between his own, and the warmth it provided was something you’d sorely missed, “will you do me the honor of sailing by my side?”
“I’m not a sailor,” you said with a breathy laugh.
“I can teach you,” he said eagerly. “I can teach you everything I know until you’re a better privateer than me. And you can teach me everything I’ve missed while being at sea—all the noble things I ought to know for when I return home.”
Your lips quirked in a smile, hardly able to contain the giddiness bursting in your chest. Your life went from destruction at the hands of slavers to renewal with Nikolai Lantsov by your side once more.
“How can I refuse?”
Nikolai grinned, and he tugged on your intertwined hands to pull you into a kiss. It wasn’t the first one you’d shared, but it was surely the best. It felt like a promise of something new—the promise that he wouldn’t let you go like he did before.
You were breathless when you pulled away, and the sight of Nikolai, blonde hair slightly ruffled because of you, his lips slightly red because of you, made you kiss him even harder the second time.
Your back hit the side of his desk and Nikolai was practically on top of you, seven years of lost love pouring through him all at once.
“And if it wasn’t clear,” Nikolai murmured between kisses, “I never stopped loving you for one moment.”
You groaned and pulled him even closer, your hands clenched tight around the fabric of his jacket. “You wear too many clothes.”
“Then fix it.” His voice was sultry in your ear and you didn’t know how you went seven years without him.
You were very thankful that he asked Tamar to leave.