Maraea woke to the gentle movement of the ship. She rolled out of her bed, reveling in the sunlight coming in through her small cabin's round window. She stood up and stretched, reaching her arms to the ceiling and throwing her head back, her long black curls streaming down her back. She went to the window and looked out. It was a perfect day, with beautiful clear skies and calm seas. It would be a good day for sailing, as had every day been before. She smiled to herself.

The sailors on her father's ship had not been happy when they learned she was coming. They still clung to the superstition that women were bad luck on a ship.

Well, she thought, every day has been perfect and we've had no problems. Perhaps that record will change their minds.

Feeling cheery, Maraea moved to her chest of clothes. She riffled through the dresses, which were all silk and beautiful fabrics. Her father was a wealthy merchant, and he had brought her back many different cloths to be made into dresses from his voyages. Maraea had been happy with them as a little girl, but she had always wanted to be with him while he travelled. Finally, when she turned seventeen, she begged her father to take her on one of his journeys. He had finally agreed, and here she was, loving every minute she spent on The Golden Trade, or as the sailors called her, the Old Golden.

Humming, she pulled out one of her favorite dresses. It was blood red and set off her black hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. She dressed quickly, brushed her hair back from her face, made her bed and went up onto the deck.

As she stepped out onto the open deck and took a big breath of the salty air, exhilaration filled her that was only slightly diminished by the resentful looks from several of the sailors. But not all of the looks were hostile.

Walking steadily across the moving deck, she crossed the ship to her father's cabin. She knocked on the door and entered when he called her in.

"Good morning father!" she said brightly.

"Good morning," He answered absently. Her father, a graying man in his forties, was bent over a map on his desk. He had out a few tools and was measuring the distance they still had to cover. Maraea waited respectfully while he finished his calculations and took note of them on a piece of parchment nearby.

"Come out of this cave," Maraea said as soon as he rolled the map up. "It's a beautiful day."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I will, don't worry. But it's not as much a miracle for me as for you; I've seen hundreds of beautiful days sailing these seas."

"Oh but this one is so much nicer," Maraea laughed. "All the men are almost grumpy that the voyage is going so well. As if their silly superstitions were actually…"

She was cut off by a shout from on deck.

Some amount of commotion began, and the two ducked out of the dark cabin. Blinking in the sunlight, Maraea looked around in dismay. Most of the sailors were already on deck, gathered at the rails. The rest were running up out of the hull to see.

"What is it?" Maraea asked, looking at her father.

The man in the crow's nest answered her.

"Another ship sighted, sir," the man yelled down from the tiny platform. "Just spotted, sir, no colors visible yet."

The captain walked to the rail of the ship and his men parted to let him see. There was indeed a ship, too far away to be more than a speck recognizable as a sailing rig.

"Keep an eye on her," said The Golden Trade's captain. "Keep me updated. The rest of you, back to work."

The men reluctantly turned away from watching the other ship and returned to wherever they had been. Maraea, however, climbed the ladder to the deck above her father's cabin. She took his brass spyglass from its holder near the wheel and squinted through it.

The ship was sleek and dark, but other than that she could tell nothing about it. She sighed and leaned against the rail, determined to wait until she could get a good look at it.

She must have dozed off because she was awakened by a shout from above her.

"Get the captain!" The man in the crow's nest was yelling. Maraea grabbed the spyglass and looked again.

Her heart froze in her chest. The ship was quite visible now. As she had noticed before, it was beautifully made, sleek, dark, and ornate. It was surely gaining on them, and this was a cause for concern because there, slowly making its way up the mast, was a black flag with the skull and crossbones on it. Chills went up her spine and she raced down the ladder. Her father was standing at the rail and looking through a smaller spyglass, which he cursed and threw away as Maraea handed him his own. He was silent for a long time looking through the glass. Then he murmured something under his breath that sounded like a prayer – surprising Maraea, because he was not a religious man – then lowered the spyglass and looked down like a man resigned to his fate.

"She'll catch us in no time," he said to himself. Maraea stared at her father in horror.

Her spirits, which had started the day on sunny high, were now spiraling down in a whirlpool of fear. As her mind raced over what was going to happen, she wondered if the men were right after all. Her father had taken hundreds of voyages before and never seen a single pirate; now, on the one voyage on which he took his daughter, they were doomed. Was this her fault?

Shaking off the ridiculous superstition, Maraea looked around on deck. More than one of the men was looking at her, and she knew they blamed her. She glared back. She was going to die as honorably as any of them if it came to that.

She turned back to the pirate ship. It was drawing ever closer. She turned and scooped up the spyglass her father had thrown away. It was not as powerful as his was, but even with it she could now see the individual men on the deck. The sight of them made her blood run cold.

"Maraea, get below." Her father said. "And stay there. No matter what happens."

She put the glass down and walked past the sailors, and each of them looked at her with blame in his eyes. Holding back tears, she kept her head high and walked with grace. It was not her fault, she told herself, no matter what the men thought.

On the other ship, a dark-haired young man watched her through his own glass. Lowering the glass he turned to his father. "I have a request, captain," he said.

Maraea sat in her cabin, hating it. She didn't know what was happening above, and she knew that if she went up on deck, she would be sent back. Anger at being blamed bubbled in her stomach. Stupid, superstitious fools, she thought.

Suddenly, her entire cabin rattled and a boom echoed outside. Maraea leapt to her feet. Cannon fire! She couldn't stand it; she couldn't just stay there. Out to the hall she flew, looking up and down quickly before deciding it was clear. She sprinted down the hallway towards the deck. She was nearly knocked off her feet when the entire ship lurched. She could hear men shouting and the screaming of wood under strain. Fear was streaming thickly through her blood, but there was also excitement, which overrode her timidity. Back on her feet, she slipped down the last few feet of the hall. She paused at the door, listening to the sounds on the other side. Through the thick wood all she could hear was the vague noise of men shouting. With a trembling hand she turned the knob and opened the door a crack. She couldn't see through it, so she opened it a little wider…

Chaos met her eyes. There were men all over the deck, some of them dressed in the simple clothes she was used to, but the majority were dressed outlandishly, in wildly patterned and oddly cut clothes, covered in ornaments and jewelry. The pirates had boarded the Old Golden, and had her crew outnumbered.

"Dear god," Maraea gasped. The men were fighting for their lives. As she watched, frozen, a particular sailor, who had once very loudly complained about her presence, was cut down. She couldn't hold back a shriek as the man crumpled, blood boiling from a wound in his chest. Even as his lifeless figure became still, the pirate who had killed him wiped his rapier on the corpse, and looked up.

The man was tall, and well built. He out of all the pirates was least decorated. He wore clean black pants tucked into high leather boots, with a flowing red shirt that was darkly splattered with more red from the man at his feet. His hair was black as well, and his ice-blue eyes matched her own.

As their eyes met, Maraea's heart froze. He took a step foreword. Like lightning, a shock ran through her body and she started into movement, whirling around and flinging herself back into the hallways. She had no doubt the man was following her. She could hear the soft sound of his leather boots on the wooden floors. The sound fueled her fear and she broke into a full-out sprint. She knew The Golden Trade while the pirate did not, and anticipated her route. Thinking desperately, she burst through a door that she knew led into two separate hallways. Knowing she had little time, she wrenched one of the doors open, left it ajar, and flew through the other one, shutting it firmly behind her. Outside she heard his footsteps slow and she could almost see him stopping to consider. But she didn't wait to hear more and sprinted down the hallway. She had not been in this part of the ship often. A little confused, she made a wrong turn and stepped into a closed room, which was full of chests storing various valuable objects to be traded. She whirled around, looking for an exit, but there was none; so she started back towards the door just as the pirate came flying into view.

He caught himself against the doorframe when he saw her standing there. His eyes flicked around the room, noting that he barred the only escape. Then a half-smile crossed his face and he leaned against the wood for support, catching his breath, his still red-stained rapier hanging almost limply from his right hand.

Maraea stood there, her whole body tense with anticipation, struggling to breathe. She could only wait as he took a step towards her, his eyes locked on hers, watching as she searched for a way out.

"I won't hurt you," he said, almost kindly, but with something odd in his tone. His voice was low and softer than expected, but at the moment it made her skin go cold. She didn't answer him.

He took another step towards her, raising his weapon a little, and she countered to her right. He stood still, watching her, judging, and then took another step in. She countered again, moving closer to the door all the time. As she moved, something brushed against her back. Something hard protruded from one of the storage chests behind her. Slowly, her heart thundering, she reached behind her and grasped it.

"Really, I do not intend to harm you." he said. But there was that small smile still on his face. She couldn't believe him. She waited until he took another step towards her, then wrenched whatever it was out of the chest and threw it at him. He ducked as the silver-plated candelabra flew through the air and dodged towards his left, which was unfortunately towards the door. Maraea threw herself towards escape. She heard his rapier clatter to the ground, his outstretched arms just missing her sleeve as she slipped out the door. But as she swung around the edge of the doorframe he was hot on her heels. She sprinted down the hall, but with a lunging dive he tackled her from behind. She rolled over quickly before he could hold her down, elbowing and punching everything she could manage. But he still managed to pin her. She lay, chest heaving, arms pinned by his hands, furiously staring into the eyes of a murderous pirate.

"Where were you running to?" He asked, calmly mocking her. She didn't answer. She knew her flight had been of little use, but she wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.

"We all but have the ship now," he said, glancing down the hall. "There's nowhere you could hide that we wouldn't find you."

"So you think," Maraea said with vehemence, thinking of a smuggler's hold her father had shown her and arching her back with all her strength, in an attempt to throw him off her. "You don't know the ship as I do. I can think of several places I could be safe."

He laughed, holding her steady. "Even if you reached them, it wouldn't matter. The boat's going down anyway."

Maraea choked. "You're sinking the ship!"

"We must. On that note I think it best we get off of her before that is done."

He rolled off of her and dragged her to her feet. He pulled her, reluctantly, back to the room so he could replace his sword in its sheath, and then, swiftly, he caught her around the waist and threw her over his shoulders. She shrieked and beat his back with her fists, but he carried her unflinchingly all the way back to the deck.

By now there were fewer men fighting, and of those who were, The Old Golden's sailors that remained were fighting with the desperation of cornered animals. As Maraea struggled, she looked around desperately for her father. She didn't see him, but she did see too many familiar faces still with death; some were alive, but gray with pain. Ignoring all this, the pirate leapt onto a gangplank stretching between the two ships and crossed it.

At this Maraea screamed bloody murder. Her father was sitting, tied to several other men who had been disarmed. At the sound of his daughter's voice he dragged them all to their feet with one desperate leap. Staggering, he tried to carry his four companions to his daughter's rescue despite the pirates holding them back.

"Maraea!" He yelled hoarsely. "Please, no," He turned to the pirate holding his arm. "I'll do anything, anything! Don't take my daughter from me!" But he fell quiet when the butt of the sword connected with his temple.

Reaching the pirate ship deck, the man shrugged Maraea off and lightly set her down on the deck. Immediately she leapt up and made for the plank again, but she barely got two feet before he had caught her waist. Having heard her father alive and crying for her, Maraea fought him tooth and nail, struggling against his superior strength with desperate energy. Finally spent, she slumped in his arms, held up only by his will.

"There now," he said to her. Then, calling to two pirates left on The Old Golden, "Tie her to the mast. I have to speak with my father."

As the other two men took her she struggled futilely. She could not outfight one, let alone two sea-hardened sailors. It was with a consuming sense of helplessness that she slumped against the ropes that tied her to the great wooden mast.

"It's all right, gal," Said one of the men as he yanked the last knot tight. Maraea was jerked against the solid wood. She glared at him, but he just grinned. "Garren's the Captain's son, he's going to Captain this ship one day." Maraea turned away from the leering smile. As if that was a comfort to her!

They had tied her on the far side of the mast, so that she could not see what was going on aboard the other ship. She was forced to wait in fear for several hours, watching pirates transfer her father's goods and The Golden Trade's supplies and waiting, hoping, for the prisoners to be brought over.

At last Garren returned. She was hunched over, with her head bowed, her long black tresses covering her face. She didn't move or give any sign of acknowledging his approach. Concerned, Garren reached out and brushed the hair from her face to see if she was all right. Furious at the touch, Maraea tried to hurt him with the only weapon she had: her teeth.

Yanking his hand back, Garren laughed lightly, relieved she still had fight. "A spirited girl!" He announced grandly. Maraea funneled all her hate into her eyes, and turned her gaze on him. "Let me go," she demanded.

"I've ordered your things brought over," he said, pacing in front of her, ignoring her attempts. Maraea didn't grace the statement with a response. She had seen her things in the hands of those filthy men.

"Release me!" She ordered again.

"I took the liberty of bringing them to your quarters." He continued, impervious to her pleas.

Maraea studied him, not understanding.

"I hope we haven't left anything; perhaps you should check. Come along." And he drew a small, serrated dagger from his belt. Maraea jerked away from him as far as the ropes allowed.

"Don't be silly, girl," he said, sawing through the ropes. "I told you, I'm not going to hurt you."

"As if I would trust a pirate's word-" As the ropes suddenly came loose, Maraea fell foreword. The hours tied against the mast had made her body sore and numb. Garren caught her quickly and held her firmly. Hating his closeness, Maraea tried to pull away, but her exhausted body did little against him as he held her fast, half-dragging her into the bowels of the pirate ship. They went down the hall a short ways, and then he opened a door and ushered her into a small room.

In shape, it slightly resembled her own, though much differently decorated. But she didn't even pause to look around; it was a bedroom.

As soon as Garren had released her, she threw herself at him. He easily caught her and held her with one arm against his chest while she closed the door. Weeping now with frustration about how easily he overpowered her, Maraea pushed away from him when he released her. She stumbled a few feet away and faced him, chin up and head held high, despite the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"You are the filth of this earth," she said, speaking slowly and filling each word with disgust and hatred. "Men like you are the lowest of life forms, not fit to be alive. Your kind should be extinguished."

Garren ignored her speech, studying her with his head cocked to one side and a look of serious consideration in his eyes. "What is your name?" He asked.

Taken aback, Maraea answered. "Maraea." Then, summoning courage, "Maraea Dyvonne Lynson. My father owned The Golden Trade you just gutted. I expect you will treat him with more respect than the other prisoners?"

Garren looked away. "We don't take prisoners."
It took a minute for that to sink in. "What?" Maraea asked, breathless.

"We can't risk it. We don't want our whereabouts, or our existence, known. We can't let anyone escape."

"What are you going to do to them?" she asked hoarsely.
"They'll go down with The Golden Trade. We can't leave anyone who encounters

us alive."

Maraea stared at him with an open mouth. They were all going to die? Except…

"Except for me," she said.

"Except for you."

She turned away from him, unable to look at him anymore.

"Why?"

He took a deep breath before answering. "I am the Captain's son," he said, almost apologetic. "I get what I want."

"And you wanted me?" she asked, turning on him.

"That's why you're here."
"What am I, some kind of loot? Do you think you own me now? Well, you don't.

I still control my life. You can't force me to keep breathing."

Garren watched her. She watched him back.

"Spare my father's life," she begged.

"Impossible." He shook his head.

"You get what you want, don't you?" she said desperately.

Garren shook his head and laughed sadly. "Let me rephrase that," he said. "I get what my father is willing to give me. What you ask is too much. He will never agree."

Maraea stood motionless for a moment. Then she crumpled slowly to the floor, arms wrapped around herself as she saw her life be wiped clean of everything she had known like a schoolchild's slate. Garren watched her for a minute, then tactfully slipped out the door. He settled outside of it to wait.