Title Private

CHAPTER 1 GRACE 1542
The rope burns on my hands have already begun to blister. I rest them, palms down on the cool surface of the wooden mast that holds our mainsail. Up here on top of the rigging, the turquoise sea water beneath the boat, I feel at home. The wind from the surface of the water blows my hair back from my face, sunshine warms the tops of my cheeks, and the gulls soar overhead singing a soothing sea song. The water glitters and glistens, sparkling. In the distance the foam running across the top of the crest breaks, separating as gunmetal dolphins raise into the air. Their slick bodies break the surface as they take flight over the waves. They are shooting through the curling crests. I can’t help but smile as they rise from beneath the foam. I wonder what it would be like to live under the ocean with them. A black flag waves, its square ebony shadow an open mouth announcing its pirate tyranny just to the right of dolphins. My father and I notice the flag at the same time because just as I open my mouth to sound the alarm, his cannonball voice booms across the deck. I look back to the ship with black flags, it seems bigger, it's gaining on us quickly. They are marauders looking for trouble. My father, as the captain, instructs four sailors to wait beneath the decks and guard the merchandise we have accumulated from the Castile trade. The pirate boat swings abreast of us and sinks its anchor into the dancing water. I see my father’s eyes flicker their way across the deck, the wild panic behind his gaze tells me he’s looking for me. When he doesn’t see me roaming recklessly across the deck, relief floods their squint as he nods to himself, assuming I’m safe below. The pirates lower their gangways onto the deck and begin to board my father’s ship, Annabelle's Blasphemy, their swords brandished in front of them. The men working our deck do not falter. They unsheathe their weapons, which are kept on them and ready at all times, confronting the conflict straight away. Those without weapons raise their fists. I watch the movements of the men mesmerized from the mast above them. Not one bit of fear seeps into their bodies. Their parries become the to and fro steps of court dance. Each toe-tap was choreographed and performed rhythmically. My father at the bow of the ship defends himself against two men. The clang of their sword hits, echoing in a sodden ring around the bow of the ship mimicking our falsetto-pitched bards as they serenade our tales. He gets two strikes against the men that move to assassinate him, and they do not even manage to tear his tunic. I imagine that Lir would move just as fluidly as my father does. He does not stumble, he does not stagger. He moves as if he is a member of the fey capable of flight and fancy across the lurching deck. His sword is an extension of his arm, the blade becoming his hand seeking purchase in the skin of the enemy he defends himself against. He twists and spins deflecting each blow cast against him. He doesn't see the third man who is creeping up behind him like a spider across the pine planks. I scan the scene desperately appealing to the men with my thoughts to see that third man. Everyone is so busy confronting their enemy that they can’t stop to look around. I didn’t decide to jump. I know that. I leaned forward to give a warning cry and leaning much too far forward, I fell. The next thing I know, I’m flying through the air screaming in abject terror. My skinny, lanky 12-year-old body just happened to land on the back of the man with an eye on my father. I grab his sword from his hand and slam it into his chest cavity, with no hesitation. The sucking sound of his lungs reminds me of my brother as a suckling babe and I want to swoon like the prudent girls of our clan. The men all fought well that day. Our profits and supplies from the Castilian trade were untouched, and when we arrived home to Clare Bay, we had two new ships to add to our fleet.
My father has always used this story to emphasize my warrior roots. He would use it to brag and his eyes would crinkle with laughter every single time he retold it. My mother was the first to hear the story. Afterward, she says I am forbidden from accompanying my dad on sea voyages. She is trying to exile me from the sea and lock me up on land. She ensures I receive an adequate education while she keeps me in the castle. Through my tutors, I learn the art in cartography, the poetry in religion, and the song contained in mathematics. I speak five languages fluently. I resent my mother for everything I learn. I hate her every moment I am trapped on land and behind tutor doors. A bird belongs to the sky, a bear belongs to the trees, and I, just like the fish, belong to the sea. My mother and I were such different women. She was happy when she was at home. She loved raising her babies and gossiping with her servants. She didn’t mind waiting for my father and then inventorying the trade and plunder he came home with. I wanted to be there to see the action up close. I was a rogue wave in the deep sea. I wasn’t allowed to complain though, when I tried my mother would give a half-smile that meant I was exasperating her and say, “Put it on your shoulder Grace, and say it is not a burden.”