Free Hero by Alethea Kontis Page B

them out to sea.
    A large shadow passed over the sun; she shielded her eyes with a hand to see a few birds with very large wings diving into the ship’s wake. Three were white; one was smaller and dark, but with a wingspan just as wide as that of his fairer cousins. The white birds seemed more skilled at snatching prey, though the dark one was just as adept at thieving from the others’ beaks.
    “Mollymawks,” said a voice behind her. “The dark one is a frigate bird. Don’t see many of those this far north. But then, one doesn’t typically see the ocean this far east.”
    Saturday braced herself for the sisterly drama, but none came.
    “The mollymawks bring luck, if they stick around. Their dung’s good luck too. High Simon wears an umbrella for a hat.”
    Saturday squinted up into the bright sky at the crow’s-nest. Simon was a common name on the sea for men hiding from the law. “How many Simons are in your crew?”
    Thursday took a moment to count them all. “Seven,” she said finally. “Plus Crow and Magpie, whom you’ve met.”
    Ah yes, the duo that had delivered Thursday’s trunk full of treasures that spring. The daggers in their boots had fascinated Saturday almost as much as the men themselves. One of them had a funny accent. She couldn’t remember which. She looked forward to seeing them again. “And your cabin boy,” added Saturday.
    “Ashes-on-the-Wind.”
    “She doesn’t seem like much.”
    “If her brains were as smart as her mouth, she’d be Queen of the World,” said Thursday. “Pay her no mind.”
    If the girl had half as much gumption as Thursday and Saturday, she was in the right place. A gust of wind whipped Saturday’s hair over her shoulder, and she was glad Mama had taken the time to braid it. The birds screeched at each other overhead, dancing in and out on the currents of air as if they were braiding it themselves.
    From beneath her brightly colored kerchief, Thursday pulled several strands of hair and handed them to Saturday. The bits of titian curled around her fingers. “Monday said I should give this to you. Not quite sure what for, though.”
    “My bracelet.” Saturday slipped the small dagger from the opposite side of her swordbelt and pressed gently at the seam in the blue-green fabric. Two small stitches gave way, and she shoved Thursday’s hair into the thin sleeve. When the rough edges were pressed back together the fabric seemed to melt back into itself, as if there had never been an interruption.
    “That looks familiar. Friday’s handiwork?”
    Of course Thursday recognized the fabric; it had been she who’d sent it to the towerhouse in her infamous trunk. That same trunk had borne the brush-and-mirror set.
    “She made me a dress for the first night of the royal balls, just like you requested,” Saturday told her. “But then I . . . I wasn’t able to go the second night, so Friday used bits of my dress to gussy up everyone else’s gowns. She sewed up pieces of their hair into this remnant as a memento.” Saturday had hated those balls and everything about them. The bracelet was a trophy, marking her triumph of will at defying Mama’s wishes.
    “That’s sweet of her.”
    “That’s Friday, silly and sentimental. After the evil king was dead and the dust cleared, Trix and Peter and Monday gave me bits of their hair to add to it. Yours was the only one of the siblings’ I didn’t have.”
    “Besides Jack and Tuesday.”
    Saturday gave her pirate sister a sideways glance. Had the sun bleached her brain along with her hair? “Right,” she said. “Besides Jack and Tuesday.” Not that she meant to go digging up graves.
    Thursday had to shade her eyes to look up at Saturday. How had she ever won a fight being so short?
    “You’ve certainly grown quite a bit bigger since I last saw you,” said her tiny sister.
    “Her mouth has grown proportionately. So has yours.”
    Erik’s presence delighted Thursday—as did almost everything else, it