Sparks of Unrest (Chapters 1-3)

Chapter 1

Artemisia

The tobacco filling Artemisia’s lungs felt like a godsend. She sat back, blowing pale smoke through the porthole into the damp air, and closed her eyes. No cargo was lost, but two crew members had toppled overboard as the waves nearly drowned them all.

Her quarters were a mess, with furniture tumbled everywhere. Even the solid oak desk was thrown across the room. A stool rocked back and forth as the ship swayed. She’d only righted the one chair she was sitting on and had debated sleeping right there since the mattress in the corner was soaked, thanks to the new leak in the window.

She couldn’t sleep, though. It was finally night, and the clouds were breaking up. The crew still needed her.

The cabin door banged against the back wall as the ship rocked again. Corban cursed as the door swung towards him on the rebound.

“Chair’s knocked over,” she said, opening her eyes but not standing up.

“I see that,” he said, taking in his surroundings. He groaned when he spotted their bed.

“We could get one of the torch mages,” Art suggested. “It wouldn’t be quick, but they could dry it.”

“Nah, let them sleep. We’ll be fine.”

Corban took the stool from behind the door and joined her, scrubbing the water from his long dreadlocks.

“Thank you for catching a glimpse of that storm,” Art said, sitting upright.

He shrugged. “It’s what the light told me, but I misjudged the intensity.”

“You found out enough to help us prepare.”

“We lost Hadwin and Lothar,” he said through clenched teeth as if saying their names caused him pain.

“It could have been all of us,” she said, taking his hand.

He nodded and tried to smile, but it faded. She knew he wasn’t going to sleep much tonight.

“I should look again.” He stood and stretched. “While the night is clearing up.”

“You think there’ll be another storm so soon?”

“No, but I want to see if there’s anything else.”

“Well, then the stars can wait.” Artemisia stood too, a cigarette in hand, and blocked his path. “You’re exhausted. We’ll handle anything else, if need be.”

  He started to protest but stopped when the ship swayed again. His sea legs were just as practised as hers, but he still had to catch himself on the table’s edge.

“Fair,” he said, sitting on their soaked bed. “You’ll steer us clear of anything anyway.”

“Damn right. I just want to get us out of the clouds,” she said, stretching her arms overhead. “Find a dry patch. Get some sleep.”

Sticking the cigarette between her teeth, Artemisia left their quarters. The worn deck was soaked, and ropes were tangled and strewn everywhere. The masts survived, but the mainmast was tilting far more to the left than she was comfortable with.

Ritter leaned against the bannister, a bottle in hand, watching the ocean waves finally calm. A coil of rope still hung over his shoulders as if he’d forgotten it was there.

She knew Meharis was at the wheel above them. Looking up, she could vaguely make out his bulky outline, but she raised a hand to him in greeting. He raised a hand back. Poor sod was probably exhausted too.

Art took her place near the bow, just under the more intact foremast, and looked up.

The moon shone in its full glory as the clouds finally dispersed. It may have been a cold night, but she always felt safe and comforted by that light.

She inhaled, causing the tip of the cigarette to glow, and closed her eyes. A thin purple mist veiled her hands as she absorbed the power of the moonlight through her bare skin, and once she could feel the energy coursing through her body, she cast her mind down to the ocean waves below the ship. She cringed, as if she herself had scraped against the ship’s rough underside. The barnacles were building up again, causing a phantom itch in her mind and back. Opening her eyes and blowing the smoke out through her nose, Artemisia focused and pushed the ocean tides underneath her ship. The winds had calmed after the storm but were now taking them in the wrong direction. Drawing from the moon’s light, she turned the ship and pushed them forward until dawn.

The storm had blown them so off course that Corban had to use the star charts to correct their direction twice during the night. When the shore was finally in sight, Art staggered back into her quarters and collapsed onto the soggy bed.

She couldn’t manipulate the tides during the day, but with enough of the moon’s residual power stored within her, she could push them for maybe an extra hour into the early morning. Few could boast that ability, but Art had to admit it made her feel like shit afterwards. It had taken Corban three attempts to wake her.

Artemisia stole a sigh of relief as the Selene docked. The crew seemed just as relieved. They were sea dogs down to their bones, but that last storm had been rough.

Art made a mental note to make sure they were tipped well; they probably wanted nothing more than to spend it on ale and tavern food. Her own stomach rumbled at the thought of fresh chicken. She could probably also rent out an entire inn for them for awhile since they had a decent amount of coin on board.

Once the gangplank was down, Art immediately made her way across to the dock. She had to find the shipyard’s master. It didn’t take long. These city folk did love their insignia and sigils. Once she spotted the uniform marked with an anchor and two lines, she addressed the man wearing it.

“It’s still fifteen coppers to dock, right?” she asked.

The thin man, with even thinner hair, jumped at her voice. After a moment, with his hand clutched to his chest, he nodded. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Great.” She tossed a small purse onto his podium. “It’s for the Selene. There should be enough for any repairs and a new bed in the captain’s quarters. And make sure the damn barnacles are scraped off.”

Corban caught up with her. “I’ve already talked to the dockhands about that,” Corban said to the shipyard master.

“Perfect,” Art said, taking off down the dock again, eyeing the buildings around them. “Food?”

“Art, hold on.” Corban jogged to catch up. “Don’t you think we should stop in and say hello first?”

Art glanced up to the massive stone-and-brick tower in the distance, with its dark wooden inlays and surfaces covered with intricate carvings of trees. The tallest buildings of Illuminae stood three-stories high, but that regal tower rose above them all. At its peak blazed the Eternal Flame, a ten-foot column of fire that always burned, never dying, even in the harshest of storms. It stood above the city, like a mainmast attached to the palace.

“Lunch first,” Art said. “Then I’ll go say hi to my brother’s royal ass. You coming?”

“To the lunch? Oh yes,” he said, “but I’m off to the temples first. Did you want to come with me?”

She eyed him without replying.

“All right.” He shrugged and shifted his dreadlocks over one shoulder. “But you know I always offer.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “Thank the gods for the both of us, okay?”

Corban half grinned. “I always do.”

“Nyze?!” Art shouted, bursting into the Rusted Tavern.

The wide building was already half filled with most of her crew. While a name like Rusted Tavern didn’t feel inviting, the food was delicious, and the name held meaning. Two rusty swords hung over the fireplace, seemingly retired, but if anyone caused enough ruckus those swords would be brought down by the tavern owners.

Everyone froze at her bellowing outburst, though if it had been late at night when the tavern was filled with rowdy patrons, no one would have batted an eye. One fellow at the bar nearly choked on his drink.

“Arty!” the bartender shouted, beaming. “Where the fuck have you been, you old bitch?” The tall, muscular woman tossed her long braid behind her shoulder and beamed at Art.

Ignoring the curious stares, Art strode forward to hug her friend. Nyze picked her up and returned the hug with a spine-crushing grip.

“Where’s Tefban?” Art asked when Nyze finally put her down.

“She had to run out for more bread. These heathens are eating everything!” She swiped her bar towel towards the crowd.

“You’ve got chicken, right?”

“Plenty.” She nodded.

“Get more. My entire crew is good for it. We had a hell of a trip in, and they need to eat.”

Nyze’s eyes widened. “Storm or a fight this time?”

“Storm,” Art said, taking a seat at the bar.

Nyze filled a tankard and passed it to her.

A few more of the Selene’s men and women entered the tavern and waved at Artemisia. She nodded back, holding her ale up to them.

“All the chicken then. Got it.” Nyze smiled.

After about an hour of hot food, cards, and a little too much ale for the morning, Corban found them, his dark skin already glistening with sweat from the heat of the day. The rest of the crew had arrived by then and were enjoying the Rusted Tavern’s glorious offerings. Artemisia couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of satisfaction as she watched her crew dominate the space.

When Art spotted Corban from across the room, she called out, “there’s my star-eyed lad!”

The crew laughed as he rolled his eyes and sat down next to her.

“How drunk are you?” he asked, leaning his back against the bar.

“I’m not. It’s only my sixth,” she defended, polishing off her drink.

He chuckled and took the tankard Nyze held out to him.

“Might want to slow down a touch for later,” he suggested.

“Or speed up. It would make things a hell of a lot more enjoyable with Vivienne.”

“Art.”

“I know, I know.” She waved away the warning. She wasn’t even buzzed yet, to be honest. “I just don’t want her to make a fuss like last time.”

“Me neither, but I know you miss your brother and his kids. Plus, he probably already knows the Selene is docked here, and it might be for a while …”

Corban took a drink, avoiding eye contact.

“Why?” Art pressed.

He swallowed and sighed. “I checked back with the dockhands. Turns out the rudder’s been beaten to shit. And we need to replace the mainmast.”

“Fuck!” Art spun in her stool to face the bar properly, away from the crew. “How long did they say?”

“Don’t exactly know yet,” Corban said, “but a few weeks at least if it’s that bad.”

She cursed again.

“Maybe break it to the crew tonight?”

“Aye,” she said. “I was thinking the same.”

Nyze set another tankard down, and Art snatched it up, leaning on Corban’s shoulder as she drank.

Grimacing, she said, “might as well go say hi then.”

Chapter 2

Komiya

Komiya took a few steps back as Cirio heated up the coal in the forge but made sure to stay just close enough to assist. Not that he had much room to begin with. The blacksmith shop was a plain building with four walls that held just enough space to work but boasted massive doors that opened up to the street for ventilation.

Komiya held a lit torch towards his boss. The air around them quickly became sweltering as Cirio stepped forward and drew from the flames, absorbing their power into the palm of his hand and extinguishing the torch. He turned and directed his glowing palm at the pile of coal. Komiya watched as light and heat shot into the furnace, and a fire blazed to life.

“Get that bellows going,” Cirio ordered.

Komiya dropped the dead torch and started pumping the bellows. Air rushed through the forge, and the coals glowed even brighter. The torch alone could have ignited the flames, but Cirio preferred the swiftness of his torchlight and igniting the coals himself, since it allowed him more control over the temperature.

Cirio took the half-finished, double-headed axe they had been commissioned to make and buried it in the burning coals.

“How’re those horseshoes coming?” he asked.

“Well,” Komiya said, putting down the bellows and glancing at his workstation covered in iron scraps. “They’re going.”

“You’ll get them done by tonight, right?”

“Oh yes,” Komiya reassured him, combing a hand through his coal-black hair.

Cirio nodded. He had always had a hard edge, but Komiya was glad to be his employee. Cirio never meddled in the projects that were passed to him, trusting Komiya to get them done on time and with fine workmanship.

“Good,” Cirio said, pulling the axe out of the coals.

Komiya paused before going back to the horseshoes, aware that Cirio might need something else.

He noticed that Cirio was almost done with the blade of the axe, so he quickly set aside the nails, wood, and glue he’d need for the handle. Cirio could gather the materials easily enough, but Komiya knew he was hired, in part, for his attentiveness. It had been hard finding a job as a non-mage, so he was grateful when Cirio hired him and never harked on his absence of magical ability, but Komiya still felt like he had to prove he was worth keeping around. He’d never said so out loud, but he always felt a sense of validation when he watched Cirio reach for the tools that Komiya preemptively laid out for him. After another hour, and with the fourth completed shoe set aside, Komiya went to the back of the forge to find Cirio at his workbench.

“Is there anything else you need me to do, sir?” he asked, leaning a hand on the doorframe.

Cirio blinked a few times, coming back to himself after being fixated on sanding the axe handle for so long.

“Done the shoes?” he asked, sitting up on the stool, voice as stern as always.

“Yes.”

“Cleaned up?”

“Yup, swept the shop front too.”

“Good lad. Nah, I don’t need you for now. Take the rest of the day off then.” He waved a hand, shooing him off and shifted his stool closer to his work.

“Thank you, sir.” Komiya beamed. Usually, there was something that needed to be taken care of, but it was the end of the week, and all their orders were done. “Have a good night!”

“You too, Komiya. Stay safe out there.”

Komiya eagerly jogged out of the forge and onto Southern Square.

Illuminae, with its flat landscape, was set up in a perfect grid system with a main square at each compass point. The Southern Square, also known as Torch Lane, held other blacksmiths, various markets, and a few inns. They were lucky to have their own forge that opened right onto a street with so much foot traffic.

Komiya stopped at his favourite seafood market and picked up his usual order, a tasty fish wrap, and scarfed it down on the walk home. No one interrupted him, leaving him to stroll peacefully, and he made it to his flat quickly. He took the steps two at a time and, once inside, bolted the door securely with both locks and kicked off his shoes.

The single room was large and could comfortably house a small family. There was a modest but well-equipped kitchen in one corner and a small bed tucked into another.

The rest of the space was littered with various benches, desks, and crates piled high with miscellaneous materials, and bits and pieces of metal covered almost every other surface. Anyone else would have been shocked at the chaos, but Komiya knew where every single item belonged and where to find the scraps he needed to create his little odds and ends. He could sit there for hours, twisting pieces of metal into different shapes for simple inventions that would spin around or pluck a tune. He’d even managed to sell a few.

Pushing his hair from his eyes, he sat by the only window at a worn desk covered in notes and sketches of his latest project and got to work, glad to have eaten on the way home. He would be working into the night on his most ambitious project yet: he was going to find a way to keep the forge lit at night. If they could stay open later with a more consistent light that doesn’t flicker, and even hire a second shift of workers, they could hopefully complete more commissions and pull in more income. 

While Cirio and the success of the forge had been Komiya’s motivation for this newest project, part of his inspiration also came from the king. Maybe this would draw more of the king’s attention towards the non-mages instead of them always being sidelined when it came to employment.   How remarkable would it be for a dullard like himself to invent a light source that could be easily moved around and was inextinguishable?! The mages with their light sources held the advantage in almost every way, but Komiya refused to let that discourage him. If he could pull this off, it would prove his worth. He would figure this out without magic and do a good turn for all non-mages.

Komiya sighed and scrubbed at his face to wake up a bit more and got to work. As a non-mage, his greatest powers were his ordinary mind and inventions.

Chapter 3

Artemisia

“Think they’re going to stop us at the gate again?” Art asked as they crossed the Central Square over the crescent of garden soil.

“Given how much your brother reamed out the captain last time, I don’t think so.” Corban chuckled. “Though, I’ll never feel comfortable just walking in.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. They only arrested us once.”

“Once is enough.” He grimaced.

Artemisia made sure to make eye contact as they approached the wooden palace. Servants watched them with confusion as the guards let them pass. She even waved at General Dardanus, and he raised a hand back. She remembered when she and her brother were young, and Dardanus, who was just a captain at the time, would have to chase them down as they snuck out almost every night.

The old man was getting up there in age and his hair had turned a stark silver, but being one of the most powerful torch mages in the city, he was irreplaceable, and based on the look of him he wasn’t ready to retire.

“We’re fine,” she reassured Corban again.

He just grunted in response.

The palace seemed to grow out of the ground before them as it literally had done over three hundred years ago. Her brother had reinforced the structure a few times over the years with his own methods, and it looked even more impressive now. The way the palace’s exterior walls came together resembled a simple box from the front, but the intricate details around every arch, window, and door were perfectly carved. Thick hollowed-out trees stood at each of the corners, deeply rooted into the foundation. The dark walls rose into a bell tower, high above the double entry doors, and housed the spire-like Eternal Flame at its pinnacle. The Selene was Art’s home, but she had to admit it was nostalgic seeing the familiar surroundings from her childhood.

Trying not to worry too much as they passed the front doors, she caught the eye of a butler, who looked rather frightened when she addressed him.

“Let His Highness know that Artemisia and Corban are in the western parlour. Sissy’s home.” She smiled, trying to not terrify the lad, though she knew the curved sword and filthy captain’s coat didn’t help.

The butler nervously glanced between them before hurrying off.

Art forced her breathing to slow. Everything would be fine, and it would be nice to see the family, even Vivienne.

After twenty minutes, as she juggled a tiny painted vase between her hands, Art considered leaving, but Corban had made himself comfortable on the sofa and was casually cleaning the dirt from under his nails. She had to remind herself to be patient; this wasn’t her own ship and crew. This wasn’t even her house anymore. She could make herself settle in and then poke at her brother later for making her wait.

“Not planning on stealing that, are you?” A voice rang out.

Art paused with the vase still in her hands, but she knew that voice and smiled.

“’Course not,” she said, placing it back on the mantel. “We plundered enough from trade ships last week.”

“They weren’t my ships, I hope.”

Art turned and faced her brother with genuine delight.

“One might have been.” She shrugged.

Apostolos Letosia sighed but matched her grin, arms crossed over his chest. They’d made a pact long ago that she’d never attack his ships, and she’d held to that promise.

“I’d hug you, but …” He gestured to her clothes.

“Oh, you have hundreds of suits,” she said, shoving aside his judgmental hand and taking hold of him. “Come here, Apple Sauce.”

He embraced her back. “It’s good to see you again, Arty.”

“Likewise,” she said as they parted.

She examined him and noticed his hair was much shorter than the last time she had seen him, but it was the same dark blond as her own and the same black eyes that smiled back.

“And how are you, Corban?” Apostolos asked.

“Great,” Corban replied, getting to his feet. They shook hands. “I’ll admit I’m looking forward to any coffee if you have some.”

“Of course. So, how hard was it to convince her to come in?” Apostolos asked, a slight taunt lining his words.

“It wasn’t, honestly, though she was peeved.”

“Thanks,” Art snapped, poking Corban’s shoulder as he chuckled. “Look, I just get nervous in here. I’m more comfortable with the floor swaying under my feet.”

“So, why did you decide to just pop in?” Apostolos asked.

“We can’t just visit and say hi?” she defended.

“Art.”

“Well, we did this time. Plus, the Selene needs some repairs after a bad storm.”

“Oh! So, you docked for convenience.” The needling tone was still there.

“Why is that such a bad thing? It’s a good happenstance,” she replied in a tone that matched his.

“Aunt Arty!” Little Zanita’s voice burst into the room just moments before she did.

“Zanny!” Art scooped up her niece into a hug. “Gods, you’re getting big. How old are you now?” she asked, putting her down.

“You know!” Zanita giggled.

“Two?” she asked, scratching her head, playing up the confusion.

“No!”

“Um … three?”

“I’m six!”

“That’s right.” Art slapped her forehead, as if just now remembering.

Zanny’s older brothers entered the room next, and Art paused before she recognised them.

Apostolos’ eldest at nineteen, Nikas, almost reached her in height now and had patchy fuzz growing on his cheeks. And Isocrates, only a year younger, looked far too wise for his age.

“Who the hell are you two?” she scoffed. “Last I checked, neither of you could shave.”

After Art embraced her nephews, Zanita spoke up again, “Did you bring us anything?”

“Zanita.” Apostolos’s fatherly tone made them all pause. “Don’t be rude.”

Zanita pressed her lips together, but she didn’t look embarrassed.

Art knelt down to her level. “I wasn’t able to bring anything this time, but I do get to stay for a while.”

“Really? How long?” Zanita asked, practically bouncing on her toes.

“About a month.”

“Yeay!” She jumped into Art’s arms again.

Art gave her another crushing hug before setting her down and standing.

“Where’s Vivienne?” Art asked Apostolos.

“Upstairs, a little under the weather, but she should be fine by dinner. I’m assuming you’ll be joining us?” he said.

“Only if we’re actually invited,” Art replied. “I don’t want to intrude on anything.”

“I think you forgot one tiny detail,” Nikas said, nudging his father. Isocrates was also snickering beside him.

Apostolos turned to them, confused for a moment, then lit up with realisation and slight embarrassment.

“Vivienne’s with child again,” he said quickly. “About five months along.”

“That’s great!” Art said, then turned to Zanita with excitement. “You’re gonna be a big sister!”

“Yeah!”

“Do not tell your mother that slipped my mind,” Apostolos ordered his boys. “It’s been a long day. And as for dinner, yes, you are both invited.”

“Perfect. Also, congrats, brother.” Art punched his shoulder.

He flinched and rubbed the spot, but grinned.

“So, where have you two been?” Nikas asked, eyes alight, hoping for stories. “What have you seen?”

“A few good storms and a lot of glowing jellyfish,” Corban said.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Corban said as they left the palace and crossed the courtyard again. “Looking forward to that food.”

“It was nice,” Art admitted, glancing back. “Gods, Zanita is getting big.”

“Aye, and—”

“Aunt Art?”

A familiar voice from behind cut them off. Turning, Art spotted Nikas jogging out from the palace doors to catch up.

“Mind if I tag along?” he asked, panting slightly.

“Sure,” she said, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Just taking care of some crew business, so stick close.”

“You don’t have a coin purse on you, do you?” Corban casually asked from his other side.

Nikas stared blankly. “I do.”

“Tuck it away and tie it tight three times,” Art warned him. “I’ll tell them to leave you alone, but they might also see that as a challenge.”

“Oh.” He quickly checked the pocket on his vest, making sure the coin purse was secure.

“Don’t worry. If it disappears, I’ll start taking fingers,” Art deadpanned.

“What?”

“Their fingers, not yours.”

“What?!”

Corban burst out laughing. Art joined him, and Nikas smiled nervously.

Full Publication July 31st, 2026!