The Princess and The Pirate

Storm clouds had quickly come in from across the ocean. Within the hour, the stars were hidden and the moon obscured. Thunder cracked and there was just enough rain to make Paradiso damp.

Father Cordinae was away from that city of thieves. He put as much physical space as he could between the heretics, the blasphemers, and their snake dens. Age had finally meant something to his cause. Assassins eventually do get too old, he thought. He couldn’t carry his apprentice’s — his own daughter’s — body back to their church.

He’d have to settle. These peaceful bluffs on the outskirts of Paradiso would have to do.

The ocean crashed a mile or so below the cliff face and the thunder clapped above him. In his youth, he could have easily made the two day trek and her weight would have been nothing to him. But, he was an old man now. Simply digging this hole in the moist ground was a challenge.

On his knees, at the foot of Novice’s disgracefully shallow grave, Father Cordinae rubbed his face with the back of his muddy hands. Now he was alone in this godless world with no legacy.

He never thought he could love someone like he loved his daughter. Hell, he couldn’t even remember her mother’s name. All Father Cordinae remembered was that woman wanted to take Novice away; the moment he saw his little girl, that wasn’t happening.

Now she was gone, as God saw fit.

For the very first time, he felt that God was wrong, that it wasn’t fair. They were the righteous, why did the wicked get the privilege to murder his only source of joy?

Novice was his. His child. His only child. “Oh, my dear,” Father Cordinae muttered, trying to find the words to explain the depths of his hurt, “You’re serving the highest power now. You’re somewhere much more beautiful than this wretched place. Wait for me.”

A particularly loud crash of waves made him look upwards. A cold, icy stinging breeze of rain shook his grief-stricken mind. The good Lord always made sure the human race was able to carry on.

Women had children very day.

He stood up, muddy, wet, and completely lucid in his new plan. There was a ripe flower he had to cut from the Queen’s vine anyway, so why not make the most out of this opportunity? Twenty-four was a fine childbearing age. If not, even a little old.

Lightning streaked the sky and there wasn’t a mourning soul at Novice’s grave any longer.