The woman walked toward the lighter end of the pier where the sun hit the water hard.
She had on a captain's hat, broad brim shading her face, and the rest of her outfit screamed pirate—dark coat, striped shirt tucked into trousers, boots scuffed from years at sea.
Right next to her was her assistant, a wiry woman named Mara who never seemed to blink.
Mara stopped, squinting toward the far side of the dock.
"He took care of Pietro alone…."
Nona nodded once.
"It seems so. From what I heard he came here with a group of nine. Probably hunting for a ship."
Mara turned to look at her captain.
"You think we should take him?"
Nona gave a small smile.
"I don't see why not. But let's not jump. First we ask where he wants to go."
Ragnar—still wearing the same clothes from the fight, dust on his shoulders—was heading back toward the line of inns. His walk was calm but you could tell he was tired.
A hand tapped his shoulder.
He turned.
There stood Nona and Mara.
