I pace the short length of my room impatiently. My fingernails have already been chewed down to small stubs as I try to control my nerves. “Where is she?” I mutter to myself.

According to my new pocket watch, the ship is scheduled to depart in twenty minutes and I still don’t have my uniform. It was supposed to be ready at the tailor two days ago along with the other new recruits’ uniforms, but Iris had informed me that they had run out of fabric for mine and that I would have to wait a couple of days longer. She had left early this morning to see if it was ready, but hours later, she still hasn’t returned.

I’m too nervous to show my face outside where the captain is waiting on the quarterdeck to give his briefing before we embark. It’s ship policy that all crew members must be wearing their official uniform during flight. Trevor had reassured me that the captain would delay the launch, but I still hate the thought of inconveniencing anyone. It’s not the good first impression that I was hoping to make.

I check the watch again. Fifteen minutes.

I am about to slump onto my stool in resignation when I hear footsteps hurrying across the main deck towards the forecastle.

Dashing to my door, I pray that it’s Iris.

As it turns out, the gods and goddesses are on my side. She quickly stumbles into my room with her arms filled with the uniforms. She must have run all the way here, I guess based on how out of breath she is.

“Iris, thank you so much, you’ve saved my bacon,” I say gratefully.

“Don’t mention it,” she manages to say breathily. “I’m sorry I cut it so close. The tailor had me waiting while they finished the last touches, and then I had to make my way through an influx of carriages travelling through the city.”

“Not to worry, you’re here now. I’ll quickly get changed and hopefully make it to the briefing in time.” I take the bundle of clothes from her.

Upon looking at the uniform more closely, my heart drops.

“Iris, what are these?” I ask panicked. “They gave you the wrong order.”

“Wrong order?” she flicks through the folded stack in my arms. “No, those are definitely our uniforms.”

“Half of them are the wrong colour.” I run my hand over my face in exasperation. I can’t catch a break today. The two sets of uniforms at the top of the stack are the standard dark stormy blue colour, but the two other sets of uniforms at the bottom of the stack are made from a silky, shimmery material that shifts from pale blue to grey in the light.

“Oh, no, there’s no mistake. Those are the first blood uniforms.” She laughs.

“Rat doesn’t wear these.” I’m thoroughly confused.

“When you are on land it’s the protocol to wear the dark blue uniform so that your roles can’t be distinguished from the rest of the crew, but while we are in flight, you are to wear the light coloured one.”

“Why does it have to be different from everyone else’s?” It’s bad enough that everyone is treating me like an outcast, I’d rather not look like one too.

“The material is designed so that you can blend in with the sky as you are flying to an enemy ship. It will camouflage you on either a clear or a cloudy day, or even at night,” she explains.

“Why do I need to be camouflaged?” I question.

“Because the enemy will do everything they can to shoot you down before you can land on their ship. If they can’t see you then they can’t hit you.

"That uniform might mean a difference between life and death one day.”

I sigh. I suppose I can’t argue with that.

“You should start getting changed, we have …” she pauses to check her watch, “four minutes until the briefing.”

I curse under my breath and then instantly hope that Iris didn’t hear me. Her coy smile as she leaves my room, however, tells me that she probably did.

Six minutes later, I rush out onto the main deck and position myself between Dusty and Trevor. The whole crew is facing the quarterdeck where Captain Coldrun stands straight and tall, looking down at his crew, ready to address them. He appears even more imposing than I remember, and for a moment I think he’s going to single me out and hold me accountable for keeping him waiting. Luckily, though, his eyes merely glance over me.

Cail stands next to him, though his posture is much more relaxed. Now that I’m seeing him clearly I notice that his hair is a light brown, and the lower half of his face is covered in short stubble. It suits him, I muse.

“You look nice,” Dusty whispers to me.

I quickly snap my attention away from the first mate and flash him a smile. He doesn’t appear surprised that I’m wearing a different colour from everyone else. Then I notice that Rat is further down our row wearing the same uniform.

Without any frills or introductions, the captain immediately launches into the military business.

“Commander Larson has informed me that there is a rapidly increasing Vardran presence in the north-western country of Kestria. As far as we are aware, it remains neutral in the war, but we need to establish if that is still the case. The country is known for its ore mining and a large number of foundries producing metal goods, so we believe that the Vardran empire may be seeking to manufacture new weapons, either by creating an alliance or by force.”

My heart rate quickens. The Curio Isles also produced a vast amount of metal ores. Could there be a link? And are they planning to slaughter all the Kestrians as they did with my people? My mouth feels dry. Maybe I should have told someone about the attack, but it feels too late now.

“If Kestria is in the process of developing an alliance with Vardra, we are to begin negotiations to convince them otherwise. If Vardra is looking to invade them and take their commodities by force, we will offer Kestria our protection and support. Now please everyone bear in mind that while it is not our assignment to seek to destroy the Vardran forces, if we come into contact with an enemy ship before we reach the capital city of Torver, a battle will surely ensue. It’s imperative that we all remain diligent and be prepared. We’re heading into unknown territory, and we don’t know how the Kestrians are going to receive us. I will now quickly go over our itinerary before we embark.”

As the captain outlines the flight path, I tune out from his words and find myself glancing over at Cail. What I don’t expect, is to find him looking straight back at me. I flush and am about to hastily lower my gaze when I notice him subtly raise a hand to tap the buttons of his uniform coat with his thumb. I frown, confused. Is he trying to tell me something? Maybe that my uniform looks nice, as Dusty had pointed out.

I look at his face for confirmation and he continues to stare pointedly. His hand still hovers over the buttons, and his head nods slightly in my direction.

I glance down at my uniform and cringe in embarrassment. In my rush to get changed, I had completely buttoned up my jacket wrong. It takes me a few seconds to establish which buttons go where then I hurry to try and correct them. When I’m done, I look back up at Cail. His eyes are no longer on me, but a smile still plays at the corner of his lips.

I’m glad I amuse him, I think bitterly.

“Take your positions!” The captain barks.

I whip my head around in a frenzy as everyone rushes off in response. I hadn’t been paying attention to the rest of the debrief. Do I have a position to take? I look for Dusty, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Sefarina!” Iris calls from the foremast. “You’re with me for now.”

I trot over to her, grateful to be given direction.

She places one of the rigging ropes into my palm. “When the captain shouts to raise the sails, pull on this rope hard until they drop fully, and then tie it up tight at the cleat over there by the railing. Then, when you’re done with that, rush over and tie this rope here to the opposite side.”

I nod. It’s very much similar to the rigging on the trawler, just on a much larger scale.

“Just be careful that you don’t give yourself rope burns, wrap the rope around your hand like this.” She winds the rope around and closes my fingers. “This will give you the best grip without causing too much friction.”

“Got it,” I confirm.

“One more thing, when you tie the ropes, just use whatever knot that you can, as long as it’s secure. I’ll come over and re-tie them as soon as the mainmast is up.”

“I can tie a cleat hitch.”

“Oh girl, you are a godsend.” She sighs in relief before rushing to her position at the mainmast.

“Engines on!” The captain shouts.

After a few minutes, I hear a humming sound coming from below the deck, then, a mechanical sound as the propellers slowly begin to whirl. I feel the ship start to shudder as they pick up speed.

“Release the clamps!” The captain orders the harbour workers in charge of the airship cradles.

With a loud metallic clang, the clamps fall away from the edge of the ship and the cage drops on either side. The Zarla hovers in the air for a few seconds before slowly starting to rise. The motion makes my stomach lurch and I almost fall to my knees. My head feels disoriented and dizzy.

“Sails up!”

It takes me a few seconds until I realise that’s my cue. I manage to regain my balance enough to yank on the rope that lowers the bottom sailcloth. Surprisingly, it falls with ease. After securing the rope to the cleat, I rush over to do the same for the port side. Once I’m finished, I look to where Iris is climbing the mainmasts to lower the mid sails and upper sails. Further along, one of the large deckhands is doing the same for the mizzenmast.

How hard can it be? I start climbing up the ratlines of the mast and, upon reaching the middle sail, I unfurl and secure it, before continuing up to the topsail. Once the last knot is tied, I start to relax and take a moment to take in our surroundings.

I hadn’t realised how high we had sailed. The city below us appears to just be a small blot on the smooth green land.

Still sitting at the top of the mast, I watch excitedly as we approach the puffy cloud above. As it comes within touching distance, I stretch my arm out to feel if it is as soft as it looks. I am disappointed when I find my hand engulfed in cold moisture, and within seconds of entering the cloud, my uniform is dripping wet, chilling me to the core.

The visibility has become so poor that I struggle to keep my footing as I climb back down.

“You’re a natural,” Iris compliments me as I drop onto the deck.

“The rigging is not too much different from what I’m used to,” I say. “Is there anything else I can help with?” I need to be distracted. The way the ship is swaying is making me feel uncomfortable and nauseous.

“I’ll teach you how to secure the shrouds.” She replies with a smile.

I spend the rest of the afternoon with Iris as she shows me the ins and outs of the rigging and the hacks that she has learned over the years.

Where possible, I try to take on the manual tasks that cause me to generate more body heat. I had never realised how cold it would be high up in the sky, and my muscles are cramped and aching from shivering so much.

As we work, the captain barks out his orders from where he steers the ship at the helm.

“I thought Buckzbee was the helmsman?” I question Iris.

“He is, but the captain likes to control the ship for the launch. Once the ship is at a calm altitude and on a steady course, Buckzbee will take over.”

“Is an airship hard to steer?”

Iris ponders my question. “No, it’s not exactly difficult, but it is extremely stressful. Any errors made would have costly consequences. Don’t worry, though, most crew members have years of vast expertise in flying. The Zarla couldn’t be in safer hands.”

“Of course, I was never worried,” I say. I’m not afraid to die, I just want to be able to get my revenge before I do so.

With nothing else to help with, I lean against the starboard railing and peer over. I mostly can’t see past the thick cloud, but every now and then, it breaks up and I can see the distant azure ocean below. I keep searching for a glimpse of Curio Isles, but I don’t even know if we are flying in the right direction.

I have decided that my least favourite place on the ship is the crow’s nest and, unfortunately for me, that’s where I’ve spent the past couple of days. Since we have been sailing smoothly, Iris no longer needs my help with the rigging, and as I have no experience carrying out the other duties, the quartermaster assigned me the easiest job—and the most hated.

The crow’s nest is extremely uncomfortable to sit in. Damp strong winds batter me from all sides, freezing my core and making my eyes stream endlessly. I try to huddle as low as possible so that the sides of the nest protect me as much as possible, but after around thirty minutes, pains start shooting up my legs from crouching. If I try to sit with my back against the mast, the metal frame of my wings digs painfully into my skin.

We are currently on day four of our estimated twelve-day journey to the capital city of Torver, and for me, it can’t come soon enough. I long for the warmth of a lower altitude.

So far, I have enjoyed the bustle of life on the warship. The crew is like a large family, and they work together like a well-maintained piece of machinery. I just wish I could be more involved rather than just sit here looking at the sky. At least there are much fewer clouds now, so I can watch as the birds soar past the ship and the land speeds by below us.

I wince as my legs start to cramp up again. I should petition for the captain to invest in a larger crow’s nest.

I stand up straight to stretch my legs, but as I do, the ship tilts in a wind current and I’m thrown against the mast. I cling to it to regain my balance and as I do, I notice a dark speck against a small cloud. Is that a bird?

Keeping my eyes on the dot so that I don’t lose it, I crouch back down and feel around the bottom of the nest for my spyglass. Is the speck getting bigger or are my eyes playing tricks? My fingers finally connect with the cold brass of the spyglass and I quickly bring it up to my eye. It takes me a short while to locate the speck, and then even longer to bring the glass into focus.

“Damn thing,” I curse under my breath as I fumble with the dial. Finally, the image clears, and I’m left with the unmistakable silhouette of an airship, and it’s flying in our direction.

Scrambling to remember the protocol, I whip out the compass from my coat pocket and angle it the way I have been taught. My hands shake with adrenaline as a read it.

Leaning over the side of the crow’s nest, I call out the alert as loud as my voice will allow. “Unknown ship approaching from thirty degrees port side!”

As soon as my words reach them, the crew on the deck immediately springs into action. Some hurry to look in the direction I gave them, while the others run to alert the captain and the other crew members that are below the deck or resting in their cabins.

The captain emerges from the quarterdeck with Cail following a step behind. They climb up to the forecastle deck and observe as the ship approaches.

“What colour flags are they flying?” Cail calls up to me.

I raise the spyglass to my eye and, after locating the ship again, hone in on the flag they fly. It appears to be—black? Or is it dark purple that just looks black in the shadow of the clouds? I’m not confident enough to shout out an answer.

“Black flag!” The captain booms. I glance down to see that he has pulled out his own spyglass. “Pirates incoming! Prepare for battle but do not attack yet, we will attempt to negotiate first.”

My heart pounds in anticipation of my first fight. I hadn’t expected it to happen this soon, and certainly not against pirates.

Iris gestures for me to climb back down on the deck and I do so shakily. Once I’m at the bottom I hand her the spyglass and she makes her way up to replace me in the crow’s nest, armed with a crossbow. I head over to stand next to Rat who busies himself sharpening his blade. The rest of the crew hurry to lower the sails enough so that the ship slows to a crawl.

The wait for the pirates to fly within communication range is painstakingly slow, and it reminds me of that dreadful day when we first saw the smoke billowing from the islands as we returned from our fishing trip.

The pirate ship slows to a halt and hovers stationary some fifty meters from ours. Their ship is just as large in size, but its appearance is far more shoddy. Its sails look as though they have been roughly patched so many times that I am unable to distinguish which part is the original cloth, and the wooden frame of the ship is weathered and rotting.

“This is Captain Coldrun of the Zarla, an areal ship flying under the command of the Kingdom of Linaria. State your business,” the captain calls out to the pirates in a foreboding tone that I have never heard from him before.

“I am Captain Huxley of the Nightwind and our demands are that you release all the fuel you carry into our possession and your crew will be spared.” The pirate’s voice is rough and guttural.

I stand on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of him. He has a dark beard and long, unkempt hair, and his clothes are as threadbare as his ship.

“We do not negotiate with pirates!” Captain Coldrun spits. “Surrender now or you will face our full force.”

Captain Huxley lets out a loud cackling laugh that is instantly mimicked by his crew.

I flinch as an arrow flashes past our captain’s head and embeds itself in the foremast. Unphased, Captain Coldrun turns on his heel and strolls back onto the main deck.

“Full attack! First bloods, prepare to launch. Artillery, ready your aim. No cannons. If they surrender, we will show mercy, until then, kill on sight.” He orders.

I stand frozen in place until Rat grabs the back of my coat and all but drags me up to the forecastle deck.

“Remember, feel the wind and let it guide you. We’re going to be launched directly at the ship, so you shouldn’t need to steer much. Make sure you open up your wings just before you reach the apex,” Rat quickly instructs.

I nod nervously. I can do this. I won’t fall to my death.

Trevor waits for us at the large ballista that is used solely for launching crew members. Rat stands in place and, without hesitation, Trevor releases the mechanism. Rat soars effortlessly into the air and, as Iris had told me, his uniform makes him barely visible against the bright sky.

“Good look, missy,” Trevor says almost sadly as I step onto the wooden stirrups of the ballista.

Before I can thank him, the air is whipping at my face as I am catapulted. I suppress my panic and manage to remember to pull the cord to open up my wings before my momentum starts to subside. That felt smooth.

The wings ride the wind gently as I make my descent towards the pirate ship. Rat is already on board and making a swift beeline straight for their captain. A group of pirates is chasing him down; I need to land as quickly as possible so that I can support him.

I am nearly at the ship when my eyes land on two pirates that have their crossbows raised and aiming straight at me. One bolt misses me by a large margin, but I have to use my wings to quickly swerve the next. Panic sets in as I lose my composure in the air and I clamber to regain my balance and trajectory. Relief washes over me as I feel the wind settle once more under my wings.

I see the deck approaching fast and I am preparing to land when out of nowhere, a sudden gust catches under my right wing, flipping me upside-down, and sending me tumbling down into the expanse below.