- ͙۪۪̥˚ in which mischa romanov, general kirigan's own built assassin known as the black bird is betrayed and lied to by the man she thought was family and nothing was going to get in her way in saving ravka and ending the black heretic's crazy way...
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Mischa walked up the stairs onto the main deck, already feeling the wind through her chestnut locks of hair once her feet landed on deck. The boat was sailing and Mischa could smell the stench of saltwater through her nostrils. Not only did Mischa admire how everyone worked in harmony — otkazat'sya and Grisha alike — but Alina did as well.
"He has both otkazat'sya and Grisha on his crew." Mischa muttered in astonishment as she gazed at two Squaller's bending the wind in the air and towards the sails to help them sail better. "No First or Second Army, just..."
"Equals." Alina finished, equally as shocked as she craned her head towards Mal strolling beside his two female companions. "Imagine if our camps were like this, First and Second Army together."
Mal cocked his head. "The food would taste much better."
The trio hiked up into a higher deck and were wandering through with amazed eyes. None of them have ever really seen a ship as beautiful and wondrous as this.
It was definitely warmer out today and Mischa's attire made her sweat, the hood of her black cloak already pulled down and her chestnut locks blew in the wind. She was debating just to take the cloak off, but her large daggers strapped to her back would make people suspicious. Well, Sturmhond's crew had their share of weapons strapped on them and she noticed two with swords and axes always on them, hers being on show probably wouldn't make them bat an eye.
If she could, she would have smuggled her bow and quiver of arrows from the Little Palace with her. Unfortunately, she never had the time to pluck them from her chambers, and it's not like they would fit under her cloak anyways.
Mal spotted a lever on one of the chunky poles that kept the sails up, reaching his hand out to touch it as curiosity got the best of him. Until, a voice stopped him.
"Definitely don't touch that." Sturmhond strolled over to them. Mal moved his hand away. "So, Miss Starkov, what say you and I chart the course to your destiny to find the Sea Whip."
Both Alina and Mischa's eyes trailed over to Mal who shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "That'll be me, I'm the tracker."
Sturmhond gave him a look Mischa could only decipher as disbelief as the captain plucked something from under his white blouse. A golden compass that hung around his neck. Mischa has lived at the Little Palace in Os Alta almost her whole life. It gave her an eye for the more exquisite cutlery and fine jewelry in life. That Compass had to come from someone with higher titles, only a noble man could afford such a thing.
Yet, Sturmhond was not a noble man. Perhaps he stole it off some poor man who hadn't a watchful eye and claimed it as his own. After all, the blond boy was a pirate.
"My lucky compass. Seen me through thick and thin. Okay then, tracker, which way is north?"
"Well, I can tell you a few ways, based on the position of the sun and my shadow, based on the direction that we're sailing in, and based on..." Mal paused as Alina and Mischa gave him a look to signal he was exaggerating and to just get to the point. Mal huffed, nodding towards the direction behind Sturmhond. "It's that way."
