PRINCESS OF THIEVES ▹ post-six of crows ✓

i. the sins of the father

Jordie was in the sea again.

Neck deep and drowning.

A thick blanket of fog was draped over the blue water, growing paler as the night lifted. It was so cold, she couldn't feel her legs and her limbs seemed to have frozen, now heavy as lead. Aches had settled in her bones and joints, shivers wracking her small body. Her cheeks were chapped with the frigid chill, the salty spray dripping down her oil—black lashes.

The ship was no longer in sight.

Her mother had disappeared into the mist.

When dawn came, Jordie's tired eyes looked up to find herself at the east end of the Lid. The harbor was nearly deserted, apart from a singular stark figure that cut through the smog.

These last hundred yards would be hard. The tide had turned once more, and it was working against her. She tried to push and swim and stay afloat, but she wasn't strong enough to fight it. The water had turned rough and the white caps were beginning to rise.

She was just so small, and she was already drifting back out to sea.

The cold water pressed at her chest, at her mouth, demanding that she part her lips. She tried to cry out, to call out to the figure on the dock as loud as she could, but salt water rushed into her mouth and drowned out her voice. She sank. The ache in her lungs was unbearable. Her vision was bleeding black.

Jordie closed her eyes and waited to die.

—

The countryside of Kerch was lovely this time of year.

Jordie walked barefoot and rooted herself to the earth, rather than the sea. Just to remind herself that she wasn't drowning. It helped.

She was a strange sight to behold, no shoes, hair free, face turned to the sky, but she didn't have to worry about anyone judging her out here. The Rietveld farm was the only one for miles, four hundred acres of green hills, blue canals, barley, corn, and wheat fields and one small pear orchard.

It was home.

Jordie lived there with her father for a little over ten years now. He made a small fortune as a businessman in Ketterdam before meeting her mother who acted as a small—time merchandise trader on the True Sea. They met, fell in love, and then Jordie happened. After that, the story as they told it to any inquiring minds went as follows: her mother passed away, her father took their small daughter and their small funds, and they moved to the old family farm. Though Jordie knew it was more complicated than that.

Truth was a fickle business, and no one ever knew the full story.

The sky was a fresh morning blue with streaky clouds hovering in the distance. There was no chance of rain today which would be a relief for her da's leg. When she was very small, she used to think he was Grisha as he always seemed able to predict the weather to the point where he made it come true. Really, it was just because of the aches in his joints he had ever since a farming accident left him with a limp when he was young.

Always looking for magic when there's none to be found, Rietveld.

Her barefeet crunched through the long green grass of their property, the sight of the house coming into view. Two—storied and beautiful, with white shutters and great wooden doors that were precluded by a wide wraparound porch. She passed the barn, the pair of horses in their paddocks and the few vicious geese that lurked.

One of the lads was mucking out the stalls, but he looked up when she made herself visible. The Zemeni farmhand was only a bit shorter than herself, brown—skinned, and had a smile that sparkled. He took a pause in his work, giving her that sparkling smile when she passed.