Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen by Aaron Lee Yeager

happily. “I saved enough of my winnings to pay back the money I owe you.”
    “Shiny,” Tarran praised. The ship rocked from side to side from what sounded like the swivel-gun being fired.
    “Ooh, that was loud,” Kian complained, covering his large, round ears. “Your ship seeing some action?”
    “Looks like it,” Tarran said with a belch. “If I had to guess, I’d say pirates; looks like they might win, too.”
    “Pirates?” Kian repeated scratching his dirty beard. “In the Gray Sea? I've never heard of pirates operating in that area; there’s nothing out there.”
    “I know, it’s totally cracked up,” Tarran grunted as he leaned back in his chair far enough to look out a porthole. “Ship’s markings say it’s called The Dreadnaught.”
    “The Dreadnaught? Never heard of a Guild calling themselves that before.”
    Tarran shrugged. “So long as the new owners pay us, it’s not our problem. We just keep the ships in the air. One of the little perks of Stonemaster neutrality.”
    “Amen to that.”
    The room filled with a high-pitched whine. The image of Kian blurred, then became over-written. Tarran kicked the prism stream in irritation, but nothing improved. Finally, the image resolved itself into that of a young man with sharp features and needle-like eyes.
    “Forgive me for interrupting your transmission, but I was monitoring it and am forced to intervene,” the man said.
    “Who...?”
    “My name is Blair, and I speak directly for the Stone Council.” Blair held up his wrist, revealing the inverted spiral brand he bore there. Tarran jumped to attention, knocking over his hip flask and dropping the remains of his peach.
    “Y-Yes sir, I live to obey,” he responded, trying to look as professional as he could.
    “First, I need you to be absolutely positive that the ship attacking you is The Dreadnaught. My people are sending you several photos for visual confirmation.”
    Tarran looked at the images that appeared in the air around him, then looked out the porthole, double- and even triple-checking to make sure.
    “Yes,” Tarran said shakily, wiping his crusty sleeve over his face. “I’m positive.”
    “Are the Quaranna and The Dreadnaught currently moored to one another?”
    “Yes, quite securely from the look of it.”
    “Blair closed his eyes, a look of exquisite serenity on his face. “Amazing, just amazing,” he whispered. “I feel so lucky, so grateful, that I don’t even know how to express it.”
    “Sir?”
    “Please listen to my order carefully because it must be filled out quickly. You are hereby commanded to disengage your stone core and drag The Dreadnaught down into the sea.”
    Tarran was so shocked that he didn’t know what to say. “May I ask why?” he finally managed to squeak out.
    Blair bit his lip. “Oh, why must you spoil the beauty of this with questions? Listen, there are three Wysterians onboard The Dreadnaught, and they must die immediately.”
    “Why?”
    Blair’s eyes became sharper. “Because they murdered my sister, Mandi.”
    Tarran began to sweat profusely as the full implications of this situation began to dawn on him.
    “But, sir, if I disengage the core, I will die too.”
    “I am glad you understand.” Blair responded cheerfully. “Think about it, thousands of lives end every day from old age disease, or accident. All meaningless, all mundane, all colorless and boring. But you, you have a rare privilege, my friend. Your death will have sublime meaning. Bright and vibrant, truly magnificent.”
    Tarran could feel the bile rising up in his throat. “For revenge?”
    “Ah, yes, revenge is the most beautiful of all the gifts that the gods have given us. It passes from one generation to the next. It grows, it spreads— it blossoms. It is like a living thing, yet it cannot be killed.” Blair leaned back and breathed heavily through his nose. “In truth, I am somewhat envious of you right now. To have the canvas of your life painted