The remains of ships covered the landscape, and Roxanne could see no sign of life anywhere.

There wasn't even any birdsong, and the air was still and warm. The silence was every bit as ominous as the passage to get here had been.

The ships were wrecks, randomly dotting the landscape as though they'd run aground, some still in one piece, others with shattered hulls and broken masts.

There seemed to be some kind of strategy to their layout, though Roxanne could make no sense of it, and was distracted from trying to figure it out by Teague's order to get ready to leave the Misty Lady, which was now anchored with her sails furled neatly.

She followed close to him, afraid of getting lost in the cemetery of ships, eyes watching the shadows uneasily.

They went deeper through the wrecks, stopping at last in front of a structure with imposing double doors and a towering roof, built from scraps of ships.

Teague laced his fingers through hers, took a slow, deep breath and squared his shoulders. Chin raised, he pushed open the doors.

************************************

The noise of people hit him immediately, and he wondered if he was the last to arrive. He swiftly stuck his sword into place on the globe, counting those already there. Eight, including his. He wasn't last then.

He squeezed Roxanne's fingers, and when she hummed inquiringly, he murmured, "See those stairs? Go up them, ignore anyone already there, and don't come down until I tell ye."
He kissed her cheekbone and let go of her hand, watching as she obeyed his directions.

Then, holding his head slightly high, he approached the table.

"What are you doing here, boy?" One of the men already at the table looked him over, dark eyes disdainful, his Spanish accent heavy as the question slipped from behind his yellow, uneven teeth.

"I'm here to take Eabha Teague's place," he said steadily, showing the Piece of Eight.

The Spaniard scoffed, rolling his eyes but directed him to a seat. He bit his tongue against the sharp words he wanted to say and sat down, doing his best to hide his nervousness.

He silently assessed those already at the table. Lúðvíg Búrason, he knew already, having met him while staying in Shipwreck Cove with his mother last year. Lord of the Baltic Sea, Lúðvíg was of Irish descent, spoke fluent Gaelic and had given him the impression of being good-tempered, though reserved.

The Spaniard who had addressed him was a stranger, as was the man beside him, who was bald but had an impressively long, black beard and a scowl on his face. His style of dress, a long, richly embroidered robe with wide sleeves and a gold sash at the waist, suggested somewhere very foreign, as Teague had never seen anyone who dressed like that.

It seemed his gaze had lingered too long, as the bald man scowled more fiercely, eyes narrowing at him.

He looked away, glancing over the next Lord, who was still standing.

Captain Harshad Anad. The name appeared in his mind as he recognised the man's hooked nose. He had met him once before, in a shady tavern with his mother a few years ago, though hadn't known at the time he was one of the Pirate Lords.

Captain Anad was tall, and looked taller due to the ivory turban crowning his head, a ruby broach blood-red against the pale fabric as the light caught it. A matching ruby swung from a long chain around his neck, resting on the burgundy fabric of the robe he wore.

His gaze moved from Anad to the man beside him, who was another stranger.

His posture was reminiscent of Roxanne's, carrying a quiet air of superiority, which was enhanced by his style of attire. In a blue suit with gold embroidery that glimmered faintly in the light, a lacy cravat at his throat and spotless white stockings reaching his knees, he looked more like he belonged in a fancy mansion than a meeting of feared pirates.

The well-dressed stranger seemed to notice he was being watched, for he offered a slight smile. Teague inclined his head in return.

He wasn't going to smile at anyone; not in this nest of snakes. He didn't know who to trust, or if he could trust anyone at all.

Lúðvíg was engaged in slow, quiet conversation with his neighbour, who seemed to be only half-listening, one bony, delicate-looking hand absently picking at splinters in the table. His light green eyes were roaming the room as his other hand smoothed his slightly curved moustache. He was another stranger to Teague.

Slightly apart from the men, half-hidden in shadow, sat the only female in the room.

An unremarkable, weathered hat sat like a crown on top of her wild curls of light blonde hair. She shifted in her seat and he caught a glimpse of her features. Pale skin, paler than any seafarers skin had a right to be, untouched by the sun and completely unmarked.

She would have appeared almost angelic were it not for her eyes.
They were the grey of stormclouds and alight with some emotion he couldn't place that writhed like a wild beast straining against a tether.

Something about her unsettled him immediately and he looked away.

The door opening silenced the room again and gave him something to focus his attention on.

Or rather, someone to focus his attention on.

Two swords glimmered on her gently swaying hips, and she only unsheathed one. A silver-hilted cutlass joined the other blades in the globe. A rapier remained at her side, jewels in its hilt twinkling in the chandeliers candlelight.

She brushed a dark brown curl away from her face, hands relatively smooth-skinned and adorned with gold rings. He slipped his own into his pockets, hiding their callouses and scars.

Her chestnut brown eyes were calculating as they swept over the table, lingering briefly on him.

The faintest of smiles played on her lips as she noticed him staring. She stared back at him until he tore his gaze away, then slowly took her seat.

Straightening the cuffs of her frock coat, she looked over the table again.
"Aren't we going to start?"
Her accent was heavy, distinctly Spanish, a roll on the letter R.

"We were waiting for you." The other woman spoke up sharply, those stormcloud-coloured eyes glimmering slightly as she looked at the newest arrival.

"Ladies, we have a meeting to get on with," Ludvig said calmly, his deep, melodic voice carrying easily through the room. His pale green gaze flickered briefly to him. "And a new Pirate Lord to welcome."

Instantly, all eyes followed Ludvig's.
Teague rubbed his own knuckles lightly under the table, managing to maintain his poise with eight pairs of eyes trained on him. Realising he was probably expected to introduce himself formally, he stood, clearing his throat slightly before speaking.

"Captain Edward Teague, Eabha Teague's eldest son and heir," he said, surprising himself with how steady his voice was.

"She dead?" the bald man spoke, twirling his beard around his finger.

"No, retired."

The man spat on the ground. "Are you the new Pirate Lord of the Atlantic then?" he asked, a slight sneer curling his lip.

Teague paused for a second. He didn't have to take over the Atlantic just because his mother had ruled it. There was no rule saying that. As much as he loved the ocean bordering Ireland, he decided to choose his own path with his title.

"No," he said slowly. "Lord of Madagascar."

It was the next place he was planning on going, wanting to show it to Roxanne. And, if he was honest, seeking somewhere warmer and less rainy than Ireland. The last time he'd been there was shortly after getting the Lady, and he'd began to consider the possibility of setting himself up there, having somewhere to escape to. Making himself Pirate Lord of the place seemed like a good first step in establishing a life there.

The bald man scoffed softly. "An Irishman lording over an African island. The world's really going to hell."

"The world went to hell when we started letting the likes of you into the Court, Lau." It was the well-dressed blond man who spoke, his English accent clipped with annoyance.

He grinned at Teague, revealing a chipped incisor. "Excuse Lau, he seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He's not usually this big of a prick, though his lack of sex life might have something to do with it."

Teague couldn't help the chuckle that escaped, returning the Englishman's grin as he sat down again.

"Where are my manners?" the man said suddenly, extending a hand. Teague noticed his baby fingernail was bitten. "Captain Jonathan Rhodes, Lord of the Pacific Ocean."

"Nice meetin' ye." He shook his hand, distracted by the Spanish woman. "What's her name?"

"Carmen Vaquera. The other woman's called Belladonna. I think her last name is Watson."

"Vaquera?" he repeated.

"Do you have a problem with that?"
The Spanish beauty was glaring at him, eyes smouldering.

He stared for a moment before realising where he was looking and snapped his gaze back up to her full, slightly parted lips and annoyed expression.
"No. No problem at all, Carmen."

"People need permission to call me that, and you don't have any," she snapped, pointedly turning away from him, hair falling in curls down her back.

Her coat moved, offering a glimpse of her figure and he let his eyes wander before pulling his thoughts back to focus on the drone of Anad's voice as he spoke about something that was surely very interesting, but only to people who lived in the Indian Ocean where he was from, so Teague soon stopped listening again.

He heard quiet voices drifting from the balcony, one of them Roxanne's, though he had no idea who she was conversing with. She wasn't even speaking English. The other voice was male, with an accent not unlike the one Sahara had picked up.

Curious, he turned to look. The balcony was shrouded in shadows, concealing anyone on it. Giving up finding the voices owner, he returned his gaze to Carmen until Belladonna stood up.

She stood straight-backed, her chin raised and head tilted just slightly. Her eyes danced over the table, over the people at it. Teague avoided her flickering, searching gaze, still trying to figure out why she unsettled him.

"I successfully located and eradicated two Navy ships and their crews," she said to open her report, her accent definitely English but not as posh as Roxanne's.
"No survivors. Two less threats to us."

"Would you like a reward?" the Spanish man asked sarcastically.

Teague found himself agreeing with the statement. Belladonna said it proudly, like she expected praise, but he saw nothing honourable about targeting ships for the sole purpose of killing everyone aboard them.

He noticed the sword still on her hip; undoubtedly just for show, a display of wealth or status.

"Breach of the Code," Ludvig muttered.

"Code doesn't exist," the Spaniard said, rolling his eyes. "Just a story to scare pirates into being "good" and not killing each other all the time."

"It exists," Ludvig said mildly. "I've seen it, and met its Keeper."

"Shut up, Juan." Belladonna silenced the Spaniard before he could respond and opened her mouth to continue.

Teague shifted in his seat, slightly uneasy. He hadn't realised what he would be expected to do. He stopped listening to Belladonna, trying to formulate a report, with one glaring problem. He hadn't been in Madagascar before this meeting. It was over a year since his last visit.

He was busy trying to figure out how much bullshit he could give before being called out on it when a gunshot silenced the Lords, who had been bickering over something.

The shot had come from the balcony, and his heart jumped to his throat.
Roxanne was up there. He'd thought she'd be safe up there, away from the Lords.

"Court dismissed," Ludvig said calmly.

"What do you..." Carmen's voice faded into the background noise of chairs scraping and chatter as the Lords stood up.

He took the balcony stairs two at a time, fear roiling in his stomach.

Please let her be alright...

Thanks to JasonMurray29 and MaybelleMourier for the use of their OCs.