The tumult of the tavern echoed in the streets as Isla and Hawk returned. They had barely dismounted when Flick appeared. With a bow of his head, he took the reins and led the horses away.

Hawk took a step towards the docks, but when Isla made no sign of moving, he stopped. Cool, dark brown eyes studied her, able to see beyond the calm exterior to the roiling emotions within. It was a look Isla had often seen on her father, a look she had squirmed away from even when she needed him to know what she felt.

"I'm getting a drink and I'll meet you back at the ship," she said. 

A faint crease cut into Hawk's forehead as if asking her if that were wise.

"I'll be fine," she said.

He glanced at the tavern, surveying the rowdy scene. The frown deepened.

"Do you believe me unable to defend myself?" she asked, raising a mocking eyebrow.

"I don't believe a fight caused in his Lordship's city to be wise."

"Then it will not come to that."

Even with this assurance, Hawk seemed reluctant to leave her. It was a feeling born from watching her grow up. Regardless of calling her Captain, there was a weight he felt for her that came from the promise given to her father. A promise given before Zev had died.

"Leave, Hawk," Isla said, her tone firm. "I will find you when I return and we can make our plans."

After a long warning look, Hawk left. Like a shadow, he disappeared into the dark streets and swirling fog. Isla stepped into the tavern, the warmth of bodies banishing the night's chill. As she passed the bar, Tek spotted her and gave a nod in greeting which she returned with a slight dip of her chin.

Contrary to the noise of the room and the crowded appearance, she found an empty table towards the back. The top was clear of glasses and even the surface had been wiped clean. The lack of grime on the chairs and table spoke of the barmaid's efficiency.

Isla leaned back in her chair, letting the discordant sound of conflicting conversations fill her ears. Boastful tales - that only held grains of truth - were followed by deep laughter. Voices grew as battling lies were challenged.  From the chaos, a red-faced girl - with blonde curls falling over her shoulders - appeared and stopped in front of Isla.

"What'll you have?" she asked.

With her order taken, the maid hurried away, collecting requests as she headed back to the bar. As Isla sat in the din of the tavern she turned over the reasons for her presence in that city. A debt that felt insurmountable. A debt that was not her own, but her fathers. A debt he had left her with when he had left five months before and never returned.

Before Isla realized it, a glass of light brown liquid was in front of her. When she turned to offer her gratitude to the girl, she was already being called to somewhere else. Isla took a drink, letting the sweet taste of mead settle in her mouth before swallowing it.

The glass rattled against the wood as Isla rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. She watched as the liquid swayed from one side of the cup to the other. She drank more, letting the warmth of it relax her. As always her thoughts fell back to her father and along that thread she found there was no end.

There was nothing in her face that showed the conflict warring inside her. Once again she had to find a new way of staying above the demand on her. The only spark of something she could hold onto was the man locked away aboard the ship. But it was a weak spark, not knowing whether Raif would give her what she needed or not.

The scrapping of a chair nearby snapped Isla back to her surroundings. Beside her was a man three times her size, with the typical Talvish look, pale, broad and blonde. The edge of his mouth was curled into a smile that said he knew they both had secrets they wanted to share. Isla's eyes hardened with annoyance. The stony look had little impact on the man.

"Need another drink?" he asked in Talvish, though his tone implied it wasn't a question.

"Leave," she said.

The man leaned forward, his breath reeking of alcohol though his gaze remained steady. He rested his arms on the table, muscles crisscrossing over his forearms. His meaty hands were twice the size of Isla's, but she felt nothing at his display of power. The daggers that were hidden inside her sleeves were a reassuring feel.

"Why would I leave when I'm getting comfortable right here?" he said, his eyes trailing over her in a slow, possessive manner.

Before Isla could reiterate her stance, with more insistence, someone new spoke.

"She told you to leave," a male voice said.

A smile almost made it to Isla's lips at the rich, daring tone, as an explosion of memories filled her mind. The Talvish man glared up at the newcomer, his territory threatened.

"I don't see how this involves you," he said, a growl wrapped around his words.

"It doesn't," the man behind Isla said. "But I warn you, in a fight between you and her, my coin is on her."

The man's gaze locked once again with Isla's. She regarded him with dispassionate eyes and a hint of ferocity. Still, the man seemed inclined to remain where he was, a stubborn will to have his way holding him there. From the crowd staggered a shaven-headed man, his bear-sized hand landing on Isla's Talvish adversary.

"Ya comin', Celk?" the drunk man asked, his mouth tripping over his tongue. The smell of ale coated the man like sweat.

"You should go with your friend," Isla's companion said.

Celk's friend, tugged at him, stumbling in the process. Jaw flexing in anger, Celk stood and grabbed his friend before he could collide headfirst with a table. The two lost themselves in the mass of bodies, Celk half supporting, half dragging his companion. When she could no longer see them, Isla let out a quiet breath, readied muscles relaxing.

"That ended better than most of your interactions," the man said.

He stepped out from behind her and slipped into the open chair, long callused fingers intertwining in front of him, his many rings hitting each other. The sight before her was one most people would be hard-pressed to ignore. The man, barely four years older, had a command in his presence that spoke of battles won and lives taken.

Even without this, he was striking. His clean-cut Lorian face was captivating with high cheekbones, eyes the dark green of seaweed and a thin scar that ran from temple to ear. His dark blonde hair was pulled back in a short tail.

"Jakks," she said in a manner of greeting.

Despite the burden that was taking a toll on her mind, she felt her lips betraying a slight curl.

"Isla," he said, a smile on his lips as his voice caressed her name.

Jakks leaned back in his chair, the opening in his shirt widening with the movement. The action revealed a thin scar across his chest. A memory vivid to Isla of their first meeting years ago. Her own mark was the white line that ran down her wrist.

Isla stepped out of the shop into the harsh Vorin night. Her breath crystallized in front of her just before the angry winter wind snatched it away. As she moved to head back to her father's ship, a distinctive clang of metal snagged her attention.

Despite knowing Zev would be furious with her decision, she followed the sound. It led her down a shadowed alley between the shop fronts and into an enclosed courtyard. At the center were a group of four thugs fighting a single young man, that looked barely older than Isla herself. Against the odds, the boy was holding his ground, but it was clear he was going to lose with time.

Without thinking, Isla grabbed a thick stick from a cluttered pile of kindling and hurried forward. Lost in the heat of the attack, no one noticed her. Not until one of their numbers was on the floor rendered unconscious by a precise blow to the head.

Isla could clearly see the boy now. The front of his shirt was bloody from a cut across his exposed chest. His blonde hair was matted with sweat and there was a fearless gleam in his eyes.

One of the men turned to her and she spun away from his swinging knife, but not before it cut into her wrist, slicing through her coat and digging into the skin. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she attacked. She ducked under the man's arm and brought the stick up, bashing him in the chin. Dazed, he staggered back. Wood splintered as Isla smashed the side of his head, letting him join his other companion.

When she twisted around to help with the final two attackers, she found assistance wasn't needed. Both men were on the floor clutching at their wounds, blood spilling through their fingers. The boy looked at Isla, his breathing heavy.

"Thanks," he said.

She nodded and then placed a hand over her bleeding wound. The boy eyed it.

"I can stitch that up for you," he said. 

"What brings you to Talvin?" Jakks asked.

There was nothing in the roguish figure before Isla that gave away his heritage as a tailor's son, all except the words that weren't rough enough to equal his chosen trade.

"There is only ever one reason I come here," she said.

"What does his Lordship have you doing now?"

Isla swallowed the rest of her drink, her present situation slipping back into the forefront of her mind. With Jakks there she felt as if she had forgotten for a brief moment where she was. Who she was now. A Captain, not simply a girl.

"The usual. Collection."

Jakks nodded. "You still haven't found it then?"

His gaze was searching, but she didn't see. She stared at the empty glass in her hand as if wishing it would fill with more mead of its own accord. 

"No, but..." Her eyes locked on his, seeing the quiet intensity in the green. "I plan for it to change soon." 

"Then I offer my congratulations."

"Offer them when I'm no longer tied to this place."

"I could offer a drink instead." His lips twisted into a playful smile.

"I will accept that."

Jakks peered around and waved to one of the barmaids, the silver of his rings flashing in the lantern light. The blonde-haired girl rushed forward, her cheeks giving her feelings away.

"Love, two mugs of ale," he said.

Grinning, the girl scampered off only to return a moment later with his drinks. With a devilish smile, Jakks took the drinks.

"Thanks," he said, with a wink.

Isla accepted the offered cup.

"To Zev," he said, raising his.

"To Zev," she echoed.

Their mugs tapped together. The dark drink rolled over Isla's tongue before sliding down her throat, warming her from the inside. Lowering her mug, she saw Jakks staring at her.

"I should have been at his Burning," he said.

"There wasn't much to see." She gripped the cup as her stomach knotted. "All we had was a piece of the ship that took him down, nothing more."

"Still, I respected your father as a Captain."

"Though you disagreed with his way of trading."

Jakks leaned on the table, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"A man must find his own way of doing things. Because I didn't emulate your father doesn't mean I didn't hold him in high regard. He was a man of his own making, just as I have become."

Isla knew the type of man Jakks was becoming. It was one that showed very little care for the lives of others and took without thought. After placing two heavy coins on the table, she downed the rest of her drink and stood. Her thoughts were darkening and she couldn't let herself be caught in their current.

"I have to return," she said. 

She went to leave, but Jakks rested a hand over her wrist, making her stop. She knew what was coming next.

"Marry me, Isla," he said, his voice low. "I can get you out of this debt, then together with the secrets you know of the sea and what I know we could be unstoppable."

His grip tightened as did the intensity of his words. The request wasn't new to her, but she was fighting for one freedom, she wasn't about to win it to simply lose it again.

"You know my answer, Jakks."

She slipped her hand free. With that small gesture, she left their small, secluded bubble. The volume of the tavern seemed to return in force as if it had been muffled for a time. In a matter of a few moments the room felt twice as unruly as it had been before. The stench of alcohol permeated the air carried there by slurred voices.

"Till our paths cross," she said in farewell.

She had barely gone a few steps when a rough hand grabbed at her backside. She reacted on instinct. In one fluid movement, she snapped the culprit's wrist and punched him in the jaw. The force sent him slamming back into his seat, and crashing onto the grimy floor. In a flash, a dagger was in her hand and at the throat of the man closest to her, who had started to rise. He froze, swallowing hard, the edge of the knife nicking his skin.

The surrounding men were deathly silent, all eyes riveted to her. Adrenaline and control coursed through Isla, she held onto it, savoring the feel of it rushing through her blood. She gave the table's occupants a withering look.

"That is a warning to all of you."

Taking a step back, she glanced back at Jakks. He was leaning on the arm of his chair, a smirk settled on his lips. He mouthed two words. Tucking her knife away, she ignored the repeated request. She pushed her way out, setting her mind to the one other man who held her key to freedom.

A damp cold encased Isla as she stepped from the warmth of the tavern. Even the weather felt oppressive as if under Sutherland's control. The fog had thickened, becoming a grounded storm. It spun and twisted around her as she headed to the docks. The glow of lanterns were floating orbs of yellow in the mist. Jakks's offer shadowed her, despite her resolve.

From the haze, masts jutted up, like dark sentinels, watching over the city. Very few people wandered the port, most lost in women and drink. The calm was a harsh contrast to the previous hours of mayhem Isla had woven her way through.

Isla's boots sent out a rhythmic tapping against the wooden dock. As she neared the ship, her eyes fell on the figure sitting on the edge, legs dangling off the side. A single light positioned beside him cast his flattened features in shadow. Trager's dark eyes snapped to Isla as she approached. The man was on the younger half of the crew, just past his thirty-second year. Having grown up with most of the men onboard, Trager was new by her standards, joining the ship over ten years ago.

"All well?" Isla asked, striding up the gangway.

"All's well," he said, his voice soft with the purr of the Verin Coast.

Turning back, Isla surveyed the city. It was shrouded in darkness and a fog that hid half of the buildings. A desire to leave right away, to slip into the night filled Isla. The feeling was ignored. There were supplies to be gathered and the crew needed a night to escape their thoughts. She would not take that from them.

Leaving Trager to his watch, Isla stepped onto the deck and went to find Hawk. They needed a plan to complete this collection and to get out of this debt.   

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Talloo!

(If you know A Gypsy's Tale then you know this word!)

Question of the chapter: How do you say 'Question of the chapter' in your language?

Now the real question of the chapter: What is one fairytale story you think I would do a good job retelling?

Personally, I've thought of doing a rewrite of Robin Hood where it's a bother and sister who are the thieves and they were stripped of their titles for some reason. The girl would probably fall for a nobleman but not get together with him because he truly wouldn't understand why she does what she does.

Okay and the best retelling you've read?

For me it's a tie between Cinder by Marissa Meyer (Cinderella retelling) and A Curse So Dark And Lonely by Brigid Kemmerer (A Beauty and the Beast retelling) (If you read the second, let's talk)

Now vote for harassed barmaids everywhere, comment on the wonderfulness that is Jakks, follow Isla cause it's about to get good!

Yeah, he is 100% Jakks!