Anna Thomas stands on the prow of a navy blue ship that sways and rocks in the sea water, not far from shore. The ship is small and slender, with three off-white sails and an enormous carved swordfish protruding from her nose, so large that the forecastle cuts into its back. Anna stands just behind it, peering over the railing and out to the water beyond. She's a little too short for the battered, dirty-brown trench coat blowing around her ankles, but then again she's a little too short for almost anything. Including the large black tricorn perched on her head. At least her old skirt fits her, even if it is crusted with dirt and salt by now. She’s worn it, and a few identical copies she’s had her helmsman Choffson make for her, almost every day she’s been here. Her step-siblings—especially Bella, the brat—would tell her the entire ensemble made her look like a child, or a gremlin, or something else stupid and offensive. But frankly, Anna doesn’t give a shit what Bella thinks: she never has. Or maybe that’s not quite true—part of her wants to wear the hat and the trench coat because her step-sister would hate it. 
Lines of dock spider out in front of her, leading from the shipyard all the way to the shoreline, where they meet the towering stone walls of the city. Anna lifts a telescope to her eye.
The Dragon's Breath, a crown trader, drifts in the water between Anna and the city, ripe for the picking. The ship’s bright gold lettering is stenciled over a thick, pearly-pink shade of jewel paint. She inspects it through her telescope for the seventh time this hour, baffled that they haven’t left a lookout on board. It's a big ship, and there are sorcerers about in the harbor—it’s captain shouldn't have left it without one.
“Captain,” a young boy interrupts her thoughts, tugging on her sleeve. His name is Zer, and he’s a nine-year old orphan Colf asked her to look after. Anna turns to him and he motions for her to bend closer so he can whisper in her ear, “Where's Patrick?” he asks, “He's been gone for so long.”
She straightens up to look down at Zer, frowning, “Patrick can take care of himself, I’m sure he’s fine. I sent him…away, to retrieve something for me. He’ll be back soon.” 
Zer tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, planting his feet firmly on the deck. 
Anna closes her eyes and represses a sigh. What exactly does he want to hear? She told him the truth, all that she knows. What more does he want from her?
Much to Anna’s relief, another member of her crew—Hisef—steps forward. “See that ship over there? The pinkish one?” Hisef crouches down to Zer’s height, pointing at the Dragon’s Breath, “It's packed with fruit and meat they're shipping to Morento. We haven't had fresh fruit for weeks, how would you like some tonight?” 
Zer's face lights up, breaking into a grin. He nods eagerly. 
“Captain,” the boy says, turning back to Anna, “Will I get to go too? You wouldn't let me last time. I could be a real help if there's any fighting you need done.”
Anna has to suck in her cheeks to keep herself from laughing, but Hisef only looks down at the boy, his face grave.
“Someone has to stay behind and protect the ship, just in case,” he says. 
Zer gives him a skeptical look, but nods anyway. One of these days, he’s going to realize that’s a ploy. But Hisef’s so good with the boy, Anna’s certain he’ll just come up with another excuse, and Zer will eat it up like pudding.
“Come on,” says Hisef, “The Captain’s a little busy at the moment, we should go tend to the ship.”
Hisef winks at Anna as he leads Zer away. He knows she isn’t very good with kids and that Zer tends to get on her nerves. She nods at him in thanks, then walks down the length of the ship to the helm. Yorren and Choffson, her first mate and helmsman, are waiting for her. 
Anna has six people to man her ship: Wrom, Hisef, and Zer, three young sorcerers chased out of their country by their own King; Choffson and Yorren, remnants of the old crew before Anna took power; and Patrick, a Denadian stowaway who decided to help her with the mutiny. She wishes she hadn't had to send Patrick away, but she wouldn't have trusted anyone else with the task she gave him. Patrick's smart, quick, and slippery, and Anna's confident he'll be able to get out of any situation he gets himself into. He'd be helpful here, now.
It’s late in the evening, maybe an hour or two before the sun sets. At this point the harbor is nearly deserted: no other ships block the way for a fast escape. Anna made the decision to try and board the Dragon's Breath two days ago, when they first arrived at the harbor. They need supplies, and they haven’t yet stolen from any ships in Tallipeg. There’s a place they can flee to and hide once they’ve stolen the goods. It’s all set up, planned out, and should be an easy raid. But something about this leaves a sour taste in Anna's mouth. Maybe because two guards are patrolling the decks of the Dragon’s Breath—even if there’s no lookout, no one is stupid enough to leave a ship unguarded—clearing wielding swords and bows. Maybe because this is a dock, right next to a city full to the brim with knights, guards, sailors, and other citizens. If one of the guards on the ship sounds an alarm, she has no idea how many people will come to their aide. 
She's only been captain for a couple of months, and most of what she’s been doing is illegal trade, salvage, and ferrying fugitives. She's only been in one real skirmish before, and even that hadn't amounted to much. She'd barely fought one opponent before her crew had subdued the others. At least, thanks to Patrick's training, Anna's proficient in a sword fight. She knows she can defend herself if it comes to that. That doesn’t mean she wants it to come to that. 
Choffson grunts at her in greeting as she takes her place next to him.
“What do you think?” she asks, looking first to Choffson and then to Yorren on her other side, “Is the raid still a good idea?”
“We do need the supplies,” says Yorren, “And we can make do with fog, I think.” 
“They haven’t finished unloading,” says Choffson, “and it’s almost night. No doubt the Captain will let his crew take a break and head to the taverns this evening.”
“Right,” says Anna, thinking through the plan again, “It'll be fine. It will work.”

…

Two hours later, once the sun’s down and it’s dark enough to conceal the faces of her crew, they dock the Annihilator not fifty yards from the Dragon’s Breathand Anna orders her ship’s ramp deployed. It folds down until the end lands on the docks, ready for loading. 
Anna leaves her hat in her quarters and ties her trench coat securely over her distinctive shirt and skirt, hiding them from view. She leads Yorren, Hisef, and Wrom down onto the dock and motions for them to come closer. 
“Does everyone know what they’re doing?” she whispers. She examines each of their faces as they nod, studying their expressions. Yorren’s confident but still a little skeptical, as always. Hisef is grave, but otherwise sure enough to settle Anna’s nerves. Wrom is nervous, but not so much that she’ll mess up: it’s her turn to do the hard part. Anna herself does her best to hide her reluctance behind steely determination.
They set off for the Dragon’s Breath. 
As they walk, Anna beckons over her shoulder with her fingers, calling upon the power she’s just recently discovered. Icy tendrils of damp air snake down her back, over her shoulders, and around her sides. Soon Anna and her crew are enveloped in a dense cloud of fog.
She stalks down the dock while the other three trail behind, eyes glued to the ground as it drifts out of the fog three feet in front of her. The second left is the Dragon’s Breath. Footsteps clatter across the wood ahead, and Anna lifts her head in time to see another group of sailors walking straight at them. She ducks her head down, averting her eyes as they pass. What are these people doing out here at this time of night? Anna and her crew will have to be more careful—they don’t want to be seen, especially not on the way back to the Annihilator.
After twenty more steps she turns left. She’s been trying to count their steps in her head: she’s taken 142. Not far at all. The bow of the Dragon’s Breath looms before her, the sheen of its pale paint shining through the night and the fog. Anna stops next to it, craning her neck and listening hard. Light footsteps echo across the deck above, but only one set. She allows herself a small smile. Just one guard: the crew must either be off ship tonight or sleeping. 
Anna beckons the rest of her own crew forward. They duck behind the Dragon’s Breath, and Wrom steps forward so that Hisef can boost her up and onto the deck. Anna holds her breath as she waits, pressed against the ship’s side, with Hisef and Yorren. The sound of voices drift down from above: Wrom’s high voice and the gruffer one of the guard. A loud crack stops the conversation. Anna holds her breath. Moments later, Wrom unhooks the ramp and folds it down. 
“There were two of them,” Wrom explains as Anna and the others start up the ramp, “I managed to subdue one, and knock the other out. I Cursed them both—they won’t be able to move ‘til morning. They’re blindfolded, so they can’t recognize any of you later.”
Anna gives her a curt nod, “Good job, Wrom. Now we need to get to the cargo hold.” She stops on the prow to watch the harbor, letting the fog dissipate so she can see the path back to the Annihilator. There’s nothing in their way, but her hands won’t stop shaking. What if a troop of city guards walks by? What if they’ve changed the patrols and assigned some to walk the docks at night? In Anna’s mind, they appear out of the blackness like ghosts and run straight across the harbor at the Dragon’s Breath.
“Captain!” Yorren whispers from behind her, jarring her out of her thoughts, “Wrom has bread and flour, there are fruits and vegetables in here as well. How much do you want us to take?”
Anna frowns, turning back to scan the docks for guards. “Take as much as you can carry in one trip. We’ll come back again if we can.”
She steps over the legs of the guard Wrom has bound and gagged. His head shakes back and forth, trying to dislodge the blindfold. Anna feels a twinge of pity—he might get punished for his negligence, or even lose his job tomorrow morning—but she pushes it away, burying the feeling in a satisfied smirk.
She shrouds them in fog again as they carry the crates of food down the ramp, onto the docks, and back to the Annihilator.