Stars and Swashbucklers

By Lilah Fitzgerald

Monsters eat dreams.

Yes or no?

Far in the future, earth has split apart into thousands of islands dangling between the stars. Privateers search for relics, artifacts, and manuscripts that were lost when the earth split, ships sail the stars like they once sailed oceans, and banished Olde Beings lurk in the Mysts between the islands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DartFrog Plus
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781959096658

Lilah Fitzgerald

Lilah Fitzgerald is a 19-year-old actress best known for roles in Lucky Hank, Seventh Son, Every Thing Will Be Fine, and Nickelodeon's live action Monster High franchise. Lilah has also danced professionally as a ballerina in The Nutcracker, Hansel and Gretel, Sleeping Beauty, and A Midsummer Night's Dream. Stars & Swashbucklers is Lilah's debut novel, and the first installment in The Last Montmorency Saga. Lilah believes that fairy tales save people.

Book preview

Stars & Swashbucklers

Copyright © 2023 by Lilah Fitzgerald

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Any characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-959096-63-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-959096-64-1

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-959096-65-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023930776

Icon Description automatically generated

DartFrog Plus

A division of DartFrog Books

4697 Main Street

Manchester Center, VT 05255

For the average girls.

A Note From The Anonymous Historian

Of The Broken World

Once upon a time, a bloodline was cursed. Or blessed, depending on who tells the tale.

But I apologize, dear reader; I’m getting ahead of myself. Or rather, behind myself. This is the last Montmorency saga, not the first. Please, allow me a few pages to explain this broken world, and my role as its historian.

It is said that every soul becomes a star when they die. Whether they shine Above or Beneath, their life is trapped in the flame, their stories burning for eternity.

It is also said that if you capture a star, you can capture that soul’s memories. Luckily for you, dear reader, I am very good at catching stars—which means I am very good at catching stories. Think of me not as a historian, but as a . . . translator of sorts. A translator of the stars. I am simply transcribing for you the memories (fairy tales) of this broken world. Please keep in mind that memories are personal, and subjective, and sometimes rather unreliable.

I have spent countless hours trying to discover where the story begins.

At this point in my research, I can tell you that it probably started with the first Montmorency, that pesky bloodline that seems to influence every important story in one way or another.

But maybe it started when we called the villains heroes.

Maybe it started when mortals’ hubris became so large they said magic never existed, and fairy tales weren’t real.

Maybe it started with the destruction of the veil between worlds.

Maybe it started when the earth shattered, breaking into thousands of islands floating in an ocean of stars; when sea and sky became one and the same, and pirate ships took to open air instead of open ocean.

Maybe it started when a King and his Court rose from the ashes to claim the islands as their own.

Maybe it started when the Olde Ones went to sleep.

Maybe it started with the fear and hatred and eradication of the fey.

Maybe I should choose a better place to start.

Maybe I shouldn’t even tell these stories.

Since it’s impossible to know the beginning, impossible to know what really broke the world, I think I’ll work my way backwards. If you’re confused, don’t worry.

You’ll figure it out eventually.

There are some stories I will tell that will be beautiful, some that will be ugly, and most that will be both.

This is both.

This is the final story. The end. They all (do not) live happily ever after. Of course, it’s much too long a tale for one book. If you find this text cuts off rather abruptly, don’t worry—there are more volumes to come.

This is the story of the last Montmorency. Well, technically, this is the story of the girl who ended that cursed bloodline. See? I told you every good story has something to do with a Montmorency. This is the story of the girl who had so much want in her she caught the attention of the stars, whose nightmares were so vivid she forgot how to tell the difference between dreams and reality, whose rage was so fierce she wanted to cut the invisible strings of magic that hold the islands aloft.

Of course, that’s the ending—when her fairy tale begins, she is just an average girl. Her story is about pirates, and royals, and faeries (although at this point in time the humans call us Beings), and magic. It’s about how far one girl will go to be something more.

This is not a story about a girl running from monsters—if anything, it’s about a girl running toward them. About a girl becoming one.

Star Reader.

Dream Eater.

Kingslayer.

This is Anya’s story.

Chapter 1

Average lives for average girls.

Yes or no?

A talon sinks deep, pulling and slicing at my skin, ripping open my flesh.

Yes or no?

It’s right behind me.

Yes or no?

Ask him. Ask him, Antoinette. See if he denies it.

Yes or no?

My scream echoes long after it has left my lips.

Yes or no?

The monster is dead, but not the one I should have feared.

Yes or no?

You need someone to catch you.

Yes or no?

I slayed the beast, or he slayed the beast, or he is the beast.

Yes or no?

I would never let you fall.

Yes or no?

A boy looks down on me, looks down on my blood.

Yes or no?

He wants to save me.

Yes or no?

He wants to kill me.

Yes or no? Yes or no? Yes or no?

The nightmares have been getting worse.

I fell asleep the same way I have every other night this week; lying on my roof, charting the stars I’ll never sail through. My shallow breaths mingle with the phantom sound of my dreamt screams, still ringing in my ears. The images are already fading from my mind, but the sticky tang of fear lingers, coating my body like a second skin, leaving me with only a pervading sense of wrongness and a question: yes or no?

When you have the dreams, just remember truth. Think of bright things.

I squeeze my eyes shut, holding on to my brother’s advice. Truth.

My name is Anya Marcox. I am average.

That’s the truth.

No no no—Think of bright things.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Nightmares aren’t real. Nightmares aren’t true.

Try again. Truth. Bright truth.

My name is Anya Marcox. I want to be a privateer.

There we go—that’s the bright truth.

I want to chart the stars across the entire galaxy, not just from my roof late at night.

That’s also the truth.

I want to stay in one place forever, live a life full of ordinary.

That’s a lie.

But it’s also reality. It’s not as if being a privateer is an actual possibility for me—Erwin would never allow it. To be fair, my brother is right about the dangers of privateering. It’s an incredibly reckless profession; battling other crews, racing to retrieve the sought-after relic first, pushing an airship so far past its limits that it goes down in flames. Although, exploding ships and enemy crews are probably the least dangerous parts of being a privateer. When you’re looking for relics from before The Breaking, you also find creatures from before The Breaking. There’s things in the Mysts between the islands that were created when the world shattered. And Olde Beings still reside on some islands.

Okay, immediately after a nightmare is not the best time to be thinking about Beings. A chill races unbidden down my spine.

It’s right behind me.

Distant laughter floats to me on the midnight breeze, a reminder that I’m awake—and alone. Usually I’d try to find the notes of Ella’s laughter mixed in there, but I had to climb past my sister’s sleeping form to get out the window, so I know she’s in bed. I should be in bed, considering we’re leaving in . . . I glance to the stars, trying to gauge how long I was asleep for. Not long, apparently. So, leaving in less than four hours. Four hours, and we get on an airship headed for the complete opposite end of the collection of islands dangling between the stars of our galaxy. Four hours, and we stop hopping our way across Ralhunn’s minor islands and go to Dedairna. Four hours, and we leave for a permanent home.

So yeah, I should sleep. Or pack. Something actually productive. But . . .

Yes or no?

I blow out a long breath, as if I can physically remove the remaining cobwebs of nightmare from my mind.

It doesn’t work.

Going inside and back to sleep is off the table. And I have been meaning to finish my latest star chart for weeks—I want to get it done before we leave. Besides, stargazing always makes me feel better. When truth fails to shatter my nightmares, I just have to turn to the stars.

They sprinkle the sky above me, their soft light fragmenting the chill of my dreams. My spyglass and notebook are splayed across my chest, the hard shingles of the roof digging into my back, further proof that I’m awake.

I ignore my lingering dread and raise my spyglass to my eye, trying to place the stars correctly in my diary. The plain journal is a treasure chest of dreams of airship flights and being part of a privateer crew and being so close to the stars that I feel like one of them. Outlines of missions for relics, maps of the galaxy, star charts, and a few airship plans—although I’m not very good at those. The spyglass, however, is much more precious; it’s the only thing I have left of my mother. Erwin said she wanted me to have it, but I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Our mother was always closer to Ella than me, and I doubt she would have left me something so valuable when I barely remember her. But I’m grateful for it—while Ella sneaks out to see her friends, I get to come out here and watch the universe.

It’s not like I couldn’t tag along with my sister, or make some friends of my own—it’s just that moving so much means I never have time to get attached. Besides, I prefer the company of the stars. I used to think they would whisper to me. Other kids had imaginary friends, and I had the whole galaxy talking to me. I’d ask them how they were, and the response was always the same:

Burning burning burning dying dying dying.

Which is pretty dark stuff for a kid to come up with.

Sometimes it still feels like they can speak, but it’s not so much words anymore. It’s a deeper language, one you can only hear once you’ve studied it every night of your life.

There’s some shuffling noises, and Erwin peeks his head up onto the roof.

Want some company? he asks.

I don’t, because I like the stars better when I’m alone. And I don’t want him to realize I had another nightmare. I nod anyway.

You’re gonna be tired tomorrow, Erwin comments as he settles down beside me.

So are you, I point out, and he laughs softly.

After a pause, he asks, Are you excited?

Nervous. And excited.

Me too, Erwin sighs.

It’s a beautiful night for stargazing. Ralhunn and its minor islands are shrouded in rain by day, but most times it thins out enough at night that you can see the stars. Not like this though—tonight is perfectly clear. Like a going away present, just for me.

It’s clear like this every night in Dedairna, Erwin says. He loves to tell stories about what Dedairna will be like. He always has. And sunny every day. You can wear shorts all year round there.

"You can’t wear shorts any time of the year here," I point out.

A slow smile spreads over my brother’s face. It’s gonna be great, Anya. It’s gonna be bright.

Bright.

That’s a big thing with Erwin. Not bright like the stars, bright like the sun beating down on you at high noon. Bright like the sticky sweetness of a summer day. Bright like not having two dead parents and having to raise your younger sisters on your own just when you turn 15.

Erwin never complains. But I wouldn’t blame him if he did. He drew the short straw in life.

I like the dark, I murmur, training my spyglass on the Garden constellation.

You’re terrified of the dark, Erwin says.

Ok, not the dark. I like the night, I correct myself.

The night can be bright.

That rhymed.

Maybe I should be a poet.

You’d make a shit poet.

Erwin pretends to look hurt, placing a hand over his heart and gasping. What about you? he asks.

I’d make an even shitter poet.

"Shittier, Erwin corrects. And I didn’t mean that. Gimme a wild fantasy."

I don’t have any.

That’s a blatant lie.

I sigh. What happened to dad’s favorite saying? I ask.

Dad’s what?

I clear my throat dramatically before I begin. Average lives for average girls. You’re not a princess, or a pirate either, I intone, trying to mask the hurtful words with a terrible imitation of my father’s voice.

I don’t remember him much—I was only eight when he died in a ferry accident between Ralhunn and one of its surrounding islands. But those words are never far from me. He used to say them like a prayer to me every night.

Average lives for average girls.

Erwin’s silent for a while. I thought you’d forgotten about that.

I shrug.

Erwin’s tone takes on a more serious cast. Are you happy, Anya?

I guess.

Erwin sits up and looks down on me.

I’m serious. You know I don’t want you to become some sort of pirate—

Privateer, I correct.

Erwin holds up a hand to silence me. But I want you to be happy, Anya. Are you happy with our plan?

Our plan. It’s been our plan forever. Save enough money. Get a flight to Dedairna. Open a bookstore on our mom’s old property there. Live normal lives.

I’m happy, I lie with all my heart.

Chapter 2

Everything is worse at four a.m.

I can barely squeeze through the crowd of people waiting to see the Halthow off on her maiden voyage.

Ralhunn has one of the biggest space ports of any island, but the viewing lounge is packed—there’s even a crowd of people waiting outside the port to see if they can catch a glimpse of the Halthow as it sets off on its maiden voyage through the stars, stopping at five different islands along the way before finally docking in Dedairna.

Dedairna, the shining city. Dedairna, where it’s always sunny. Dedairna, where we’re going to start a new life.

Hey! I was here first! someone shouts at Ella as she pushes past them on our way to the boarding dock.

You’d think they’d’ve come up with a better route for us to get on the ship, I mutter under my breath.

They did—for the nobility. Us peasants have to make our own way, replies Ella. She’s joking, but it rings true; the Halthow isn’t technically meant for people like me and my family. As all the holo posters along the walls announce, the Halthow is ‘THE BIGGEST, MOST LUXURIOUS CRUISE AIRSHIP TO EVER FLY!’ Not advertised on the posters is the fact that it’s also carrying Class 2 passengers who need to get to places the ship happens to be stopping at along its route. Sure, it’ll take us months longer than it would on a regular airship to Dedairna, but considering the distance, that would be way out of our price range. And the creators of the Halthow figured they could make some extra profit by selling dirt cheap tickets for tiny apartments in the otherwise wasted space in the stern of the ship.

Finally, we escape the crowded viewing lounge. We walk down the now silent halls, Erwin commenting, I can’t believe they managed to get people to pay just to watch an airship take off.

"I can’t believe people got up at 4 a.m. just to watch an airship take off," I respond as we come to an agonizingly slow line of people waiting to board. I scuff the toe of my boot against the slick floor tiles as we gradually shuffle forward.

The security guard barely glances at our IDs as she swipes them through the machine. Marcox. Erwin, Ella, and Antoinette? she asks.

That’s us! my brother responds. Although she usually goes by Anya, he adds, nodding toward me. I know why he always corrects people like that when they use my full name, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. It’s not his fault our mother thought it would be a good idea to name me after the princess who started the last true rebellion. That was hundreds of years ago, sure, but the Court still hasn’t let anyone forget.

The security guard doesn’t seem to care. She just hands back our IDs and gives us directions to our room.

After thirteen days, I can’t stand it.

Class 2 doesn’t have any windows. I’m on an airship sailing through the stars like ships from before The Breaking sailed the sea, literally my dream come true, but I can’t get even the barest glimpse of them. I can almost feel their light pressing against the walls, begging for me to chart them from this close. It’s torture.

And on top of the whole literally-no-way-to-look-at-the-galaxy-we’re-traveling-through problem, being stuck in here with Ella is getting insufferable. It’s not that we don’t love each other, but Ella can be very condescending. Especially when she’s on the most exclusive cruise ship in years, and she’s stuck back here in Class 2—not to mention the ship is docked at Atten right now, the electric city Ella’s always dreamed of visiting. Honestly, she’s bearing it better than I thought she would.

At least Erwin gets his own room. He’s spent the days going over and over everything we’ll need for our new business, but there’s nothing to keep Ella and I entertained except for snapping at each other.

"You can’t even put your book down for five seconds?" my sister demands, frowning at me over the rail of my bunk.

I don’t lower the novel as I answer, Aren’t you the one who gave me this book?

I didn’t give it to you so you’d ignore me!

I close my eyes for two calming seconds, blow out a breath of air, and flip the book over on my lap. Mueller is about to confess his love, so this better be good.

Oh, don’t get too attached to him, Ella says with a wave of her hand, bending over her trunk.

I straighten in bed, concern flashing through me. What does that mean?

Ella doesn’t respond.

Please don’t tell me he dies. Ella, if my favorite character dies—

Ella cuts me off with a flurry of garments. Blue or silver? She’s holding up two dresses. One is a more traditional mini dress, the other a tight and shining number, short enough that I’m pretty sure it was originally intended to be a shirt before Ella got her hands on it.

I’m sorry—did you stop me in the middle of what might be the best part of my book to ask about clothes that literally no one is going to see you in?

What page are you on?

Two hundred and forty-two.

Ella flashes me a winning smile. It’s not the best part of the book, so you can answer the question.

What’s the best part?

You’ll know when you get there.

But what could be better than—

Ella thrusts the clothes closer to me. Blue or silver.

I flick my eyes back and forth over the two cocktail dresses. Ella uses her beauty as armor—I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s still being so meticulous about her appearance even when no one is seeing us. But these are a bit fancy for day wear, even for my sister. What’s it for? I ask.

Oh, I just feel like dressing up.

A warning bell rings in my head, but it’s clear I’ll get no answer from my sister right now. I’ll find out eventually though—Ella and I can never keep a secret from each other for longer than a day. Silver.

Ella flips the dresses so they’re facing her. Really?

I let out a strangled noise of frustration. If you don’t like my opinion, why’d you ask for it?

Oh, no, I agree with you—I just never expected you to pick something silver over something blue.

Not for myself. But the silver is shorter, so it’ll show off your legs better. Plus it’s reflective, so you’ll stand out more in a crowd—I’m assuming whatever you’re wearing these for involves being noticed.

You’re making me seem vain! My sister tries to put on a joking manner, but I can hear the hurt beneath her words. Ella’s always the prettiest girl in the room—no one seems to realize or care that she’s also the smartest.

Stars—no! I say. I didn’t mean it like that, I mean—you have really great legs!

Ella quirks an eyebrow. Oh yeah. My walking skills are unparalleled.

I give her a look. If you’re talking about walking in heels, then I’m sure they are. Now put on your clothes and let me read.

Ella turns with a smile, putting away the blue dress and laying the silver one out. I’ve just picked up my book again when she asks, I have good legs?

I glare at her. False modesty is the one thing you don’t look good in.

Wrong, she corrects. Chartreuse is the opposite of my color.

I don’t know what time it is when Ella sneaks out, but I feel like I’ve been up for hours waiting for her to leave. She’s so silent, if I hadn’t suspected she was planning something, I would have slept right through it.

I probably have, other times.

Thank the stars she asked me about her clothes. It’s not that Ella can’t take care of herself, it’s just that sometimes she cares more about adventure than she does her well-being. And if my suspicions are correct . . .

I count five heartbeats after she’s left the room before throwing off my covers and clamoring down from my bunk. Knowing I’d be going after my sister tonight, I didn’t bother changing into my nightdress, so it’s only a matter of seconds to slip my dark gray wool pinafore from earlier over my green turtleneck. I snatch up my shoes but don’t put them on, knowing I’ll be quieter in bare feet.

I’m not nearly as practiced as Ella is in the art of sneaking out, and I wince at every creak of the floorboards, sure it’ll alert Erwin.

Maybe I should wake him, tell him Ella’s snuck out. But I don’t know for sure she hasn’t just gone to the bathroom, and I don’t want to get her in trouble if I don’t have to.

Taking a deep breath, I slip from our suite.

There are a lot of problems that stem from me going after my sister, but the biggest one is that it’s past curfew. Meaning that, in trying to make sure my sister doesn’t get in trouble, I might end up in it myself.

The floor of the hall is chilled, deep cold seeping into my feet. It’s made of some fancy material that’s supposed to look and feel like wood, but is far more high tech. The big selling point of the Halthow was that it was old fashioned. Considering it has jet engines instead of sails—and Class 1 is full of holo screens—I’m pretty sure the only thing antique about this ship is the decor.

I hurry toward the end of the hall, to the stairs leading to the floor above. I dash up the first flight, then come to a halt, pressing my back against the wall and peering around the corner.

Ella’s just reached the top of the stairs, dressed for anything but a midnight run to the bathroom in her silver dress and matching stilettos.

Worry settles in the pit of my stomach. Whatever Ella’s doing, it’s not something I want to be a part of. For a brief moment, I consider just turning around, going back to bed, pretending I never saw anything. I’ve never followed her before when she snuck out. But that was in Ralhunn, when the steepest punishment she’d face was disappointment from Erwin. Now . . . I don’t even know what the ship crew would do if they found Ella out past curfew, but I’m willing to bet it would be worse than a lecture from our brother. I have to catch my sister before someone else does.

I take a deep breath and continue after Ella—all the way to the door to Class 1.

I’m surprised by her confidence; Ella doesn’t pause to look behind her until she’s reached the base of the stairwell leading to Class 1. I barely have time to duck into a doorway, squeezing myself back as far as possible and hoping with all my heart that it hides me from her fully.

Ella’s heels tap against the metal stairs, and I risk peeking out at her. The door out of Class 2 is locked with the latest technology, the knob itself acting as the lock. It can slide to any part of the door, and only if you move it to the exact right spots in the exact right order will you be able to get through.

Clearly, Ella’s done this before. Her hand guides the knob with expert practice, and I give up trying to remember the code after the sixth switch.

There’s a slight hiss as the door unlocks, my sister pushing it wide and strolling through as if she’s not risking severe punishment just by being out of bed.

I stay hidden for a long second, thoughts flashing through my mind at the speed of starlight. If I follow her through that door, there’s no going back. But if I don’t, I’m leaving my sister on her own. If our roles were reversed, would my sister leave me to fend for myself? No. Ella would never leave me.

Pushing my apprehension aside, I dash up the stairs, catching the door with my hand just before it clicks shut. I should have stopped my sister as soon as I saw her on the stairs, but maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I can still get her back to our suite before any real damage is done.

I shove my way through the incredibly heavy door, finding myself on a deck of sorts. It has a wall blocking off most of my view, and two ladders climbing up the back of the ship; one of them directly to my right, and the other fixed to the wall that juts out, making the deck into an L shape. The second ladder stretches higher than the first, all the way up to a lookout tower. But that’s not the one I’m interested in right now. No, I care more about the one my sister is climbing—in six inch heels, no less.

Ella! I shout, stepping away from the door.

I expected her to be surprised, or at least a little tense. Instead, my sister beams down at me. You came! I was worried you wouldn’t follow me past Class 2.

I open my mouth, waiting for words to fall out.

They don’t.

Hurry up—it’s really not that hard of a climb. Ella turns from me, one hand grasping for the next rung.

Finally, I find my voice. "You knew I was following you?"

Ella frowns down at me. "Why else would I have shown you the clothes? Silver was the obvious choice."

I . . . I blink rapidly, dropping my shoes as I try to gather my thoughts.

Why aren’t you wearing your shoes? Ella asks, as if that’s the most pressing issue right now.

I didn’t want to be too loud— I break off, not letting her lead me off track. We have to go to bed!

"Uh, no, we have to get out of Class 2."

I release a strangled laugh. You’re kidding, right?

My sister just arches one perfect eyebrow.

Ella, it’s against—

Against the rules, Ella cuts me off with a mocking tone and a roll of her eyes. Why don’t you take just one night off from the rules? I don’t respond, and Ella snorts. Guess I forgot who I was talking to.

Don’t get me wrong—I’d love to take a page out of my sister’s book and just . . . do whatever I want. Sneak out, go to parties, have adventures, actually live life freely instead of dreaming about what it would be like to live life freely. But every time I try to—like right now—I get this twisting in my gut and start to feel like I’m going to vomit up my internal organs, which is not a nice experience.

I try to keep it together, try not to cry or puke. I don’t know which would be worse. If you knew I’d be like this, why’d you make sure I followed you?

Because I can’t go to Atten alone!

Oh, stars, I curse. "You want to get off the ship?"

Just for tonight—we’ll reboard with everyone else in the morning!

I rake my fingers through my hair, blowing out a long breath. Ella, I start, trying to stay calm. You know how terrible of an idea this is, right?

It’s not a terrible idea. A terrible idea is accepting being stuck in what’s barely better than a prison just because we’re poor!

It’s not for that long—

Three months is pretty long to be treated like dirt!

The venom in her tone shocks me. I hadn’t realized how much my sister was hurting. Sure, the crew does treat us with thinly veiled disgust at every encounter, but I just . . . ignore it, I guess.

Anya, Ella says, her voice softening. "It’s Atten. I need to see this city. And we always said we’d come here together."

I didn’t even know Ella remembered our childhood plans of running away to Atten. She’d whisper tales of the electric city to me every time Dad came home drunk and Erwin hid us away in the closet,