The fabric opened and the girls raised their arms to reveal the design. At first, it was nothing but a black flag, then small solar cells stitched into the center began to glow, revealing a pattern little by little until Caledonia’s family sigil glimmered in blue and white. Soon, the glimmer transformed into a brilliant glow. Here on the wharf, it was overwhelming, but hoisted high over a ship, it would be a beacon.

“We found a stash of clothtech,” Tin explained.

“And a whole bunch of unused solar cells,” added Abrasin, her chin resting in the black fabric with hands on either side. “Erin had an idea how to weave them into the cloth so that they made a pattern.”

Erin, standing between Abrasin and Shoravin, ducked her head at the admiring tone in her sister’s voice. She’d been painfully shy all the turns Caledonia had known her, and she was rarely seen without at least one of her sisters.

“We wanted to make sure there was no doubt which ships were yours,” Shoravin said, fluttering the fabric so the sigil shimmered. “So anyone else who’s angry can find you like we did.”

Caledonia didn’t know how a single flag was going to do that, but before she could raise the question Tin spoke again. “We’ve made thirty-five. Not enough for the fleet, but most of it.”

“Thirty-five?” Caledonia moved forward to lift a corner of the flag, and ran a hand over the solar scales.

To make that number in the time they’d had, they must have been stitching through the night; the four of them seated in a circle around the blue-and-white glow of solar scales, singing softly and missing the airy harmony of their sister Lurin.

“They’re perfect,” Caledonia said, smiling. All the time she’d spent trying to hold her army together and her crew was working on the same problem from a different angle. It was time to stop thinking of herself as a baseless rebel and time to start thinking of herself as a powerful resistance. It was time to make an indelible mark on the Bullet Seas.

“Sisters,” she said, “I think it’s time we hoist our colors.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Before the sun set on the following evening, the fleet had become a constellation. The Mary sisters had distributed every one of their flags, turning the harbor into a beacon. Caledonia’s family sigil flew from the three gun towers like a crown marking the Holster as a place where others were welcome.

She’d spent hours last night with her command crew making final preparations for the fight ahead. Even so, she’d risen well before dawn, unable to compel her mind to sleep any longer. Oran hadn’t stirred, so she tucked the blanket around him and dressed quietly.