by S L Matthews
A large knot formed in the pit of Cooper’s stomach. Chills ran up his spine while uncertainty tore at his thoughts, hearing a voice he was assured to never hear again. He followed Rowan’s gaze, finding a tall man parting through his men like a god through the sea. Every step deliberate, every move graceful. With fluid efficiency, the Cyrean captain worked through his soldiers, their ranks parting before him.
The color flushed from Cooper’s face. Captain Ferael?
“Of course, Captain,” Rowan said with the tone of a different man. The gristly snarl had left, replaced with a congenial tone of respect and sincerity. Rowan stood at attention, unwavering, as the other soldiers continued to round up pirates. When the captain gave a knowing nod, Rowan slapped his heels and returned to his work, unceremoniously hoisting yet another pirate off the deck.
“Dammit Coop!” Taryn pleaded, crawling to the edge of the deck. “I see you haven’t learned to control that mouth of yours.” Cooper sensed his brother sizing up his wounds, but his thoughts were fixed on the ghost gliding through the Cyrean ranks. Taryn continued to mumble words in Cooper’s ear, but he would hear none of them.
“Taryn,“ Cooper said. “Stop talking.”
His younger brother, however, was determined to finish his thoughts. Cooper’s gaze continued to survey the crimson-cloaked soldiers while his confusion transformed to disbelief. Face after face, though leaner and darker than he remembered, became recognizable. Every man he had served with, every officer he had served under, and the one man that led them all, was aboard this ship. And each one, to the man, had shared the same sentenced so long ago—death.
Uncertainty gripped at Cooper’s chest, his imploring eyes snapping to Taryn. “Tar, something’s very wrong.”
Taryn scoffed, “Oh, you mean other than finding out your own brother is a pirate, killing innocent civilians, and—“
“Look at me,” Cooper interrupted. “You’ve got to get off this ship. Now”
Cooper saw the dismissive tone fade from Taryn’s eyes. His expression grew serious, though lacking understanding. “You know all the stories Jorel and I told about dawning the red?” he said, turning his attention to the Cyrean captain. “You’re about to find out why at least half of them were true.”
“Now, Jorel,” Cooper said, raising his voice above the activity of the deck. “Burn it. All of it.”
He felt Taryn’s eyes on the back of his head, and waited until understanding took hold.
“Ferael?” Taryn said, his voice cracking. “But, you said he was—“
“He was,” Cooper interrupted, flicking his finger across the deck at the other soldiers. “They all were.” He turned to Taryn, whose expression had turned grim, and softened his voice.
“Be ready.”
As Captain Ferael approached, both brothers stood to greet him. Taryn and Cooper exchanged disapproving glances, each afraid to say what the other was thinking. Rowan stepped in front of Cooper, placing his arm against the pirate’s chest, but the captain merely raised his hand and the soldier slid away.
Ferael lifted his chin and spoke as a teacher would address a student, “Quinn.” His eyes stared at Cooper, though both brothers quickly replied, “Yes?”
The captain’s eyes glanced toward Taryn, a subtle wrinkle of confusion forming across his rigid brow. He then looked back toward Cooper, his firm jaw and intimidating stare regaining its strength.
“It’s been a long time,” he continued, ignoring the prior diversion. Ferael’s eyes drew across Cooper’s wound, down his soaked clothes to his torn, ragged boots. As if it took a great deal of effort, his lips slowly curled into a smile before saying, “Looks like we get to add high seas piracy to your list of deeds, eh Quinn?” He paused for a moment before continuing, “Quite a step up from desertion, yes?”
Cooper felt Taryn’s eyes widened in horror, long before the inevitable response.
“Coop?” Taryn questioned, exasperated.
“No, it’s not like that,” Cooper added, shaking his head. He raised a pointed finger in Ferael’s face.
“You know damn well what happened out there, Captain,” Cooper said, disgusted. “We were all up for court martial, yourself included.” Cooper lowered his hand and gazed at the other soldiers on deck.
“All of us were.”
Captain Ferael stepped closer, stating in a hushed tone, “You presume too much…pirate.”
The men held an exaggerated gaze, neither willing to give in.
“Look, Ferael,” Cooper began. “I don’t know how you and your band of merry men got out of being hanged, but—“
“Silence!” Ferael commanded.
At once, the entire deck went quiet, soldiers and pirates alike.
“Always the comedian, eh Mr. Quinn?” he continued, his labored smile returning. Cooper looked around the deck, his mind fixed on the little strings that Captain Ferael held in his hands and the puppets that danced at his command.
Cooper once again bore the casual, lopsided grin that always preceded an ill-advised remark. He bowed at the waist, offering a generous curtsy to the captain and his men.
“Well, Puppetmaster, sir. I do pride myself on bringing a little life to your parties. I see you’ve brought your own dancers this time.”
Captain Ferael held his eyes to the pirate, his gaze steady, his patience unwavering. He took another step toward Cooper and looked down to his perfectly white gloves. One was slightly off-center. Ferael tugged at the fabric, lining up the seams while speaking in a soft, determined tone, “You are a dead man, Mr. Quinn.”
Without looking back toward the young pirate, Ferael systematically examined his cuffs, his sleeves, and his belt, all while keeping the same calm voice. “You are a deserter of the King’s Army, a pirate of the King’s Sea,” he added. “You are a rogue, a bandit, and a thief.”
He reached down to his side and grabbed the polished, golden hilt of his sword. With a long, steady motion, Ferael withdrew his weapon.
“Did you wake up this morning knowing that you would die this day?”
Cooper rolled his eyes. “Not this again, Ferael.” He scoffed as he brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had my life threatened?” He took a subtle step forward and drew his eyes closer to Captain Ferael.
“This week,” he added, making sure his former captain’s eyes met his own.
A dreadful smile crept across Ferael’s ironclad jaw. “Silly pirate,” he said scornfully. “Why do you always assume it’s about you?”
With lightning quickness, Captain Ferael’s cutlass shot forth, piercing Taryn’s chest. The younger brother did not have time to react as the point of the blade jabbed mercilessly through his shirt. Cooper’s eyes widened in disbelief. He looked to Taryn, half a sword protruding from the expanding pool of blood.
“Nooo!” Cooper yelled, lunging for the captain, but it yielded the same effect as punching a stone wall. Rowan had been eagerly waiting for this moment and grabbed Cooper before the pirate even realized he wanted to strike. The huge soldier picked him up and slammed him back into the railing, along with a chorus of splintered balusters.
Taryn staggered. Memories of their childhood flooded Cooper’s thoughts, followed by images of their mother and father. He recalled all the times he’d gotten Taryn into trouble, and all the times he’d saved his life.
He remembered his freckled faced little brother covered in mud, the first time they stumbled into the old inn, and the first time they met the blonde haired girl with the magnificent blue eyes. Taryn’s entire life flashed by in a single instant, the same instant that Ferael withdrew his bloodied weapon.
Taryn stumbled, backing up as he dabbed a hand at his gaping wound. Blood had already coated his shirt and Cooper knew nothing would stop the flow. He staggered again as realization took hold. Taryn’s eyes welled up with tears and his face contorted in pain. His arms reached for Cooper. His senses, however, had left him. Taryn lost his balance and stepped into the
ship’s railing.
A desperate cry erupted from the deck
“Taryn!”
Cooper’s world grew blurry while he watched Taryn’s body tumble end over end toward the blackened abyss. He lunged toward the rail, desperate to catch Taryn before he hit the water, but the Sergeant’s grip was locked tight. He fought, he squirmed, he kicked, but his grip would not fail.
Captain Ferael glanced at his weapon, a distraught look across his face. “Pity. Will need a good polish now.”
He lowered the weapon back into its sheathe and gave a commanding pat on Rowan’s shoulder, congratulating him for his quick action. He then surveyed his soldiers and the pirates that lined either side of his ship. Cooper followed Ferael’s gaze until it finally fell upon the mass of civilians gathered near the front of the vessel, drying themselves and holding one another for warmth. While Cooper glowered, the same, crooked smile returned to Ferael’s face.
“Well then, we have our orders, men,” Ferael spoke while he worked his way toward the stairs. Pirates on both sides of the ship pleaded for their lives…crying, begging. Many slumped to their knees as the soldiers all drew their crossbows and took aim.
Cooper clawed along the rail as he peered into the sea. The cries of his crew filled his ears. He understood their pleas, but his thoughts were for his brother. Guilt consumed him. He called for Taryn, but there was no response. Cooper placed a boot on the rail and prepared to return to the icy water below when the cries from the deck turned hysterical, yet they were not the cries of his men.
Cooper turned his eyes to the pack of civilians. He saw the panicked expression across their faces. Their joy had turned to agony. They begged and pleaded, trembling before the line of soldiers, soldiers who raised their crossbows and took aim…at the men, women, and children cowering at the front of the ship.
| Chapter XVI
Paid in Full
Ava studied the glint of steel between her fingertips, mesmerized by the dancing light as it cascaded through her window. The metal was cold…icy…like frost on an early winter morning, yet the sensation was not at all surprising.
“This is mine…isn’t it?” she asked, her tone filled with resentment, her lips pursed. She could not recall seeing or holding it before, yet she knew its touch. Her eyes fell away from the stiletto and back to the shriveled form before her.
The simple husk of a man remained silent. He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve, but made no motion to respond. Ava’s fury boiled over.
“Is this my dagger?!” she screamed.
Viktor whimpered, his body recoiling in fear. Words were lost and he simply nodded his head toward Ava. Snot dripped from his lips as his engorged belly heaved in reflex.
“I know this weapon…But how?” Ava questioned, returning her gaze to the ornate hilt.
“Where did it come from? What is its purpose?” she demanded, scolding Viktor as a mother would condemn a stubborn child.
Once again, Viktor lacked the ability to respond. His sobbing grew louder and the snot flowed with regularity. His head turned back toward the chair, back to Thibold’s body. He lifted his hand and pulled his fingers tight…all but one. With a single outstretched finger, his arm slowly uncurled to face the large body on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood.
“To…kill you,” he whispered, as though apologizing for every indiscretion of his life in one statement.
Ava stopped. The dagger slipped from her fingertips and tumbled to the floor. With a ringing thump, the blade wedged between the wooden planks. The old floor cracked and popped as it froze near the tip of the dagger. A blue chill emanated from the point as ice filled the splintered wood. Ava’s heart sank at the words.
To…to kill me? But why?
Her eyes sought answers as they too sank to the floor. They filled with water and wandered around the room in search of resolution. She looked to Viktor, then back to her hands before settling on the ridged lines that encircled her wrists.
Ava’s eyes narrowed as she rubbed at the tattoo and her fruitless attempts to erase his mark.
“To kill…me?!” she said, her anger resurfacing.
Viktor recoiled and fell backwards against the floor. He crawled away from the enraged woman as her eyes demanded answers.
“He—he told me!” Viktor whimpered, his voice aggressively pointing back to the body on the floor. “He said…he said…your mother,” he continued as his eyes widened in panic.
“They’re…coming for you.” He coughed and clutched at his chest. Snot and mucus coated his face as he tried to breathe. He rolled to his side, but could only muster gurgling sounds and the occasional cough.
Ava’s hands fell to her sides while the sun warmed her skin. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes lost their luster.
“They’re coming…my mother?” she whispered, her gaze losing focus.
“To kill…me?”
Her knees hit the floor. The words twisted in her mind as guttural noises emanated from the man she hated most in this world.
She could not tell if Viktor was dying, nor did she care. Her expression remained unchanged as he rolled around the floor, gasping for air. She watched for a few moments before her eyes drew sharp and her lips pinched. Ava crawled next to her former master. He clutched his neck, a look of terror draped across his face. She bent over him and placed her face directly in front of his, locking her blue eyes to his own.
“You do not speak of my mother!” she screamed. Resentment returned as she held his head in place, recounting his words.
Staring into his eyes, she relished in his agony. Countless memories flooded her thoughts as she recalled moments in their past, moments he would terrorize, even torture the young girl…moments of innocence lost and painful regret.
“And to think…I spent my life in fear…of you.”
She raised an angry finger, firing it toward Thibold’s body.
“You think you can just lay all of this on a stranger?”
Ava turned to the large pile of white robes, venom dripping from her words.
“You would invite this man into your bed, and…”
Ava’s words began to trail off.
“And…
She looked upon Thibold’s limp body, his last moments captured in horrific detail. His mouth and eyes were still open. His jaw was crushed and there was a gaping hole in his neck, a slow trickle adding to the bloody pool on the floor. His robes were the fashion of nobility, expensive and elegant, with a crimson rose stitched across his chest and shoulder. All of his pockets had been either turned out or ripped during Viktor’s manic search, leaving small bits of torn parchment and old, crumpled notes on the floor.
“My home…and…” she whispered, her train of thought all but gone.
She remembered the scroll of paper he read in the tavern. She remembered his horrified expression upon hearing her name. She remembered the fear in his eyes when she approached.
Her shoulders slumped and her expression faded.
“He knew.”
Ava turned to look at Viktor. His breathing was labored, with thick mucus forming around his lips. She ignored him, turning back to Thibold.
“He knew. The whole time, he knew.”
Ava shifted away from Viktor, crawling to Thibold’s body. She unfolded the small, crumpled notes lying near his robe, but most were faded beyond recognition. Others contained words, but were stained by drops of blood. None, however, were the right shape or size. Nothing looked like the parchment he held at the table. The parchment he…
Dropped…she thought.
She unfolded her fingers and the old notes fell to the floor.
Ava lifted the flap of his robe and felt inside, looking for undiscovered pockets. His chest was hairy; and unfortunately, still sweaty. Ava withdrew her hand, wiping the back against the flap of Thibold’s robe. On his lapel sat a decorative pocket, consisting of small, beautiful flowers. Purple petals curled to a tip to accentuate the deep red center, inviting Ava�
��s touch.
Ava reached for the flowers, then recoiled in pain as she caressed the soft petals. As if stung by a bee, she examined her delicate fingertips. The petals wilted then blackened. One by one, they turned to ash and crumbled upon Thibold’s silken robes, leaving behind the blood-red center. The remaining flowers, however, sat undisturbed in the comfort of his pocket.
She reached for another flower, and again, her finger snapped back in pain as the petals withered and decayed at her touch.
“What…?” she whispered, examining her fingers.
Determined, she reached once more and grasped the flower by the stem. She slowly pulled the long, purple blossom from his lapel and held it before her, enthralled by the fascinating blend of color. She pulled the stems free and tucked them behind her ears, pinning her long, blonde hair to the side of her face.
Ava shook her head…I need that note.
She angled her body, prepared to run downstairs when she froze. Her eyes had fallen upon another form, that of her friend. Ava raised her hands to her mouth in horror, recalling Dijor’s last moments.
“Oh, Dijor,” she whispered, racing to his side.
Ava dropped to her knees and tugged at the man’s shoulders, rolling him to his back. His eyes were brown and soft, just as she remembered. Her gentle hands cupped his cheeks while she leaned in closer, the tears returning to her embattled eyes.
“Not for me. You can’t die for me,” she said as she pulled him to her chest.
Her arms wrapped around his head as her emotions consumed her.
“No, no, no…you can’t die for me. You can’t!” she pleaded, but Dijor remained silent.
Ava rocked her friend in her arms, her tears washing the blood from his face. She felt the warm sensation against her bosom and looked to see Dijor’s wound, and the trickle of blood that followed. She looked back to her arms and chest and her own blood, now dried and caked into her pores.
I healed, she thought, searching for her old wounds.
Ava scraped at the dried blood, watching the flakes drift to the floor. Her gaze drifted back to her arms where glass had pierced her skin. No wounds.