“I did.” She met Niya’s gaze once more. “I started over here. At least on the Crying Queen I didn’t have to relearn a skill. I was already useful.”
“So what are you saying?”
“That our captain does not work in blacks and whites, like most in his position. He acts on reason.”
“Yeah, his own,” said Niya, folding her arms over her chest.
“Perhaps, but I still wonder . . .”
“Wonder what?”
“What his reason is with you.”
Niya watched the curious fire grow in Saffi’s gaze, her own frown deepening. She knew such a look—she and her sisters had worn it many times, and it only dimmed when they found what they sought. But Alōs’s reason for Niya’s presence involved nothing more than her skills and magic—and perhaps he liked to see her suffer. “Well, when you find out this reason,” she replied dryly, “please let me know.”
Dimples awoke along Saffi’s cheeks with her smile. “I will.”
“Can I ask you something now?” Niya’s gaze flowed back to Alōs’s distant figure, where he was now in conversation with Kintra. “Do you think he’s a good captain?”
“He’s the best there is.”
Niya shook her head. “You replied too quickly for me to believe you.”
Saffi laughed, the sound husky and warm. It also seemed to catch Alōs’s attention, for he looked up. As his piercing blue eyes met hers across the deck, Niya’s heart quickened, and she turned, gripping the railing.
“Red, you’ve been sailing with us for over a month,” said Saffi. “Can you not see how we feel about our captain?”
“People are capable of all sorts of behavior they do not feel.”
“True . . .” Saffi’s arms bulged in her coat as she crossed them. “But this I say with honesty. He’s the best there is.”
Niya felt hot, despite the chill in the air. She did not like thinking of Alōs as a good anything. Captain, son, brother. She needed him to remain cruel, her enemy. To forever be the man who only promised pain. Otherwise he became a person, someone capable of feelings, of reason, as Saffi said, and that somehow made everything confusing.
I wonder what his reason is with you.
Niya shook off her unease. She didn’t want to think any more about Alōs. All she was ready to admit was that they shared a common goal, and that was to retrieve the other half of this Prism Stone. Then Niya would be free, could leave this for good and be out of Alōs’s control. Finally. She would return home, return to her family and her duties, which were far more important than any she carried out here. She would return to that which she had always been destined to become, part of the Mousai.
The only thought about Alōs that Niya needed to retain was that they were enemies with a momentary truce to be allies. Each was using the other for their own gain, and that was how it would always be between them.
“Let me give you that seaweed oil,” Saffi suggested again, returning Niya’s attention to where they stood along the ship’s railing, the midday sun lighting the waves around them in dancing glimmers.
“I could really use a soak more.” Niya glanced down at her dirt-covered hands.
“You’ll have to wait until we reach the valley for that,” said Saffi. “In the meantime, I’ll be right back with that oil.”
As her master gunner strode away, a shift of energy in the air had Niya squinting into the distant sky. All was as calm as the lost gods napping; not even a cloud graced the blue expanse.
Yet still . . .
There it was: a buzzing of forces churning, gathering. Niya had felt this sort of movement many times before, right before a storm. And from the feel of it, it would be a bad one.
Niya’s magic stirred more awake as she turned to warn Saffi, but the woman was already out of sight.
Niya walked toward Bree and Felix. “I think there’s going to be—”
Her words were cut off as Bree gave her the cold shoulder with a pout, pulling Felix away.
“Real mature!” Niya called out to their retreating forms. “I guess I’ll leave you all to get drenched and thrown overboard,” she mumbled under her breath. If they’re still going to hold grudges, why should I warn them of the storm?
Because I could get thrown overboard, too, Niya silently argued with herself, if the ship isn’t properly prepared.
While she had been on the Crying Queen for weeks now, Niya had yet to sail through rough waters.
If she was being honest, the idea left her a bit on edge, not knowing what to expect. How would her powers respond?
Niya glanced to the horizon again, soaking in the colliding energy lacing the air, which was only growing stronger.
“Sticks,” she muttered.
If the crew wouldn’t listen to her, she’d find someone who might.
Jaw clenched tight, Niya ignored the itching of the scars on her back, ignored the memory of how they’d gotten there, as she went to talk with the captain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The door to Alōs’s quarters stood open, and Niya hovered at the threshold. She had not found him on deck, but as soon as she’d stepped below, she could feel his chill of energy leading here. Yet as Niya peered into his office, it remained empty.
Still, his magic was far too familiar to her now, too enticing as it caressed her own to mistake when he was present. With her senses buzzing, Niya stepped deeper inside, following the residual shimmer of his movements. Her gaze ran over the crammed bookshelves lining the walls, the scattered maps on his desk, and the trickling sandglass and various closed boxes adorning the room. Her fingers itched to shuffle through it all, her thief’s habit to search a constant tempting whisper.
The sound of water splashing brought her attention to another half-open door in the corner of the room. It had always remained closed when she was here, but she assumed it was where Alōs slept.
A new tension filled Niya’s gut. “Captain?” she called out, drawing closer. “I don’t mean to disturb, but—”
Her words dried on her tongue as she glanced inside, taking in a shirtless man bent over a washbasin in the corner of the room. His muscles rippled as he ran a wet cloth over his stomach, brown skin glistening as the sun streamed through a large window behind a nearby bed.
Alōs turned, penetrating gaze meeting hers.
For a grain’s fall each remained still, looking at the other.
His hair was wet, as if freshly washed, loose and playing around his shoulders.
Shoulders that somehow appeared much larger bare and fed to a tapered waist.
Niya forced her eyes not to dip lower, where leather trousers sat relaxed on his hips.
A prickling of heat overwhelmed her as past visions erupted in her mind: her hands running over his strong chest, Alōs’s lazy smile as he was sprawled across a bed.
Traitor, she silently hissed to her thoughts, blinking back to clarity.
“And once again,” drawled Alōs, draping his towel on his washbasin, “the fire dancer goes wherever she pleases, despite no invitation.”
Niya straightened with her quickly lit irritation. “Your door was open,” she pointed out. “Who washes themselves with an open door?”
“Someone who employs crew who knock. Am I to believe my pirates have more manners than a highbred lady?”
Niya pursed her lips. “I take no pleasure in finding you indisposed.”
“So you’re here to talk of how you find pleasure?” One of his dark brows rose.
Her mouth opened and then closed as she felt a shameful blush fill her cheeks. By the Fade, he is intolerable!
“What can I help you with, Niya?” He drew closer, bringing forward more of his cool power, which was only amplified by his well-defined chest. “Something must be very important to have brought you charging in here.”
“Don’t you want to put on a shirt?” she asked as she warily watched him approach.
“I’m not done washing,” he said. “Why put on a shirt when
I’ll be taking it right back off? Unless you don’t mind watching as I finish?” His grin was taunting.
Niya took a step back as he filled the doorframe, her magic spinning in her veins with her unease.
But unease at what? This is Alōs, she reminded herself. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen him shirtless before, or countless others in the Thief Kingdom during parties, for that matter.
She needed to quickly do what she’d come here for and leave.
“I came to warn you that I feel a storm coming.”
Alōs cocked his head. “You feel it?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “And I think it’s going to be a big one.”
His eyes flickered over her shoulder to the windows behind his desk, to the calm waters and blue sky. “Interesting,” he mused. “You can sense such a thing even when it’s still a good sand fall away?”
“The air . . . there’s a particular movement to the wind as storms gather,” explained Niya before she drew her brows together. “Wait, you knew we were going to sail into one?”
“Aye.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “There is always a storm when entering the western waters toward the Valley of Giants.”
Niya blinked. “But . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, everyone on deck seems so unconcerned? Shouldn’t they be, I don’t know, hurrying about more?”
Alōs smiled at this. “It is not the first storm this crew has sailed through. Nor will it be their last. Though the western storms are notorious for sinking many ships, my pirates still know what to do once they see one on the horizon.”
“Oh.” Niya frowned, his words not doing much to ease her worry.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She turned to leave. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”
“Niya,” he called, stopping her.
She met his blue gaze. “Yes?”
He rubbed his lips together, assessing her for a moment as his brows puckered in thought. “Wait there,” he said. After ducking back into his room, he reemerged holding a small brown bottle. “Here.” He extended it for her to take.
“What is it?” She turned the bottle over in her fingers, the liquid inside sloshing.
“Seaweed oil.”
Niya’s eyes snapped to his, a twist of confusion flowing through her.
“It helps with—”
“Wounds,” she finished quietly.
Alōs kept his attention on her, his tug of energy wrapping around them both, twisting with her own. “Yes.”
She wanted to ask why. Why would he give this to her? Was he remorseful for whipping her? For inflicting the very wounds this was meant to heal? But that would be ridiculous.
Niya had purposefully disobeyed orders, betrayed the crew, and held the knowledge of Alōs needing to save his homeland over his head.
There had been no avoiding her sentence or his wrath.
Niya herself would have punished anyone just the same. Probably worse.
A disquieted confusion ran along her spine.
Do you think he’s a good captain?
He’s the best there is.
But this is Alōs Ezra, she reasoned. The cold, ruthless pirate who’d broken her heart, held her and her sisters’ identities hostage, and blackmailed her king.
Niya glanced back at the bottle. “Saffi said she was going to give me some of hers.”
“I see,” said Alōs slowly. “Then I guess you do not need—”
“Given the extent of my scars”—she tucked the bottle into her pants pocket and away from his extended hand—“I need as much as I can get.”
When she looked up, she caught a flash of something in his gaze, but it was gone too quickly for her to identify. “Yes, well . . . if you need more . . .”
“I’ll ask around.”
Alōs’s features hardened with his nod. He took a step back. “If you want to help before the storm, find Kintra. They do get quite bad, and there’s always plenty of crates to tie down.”
The tension that had gathered in the room loosened at Alōs’s words.
Back were they to their roles of pirate and captain.
Gone was whatever strange moment that had been building.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” said Alōs as he turned toward his private quarters, “I’m sure you can find your way out, as you so easily found your way in.”
“It’s always easy when the door is open!” she called out in annoyance just as his bedroom door shut, removing the image of his half-exposed body.
With clenched fists, Niya stalked from the room, regretting entering in the first place. Because as the bottle in her pocket could attest, perhaps Saffi was right—maybe Alōs was a good captain. The idea didn’t sit well.
Him being the best captain, however, Niya would no doubt deny until her death.
And if these storms were as bad as he said, she might not have long to wait for that day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Crying Queen surged over a wave, rain slicing like knives against Niya as she gripped tightly to a rope tied to the mainmast. The sails whipped loud as thunder against the wind. Despite their vigorous preparation when they’d spotted the ominous clouds on the horizon, everyone was yelling, running, falling, getting up, and running more. Ropes were constantly flying free and being retied. The ship tacked back and forth, back and forth, as waves tall as the mainsail smacked against the hull.
Niya now knew the reason why trade was light in the west of Aadilor. She was drenched to the bone. Rivulets of water ran across her face, spraying into her eyes, the taste of salt water filling her mouth. A crack of lightning overhead lit up the ship, the white sails screaming bright in the storm.
She held tight, feeling drunk on the motion. Her body was collecting as much power as it could take from all the movement. There were even moments when Niya fought to not pass out from the pandemonium of energy. Despite the ice-shard touch of the rain, her body was burning with her magic, her skin sizzling for it to be free.
A scream rang out above her, and she tipped her head up to watch Bree hit the edge of her crow’s nest and tumble out. Niya whipped up her hand, throwing out bright-orange surges of her power to catch Bree’s falling form. The weight of the small girl tugged at her gifts as they wrapped around her like a coiling rope, bringing her safely down to the deck beside her.
“Niya,” breathed Bree, her eyes wide, her skin pale with cold and fright. The rain plastered her short hair across her forehead. “You saved my life!”
“Hold on to this!” yelled Niya as she grabbed a free-flying rope that swung against the mast before them.
She handed it to Bree as an overwhelming sensation hit along her side. She turned to see a large wave surging over the starboard side of the boat.
Spinning, Niya gathered more energy before pushing it from her core, hot surges of power extended through her arms to hit against the wall of water.
The two forces clashed, a glowing red shield blocking the towering churning threat, before it fell away, back over the rail and into the sea. In the next moment, crates broke loose from netting, tumbling toward them, and Niya swung a hand around, knocking them out of the way with a burst of magic. Her muscles screamed at the exertion as well as the exhilaration as more of her power gathered and lashed out at falling debris and encroaching waves.
Niya was fighting with the lost god Helvar, master of the sea, and it felt incredible.
“Here! Tie yourselves in!” she yelled to the pirates who were beginning to crowd around where she and Bree clung to the mainmast. They seemed to think she was the safest place on deck. Niya almost laughed at the irony—only sand falls ago they’d still avoided her like a plague.
Grabbing the extra rope from Niya, they threaded it around their waists.
Out of the corner of her eye, Niya caught Saffi along the port side attempting to push against oncoming waves like she had, her powers coming out silver and thick from her fingers. T
hough the master gunner was gifted, her magic did little when the giant waves descended.
The water punched onto the deck with an angry roar, surging and knocking most off their feet.
“Saffi!” yelled Niya as the woman tumbled against the deck, before hooking an arm around the wheels of a tied-down cannon.
A breath of relief whooshed out of Niya at seeing the master gunner safe, at least safe enough for Niya to turn her attention to the rest of the ship.
Therza clung to netting near the bow, head thrown back as cackles of delight echoed out of her, as though the storm were an old friend telling her a joke. Another crack of lightning flashed overhead, highlighting the rivulets of rain racing across Therza’s round cheeks, but the woman merely laughed harder.
“She’s crazy,” muttered Niya, wiping hair from her eyes.
Sparks of green had her turning to see Alōs next to Boman by the wheel. A giant bubble of his gifts expanded out and around them, lighting up with every punch of the storm, no rain or wind or wave penetrating in.
As if sensing her watching, Alōs turned to pin his glowing turquoise eyes to hers. A bright beacon in the dark storm.
“Don’t fight the waves!” he called to her over the roar.
“What?” She blinked against the rain, which was pelting like hail against her back. Her wounds screamed in agony, but she ignored them.
“It’s more energy to fight!” Alōs shot a bolt of magic from his palm, through his shield, to catch the head of an approaching threatening wave. He extended its crest, elongating its neck so it broke on the other side of the ship, back into the sea.
Less damage.
Niya turned back to the bow, watching the front of the Crying Queen surge up and up along a mountain of angry sea. The movement had her stumbling back, the ship nearly made vertical.
It would most assuredly break apart on the way down.
Don’t fight the waves, Alōs had said.
Swinging herself from the rope tied to the mainmast, Niya slid across the deck and jumped to the bow.
She dug her heels in as the Crying Queen angled precariously perpendicular and began to move her body to the sounds of the storm. She rolled her hips to the crashing water, felt the movement of the sea beneath, the waves surging. Niya pushed her arms out and out and out. Flow more. Flow forward. Streeeeetch, she told the Obasi Sea. Her skin sizzled with her intentions, steam lifting off her clothes as she wove her magic into a slowly descending bridge that flew from the topside of the wave. The water pulled farther out, tangling easily in the orange liquid of Niya’s created current. She was not fighting the storm but working with the energy already in motion, molding it softer. The ship reached the lip of the wave, and it rode along her magic until it glided, almost gently, back into the sea.
Dance of a Burning Sea Page 23