by Clare Sager
They stared from her to him and back again.
Gods, had they seen what he’d been so close to? What he’d almost done without realising?
She chuckled. “Celebrate, then!”
They released a collective breath, the sound a low murmur on the wind, and turned to each other with relieved laughs, grins, hugs, slapped shoulders.
Once the attention was off her, Vee’s smile softened, and she nodded to Knigh, pulling him into a hug and clapping him on the back as if joining the celebrations. “We’re safe, Knigh,” she murmured, “all is well.”
He exhaled, a shudder rocking through him as he let his head rest on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing her. “Did I –”
“No.” Her breath tickled his ear as she stroked his back. “You didn’t hurt me. All is well.”
“I’m sorry, I –”
Holding his shoulders, she pulled back, still close enough that the blood and sweat on her filled his nostrils, metallic and sharp and tinged with something uniquely her. Eyes softer than he’d ever seen them, she looked up at him and nodded once. “You saved my life – our lives is what you did.”
“But –”
“Knighton Villiers – Blackwood – whoever you are. You saved my life. We have a treasure ship. These are things to celebrate. Understood?”
He stared back at her. He’d almost – Lords knew what he’d almost done. Again.
Her eyebrows rose.
All is well, she’d said. He’d almost, but he hadn’t. She must have seen the rage coursing through him, burning away his self-control – burning away his self, Wild Hunt damn it. She’d seen it, and she’d brought him back before he’d hurt anyone outside of battle.
Licking his lips, he nodded. “Thank you.”
Lords, Ladies, gods, he’d never meant anything as much as those two words.
Celebration
Late that afternoon, Vice smiled to herself, strolling across the white sand of a nearby island as she watched her crewmates build a bonfire. They’d put the surviving men of the Covadonga ashore on another island with the supplies from their hold, and now it and The Morrigan sat at anchor in the sheltered bay. There hadn’t been as much silver as they’d expected. That, coupled with the presence of marines, suggested the Navy had been fed information as a trap.
But it was more money than they’d had yesterday and a prize ship to present to the Queen.
Rubbing her face, she shook her head.
It had been a tough fight, and they’d lost good people. But they’d survived.
The sand was soft beneath her bare feet, the breeze fresh, and the sun warm. Yes, definitely alive.
Thanks, in large part, to Knigh.
She blew out a long breath, wincing as it pulled at the thin cut on her side. In the periphery of her own battle, she’d noticed him taking down marine after marine, brutal in his efficiency, overpowering in his strength. It was only once they’d surrendered that she’d had a moment to turn and really see him.
That look on his face … It was like he didn’t see anything, hear anything – like he wasn’t there at all.
She’d known the moment he’d come back – he’d blinked as if waking, and horror had flashed through his wide eyes. The way he’d stared at her – he’d feared he’d hurt her. She’d heard of berserkers before, but she’d thought they were just stories from the far north of Albion and the tribes of Noreg.
Pausing, she shielded her eyes from the dipping sun. In fact, that tall figure emerging from the rainforest ahead could only be Knigh. He’d been quiet since the battle and had disappeared as soon as they landed.
What he needed was to forget his fears.
Lucky for him, rum helped with that.
Smiling, she waved and started towards him. “Knigh.”
He paused at the edge of the forest, watching her approach, a gentle crease between his brows.
She glanced past him into the green gloom beneath the trees. “Been exploring?”
“I needed to be alone for a while.”
“Battle does that to some people.”
His frown deepened. “Not – I shouldn’t have” – he shook his head – “I wasn’t meant to fight. The things I could have done …”
Lords, he really did need to forget.
“But you didn’t. Gods, if I felt bad about everything I could have done …” She cocked her head. “Well, life wouldn’t be much fun.”
He sighed. “You don’t understand, Vee. I have done things … In the past …” His gaze dropped, and his mouth formed a thin line.
What was it that haunted him? She chewed the inside of her cheek. Something that made him ashamed. Curious as she was, she couldn’t tear that from him – that would be too cruel.
“Knigh,” she murmured, “the past is done. It doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is the decision you made today – you helped turn the tide of battle.”
She ran a hand through her hair, now clean of blood and sweat, and peered from the lengthening shadows towards the beach. Her crewmates delivered armfuls of wood to the burgeoning bonfire – their cries and laughter drifted across in the breeze. How many of them would be dead if Knigh hadn’t boarded the Covadonga?
Swallowing, she shook her head. Wynn had almost ended up among that number, wrapped in canvas and given to the sea. But Lizzy had reassured her that now the wound was stitched up, as long as she had good food, plenty of rest, and her smelly poultices to keep infection at bay, she would be fine.
Her heart squeezed. On the deck of the Covadonga, it had felt close, though. She’d feared for Wynn. Wild Hunt, she’d even feared it was her own time, that she’d failed her team.
But she hadn’t.
The battle was over now, and this was after. This was the time to celebrate and let relief wash over them and wish farewell to those lost.
Knigh needed reminding of that.
“Look at them.” She jerked her chin at the gathered men and women as a waft of smoke touched her nostrils. “We were in a bad way when those marines came out. If you hadn’t joined us … I’m not sure how many would have survived.”
He watched the crew, lips pursed.
Who knew what vastness was going on behind that small expression? After seeing his rage today, the idea of him as an emotionless automaton felt ridiculous. He wore a mask of control, perhaps over emotions as deep and powerful as a riptide.
His chest rose and fell in a long, slow breath.
She touched his shoulder, and it was warm as always, despite the forest’s shadows. “What matters is that we’re here, we’re alive for now, and we have treasure to celebrate.”
His brows rose slowly and, blinking, he turned his grey eyes to her. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Why, Vee, that’s almost philosophical.”
She laughed and started towards the bonfire, tugging at his arm. “Well don’t get too used to it, because I intend to spend the rest of the evening getting philosophical with a bottle of rum.”
Across the cove, Saba, Lizzy, and Aedan emerged from the tree line, carrying round clay jars.
“Ooh.” Vice’s eyes widened. Those jars meant one thing. “Hold the rum, I think Saba’s made palm wine.” Mouth watering, she bit her lip and gave him a sidelong look. “Have you ever had it before?”
“No, it’s expressly forbidden in the Navy, though I’ve heard of its” – he cleared his throat – “formidable reputation.”
She scoffed. “My dear Captain Blackwood, you are in for a treat.”
Sweet and strong, palm wine fermented quickly. Saba must have started the batch this afternoon. Tonight, Knigh would definitely forget about his fears.
Tonight, they would celebrate.
The palm wine was just as sweet as she remembered, the songs were raucous, and the dancing stomped through the sand, wild as only people who’d stared death in the face could be.
From her perch on a fallen log, Vice grinned at her crewmates and gulped from a hollowed-out coconut she
ll. The damn slice across her ribs hurt too much for dancing and when she’d checked the bandage, it was already spotted with blood. No sense opening the thing up even more. At least the drink dulled the pain, warmed her cheeks, and frayed her edges like old sails.
Saba’s rowdy song about a handsome shipwrecked sailor and a mermaid drew to an end with Aedan silencing his drum and Perry bowing a last high note on her fiddle.
Laughing, Vice raised her cup and clapped her free hand against her thigh. “More,” she cried, “more!”
Knigh appeared from the cluster of dancers, his cheeks pink in the sunset. He crouched beside her, catching his breath and held his hand out.
She cocked her head. “What?”
Eyebrows raised, he nodded at her cup.
Chuckling, she handed him the palm wine. “Got a taste for the stuff, eh?”
He scoffed. “Something like that.” He took a sip, the lean lines of his throat rippling as he swallowed.
She shouldn’t stare at that movement or the way his forearms gleamed where he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves. But, damn, they were nice to look at.
“What do they call it?” He thrust the cup back into her hand. “Dietsch courage?” He flashed her a smile close to that true, unguarded smile he’d worn as they’d fled the Sovereign.
Lords, her stomach flipped. Was she a 16-year-old girl at her first ball again?
She shook her head as he strode over to Perry and Aedan. They had a brief conversation, and Perry produced the guitar they’d found on the Covadonga. Knigh nodded and took it before settling on a barrel.
Vice frowned and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she’d had more palm wine than she’d realised. The stuff did keep fermenting, so it could have grown stronger over the past couple of hours.
“Can you believe it,” Saba said, coming and sitting beside her, “straight-laced Captain Blackwood is going to sing?”
Vice shook her head. “I thought you’d slipped something in my drink and I was seeing things.”
Laughing, Saba took the cup and gulped from it. “No, see? No special additions.” She winked. “But you do need a top-up, I’ll –”
A cascade of notes drifted across the sand, sending a shiver across Vice’s shoulders.
Saba raised her eyebrows. “Wow, maybe he actually knows how to play that thing.”
From the way he frowned, adjusting the tuning keys before strumming and nodding, Vice would’ve bet her cut of the Covadonga’s prize that he knew exactly how to play that thing.
“Well,” she breathed, “wonders will never cease.”
Even the crowd who’d been dancing and had continued stomping into the silence, clapping their own beats, fell quiet, throwing curious looks at Knigh.
With a tight smile, he nodded at Aedan and Perry, then passed his fingers over the guitar’s strings. At first, he played alone, the guitar murmuring a steady melody that lifted the hairs on Vice’s arms.
Then his chest rose, and he began to sing.
Low, almost mournful at first, his voice crept across the sand, painful in its beauty.
He sang about lost sleep, dreaming of possibilities, and praying to the gods, the fae, anyone who’d listen that those dreams might come true. His fingers picked across the strings, pitch and timing perfect.
It was an old Albionic song, but one she hadn’t heard in a long time. When, with a nod to Perry and Aedan, he sped into the second part, a solid, toe-tapping tune, it almost took her by surprise.
Aedan took up that beat, foot stamping into the sand as he pounded the drum. Perry’s fiddle rose and dipped around Knigh’s steady strum.
His voice, the sound warmed by a smile, lifted, optimistic as he sang about counting stars, seeking experience, finding riches beyond money.
Saba ducked by her. “Did you know he could –”
Vice shook her head. She’d been so absorbed in the music, so taken aback by his voice, she’d forgotten there were others here.
Saba’s dark eyes were fixed on Knigh, glinting in the light of the streaked sunset overhead and the licking fire before them. The dancers wheeled, arms interlocking before they spun off to new partners, kicking up sand in their wake.
And Knigh? He stared into the fire, his teeth flashing against his tanned skin as he sang. His fingers upon the strings moved with effortless speed, and his toes tapped.
The music throbbed through Vice, reverberating in her chest, making her feet move even though she couldn’t get up and dance.
Lords, his song was infectious – his smile, too.
Shaking her head, she pressed the rim of the cup against her lower lip and blew out a long breath. Her lungs suddenly felt too small, as though she’d forgotten to breathe the whole time he’d been singing.
The tempo whipped up, accompanied by whoops from the dancers, and then with a last chorus and plucks on the strings, it was over.
The evening was cool and quiet, left with only the crackling fire and distant sigh of surf.
Knigh turned his gaze from the fire to her, eyebrows raising, the look loaded.
Or maybe it was just the music still reverberating through her that made her think that.
The crew erupted into cries and applause, and Knigh blinked as though surprised. Rising, he returned the guitar to its case and worked his way past half a dozen of the crew, who slapped his shoulders and offered bottles of rum and jugs of palm wine.
Saba leant in and grinned. “He’s good with his hands.” She nodded slowly, eyebrows arched. “Good to know.”
Vice couldn’t even summon a laugh or a smirk at that.
“Blackwood,” Saba said when he arrived at their makeshift seats. “That was – well, I reckon every woman here has found a new and deep appreciation for music after that.” She gulped her drink, eyeing him over the rim of her cup. “Half the men, too, I bet.”
Knigh scoffed. “Thank you – I think.” He topped up Saba’s raised cup with the jug of palm wine that had been thrust into his hands. He raised his eyebrows at Vice in question.
Yes. Oh gods, yes – more drink. She nodded and lifted her cup for him to fill.
He sank onto the log beside her, arm brushing hers as he looked into the fire. “You didn’t dance,” he said softly as Perry struck up a fresh tune. “You always dance. Was it that bad?” He gave her a lopsided smile.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t danced at all – our Hesperian friends saw to that.” Wincing, she waved at her side.
His eyes widened, drifting down to her torso. “You’re injured? Is it bad? I thought –”
“Ah, I’m fine. I’m more annoyed they tore my shirt.” She shrugged. “Besides, you got hurt, but you seem to be managing.” Thin cuts had crisscrossed his arms and the back of his hand by the time the Hesperians had surrendered. “You even serenaded us with an injured hand.” She frowned. No bandages. “Hold on, didn’t you have a cut there?” She pressed her fingertip into the skin just above his knuckles – skin that was whole.
He flinched, gaze darting around, but Saba must have decided to leave them to it, as her seat was now empty. His mouth twisted to one side, and he leant close. “Can you keep a secret?”
She scoffed. Funny question for him of all people to be asking her. I’m Lady Avice Ferrers, your former betrothed. “I think so.”
He squinted and gave her an odd look, then glanced around. “Come on then.” He rose and started away from the fire.
“Come on then, where?” Raising an eyebrow, she hurried after him.
“I mean it,” he said when she caught up, “you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“Even if I knew what this was, I swear, I wouldn’t.” She glanced back towards the fire. “But, seriously, where are we going?”
“I don’t want them to see the glow.” Frowning, he glanced down at her side again. “Is it bad?”
“Glow? What glow?”
“You’ll see. I found a cave when I was wandering this afternoon. It’s not far.”
Th
ey followed a stream into the rainforest, near where she’d found him earlier. The fading daylight barely penetrated the sighing leafy canopy. Still, it was enough to follow the path even without her fae-blooded sight. Within ten minutes, a rocky cliff rose ahead, and the stream disappeared into a shadowy cave.
“Is all this really necessary?” Looking back, the only sign of their camp was the pillar of smoke rising into the pink and orange sky.
He said nothing, just led inside.
What the hells was so secret? And what glow?
Shaking her head, she followed. Once she was inside, it wasn’t as dark as it had first appeared. In fact, where the cave doglegged left, a dim golden light came from around the corner.
When she followed him around that corner, she gasped.
The last of the sun poured in through a hole in the roof. Its shafting light reflected in a still pool and scintillated off the walls and ceiling.
The cave’s surface – she frowned and ran her fingertips over the nearest wall – it was covered in rough, glittering rock, almost like salt crystals left by the sea.
Knigh stared at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling, lips parted.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” With that clear blue pool, the sparkling crystals, and soft sandy floor, this cave was undoubtedly beautiful, but it didn’t seem to warrant his concerns about secrecy.
He blinked and shook his head. “No, I – it wasn’t like this earlier, it must be the angle of the setting sun.” He turned that disarming smile of his upon her and raised his eyebrows. “This is an unexpected bonus. Now, show me this injury that’s bothering you. We can’t have you unable to dance all evening.”
“Huh?” Her hand went to the spot where bandages looped inexpertly around her torso. Wild Hunt, the drink was wearing off – the cut throbbed, making her stomach turn.
“You asked about this” – he stepped closer, touching his shock of white hair – “afraid I lied about it being a nasty surprise.” He raised his hands defensively. “Not about my father – that part wasn’t a lie, just where this came from. It’s my fae mark.”