“Riel’s father,” Fynn murmured. “And mine, too, in a way. He was the Captain of this ship before me.” He flipped over his hand, resting it palm-up on Sol’s knee. She reached for him, her fingers tracing over the pale, puckered scar slashing through his skin. “Before the bounty hunters dragged him away, Vasil made me promise to look after this ship when he was gone. He made me promise to give a home to those in need and to honor the favor he had given me.”
Sol brushed her thumb across the scar. “Why’d they hang him?”
“Because he was a pirate,” Fynn said. “A real one. He had bounties. And I…I betrayed him when I brought Nedra onto this ship.”
The Princess quirked her head. “Nedra?”
He hated the way her name sounded on Sol’s tongue. “She was…I loved her. Or at least, I think I did—thought I did. I’m not so sure anymore.”
Not so sure, indeed.
“I thought I was saving her when I brought her aboard the Refuge, but the stories she told me were a ruse to get close to Vasil. She knew about his bounties, knew she’d get the most money in Dyn, and she turned him in once we reached the port in Knamelle.”
“That’s why Riel didn’t trust me at first.”
Fynn nodded. “She knows who you are, too, and she was afraid you’d betray us like Nedra did.”
She wove her fingers between Fynn’s. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because we all have our secrets,” he said quietly. “And I will not fault you for yours. But I will be damned if I lose you the same way I lost my mother and Vasil. I won’t let the Grayclaw’s get their hands on you.”
Sol caught her lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For not telling you.”
Fynn couldn’t help himself as he dropped his head into Sol’s lap. He felt heavy, like the weight of this ship was perched precariously on his shoulders. “If you want to go to Nedros, I’ll still take you. Just know that I won’t be happy about it.”
A moment passed before Sol combed through his hair. “This isn’t why I came in here, you know.” Her nails scratched gently against his scalp.
Fynn’s eyes fluttered. “Oh?”
“I wanted to tell you who I was, but there was something I wanted to discuss with you.”
He waved a lazy hand at her. “Discuss away, Princess.”
Sol flicked his ear, her nail pinging against the silver cuff it was pierced with. “Don’t call me that.”
Fynn chuckled, lolling his head enough to peer at her through the spaces between her fingers. “Apologies, milady.”
Her sigh was one of the longsuffering. “I want to stay.”
Fynn bolted upright, his head cracking sharply against Sol’s jaw. “What?”
The Princess yelped, cradling her chin where he’d struck her. “By the Gods, Fynn, you clumsy idiot.”
But the Captain was not listening to her, had nearly scrambled into her lap at such an outlandish declaration. “Say it again,” he breathed, prying Sol’s hands from her face as she tended to what would later be a bruise. “Please.”
Sol glared at him. “I want to stay,” she repeated. “But not if you’re going to head-butt me.”
Fynn’s heart was near-bursting. He threw his arms around Sol, gathering her against him as he buried his face into her hair. “I want you to stay,” he said. Sol wrapped her own arms around his torso. “I was too afraid to ask.”
The Princess huffed a laugh into the space between his neck and shoulder. “So was I. But Amael said you wouldn’t mind.”
“Trust me,” Fynn told her. “My boatswain is usually right.”
Sol curled into the Captain’s chest. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SOL
Perhaps now she understood why Silas had kept Quint so close to him, why she’d always seemed to find them with their hair in disarray and their clothes wrinkled. Sol had never imagined herself as the type of person to drag someone between stacks of ancient tomes and kiss them until she was breathless, but she had never imagined herself kissing the Captain of a pirate ship next to a table of sparkling crystals, either.
Fynn was sprawled across the bed beside her, lying on his back and with his arms tucked casually beneath his head. His eyes were closed, and he’d kicked off his boots nearly an hour ago, but he sighed contentedly as Sol placed a hand on his chest. “You know,” he mused, and Sol knew his tone meant trouble. “When Riel and I first met you, it was a standing joke between us that I would only share a bed with a pretty prince, not his sister.”
Her brow furrowed. “If Silas is pretty, then what am I?”
Delighted surprise flickered across his face, and his smile was positively wicked. “You, Sol Rosebone, Princess of the Sonamire Empire, are the most—”
“Fynnian Cardinal, the two of you had better be decent.”
The door leading into the cabin burst open with a strong thrust of Riel’s hand. Sol scrambled away from Fynn, bolting upright until her back was pressed flat against the wall. She gasped cold air into her lungs, air chilled by the surge of Fynn’s Magic as he rolled onto his stomach and groaned.
“You’re the one without any decency,” he said, his voice muffled by a pillow. “What have I told you about knocking?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Riel propped herself against the threshold. She smirked at Sol, who would give anything to wipe the smugness from her face. “It’s about time,” she crooned. “How far did the two of you get before I interrupted? Your clothes are still on, I see.”
Sol toppled sideways and buried her face into Fynn’s pillow. “Make her stop.”
Fynn waved idly at Riel. “Knock it off,” he said. “Her Highness doesn’t like such debauchery. Besides,” Fynn turned back over onto his back. “If I had a gold coin for every time I’ve caught you and Gray indisposed, I could have retired years ago.”
The Quartermaster snorted. “Me too,” she agreed, then winked at Sol as she lifted her head and glared. Riel had no shame, and indeed, no decency. “So, cats out of the bag, huh? You finally came clean about that royal lineage of yours?”
“Yes,” Sol grumbled. “Though I’m surprised you let me keep the secret for so long.”
“Believe me,” Fynn said. “It wasn’t without restraint. But speaking of the royal on my ship, fetch Amael and bring him to me. There’s something the four of us need to discuss.”
Riel scowled, her sharp features smoothing into lethally defined urgency. “Good discussion, or bad discussion?” she asked. “If it’s bad, I want Luca and Gracia here, too. We make decisions together.”
Sol and Fynn shared a look. “It’s a bit of both, I’m afraid. Bring them along, if you want.”
Dipping her chin, Riel stared at Sol for a moment too long before she thundered from the cabin. “Someone drag Luca topside,” she bellowed, closing the door behind her as she left.
To give them privacy, Sol realized, to right themselves.
Both she and the Captain sat up, Sol leaning against the planked wall while Fynn sulked on the edge of his bed. He brushed his hands through his hair, the dark brown strands a tangle of curls from Sol’s fingers. “I’m sorry about her,” he said, offering an apologetic smile. “Modesty isn’t part of her vocabulary.”
“So I’ve learned,” Sol replied. She began to pick at her fingernails. “Do you think they’ll be angry with me?”
Fynn slid across the bed and sat beside her, his legs dangling over the mattress. “No,” he said earnestly. “They’ll understand why you left, and no one on this ship would dare risk sending you to Dyn or subjecting you to Thane and Caidem.” Fynn tucked a curl of hair behind Sol’s ear. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”
She nervously chewed her bottom lip. “They’re your crew.”
Fynn laced their fingers together. “Say as little or as much as you want. I’ll fill in the rest.”
And he did, telling them Sol’s story from start to finish once Riel amassed their frie
nds into the cabin. Draven and Indyr had joined them, the direwolf sitting dutifully at the Princess’ feet while Indyr bounced playfully over the bed. His fear having gotten the better of him, Fynn had spoken from the corner of his room.
The crew—Sol’s crew—had been emanating wrath for an hour. Riel was prepared to sail back to Sonamire and eviscerate Sol’s father with a dull, rusted blade. Amael was inclined to agree. Even Luca had called him a sick bastard, and Gracia had scowled at the tale.
But neither twin had been surprised to learn of Sol’s identity, and Gracia had bashfully spoken up that Riel had confided in her weeks ago. In turn, because she kept nothing from her brother, Gracia had told Luca and they’d made a pact to keep quiet. Sol could have hugged them both for it.
She held Indyr in her lap. The dragon was curled atop her legs, watching Sol’s friends with eyes the color of glaciers. Indyr’s head swiveled with each new outburst, his spiked tail twitching when someone’s voice rose an octave too loud. He frequently stared at the Captain, chirping to snag Fynn’s attention for even the briefest of moments. Fynn did his best to ignore him.
“So, what do we do now?” Gracia inquired, leaning into Riel’s chest. “If Thane is looking for you, we can’t just leave you in Nedros.”
Fynn’s mouth rose at the corners. “Sol has asked to stay with us,” he announced. “She’d like to become part of the crew.”
“But only with your approval,” Sol added quickly. “Traveling with me is dangerous for the rest of you, so I understand if you’d prefer I wasn’t here.”
A beat of silence, and then Amael lifted his hand and said, “I vote she stays.”
Luca raised his hand, too. “I vote yes. This ship could use another healer.”
Gracia wriggled her fingers and lifted her hand into the air. “I vote you stay.”
Sol’s heart swelled as she looked at Fynn, the Captain’s smile widening into a broad and toothy grin. “What are you looking at me for? You’ve had my vote since the second I met you in Valestorm.”
The lot of them turned to Riel, the Quartermaster unusually quiet. Instead of lifting her hand, she idly picked at her fingernails. “Don’t look at me, either,” she said dismissively. “I already thought you were one of us.”
Tears gathered in the corners of Sol’s eyes. “I thought so, too.”
Riel’s expression turned smug. “Let’s be honest,” she said lightly. “None of us are voting for you. If you stay, we get to keep the dragon.”
Laughter bubbled out of Sol—real laughter, the kind she had not experienced in the Gods only knew how long. She lifted Indyr and held him close to her chest, nuzzling his scaled cheek as he swiped a paw at her hair.
Fynn sighed dramatically from across the cabin. “I, for one, voted for the Princess.” He pursed his lips with a pout. “But I suppose I can get used to that thing.”
Sol held Indyr out in front of her. “Just pet him,” she insisted. The dragon hung from Sol’s hands, all four legs dangling as his wings spilled across Sol’s lap. Indyr quirked his head and cooed at the Captain, his tail thumping against the blankets.
Fynn eyed him suspiciously. “It’ll bite me.”
“The first step to conquering your fear is to confront it,” Luca stated brightly. He pushed his cracked spectacles further up the bridge of his nose.
“Just pet the damn thing,” Riel said. “He’s never bitten any of us.”
“Actually,” Gracia piped. “He nipped my fingers as I was feeding him this morning. It was an accident, of course, but those teeth of his are as sharp as little knives.”
The color drained from Fynn’s face. “I’ll pass. Fear is healthy.”
Indyr whined at him, pawing at the air as if to reach for the Captain. “You’re upsetting him,” Sol chided. “He knows you don’t like him.”
Fynn scoffed. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Actually,” Amael began, ignoring Fynn’s scathing glare. “Dragons are far more intelligent than humans have ever given them credit for. They’re highly attuned to our emotions.”
Fynn hung his head in defeat. “I let one Princess on board my ship and she stages a mutiny.”
“I wouldn’t call it a mutiny,” Gracia mused. “More like…”
“It’s a mutiny,” Riel said dryly. “None of us give a shit if Fynn doesn’t like Indyr.”
Sol chuckled, tucking Indyr into the bend of her arm. She clicked her tongue, and Draven leapt onto the bed with an elegance the Princess envied. He turned himself in circles, his paws twisting into the blankets, and flopped down next to Sol to get comfortable. He huffed as Indyr swatted at his nose. “It’s all right,” she said, scratching Draven behind his ear. “I was afraid of Draven at first, and now he’s my closest confidant.”
Her closest confidant who’d been growing more lax in his duties lately. Perhaps because he knew they were safe here.
“If you think I’m going to spill all my secrets to the dragon, you’re sorely mistaken.” Fynn wandered across the room, and with Draven lounging between them, he sat on the edge of his bed. “I’d pet him before I did that.”
Sol grinned as Fynn held out a tentative hand.
Indyr stretched his neck, sniffing at Fynn before clucking happily. He nestled into the Captain’s palm, the horns protruding from his skull digging into Fynn’s wrist and cutting through the fabric of his shirt. He winced.
“See,” Sol said. “He’s not so bad.”
Fynn sighed and scratched beneath Indyr’s chin, his nails catching on the scales. “We’ll work on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
FYNN
In the north, winter had finally given way to spring. Fynn donned a loose, sleeveless tunic as he stood at the helm, a gentle draft of nature’s creation filling the sails of his ship. It was a welcomed change of pace, but the clouds brewing along the horizon were a cause for concern that Fynn pushed to the back of his mind. A storm at sea could wait when Sol Rosebone was clambering up the quarterdeck stairs, even if it was fast approaching.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Fynn asked. He smiled as Sol skipped to his side and nudged him away from the helm. He relinquished his hold on the wheel. “Make sure the sun stays behind you and to your right.”
Sol gripped the helm in both hands. “You’ve been up here all day,” she said. “And I thought you could use a break. Don’t you ever get tired of steering?”
The Captain raised an eyebrow. “Do you?” he retorted. “More than three months on my ship and already it’s like you’ve been doing this for years. A few more weeks and you’ll be doing this all on your own.”
More than three months on this ship, indeed, and the Princess of Sonamire took it upon herself to commandeer the Refuge whenever Fynn was at the helm. He could not remember the last time he had steered without her. She usually wandered onto the quarterdeck the moment that Fynn was alone, inquiring about navigation and wind speed and where the ocean’s current would take them if the Captain simply stopped steering.
“I have a good teacher,” Sol said mildly, tossing a grin over her shoulder. She smiled more now than she had when she’d first joined the crew. “He’s a tad bit arrogant, though.”
Fynn wrapped his arms around Sol’s middle. “He prefers to be called confident,” he quipped. “But his charm outweighs his conceit. Don’t you agree?”
A giggle burst out of her as she leaned into the Captain’s chest. “Sometimes.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re a menace, Princess. I think I liked you better when you were shy and bashful and still remembered your manners.”
Sol snorted. “No, you don’t. How far are we from Nedros?”
Fynn considered this, turning his attention to the horizon. Lightning flashed over the Emerald. “Two days, maybe three. It depends on how bad this storm turns out.”
“My Magic is…wary,” Sol conveyed. “It’s like the sea itself is restless. Do you think it’ll be a bad one?”
Dropping his chin to So
l’s shoulder, Fynn drew a breath through his nose. A warm gust of wind pushed back against the ship’s sails, effectively slowing their speed. “My wind is restless, too. Those clouds are moving in fast, but I’m hoping it’s a bit of rain at the worst.”
“Is it scary?” Sol asked. “Sailing through a storm?”
“Sometimes,” Fynn admitted. There was no point in lying to her—if she were to stay on this ship, she would eventually see for herself just how Thymis could rage. “But we’ve done it before. I usually send everyone below deck except for Riel and Amael, and sometimes Luca depending on how high the waves crest.”
Sol’s eyes were fixated on the dark grey clouds swollen and heavy with rain, rolling across the Emerald with the wrath of a goddess scorned. Thunder clapped in the distance, and lightning struck the sea far too close for Fynn’s comfort.
“Let me take over,” he said, and having seen the flash for herself, Sol immediately stepped aside and let the Captain take the helm. “Thymis must be angry for a storm to be moving this quickly.”
The Princess shuffled beside him, shifting her weight from foot to foot before a shaky breath escaped from her. A plume of saltwater shot skyward, and Fynn turned to Sol from the wheel. “Your Magic wants to protect you,” he reminded her. “If you’re afraid of the storm, then so is your Magic. Release it in small bursts to stay calm, but don’t let the water come flooding out of you. I’ll be pissed if you sink my ship.”
“I won’t sink the ship,” Sol grumbled. She held out her hand, a tendril of water spearing into her open palm. She wove it between her fingers. “Back home,” Sol began quietly. “My bedroom was at the top of the castle’s highest turret. The sea crashed into the mountain below, and I always felt such…such wrath during the heart of a storm. It’s like the Emerald was angry.”
Thunder boomed, echoing off the roiling waves beginning to churn beneath the ship. Fynn could taste the rain in the air. “I feel it too,” he told Sol. “In the wind. Our Elements are the worst during a storm because they are the storm: wind and rain, air and water.”
Sol wrapped her arms around herself, water splashing at her feet as she let go of her Magic. “I’ve never felt it like this, though. Like the water is trying to drown me on dry land.” She toed at the planks beneath her feet. “Dry ship,” she revised. “Semantics.”
Sins of the Sea Page 23