Eternal Gambit

by St Clare, Kelly

  No beauty waited.

  To no one,

  to none

  would I ever return.

  I stumbled to where she lay on our bed;

  A bed more hers than ours.

  She’d been taken.

  Killed.

  While waiting for me.

  My love had died alone.

  Her smile was not immortal.

  Too late, I saw.

  And now I would remain behind

  To sail these long, lonely days alone.

  Me, who only paused to think on life

  When love and light were gone.

  Faded years drag on

  And my heart remains on that sandy shore.

  I sing to my love for evermore

  Of how I wish I’d never left her.

  Of how I wish I’d never denied fate.

  Of how I wish

  I’d simply returned

  as she bade.

  Whenever her tears had started, they were unabated by now, one tear flowing effortlessly after the next. Ebba let them fall.

  A hand reached for her in the dark, and she knew it was his.

  “We’ll negotiate another deal,” Jagger said for her ears alone.

  Whether by a fresh deal or by another, Plank would come back to the crew. He’d done it once; he’d do it again.

  And whatever else veritas might help them find, Ebba knew the sword might provide Plank with all the truth he needed.

  Ten

  “They’re bringin’ more food,” Locks said, alerting everyone.

  Ebba stirred at his voice, feeling as though someone had rubbed grit and salt into her eyes. That she’d fallen asleep at all was surprising, but the granted sleep had been plagued with dreams of murder, darkness, and screams.

  Ebba winced at the stiff feeling in her lower back and legs and opened her eyelids a slit.

  Jagger stared back at her.

  Her eyelids flew open, her heart thundering beneath her ribs.

  Peg-leg called to Locks, “So it’s to be a daily thing? Feedin’ us.”

  “Ye creepy bugger,” Ebba croaked at Jagger, who lay on his side, one arm crooked under his head as a pillow. The rest of his tall frame was crammed between several boulders. She was petite enough to squeeze into mostly any nook, but Jagger must have just spent a night in hell.

  She snorted. They were in hell.

  “Why are ye sleepin’ here?” she asked him, lingering sleepiness making her brave.

  His voice was hoarse. “Why not?” A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Aside from that, he appeared drawn and . . . concerned. His eyes didn’t seem inclined to fully open either, and the usual tension was missing from his frame, as though half of his skull still contemplated giving in to sleep.

  The sight tugged at a floating sensation in the vicinity of her belly. Freshly swabbed ship decks, he looked really, really good right now. Mussed-up and adorable. Ebba could maybe resist silver-eyed Jagger, but not vulnerable Jagger. And really, she didn’t want to resist either.

  She smiled at him, and the curve of his lips widened.

  The world faded. All noise muting but for the sound of her and Jagger’s breathing. The weird focus was happening—the one where the rest of the realm disappeared and only the two of them were here. The Jagger tunnel.

  Everyone else . . . poof . . . gone.

  Boots appeared between them, bursting the intense bubble encompassing them. Rolling back slightly, Ebba glared after Stubby.

  More boots replaced his—Grubby’s this time. Then Barrels’ buckled landlubber shoes replaced his.

  Peg-leg tapped his way through, whacking Jagger in the shoulder with his peg.

  The pirate across from her battled a grin.

  “Wondered when they’d start up,” he whispered to her, winking.

  Blood filled her cheeks at her fathers’ behavior. She was yet to fully grasp what was happening with Jagger and the amare and whatever. That was enough without the overprotective father routine.

  Ebba tensed at more footsteps. They belonged to Plank, who cast a look at her.

  “I’m sorry for last night, little nymph,” he said, reaching down to brush the back of his hand against her cheek. “I’m sorry I gave ye nightmares with my song.”

  Sink her, she must’ve made a racket. Ebba bit back on a groan. She’d die of mortification. Right here. That sounded good.

  “For ye, I’ll try,” Plank said to her.

  Her eyes flew to his. “Ye will?”

  ‘Try’ was such an abstract word for what she wanted from her father. Part of her wanted to push him for details. What was he trying for? What would he do to try? Was it happiness? Was it dealing with his past like the rest of her fathers? What would it take, and what could she do to help?

  “Aye,” he said with a slight frown. “Ye have my word on that.”

  She didn’t want a promise he’d try. She wanted a promise he’d succeed. Because a pirate didn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep.

  Ebba squeezed his hand. “That makes my heart right glad. Thank ye.”

  He granted her the ghost of a smile and peered down at Jagger. “Thank ye.”

  Plank walked around her and Jagger instead of between them.

  “What’s he thankin’ ye for?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

  Jagger searched her face. “Yer nightmares stopped when I lied down next to ye.”

  Well, that explained why her fathers hadn’t thrown him off the cliff.

  Ebba dropped her gaze. “Oh.”

  “. . . So what are ye goin’ to do about Plank?” he asked, shifting onto his back.

  The slightly larger space between them made it easier to breathe. He’d really slept all crunched up like that for her?

  Warmth spread through her chest, and she tucked away a small smile.

  “I’m goin’ to make him touch the sword when Cannon passes it over,” she confessed.

  He watched her, eyes shifting as he seemed to mull that tidbit over. “Worth a shot, methinks.”

  “Ebba . . . Jagger, show a leg. There be sumpin’ to see out here,” Locks called.

  Sure, and she had two heads. He just didn’t want her in here with Jagger.

  Convincing her body to move, Ebba crouched and then stood with a small moan, her hands going to her lower back. The cave floor was no good for her. Her fathers had to be smarting pretty badly.

  Jagger, of course, got up without a peep. If the cave affected him, he didn’t show it.

  “Hold on,” she said, turning mid-step. “Ye slept in the cave.”

  He shrugged.

  No way was he getting away so easy. “But ye never sleep inside because. . . .” Yer time on Malice haunts ye.

  “Between ye, Caspian, and Plank, there wasn’t much sleep to be had. But yer nightmares were worst o’ all,” Jagger said, stepping closer to her. “I just thought to wake ye, but when I touched ye, ye stopped whimperin’.”

  “I don’t whimper.” Ebba tipped her head back to look at him. Her face was on fire, and she sincerely hoped the cave was masking that because her skin felt hotter than the boiling stream outside.

  “Sure ye don’t,” he continued, closing the distance entirely. “When ye stopped whimperin’, I lay down beside ye, which—I can tell ye—a pirate o’ my size ain’t s’posed to do.”

  She intended to grin, but with him so close, it came out as a shy smile.

  “And somewhere along the line, I guess I fell asleep myself.”

  His brows were slightly raised as though Jagger himself couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  “And how did ye sleep?” she asked curiously, glad her voice wasn’t betraying her. One part of her body was obeying at least.

  Jagger bent his head, his eyes going to her lips. “Surpr’singly fair-like,” he whispered.

  Fierce heat swept through her. A heat she’d denied for too long. In the darkness of the cave, pretending only the two of them existed was easy. The Jagger tunnel zippe
d into place, and the world faded away.

  She was sick of burying her feelings. This felt right. She wanted it, and there was no way he didn’t. Jagger never pretended. In his honesty, she could trust; in his capability, his loyalty, and his intelligence. She’d been blind, and now her eyes were open.

  Ebba-Viva Fairisles was going to grab the fish by the gills.

  Lifting her arms, breath held, she intertwined her hands behind his neck, resting her black-nailed thumbs against the base of his skull. She raised on tiptoes. Jagger’s eyes widened as she neared him.

  “What?” She froze in the awkward pre-kiss position. There was no way she’d read his desire wrong.

  Jagger wanted her.

  . . . Didn’t he?

  “Ebba-Viva! Get out here,” Stubby bellowed.

  She jerked violently. The Jagger tunnel crumbled, and the world around them was reinstated.

  What in Davy Jones’ was Jagger about? He’d pushed his body against hers and talked all lovey-like about caves and nightmares and such. Why wouldn’t he kiss her? That was three times by her count. And at this point, Ebba was definitely counting.

  Flaming non-kisser.

  She wouldn’t do that again—the wrapping-her-hands-around-his-neck thing. Three times was enough rejection. If he wanted to kiss her, actually kiss her, he could bloody well go the full distance.

  She glared at Jagger and spun on her heel, storming out of the cave.

  “It be her choice,” Plank was hissing as she neared where they sat on the ledge.

  Stubby was pacing. “Nay, not in a cave with a pirate, it ain’t her choice.”

  Jagger sniggered behind her.

  What was it? Embarrass Ebba Day? And besides that, there was another person who might be affected by the conversation.

  A quick scan told her Caspian was otherwise occupied, though the tips of his ears were pink. Bugger it.

  He, Barrels, and Peg-leg were bent over a black case identical to the one holding food from yesterday.

  Turns out there was genuinely something to see.

  “I just ain’t ready,” Stubby said to Locks, who patted him on the back.

  Locks replied, “Aye, matey, but don’t ye be worryin’; it’s just beginnin’, and there be six o’ us.”

  That was quite enough.

  “I’m here,” Ebba announced, striding out of the shadows and away from the still-sniggering Jagger. Distance between them was the best idea. Then maybe he could figure out whether he wanted to kiss her or not.

  And now that she’d made an utter mess of things with Caspian, the only path left was to not shove the possible love situation down his throat. Win-win.

  Ebba crouched between Barrels and Peg-leg. “What’ve ye got there?”

  Barrels held a long and narrow piece of pale seaweed. Ebba had never seen the like of it before. On the pale seaweed were a series of ink blotches, dots and lines.

  “We found this beneath the waterskins,” Barrels said.

  Looked dodgy to her. “I wouldn’t eat it.”

  “No, my dear. It’s the ink Caspian and I found more interesting.”

  And there it was; he’d said Caspian, and now she had to look at the prince. Peeking up, she stole a look at her hopefully-still-friend. Did they all look like seagull shite today? It was evident Caspian hadn’t slept a wink. He glanced up. Denying her initial urge to quickly look away, Ebba smiled instead.

  Caspian’s gaze fell back to the pale seaweed.

  Great. Frowning, she looked down too.

  “Do you remember Matey saying that his grandfather kept records of magical history?” the prince asked.

  So he’d talk to her, but not look at her? That didn’t make too much sense. “Aye.”

  Much of what their kraken friend had said carried so little substance that Ebba recalled everything that did. “He said they wrote with their ink. Ye think Matey wrote this?”

  “Exactly,” Barrels said.

  The others gathered around the black case.

  “The problem bein’ that we don’t read krakalacken,” Peg-leg said.

  Ebba took another look at the pale seaweed. The top half was a jumble that held no meaning to her. The bottom. . . .

  Pointing to a straight line, she asked, “Do ye think that could be the rocky path?”

  The response was dubious, even if not vocal.

  “If I cross my eyes?” Grubby said.

  Ebba traced her fingers over the many curly ‘W’s’ either side of the straight line. “Matey knows we don’t speak krakalacken. What if this ain’t a note but a map? If that be the case, these be waves either side o’ the path to Satyr Island. Mayhaps the note be about escapin’ there. Matey could be outside the Locker, waitin’ to help us get away.”

  “There be a lot o’ maybes in that,” Jagger said.

  She wasn’t talking to the non-kisser.

  Barrels held the seaweed to his face, squinting before dropping it back into the case.

  Ebba raised her head. “Can we send sumpin’ back to him, do ye think?”

  “With what?” Peg-leg asked.

  Jagger pointed at Barrels’ cravat. “That’d do. Write on it, roll it up, and stuff it in a waterskin. But,” he added, “that be a risk. The Capricorn work for the Satyr. If the Satyr get hold o’ the message or the tainted pirates, then—”

  “We’ll be right back where we started.” Caspian interrupted him with more force than Ebba thought necessary.

  Honestly, the hardest part of that plan wouldn’t be delivering the cravat to the Capricorn; it would be prying the cravat off Barrels’ body.

  Plank stared at the note. “Ye don’t think that the scio could help us? It helps us understand people talkin’ di’ferent tongues. Why not the written type too?”

  Stubby scratched his stubble. “Aye, I be seein’ the logic o’ that. But we ain’t got the scio, do we?”

  “We didn’t have the veritas either, but Ebba talked Cannon into lendin’ us that,” Peg-leg shot back.

  Ebba wasn’t too optimistic that she could figure out a reason to get the scio on loan from Cannon. She’d rather not see the captain again unless it was to shove the purgium somewhere the sun didn’t shine.

  “So what’s the decision then?” Jagger asked.

  Caspian answered with a look around the circle. “I’m for risking a note back. A picture, more like. Even if Matey doesn’t understand the note, he’ll know that we’ve sent it. If getting out of here takes a while, we don’t want him to move on. We should send notes every couple of days. And in the meantime, look out for a way to grab the scio.”

  That sounded fine to her.

  “All those in favor?” Peg-leg said.

  Ebba raised her hand and called ‘aye’ with everyone else.

  “Okay, well, I’ll be in the cave,” Barrels announced, standing.

  Locks snorted.

  Stubby blocked her father’s path to the cave. “Yer cravat, matey. We’ll be needin’ it afore ye go.”

  Ebba wouldn’t put it past him to hide it somewhere.

  With a heartfelt sigh, Barrels tugged free his stained cravat. “It’s all I have,” he said sadly.

  Stubby patted his shoulder.

  “Look smart. We got company,” Locks blurted.

  “Hide the note,” Peg-leg hissed at Caspian, who grabbed the seaweed and ran into the cave.

  Ebba stood and walked to the edge, peering down.

  Pockmark and his cronies had returned. And in their hands. . . .

  “Veritas,” Jagger said.

  At last. Ebba wanted to be in clothes again. Or just different clothes. She was bored of the royal-blue shift. And bored of covering her butt and breasts with every bend and jump. How females did it, she didn’t know. Must get lessons.

  “Oi,” Pockmark howled. “Come and get it. Ye have one hour and not a second more.”

  Ebba was halfway to the stairs. Again. “I’ll get it.”

  Locks bellowed, “Ebba-Viva, come back here.”
/>
  She grinned as she ran. They never learned.

  “She’s your daughter,” Barrels sniped at someone. Probably Stubby—he was the conniving father.

  But this time her tail caught up a smidgen quicker. Jagger. Ebba ignored him and jogged down the remaining steps.

  “Hey Pockmark,” she greeted cheerfully. “Ye’re lookin’ pretty good considerin’ yer grandfather killed ye.”

  His face contorted.

  “The sword?” Jagger said, ambling to her side and cutting her a look that said something along the lines of ‘shut yer gob.’

  Pockmark jerked his head at Riot, who carried the sword in thick black material. The pirate tossed the sword down, material and all.

  “Careful,” Pockmark hissed, shoving the smaller pirate.

  Riot shoved him back, eyes flooding black.

  With a sigh, Pockmark drew out his gun and shot the pirate in the chest. “Berserk again,” he muttered.

  Then, to Swindles, he said, “Grab him.”

  “Nay, he’s heavy,” Swindles complained.

  “We can’t leave him here,” Pockmark whirled to snarl. “Get him. Or join him.” He glanced at Jagger and Ebba. “Yer hour be runnin’ out.”

  True enough. Before she could swoop down, Jagger did the honor, grabbing the gleaming hilt of veritas and kicking the black material back to the pirates.

  She resisted the impulse to roll her eyes at him. She hadn’t been about to touch the tainted material.

  Pockmark’s bloodshot eyes fixed on Jagger, and his jaw ticked as the moment extended.

  “Something to say, Mercer?” Jagger asked.

  It was her turn to give him the ‘shut yer gob’ look.

  “My grandfather would like a meetin’ with ye and the mighty King Caspian,” Pockmark eventually ground out. “Ye’ll be comin’ out with the sword. He said not to make the same mistake as her.”

  Her had a name, but she was much more distracted by the fact Jagger and Caspian would be going before Cannon.

  “What for?” Jagger asked.

  A cruel smile touched Pockmark’s lips. “I be guessin’ ye’ll find out. I’ll be there too.”

  “It’s a date.” Jagger smirked at him. “Come on, Viva.”

  Glancing at Riot’s dead body once more, Ebba turned, glad to walk before Jagger this time because out of him and the pirates below, she’d much rather show her butt to the person she knew. Even if he was a non-kisser.