Eternal Gambit

by St Clare, Kelly

  “Forge.” Jagger grinned ferally at the king.

  This was bad, bad, bad.

  Ebba gripped the pirate’s arm. “If ye use that name, the damned might overhear.”

  “Sounds like it might make his ex’stence painful,” Jagger said, his smirk widening.

  “Aye, and since he has news, it might make our ex’stence more painful-like. I know ye’re angry, but don’t lose yer head.”

  Jagger faced her, bringing his mouth to her ear. “Nay, Viva. I ain’t angry. I’m bitter because I was cheated of knowin’ my real parents. Ye have six; ye don’t understand. And ye should’ve told me he was here.”

  She should have, yes. And had Jagger forgotten she was stolen from her birth parents? But there was no point reminding him of that when he was seeing red.

  Ebba released him and crossed her arms, jerking her head to Montcroix. “Go on then.”

  “I know you,” the king said, scanning Jagger’s face. A crease appeared between his brows. “You were with the crew at my castle once. Flaxen hair. Silver eyes. Almost like. . . .”

  “A man ye once knew?” Jagger asked. “The one ye shoved a sword through? Or do I favor his wife?”

  Mouth and eyes open, the dead king stared at Jagger as though he couldn’t believe the apparition before him. “Jamieson. Is that really you? I don’t believe it.”

  “Is that my name then?” Jagger asked him. “These small details be lost when ye’re raised by tribespeople.”

  The king blinked. “I tried to get you back after winning the battle of the seas. The tribes were too cunning. I lost too many men.”

  “Ye killed my parents,” Jagger roared.

  Ebba glanced behind her, wondering if the entire cavern had heard that.

  “I did,” the king said, his voice wavering. “And hell took me in return. That was the day I realized I was lost.”

  Jagger was shaking, but Ebba didn’t remove her eyes from the path they’d used to get here. If tainted pirates at the ship had heard Jagger, they’d have to make scarce.

  Somehow.

  “Tell me why.” Jagger’s words were almost inaudible.

  Montcroix held his gaze for a few seconds and then dropped his eyes to the ground. “Because I discovered my wife had an affair after the birth of my youngest daughter. She was then killed.”

  “Caspian thinks she died in childbirth,” Ebba said, gasping. “Ye lied to him.”

  Montcroix’s eyes glinted. “For his own good.”

  Her fists curled. “For yer own good, ye sod.”

  Jagger stepped closer. “Keep going.”

  The king tore his eyes from her. “Your father was my right-hand man. Our families had been intertwined since the beginning of the dynasty. I came to believe, most wrongly, that my queen was involved with your father and that he’d killed her to keep the secret intact. I confronted him at a time when the pirates were winning. Emotions were high. After my wife’s murder, I was mourning her while feeling betrayed by her, too. It is no excuse for what I did . . . but I killed him. It was only when I held veritas next that I discovered how wrong I’d been. The sword confirms that which you know is true, and it did not confirm anything for me. Your father did not kill my wife, nor did he take her to bed. My wife did not have an affair. She was faithful. I never touched the sword again after that. Not until my dying day. I never found out who killed my queen. I lost my oldest and most loyal friend. That day, I lost nearly everything.”

  Jagger and Caspian’s roles in assembling the weapon were hereditary. “Do ye know why yer families had always been together?” She butted in.

  The king jerked his eyes to hers. “Because in the past, our families fought side by side against evil foes. Our histories ran parallel, until me.” His eyes shifted to the perched cliff and back to Jagger. “Or perhaps they do again.”

  “My mother,” Jagger said roughly. “Why her?”

  “An accident. She attacked me after I killed Nathaniel. I pushed her, and Joan hit her head. I tried to revive her, but in minutes, she was gone, too.”

  Jagger was quiet for a time. No one had come running yet. His earlier shouting had gone undetected amidst the shuffling movements and murmurs of the other damned.

  “Nathaniel and Joan. Those were their names?” Jagger asked.

  King Montcroix closed his eyes. “Yes. I am so deeply sorry for what I did, Jamieson. It cannot undo my actions, but I am truly sorry.”

  “My name be Jagger. Jamieson died with his parents that day. Jagger was the child sur’ounded by people who spoke funny and ate di’ferent food and lived a life that didn’t look anythin’ like the life he’d known. He was forced to learn. And for that, he became much stronger.”

  The king surveyed the pirate. “So I see.”

  “I became stronger than yer son even,” Jagger continued. “So here’s my deal for ye, King Forge. Ye ended up in hell for killin’ my parents. I can accept that. But there’s still the debt against me.”

  Montcroix’s cheeks deepened to an angry red. “You will not harm my son.”

  “Oh, I will. I’ll be takin’ pleasure in it too. He knows it’s comin’; I’ve told him as much. Told him the debt must be paid.”

  Jagger was full of shite, but Ebba kept her face smooth. This was his ship to sail.

  The wrinkles on the king’s face deepened as his face contorted in fury. “What is it you want?”

  “Ye’re goin’ to jump in the boiling water. Right now.”

  The king blanched. “That’s. . . .”

  “Pretty fair considerin’ ye’ll be alive again within six hours,” Jagger said coldly. “Ye say ye’re sorry. Ye act remors’ful. Prove it. Throw yerself into the water, and I won’t throw yer son in instead.”

  Ebba gripped his sleeve. “Jagger.”

  “Go if ye can’t stomach it, Viva. Think o’ me what ye will.”

  She’d seen someone boil alive already; there wouldn’t be a second time. As for judging him. . . . If someone killed one of her fathers, who knew what she’d be capable of.

  Ebba left in a rustle of skirts, striding quickly for the boulder path. She was nearly there before Montcroix’s raw screams echoed behind her. She sped up, breaking into a run, but the anguished shrieks followed her, chasing her.

  She picked up her pace, sprinting down the path.

  . . . Right into Pockmark.

  Ebba screamed, throwing herself away from the stinking pus oozing from his face. She was on her feet in a second.

  In another place, with other people, the way Pockmark scrambled away in shock—tripping over a rock and then bounding back to his feet—might’ve been comical.

  “Ebba,” Jagger called. His footsteps hammered down the path toward them.

  She and Pockmark stared at each other, and she noticed the black creeping in around the corners of his eyes.

  Shite. His eyes had black in them. Was Pockmark contagious? She’d just touched him!

  Turning as Jagger came into view, she blurted, “Don’t touch me. I just banged into Pockmark.”

  All blood drained from Jagger’s face.

  “That be right. Ye banged into me,” Pockmark said, licking his lips. “It weren’t my fault.” He glanced over his shoulder and seemed to collect himself. “What are ye doin’ down here?”

  Jagger approached the pirate, likely seeing the black in his eyes too. “She needs the purgium. Now.”

  Pockmark edged away, glancing back again. “Nay, no need for that. It was just a little touch.”

  “Yer eyes have black in them. Ye’re cont’gious,” Jagger said, fists balling. “Ye can’t tell me Cannon’ll be happy if she’s tainted.”

  “He doesn’t ever have to know,” Pockmark hissed, drawing his pistol out. His eyes flooded black.

  Jagger might be immune, but Ebba was already tainted. She leaped for the pirate, shoving his arms over his head. The weapon fired with a crack, and Pockmark shoved her off, sending her stumbling. Ebba evaded Jagger’s attempt to help her up.<
br />
  What did he not understand about the taint?

  The stone rattled under their feet as pirates ran toward them from the ship.

  “Now ye’ve done it,” Pockmark spat, eyes darting frantically. He dragged in uneven breaths, and some of the black receded from his eyes.

  “If ye’re so scared o’ him, why don’t ye take over his plan and do it yerself?” Ebba asked, genuinely curious.

  Pockmark whirled on her. “Because I wasn’t chosen by the masters.” His half-black eyes fixed on Jagger. “March in front o’ me. We’re goin’ to the ship.”

  They obeyed, Ebba staying well away from Jagger.

  The tainted pirates sprinting their way wrenched to a halt. Those at the front threw themselves away from Ebba and Jagger.

  “Get back with ye,” Pockmark roared. “I’ve got them. Back! Ye flamin’ morons.”

  The stampede of tainted pirates was reversed, and soon, Ebba strode into the shipwreck clearing much as she’d done on the very first day.

  Except this time, Cannon was already here, his hands wrapped around Riot’s throat. “Four,” he seethed. “It’s not enough.”

  “I did everythin’ ye asked,” Riot managed, black eyes bulging.

  Cannon snarled in his face. “And yet it ain’t fast enough.”

  Swindles approached, bowing several times. “Thirty arrived today, Captain, sir.”

  Cannon released Riot. “Thirty, ye say?”

  “Aye, all o’ them tainted. Soon our side’ll be burstin’.”

  “Burstin’,” he repeated with a gleaming grin. He seemed to realize Ebba and Jagger were there for the first time. Irritation flickered across his face for a second before it was gone. Ebba very much doubted he’d wanted them to hear that conversation.

  “Pockmark, explain,” Cannon ordered.

  “I caught these two down by the stream,” Pockmark stuttered, holstering his pistol.

  Cannon ambled closer to him. “It was your pistol that went off?”

  “A-aye. Not at them. Into the air.”

  Ebba snorted. Only because she’d pushed his arm up.

  Cannon’s eyes fixed on her. “Ebba-Viva,” he purred. “We meet again. And ye’re somewhat dressed as I ordered.”

  She remained mute.

  “Pockmark, have ye negl’cted to say sumpin’?” Jagger drawled.

  Cannon circled Pockmark. “It be the idiocy o’ many tainted, including the child o’ my child, who think their secrets will remain so. Pos’essed by our master, nothin’ will escape their notice. Nothin’. They are us. They own us.”

  Pockmark closed his eyes, standing ramrod straight. “I touched her.”

  Cannon backhanded his grandson viciously, sending him hurtling to the ground. Removing a handkerchief from his sash, Cannon wiped his hand and replaced the cloth, saying in measured tones, “Ye defied our masters’ order.”

  The pillars didn’t want her crew to be tainted? Not just Cannon? That was just all kinds of backward.

  “Please,” Pockmark begged.

  Cannon looked at Riot and Swindles. “String him up.” Turning to Ebba, he said, as though gracing her with a secret, “Ye would’ve gathered the dead can still feel pain.”

  “I’ll be needin’ the purgium if ye want me untainted,” she stated, ignoring his comment.

  Throwing his head back, Cannon laughed. “I’ve already given ye the veritas, now ye want the purgium. What next?”

  The scio would be great. Ebba shrugged. “Ye’ll give it to us or ye won’t. Which is it?”

  Was Jagger purposefully standing that close? She shifted away.

  “I be thinkin’ ye’d be a mite more eager to be healed than I would be to heal ye.”

  Ebba smiled. “I don’t think so.”

  “And why be that?” Cannon said, face hardening.

  “Because ye’re surrounded by mindless cronies,” she lied glibly. “Aside from those ye restrain across the stream, we be the only sane ones in here.”

  If she was right and the captain wanted them untainted, then all he needed was a good enough reason to agree to healing her—a reason that didn’t give away what her crew had put together so far.

  Cannon studied her and then Jagger. “What were ye doin’ by the stream?”

  Jagger answered, “Asking questions o’ those across the water.”

  “Hmm, I don’t think so,” Cannon answered, nearing Jagger. He glanced at Ebba. “I don’t think so. Be that the tunic ye were wearin’ yest’rday, Jagger?”

  She shot a look at Jagger.

  “Aye,” he replied tightly.

  “How sad our dear King Caspian will be to learn o’ this sordid affair,” Cannon said, arching a brow at her. “How long have ye strung them both along?”

  “Sev’ral months,” she replied flatly, thanking fate that she and Caspian had already sorted through such things.

  Cannon dipped his head and paced before them. What he thought of her answer, she couldn’t tell.

  Stopping, he spread his arms wide. “I can’t deny that yer a’rival has brought more ent’rtainment than I’ve seen in a decade. This once, I’ll grant yer boon. Once,” he said, halting before Ebba and gripping her chin tight. “Ye allow it to happen a second time and there won’t be any mercy shown.”

  Salty tears filled her eyes at his iron grip. Thank the seas she’d be touching the purgium soon. Ebba stumbled forward a step as he released her.

  The captain clicked his fingers, and a pirate scrambled to hear his bidding.

  “Get the purgium,” he said, shaking out his ruffled tunic sleeve.

  Ebba glanced at Jagger, who stared up at the ship. She followed his gaze, wincing. Pockmark had been hoisted into the air by his wrists. He yelled with every pull on the ropes, screaming as ropes trailing from both ankles were pulled tight, stretching him savagely.

  “Captain, sir.” The pirate slid onto his knees, black stone case extended overhead.

  “Not to me, fool, to her.” Cannon kicked the pirate, who fell back but held tight to the case.

  The black stone box was presented in the same manner to her. Ebba opened the lid and closed it, then made to grab the entire case. “Thank ye.”

  Cannon laughed again, sounding genuinely amused. “Good try. Do it here. I’d like to watch.”

  “What will it do?” Jagger whispered to her.

  Who knew? It’d blackened her fingernails and leeched the color from six of her dreads. Touching the purgium was always a risk, but there was hardly an alternative. If she wasn’t healed, she couldn’t risk joining the others again, which would expose her to the risk of more taint.

  Ebba opened the case and touched her finger to the purgium. The white-hot zap was expected. She’d felt it twice—and worse when she’d attempted to carry three parts at once.

  The shivers of the intense heat dissipated, and Ebba turned to Jagger, waiting.

  “Uh,” he stuttered, staring at her eyes.

  “Look at me,” Cannon demanded.

  Ebba glared at Jagger and turned as bade.

  Cannon scanned her and came to focus on her eyes, too. She had a third eye, didn’t she? Three was okay, but one would be an adjustment.

  “The a’dition suits ye,” Cannon said. He snapped the lid back on and took the case from the still-crouching pirate. “So this part can heal a person o’ the taint but will kill them unless they only be havin’ small amounts within them. Interestin’ indeed.”

  Meanwhile, she still had no idea what had changed about her appearance.

  “If I discover ye’ve been at the stream again,” Cannon said to her, “for a lover’s tryst, questionin’ or otherwise, one o’ yer fathers will join the damned. I thought ye understood me last time, but now I’m thinkin’ ye haven’t.”

  Ebba lifted her chin. “I understand ye, Cannon. I won’t be goin’ to the stream anymore.”

  Cannon grinned at Jagger, eyes remaining cold. “Congr’tulations, Jagger. Ye’ve brought a wild woman to heel. I hope she serve
s ye well.”

  Heat crept up her neck, and Jagger grabbed her hand, yanking her to the path. “Aye, she will at that.”

  “Until next time,” Cannon called cheerfully.

  Neither of them spoke until they were well down the path to the cave. With a glance upward, Jagger pulled her behind a boulder. Was he concealing them from her fathers?

  His hands moved frantically over her body.

  “Did the purgium take anythin’ else?” he asked in urgent tones. He palmed her sides, moving up her thighs over the skirt, squeezing her waist and moving higher still.

  She slapped his hands away. “Ask afore ye touch, ye slimebag.”

  Jagger retracted his hands and glanced down at her. His mouth twisted. “Slimebag?”

  “Ye have three seconds to tell me if I have one eye,” she forced out between gritted teeth.

  Jagger reached for one of her white dreads.

  “One,” Ebba said.

  He twirled it about his finger.

  “Two. Thr—”

  “It stole a ring o’ color from yer eyes. Both sides. A circle be drained to white now.”

  Ebba whacked him. “Ye do me head in, Jagger.” She hit him again. And then a third time.

  He caught her hands and held them.

  “Does it look fierce?” she asked when freeing herself failed.

  “Makes me never want to look away. Hypnotizin’.”

  And when ye maybe saw my chest, what’d ye think? Ebba sniffed. “So, how did yer revenge go?”

  “It’s over,” Jagger said with a sigh. “Over at last. All o’ my promises, gone. Debts repaid. My life be a clean slate. And I can tell ye I won’t be makin’ any more promises.” Then he looked at her. “Or maybe just one.”

  The fluttering in her heart made her forget the world. Stupid Jagger tunnel. “Aye, ye silver-tongued bugger, how about ye make a promise to serve me and heel.”

  Jagger laughed, and the rich huskiness of the sound stole her breath. “Sparks flew from ye when ye said that.” His laughter faded, and he added, “But do ye get what I mean?”

  She patted his cheek. “Not at all.”

  “Not at all?” he replied, peering down her body.

  Kiss me anytime, ye eejit.

  Seconds went by.