By the time I leave my rooms, the mast is cut to scale, and the crew carefully lowers it into the space left by the previous one. It’s a balancing act, raising such a massive piece of wood without tipping over the ship. They’ve attached pulleys to the foremast and mizzenmast to get the trunk upright, and I jump in to help. After that’s done, we have to attach the crossbeams and fasten Roslyn’s crow’s nest up top. The sails are attached next.
As soon as the mast is functional, we set sail again. Radita is a little put out at not being able to polish out all the flaws, but it’s vital that we get sailing again. The crew whoops as the sails fill with wind. We begin moving at our usual quick pace once again. I look over my back at the horizon; no sign of the fleet yet.
At night we light the lanterns. We let the remains of Lotiya’s body drift off to sea, buried with the fallen pirates before her. When her soul departs from her body, it will follow the lantern light and find the water’s surface. From there, it will be able to see the stars and fly up to the heavens. Every soul parted from this world is a star in the sky. They live in peace, reunited with lost loved ones at last.
Deshel is silent through the whole affair, never taking her eyes off the water, as if willing her sister to return to life. My own heart aches at the loss. Deshel may blame me, but I blame the man who forced me into this course of action. My father is at fault. No one else.
* * *
After another week at sea and no signs of the fleet, I relax. We’ve put some more distance between us, and I don’t feel the need to look over my shoulder every hour.
My wound is healing nicely, and everyone is in better spirits. I finally have the time to deal with other things.
With Riden things.
I find him belowdecks, sitting in a bunk opposite Deshel, both of their faces somber. He puts a consoling hand on her shoulder. I wonder if he’s feeling guilty for all the complaints he made against the sisters. Trying to make up for it somehow.
As I watch him comfort her, I’m struck with the thought of how good he is. I mock his attempts at being honorable, but in this moment, it’s so easy to see that he truly is a generous and thoughtful person. I’m sure he imagines how he would feel if he were to lose his brother. He has so much kindness to offer a woman he usually can’t stand.
And yet, when a woman he does like saves his life, he has nothing but contempt. And then he has the audacity to touch me, to whisper tantalizing thoughts in my ear, to kiss my skin. As though nothing happened.
The anger rippling through me could make the sea boil.
I approach the two.
“I forget she’s gone sometimes,” Deshel says. “I catch myself looking for her, calling out her name, even. And then I remember.… That’s the worst part. Realizing it over and over again. There’s a constant ache, too, but then it will really slam into me all of the sudden.”
“There were times I would forget my father was dead,” Riden says, “but I always felt relief when I remembered. I can’t imagine what it would be like in your situation. I’m so sorry. I’m here whenever you’d like to talk.”
“Thank you. I think I’d like to be alone now, though.”
Deshel looks up, noticing me. “Captain.” She stands, takes a step toward me. “About before, I’m sorry for what I said. I do not blame you. I was hurting—am hurting—more than I ever have before.”
“It’s already forgotten,” I tell her.
She nods once before lying back down in her bunk.
“I need to see you in my quarters,” I say to Riden.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
I don’t answer him. I turn for the stairs leading above, expecting him to follow. I relax slightly when I hear his steps behind me. But I’m still worried over the conversation ahead. I don’t know how it will go. If it will only make things worse.
Riden shuts the door behind himself as he steps into my rooms. Natural light pours in from the portholes, illuminating his even features.
He leans against a wall, crossing his arms lazily over his chest. “What have I done?”
“I’m ready for your apology,” I tell him.
He blinks, stands up straighter. “What am I sorry for?”
I make sure my words are clear and do my best not to raise my voice. “You don’t get to decide how to treat me based on what your mood is. I don’t care about your gratitude; I don’t need it. You’re a member of my crew, and I would try to save anyone who fell overboard during a storm. But your reaction was completely unwarranted. Yes, I broke a promise, but I saved you and everything was okay.”
His crossed arms rise as his muscles tighten, but I press on. “You pouted in your self-righteous anger until our lives were in danger. ‘It doesn’t seem all that important when we’re fighting for our lives’?” I quote back at him as a question.
“Alosa—”
“I’m not finished.”
He snaps his mouth shut.
“You’re not allowed to turn me away when I’m at the height of vulnerability, then be furious at me for rescuing you, then touch and kiss me and spout off your feelings when it suits you. I want answers for why you behaved the way you did. And I want my damned apology, and I want it now!”
He uncrosses his arms. “May I speak now?”
I nod at him so I don’t plunge into another tirade.
“I’ve been selfish,” he says, “but so have you.”
Through bared teeth: “That’s not how an apology sounds.”
“You had your chance to talk. Now it’s my turn. Throwing yourself at me when your world comes crashing down around you? Selfish. You were trying to use me. I wanted more from you than that.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that he said wanted. Past tense.
“I meant what I said on the cannibal island. When we were fighting for our lives, I realized I didn’t want to be angry with you. You might say my response to that realization was … hasty.”
The memory of his lips on the back of my neck surfaces.
“But before,” he says, “after you rescued me from the sea, you might say I was at the height of vulnerability. I needed time to sort out my own past and come to terms with it.”
I’m silent, hoping he’ll offer me an explanation without my prompting. When he doesn’t, I ask, “What happened?” as gently as I can so as not to scare him off.
“I spent much of my early years not having control over anything.” He closes his eyes, perhaps trying to block out the memories. When he opens them again, he says, “My father dictated when I could eat, when I could sleep, when I could piss—it didn’t matter how hard I begged or pleaded. He hated me and did whatever he could to show it, preferring to make me suffer than kill me. There were times—few though they were—when I would do something that pleased him. He’d promise never to strike me again. Of course, those were lies.
“I won’t get into the details of everything he did to me. Suffice it to say, Jeskor was a bastard. I still carry those scars. The fears of a little boy trying to trust his own father not to hurt him. When you used your abilities on me, when I specifically asked you not to, I was reminded of that time. Those scars came to the surface. I remembered broken promises. Beatings, lashings, starvation. I remembered it all, felt manipulated all over again. I’m sorry for what I said and how I behaved. I just needed time to remember you’re not him. You didn’t save me to be cruel.”
“Of course not,” I say.
“Then why did you save me?” he asks.
The question is so bizarre, I almost don’t answer him. “Because you’re part of my crew. I watch after my own.”
He’s quiet, staring me down. “Is that all?”
There are words he wants me to say. Words I should say. But I can’t allow myself to think them, let alone say them. My mind is as blank as my mouth is dry.
“That’s twice I’ve been honest with you, Alosa. Twice I’ve made myself vulnerable to you. That’s supposed to go both ways.”
When
I still can’t say anything, he leaves.
Chapter 14
THE WIND STOPS, completely locking us in place after another few days of sailing. The weather can be like that. Wild and deadly one day. Nonexistent the next. In many ways, it’s even worse than being caught in a storm, especially when one is racing against the deadliest man on the sea. Just like that, the lead we’ve obtained after fixing the mast starts to dissipate.
I give the crew chores so none can dwell on our dire straits. I send them below to clean their bunks. Trianne takes a few of the girls to help her tidy up the galley, and the deck is in desperate need of swabbing after the storm. Radita finally has the chance to fix up the mast just the way she would like it.
But it doesn’t take more than a day to clean the ship to perfection. I’m itching out of my skin.
“Kearan! Why aren’t you at the helm? Get over to the aftercastle.”
“And do what? Spin us in circles?”
“Just try to look busy!”
He is busy, though. He spends his time doing more push-ups and stretches. He does heavy lifting around the ship, and I’ve even seen him traversing up and down the stairs leading belowdecks. Not because he’s going anywhere, but because he’s strengthening his legs. Before, he was grizzly-looking with a wild beard, had lazy fat rolls, and had the stench of a drunk permeating off him. Now he actually looks his age: nineteen.
He’s not handsome—nothing could fix that—but he’s healthy, sturdy. His eyes are still too far apart, his nose still broken and badly set. But every bulge on his skin is now muscle. The crew can stand to be within ten feet of him, and he’s clearheaded in a way that makes him even more useful. I thought maybe the changes would cause him to stare at Sorinda less, but there is no change there.
Deshel comes up top through the hatch. Alone. And all I can think about is how she was always in the company of her sister, the two of them giggling at some private joke.
I lost a crew member on this voyage, and I will probably lose more before it is over. My own father is hunting me, and I’m not entirely sure what he will do if he catches me. My crew I know he will kill. Slowly. And me? Will he try to persuade me to his side again? Or will he even bother? Maybe my neck is already marked for a noose.
I’m fleeing one parent and returning to another, but what kind of reception will I receive from my mother? I doubt she knows me anymore. She is back in the water, and all humans will be prey to her. I may be her daughter, but will that matter if she is a mindless sea beast?
And then Riden—
No, I am not going to think of Riden.
The next morning, the skies are still empty of wind, but a fog fills the space instead. Roslyn can barely see the deck of the ship from up in the crow’s nest. The ocean itself is against us now.
Enwen spouts off surefire ways to get rid of the fog.
“Toss three coins into the sea, Captain. One for the stars, one for the sky, and one for the ocean,” he says.
“What need have they for money?”
“It’s not about need, it’s about showing reverence.”
I’m usually patient with him, but I don’t have it in me today. “By all means, Enwen, waste your money, but if you step one foot into my treasury, I’ll toss you overboard.”
Mandsy sits cross-legged on the deck with some fabric in her lap. Looks like she’s working on a dress. Mandsy appreciates fancy things as much as I do. Niridia crouches next to her, chatting lightly.
Kearan rolls a barrel full of freshwater across the deck as a morning exercise. Sorinda sits in the shade made by the aftercastle, watching the crew on deck. I’m bored out of my mind, so I sidle up next to her.
“Kearan looks better,” I say.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Maybe you should talk to him.”
She turns her head to look at me fully. Sorinda often reminds me of a cat with the sleek way she moves. “Whatever for?”
“He’s not a drunk anymore. He has things to say.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t ever talk to anyone. Maybe it’s time you started.”
She turns away from me, peers over at Kearan again. “Talking isn’t necessary for me to do my job.”
“No, but you might enjoy it if you tried.” I move to stand. No one can change Sorinda’s mind. She follows orders better than anyone else on the ship, but when it comes to her personal life, she’s as closed off as a clam.
“Captain.” She halts me with a word. “I see everything on this ship. Instead of trying to engage me in conversation, you might consider talking to the person who you really desire to.”
Her line of sight changes.
To where Riden is chatting with Wallov and Deros near the bow.
“That is none of your concern,” I say, but Sorinda has already disappeared. I turn my gaze back to Riden.
“Ships in the distance!” Roslyn cries from the railing near the men. Though she’s not up in the crow’s nest, she’s clearly been keeping a lookout better than anyone else.
Heads turn toward the starboard side. Fingers point. Hands cover open mouths. Wallov rushes Roslyn over to the crow’s nest, so she can hide in the false bottom of her post.
The pirate king’s fleet has found us.
* * *
The fog has started to clear, and in the distance are twenty ships, the Dragon’s Skull at their head.
The air is deathly silent with not even a breeze to stir it.
I dare to hope they haven’t spotted us, but then a ship pulls forward, separating itself from the fleet, using sweeps to sail right for us.
“Battle stations!” I shout. “Prepare the cannons! Gunmen, to your posts! Load every musket and pistol on this ship! Move, move, move!”
Quick-running feet thud over wood. Muskets are passed around. Barriers are fashioned out of barrels, crates, and spare rowboats to provide protection from gunshots. Below, Philoria, Bayla, Wallov, Deros, and the others will be hauling out the gunpowder and cannonballs.
Niridia and I set up a station just behind the companionway. We have five muskets and five pistols between the two of us, all laid out on the ground. Ammo and gunpowder are within reach for reloading. Niridia is there to reload me and dole out orders when I give them.
Riden tucks himself into the space with us. “I’m a good shot. You’ll want me here—unless you have other plans for me?”
As the newest member of the ship, he hasn’t been given a station for battle.
Part of me wants to send him away just to be petty, but I remember the first time we met, when he used his pistol to shoot my own from my hand. He does have good aim.
“You can stay,” I say.
It’s Tylon’s ship, Death’s Secret, that approaches us. I find myself wishing that my own ship was equipped with sweep oars, but the Ava-lee was not built for carrying them. We’ve no way to run. Nothing to do but wait.
“Do we fire on them while they approach?” Niridia asks.
“No. Father would just retreat and then order the whole fleet to fire upon us. If one ship is coming forward, it’s because he wants to talk first. The rest of the fleet won’t fire to risk hitting their own ship, and I like our odds better when it’s one-on-one.”
“Talk first?” she asks.
“If the pirate king had only talking in mind, he would have sent his ship forward. Because this will turn into a fight and he doesn’t want to risk damage to his own vessel, he’s coming over on another.”
It’s at least a little satisfying knowing it’s Tylon’s ship I’ll be putting holes in.
Death’s Secret ceases its rowing when it’s perhaps fifty yards from us, angling itself so the starboard side lines up with ours, cannons to cannons.
My father is not hard to spot. He strides down from the aftercastle to stand on the main deck, as close to me as he can get. He has a belt slung over one shoulder, four pistols strapped across his back. A massive cutlass that would be a detriment to a normal man is sheathed a
t his side. He could take a head off with it.
My father enjoys looking fierce. As do I. Fortunately, I’d woken up in a bad mood today, and it shows in my clothes. My corset is black with a bloodred blouse underneath. I’ve tied my hair out of my face and wrapped a matching red bandanna over the top of my head. I look ready for a fight.
I stand opposite my father, nothing but water separating us.
“Where is she?” he says slowly, as though he’s barely keeping his temper in check.
“I missed you, too, Father,” I say in response.
“You will bring her over to this ship, lay down your arms, and surrender to my men.”
“I don’t have her. She swam away as soon as she was free of you. You can search this ship from top to bottom, but you will see I’m telling the truth.”
He nods to himself, as though he’d been preparing for this answer. “Then command your men to lay down their arms and surrender the ship.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
“Then my ship will tear yours to ribbons!” Tylon shouts. My father turns his head on him, irritated by the interruption.
“Tylon,” I say. “I hadn’t noticed you in my father’s shadow.”
His fair complexion takes on a reddish hue.
“You’re my daughter,” Father continues. “Surrender the ship and we’ll talk.”
I’m surprised by the offer. Of course, I know there will be nothing but a slow death in store for my crew if I order them to surrender. I can see it in his eyes. But the fact that he would try this when everyone on Tylon’s ship can hear him—it could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. I hadn’t realized how much my father depended on me and my abilities. He thinks he can break me if he gets his hands on me, force me to do his bidding once again. He doesn’t want to kill me, not yet.
But I will not fall into his hands again, and I sure as hell won’t let him get ahold of my crew.
Better to strike than to dodge. It’s one of the first lessons Father ever taught me.
I put a hand over my mouth and chin, as if I’m pondering his offer. “Niridia,” I say quietly. “Tell the crew below to fire the cannons.”
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