“What if he’s already sold the bird?”
“Unlikely. He only learned of the bird today, and arranging a sale of a creature like that requires planning—as you must now realize.” He stepped closer to the desk and put his fingers on top of the parchment to slide it closer to Tyr. “That being said, there is no guarantee that things will not change. I suggest you leave as quickly as possible.”
Tyr gritted his teeth and scanned the contract. Kirill might have danced around the topic when he spoke of what he wanted to do, but his contract was not nearly as vague. He’d even written out the order he wanted the ships stolen in. And one that he wanted hidden away to be released later.
Tyr brushed away the details. The vampire was right, there was no time to drag his feet. He signed his name. “You have your accord. Now how am I to get to Ingrid?”
Kirill blew on the parchment, watching the blood dry like a drunk watching a barmaid pour a drink. “Are you afraid of flying?”
Tyr frowned. “No.”
“Good.”
Chapter Eight
“How are you feeling?”
Ingrid tensed, her hand halting in the middle of wiping the sweat from her forehead. The light from the myriad of lanterns illuminating the room fought a respectable battle against the darkness of growing night, but she didn’t bother to look to the source of the voice. Instead, she reached blindly into the pocket of her dress.
“Oh, dear gods, you mean you have more?”
Bluebeard’s pained voice finally permeated the fog in Ingrid’s brain enough for her to remember where she was—lying on the pirate captain’s bed—and how she’d gotten there. The bucket the pirate had given her to vomit into still sat on the floor by the bed, but it had been emptied and rinsed clean with seawater. Her dress was damp with sweat and her stomach ached from the effort of expelling every speck of—
She put a hand over her mouth as the thought of what she’d swallowed came back to her, threatening to wring her stomach dry of what little stomach acid she had left.
The pirate captain cleared his throat. “Please, chere, just give me…whatever you have left. Let me throw it overboard where it belongs.” He took a small, cautious step toward her, booted feet barely making a sound. “No one on this ship is going to lay a hand on you. You have my word.”
“And what good is the…word of a…pirate?”
Opening her mouth to speak seemed to give her body ideas of using it to pour out more bodily fluids, so she clamped her lips shut and breathed slowly through her nose. Wet wood and dried seawater assaulted her, reminding her of the slimy mollusk bits still in her pocket. Her stomach lurched and she squeezed her eyes shut so tightly tears leaked out. Bluebeard took a few more careful steps toward her and knelt beside the bed.
An herbal scent, clean and fresh, wafted past her nose. She opened her eyes to see he held a cup in his hand. “Is that mint tea?”
“Yes. Drink some—slowly. It will help you feel better.” He looked down at the bucket then back to her face. “I hope.”
The thought of raising her head made her want to cry. “Where did you get mint tea? I wouldn’t think that’s something you’d have on hand.”
She eased herself into a sitting position, then winced when her head spun and her stomach tried to leap up her throat. Bluebeard set the cup on the floor before moving to the bed and dragging an extra pillow behind her head. She wanted to jerk away from him, but it seemed like too much effort, so she held still, let him help her. When she was propped up enough to drink without drowning herself, he retrieved the tea and put it into her hand.
“True enough, we don’t find much demand for tea on this ship. But after you…” He pressed his lips together and let out a breath through his nose. “Once we dropped anchor I sent one of the men out for the tea.”
“Dropped anchor?” Ingrid tensed, sloshing some of her tea over the rim of the cup. The liquid wasn’t very hot, but it startled her all the same. “You mean we’ve docked?”
Bluebeard put a hand on her shoulder, and it was only then that she realized she was sitting up off the pillows, making as though to flee the ship.
“We are anchored near the shore of Sanguennay. Close enough to fetch tea and make the arrangements I need to make, but not so close that I would recommend you try to escape.”
Ingrid’s heart sank. “Then I’m still your prisoner.”
The pirate watched her carefully, but nodded without hesitating. “You are that, chere. Though I would prefer you thought of yourself as my guest.”
Anger flicked inside her, helping to chase back the nausea, if only a little. “That would imply I was willing to be here—which I am not.” She took an angry sip of her tea, holding very still as she waited to see how her stomach would accept it. “Pirates. Think you’re charming, but you’re not. Not at all, not even a little.”
One cerulean eyebrow rose. “Ingrid—may I call you Ingrid?”
“No.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All right, fair enough.”
The mattress under her shifted as he hauled himself to his feet and strode across the cabin. His quarters weren’t all that different from Tyr’s, decorated with similar trophies, gold and silks plunked down on convenient surfaces, obviously intended for show more than any real sense of interior design. Though she doubted he had any seedlings stashed anywhere. And the bottles of liquor she could see tucked carefully onto shelves weren’t the smudged bottles of rum Tyr kept about, but polished glass bottles of a drink that had none of the cloudiness she usually saw in the pirates’ rum.
“It’s bourbon. Would you like a glass?”
She started, only then realizing the captain had retrieved a chair from the battered desk across the room and was sitting beside her. She wrinkled her nose at the suggestion of imbibing anything stronger than the tea she already cradled in her hand. “No. By the Bright Lady, no.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, then he took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I’m going to be frank, chere. When I was told Tyr had a firebird and an earth witch on his ship, I was interested in the firebird, yes. But I was more interested in you.”
“Told you,” the firebird crowed.
Ingrid jumped, then glared in the direction of the bird’s voice. She saw no cage, but there was a lump of material on the floor under the desk that most likely hid the bright bird. Then Bluebeard’s words registered and she stiffened before sliding her hand down her dress, keeping her fingers near her pocket.
Bluebeard noticed the movement and made a choking sound low in his throat. “Not like that,” he said, his voice weak. “Dear gods, chere, I could bounce a coin off your stomach muscles after the workout you’ve already given them. Have some sense.” He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from her pocket with some effort. “In fact, could I offer you a clean dress? I don’t wish to offend, but the smell is becoming rather pungent.”
“What do you want with me?” Ingrid put the tips of her fingers in the pocket, ignoring the way her stomach twisted.
The words burst out of him with the force of a question that had waited too long to be asked already. “Can you change the color of my beard?”
Ingrid blinked, her hand falling from her pocket. “I’m sorry?”
Bluebeard sighed and rubbed at his jaw. “The beard. Chere, I’m a pirate. A certain…anonymity is required by the very nature of my work. As you might guess, this color makes me…memorable.” He met her eyes. “Easy to identify.”
“Then why did you dye it blue to begin with?”
He gave her a withering look and dropped his hand into his lap. “Very funny. I didn’t. It was a…parting gift. From a woman.”
Understanding dawned and Ingrid took another sip of her tea to hide the quirk of a smile. “I see.”
“Yes, well, as it turns out, I underestimated her…reluctance to see me go. Dominique was never the sort to show restraint.”
Ingrid snorted, eying his beard over the rim over her cup. We
ll done, Dominique.
“I’m so pleased I amuse you.” He leaned forward again, and all traces of humor washed away from his face, leaving his dark eyes cold and hard. “This wretched beard has made me a favorite target for every lawman from Dacia to Midgard. I shave it off only to have it grow back in the next breath, and the color remains as bright as it was the day she cursed me. If you can remove this magic, I will release you and the firebird. I will take you wherever it pleases you to go—you can have whatever treasure catches your fancy from my coffers.”
Despite the intensity of his look, and his obvious intention to appear threatening, there was a thread of desperation in his voice now. Ingrid took another sip of tea and shook her head. “That is not the way my magic works. I am an earth witch. I make things grow, I coax the earth to lend its talents to my people. There is nothing the land can do that would affect the color of your beard.”
“How…disappointing.”
Ingrid kept her eyes on her tea as every nerve in her body sizzled in anticipation of Bluebeard’s reaction to her inability to help him. She remembered too well how Tyr had reacted when she’d refused to help him, and she saw no reason to think this Bluebeard might be different. After all, he’d left Tyr to die, either by sea beast or vampire.
Tyr. Her brain lit up with images of the bloody end he might have met, rendered by the sharp teeth of some finned creature, or drained by an animated corpse. It wasn’t how his life should have ended. He should have—
She stopped her thoughts before they could go any further, stomping out the sense of loss that was stronger than it should have been. Tyr had not been her friend, he’d been her captor. She was only remembering him more fondly because that was the nature of people when they thought of the dead. No one wanted to speak ill of those who’d passed. She had to remember how he’d truly been, how…
“Chere, please don’t look at me like that.”
She looked down into her tea cup, as surprised by the tears welling in her eyes as she was dismayed.
The pirate’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “I’m not a monster, chere, and as long as you continue to be agreeable, I won’t hurt you.”
He sounded tired, resigned. Disappointed instead of angry that she couldn’t help him. On another day, she might have felt bad for him. But not today.
“You’ll have to forgive me for thinking the worst of a man who left a fellow pirate to die.” She poured venom into her voice, clinging to anger to help fight back the tears. Anger was always better than pain.
Bluebeard narrowed his eyes, his hand pausing halfway to his jaw. “Why does that bother you? He kidnapped you, did he not? You were an unwilling hostage on his ship.”
“And now I am a hostage on yours,” she countered.
“Which explains your lack of warmth for me, but not your mourning for him.”
She pressed her lips together, frustration stealing her voice. “Better the devil you know,” she said finally.
“I wonder if that is all.” The pirate studied her for a moment, dark eyes boring into her as if he would read her thoughts. Finally he clapped both hands on his knees. “A new bargain then. I will offer you the same terms your aging captor offered you. I assume your accord with him was to provide some sort of magical defense should it be necessary when he met with his buyer?”
Ingrid opened her mouth to argue over the “aging” comment, realized how that would sound, and closed it again. She nodded.
“All right then, I offer you the same.” He stood and returned his chair to the desk then faced her with his hands clasped at chest level. “After I find a buyer for the firebird, you will accompany me to the sale. Should your assistance be necessary, you will aid me, and when the transaction is completed to my satisfaction, I will return you to your home. Or wherever else you may care to go.”
The emotions she was trying so hard to push away kept pressing at her, shoving against the prison she’d built for them. He was right, really. He wasn’t any different from Tyr. Both were pirates, both held her against her will, both wanted her only for the help she could provide in selling the firebird.
But that’s not all Tyr wants from you.
She closed her eyes, forcing the spreading warmth in her heart to cool. No, he doesn’t want me only for my help. He wants me for my orchard too. It’s all about him.
“Chere?”
She opened her eyes to find Bluebeard staring at her, a wary expression drawing lines around his eyes. “Tyr was—is—human. You aren’t. I have a hard time believing you need me to defend you.”
Brown eyes looked at her, not a trace of the silver she’d seen before, but she knew it was there. Waiting. He didn’t respond at first, just stood there staring at her. Something moved behind his eyes and she felt it again, that aching sense of…emptiness. A void behind those eyes.
“What are you?” she asked softly.
He looked away, hiding whatever thoughts were writhing behind those eyes, and strode with quick, determined strides to the foot of the bed. She cradled her tea cup in her hands, no longer concerned the pirate held ungentlemanly intentions. He wanted her magic, not her body.
Another difference from Tyr.
Bluebeard interrupted her thoughts as he lifted something from the foot of the bed. “One can never be too prepared. It’s true I likely will not need your help, but what’s the sense in taking chances if I don’t have to, oui?” He looked at her pocket and lifted the material in his arms. “Now, about the new dress? Please take me up on my generous offer.”
She followed his gaze to her pocket, pressing her lips tightly together as she noticed the foul-smelling stain. Bluebeard dangled the material in his arms in front of her and she looked at it more closely. It was a dress. Beautiful, all cream-colored satin etched with velvet and pearl-lined sleeves. A finer gown than she’d ever worn. She hesitated, but just for a moment. Now that she’s noticed it, the greasy stain on her pocket consumed her thoughts and she was suddenly very, very certain that she needed to change. Immediately. “Yes. Yes, I believe I will.”
Her stomach objected to moving, but the tea had helped settle it enough that stomach acid didn’t slosh about when she moved. She slid her legs to the side and put her feet on the floor, surprised by how warm the wood was. As she lifted herself from the bed, though, her muscles failed her and she pitched forward with a squeak of dismay.
“Easy.” Bluebeard caught her before she hit the floor, one arm around her back just under her arms and the other grasping her hand to steady her. “You’ve been vomiting most of the day and sleeping the rest of it. You’ll be a little weak, so try not to overdo it. Let me help you with the dress.”
His scent filled her nose, that same spice from before mixed with something else. Rain or maybe thunder, if thunder had a smell. It was different, but pleasant to her senses and she inhaled more deeply without meaning to. An image of Tyr flared into her mind, his incessant sniffing of her, his dogged perusal of the apple scent he claimed was always on her skin. Her heart ached.
Her appreciation of his scent hadn’t gone unnoticed. The hand holding her tightened, the arm behind her back drawing her just a little closer. The pressure made her raise her face and she found herself staring into eyes that were no longer human brown, but black with streaks of molten silver. Lightning. The blackness behind the light shifted, turning to shadow. No longer glossy, but deep. Pits that left her with the sensation of falling forward. A sense of that same emptiness she’d felt before, but with a new pull. An urge to fill that space.
“I don’t need your help.” Her voice was a whisper and not the protest she’d meant it to be. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, couldn’t bring herself to break that contact. If she just looked a little closer, she would see that void, see what was truly inside the pirate captain.
“Of course not,” Bluebeard murmured. He tugged gently on her hand, turned her back to him. The arm behind her slid away, and his fingertips rested on the laces of her dress. “But I insi
st.”
He wasn’t looking into her eyes anymore, but still she felt the void inside him. A yawning emptiness as real as the ache in her stomach. Her magic, thin, pathetic flame that it was, bowed toward that void, stretched out as if it were being sucked inside. The pirate froze, fingers stilling as the loosened laces of her dress allowed the bodice to sag. He didn’t move when she used her free hand to keep it up, hold it against her to keep the garment from falling to the floor.
“Your magic.” His voice was a rasp, dragged from his throat almost unwillingly. “This far from land…it is weak. You cannot draw more?”
“No.” Panic flickered along her nerves. Her own voice was choked, strangled by the pressure building inside her. The magic swelled as much as it could, as if it were trying to reach out of her body, as if it wanted to fill the void she felt inside him. But there wasn’t enough magic left inside her, it couldn’t stretch inside him without leaving her completely. “What are you?” she gasped.
An avian scream broke the strained silence, cutting off whatever response he might have had. Both Ingrid and Bluebeard whipped toward the blanketed cage that held the firebird, but the sheet was untouched, and the sound far too loud to have come from the relatively small bird.
“It wasn’t me,” it said defensively, as if it could feel their looks through the cotton.
Ingrid looked out the large windows that took up the far wall of the captain’s cabin. The other ship—Tyr’s ship—floated less than twenty yards away, visible only because of the brilliant full moon overhead. A shadowy mass moved over the ship and Ingrid squinted, leaning forward as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
Bluebeard shifted beside her. “By the gods… It’s a roc.”
As soon as he said it, the image cleared. It was a bird, an enormous bird. Its wingspan was easily as long as the ship itself, and as it raised its head to the sky, the moon glinted off glossy black eyes and wickedly curved beak.
The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince) Page 9