Veritas

by St Clare, Kelly

  Most of her fathers had relayed the stories of their pasts by now—aside from Grubby who probably didn’t remember. Stubby and Plank were the last to tell theirs. They didn’t have to; she was adamant about that despite the oath she’d forced from them on Pleo. She glanced at Plank, and the air between them grew heavy. He stared at her for a beat before slamming the pot lid back over the stew.

  “Here,” he said, extracting the scio from his belt. “Take this above deck and check the d’rection again, would ye?”

  Ebba took the scio, tucking it in her belt as she watched her father closely.

  Plank was fobbing her off.

  “Be sure to wash yer dishes afore ye go up.” He hurried to the sleeping quarters.

  “But I was goin’ to stay by Grubby again,” she hollered after him.

  “I’ll watch him until ye’re back. Go get some fresh air. That ain’t a request.”

  Ebba sighed, shoving the sausage stew into her gob. Judging by Plank’s startled exit a moment ago, he wasn’t planning on telling the story of his past anytime soon. She assumed his memories were particularly painful. He’d had a wife once, and Ebba guessed his story had something to do with her fate.

  Finishing the last of her stew, she shoved her plate in the sink beneath a pot. Peg-leg would do it. Nothing could break his spirit since the successful testing of his rigging foot, and there were definite perks.

  Hurrying down the passage, she reached for the ladder and began to climb. The sooner she got fresh air, the sooner she could go back down to stand vigil over Grubby.

  “Did ye clean yer dishes?” Plank called low from the sleeping quarters.

  Ebba pretended not to hear as she pushed open the bilge door.

  An icy breeze hit her face, and she shivered, hugging her arms around her body.

  “Seen anythin’ yet?” she yelled to Locks at the bow.

  “Nay, lass. Just black water,” he called back. Spray sprinkled over him as a wave broke across their mermaid figurehead.

  She caught sight of Caspian and Barrels huddled over their map of the Dynami Sea. Starting toward them, Ebba wrenched to a halt as a wavering strand of flaxen hair caught her eye from high above.

  “Motherfisher,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He was in her nest. Maybe while she was unable to help, his presence there was . . . permissible. But not anymore.

  Ebba ran to the rigging and swung up, climbing in a simmering fury that wasn’t entirely due to Jagger. The thin ropes cut into her palms and the arches of her bare feet. The burn of her arms was dwarfed by her mounting anger. She’d told Jagger once, she’d told him twice. She was queen of the crow’s nest. A smile graced her ruby lips as she recalled how she’d forced him out last time. Jagger had a penchant for secrets and grew highly uncomfortable when asked directly about them.

  Unfortunately for her, he’d heard her approach and made sure to stand well back as she swung into the crow’s nest. Last time she managed to knee him in the gut. Canny bugger learned fast.

  “Get out o’ my nest, Jagger,” she said mildly.

  He leaned back against the opposite side of the barrel, sleek frame on display. Couldn’t he stand straight? Ebba had to wonder; always leaning this way or that way, showing off his body.

  “Nay,” he said, smirking.

  Challenge accepted. Ebba drew in a massive breath.

  “What’s changed between ye and the landlubber?” Jagger cut in. “He be touchin’ ye a whole heap more. And ye’re lettin’ him.”

  The wind was stolen from her.

  “What?” she wheezed.

  “He hovers. He talks to ye as though he has a right. Sumpin’ has changed.”

  She stared at him, trying to remember the questions she’d prepared to hurl at his head. “Uhm.”

  “One kiss with him and ye’re in love, is that it? Do ye even know what love and passion feel like, Viva?”

  He stepped closer. The nest wasn’t that big. Even with Ebba pressed against the opposite side of the barrel, his body ended up flush with hers.

  Jagger was using her own ploy against her.

  “More than one kiss. And get back to the other side,” she said, refusing to budge in her own territory.

  The pirate did the opposite.

  . . . Maybe that was the trick to him.

  “Come closer,” she tried.

  He obliged, bringing his lips as near to hers as they could be without touching—just like the other day during their rigging fight.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she rushed to say, placing a hand on his chest. She shoved. To no effect.

  A drawling smile crossed his face. He continued to hover his mouth above hers, and Ebba’s mind slowly blanked. The areas closest to Jagger—her mouth, her chest, the fronts of her thighs—all of them began to tingle, overtaking her every thought. What would happen if those areas made contact with him? What would that feel like?

  She sucked in a breath, and her gaze flew to meet his silver eyes. It was the second time he’d stood this close. The second time his mouth had nearly connected with hers. Why was he nearly kissing her but not?

  What was his game?

  His eyes darkened to the unpolished gray of her pistols. Heated. Jagger’s gaze tunneled into her, breath fast, his lips slightly parted. He didn’t close the space.

  He didn’t move away.

  She might have decided to trust his intentions, but this scenario had nothing to do with his loyalty to the crew and ship. This was . . . this was. . . .

  Ebba felt for the edge of the crow’s nest.

  The slight movement startled him. He reeled back as she awkwardly lifted a leg over the side of the nest and then the other. This was not the ideal way to get out of a wooden barrel, and both of them knew it.

  “Leavin’ so soon?” he asked, voice strained.

  He folded his arms, but she wasn’t fooled. He was just as unsettled as she; his chest was rising too quickly.

  She didn’t answer, sliding awkwardly over the lip of the nest.

  Ebba began climbing down, her mind whirling. Jagger was a law unto his own; she’d known it from their first meeting. She wasn’t sure what had just happened. Or rather, if what had happened meant what she thought it did. He’d brought up the kiss with Caspian several times. Did he actually want to kiss her? Or was he messing with the prince?

  Or was he just trying to get her out of the nest by making her uncomfortable?

  What she did know was that if their lips had touched—no matter the reason—she would have regretted it. Sorely. She might not be totally in the know about the ins and outs of deeper regard, but as one person knew another, Ebba understood Caspian would be hurt if she kissed the pirate. Yes, she’d never promised the prince to return his regard, but Ebba knew she’d feel guilty for touching Jagger in an intimate way. It just didn’t feel honest.

  And wouldn’t happen. Kissing Jagger had never entered her head before.

  Halfway down to the deck, Ebba glanced up as Jagger shouted.

  The pirate leaned over and met her eyes.

  “King o’ the crow’s nest,” he hollered. “King. Don’t ye be forgettin’ it.”

  She’d drown the bastard one day. In mud.

  Ebba scampered down the rope as quickly as she could. When close to the deck, she swung around the edge of the rigging onto the ship, landing with a thud.

  She stomped over to Caspian and Barrels.

  “Everything okay?” the prince asked her.

  “Aye,” she said, arms crossed. Nay. “Some people think because they be an immune, they can throw their weight about.”

  Belatedly, she wiped her hands off where she’d touched Jagger. Her eyes rounded. Seaweed-loving gummy sharks, she couldn’t kiss Jagger. He was tainted.

  Ebba had forgotten all about that.

  She released a shaking breath as Caspian took her hand and tugged her down to sit by his side.

  Barrels stared at their hands but remained silent.

 
Honestly, the hand-holding in front of her fathers made Ebba feel strange. They weren’t aware of what had transpired between her and Caspian, and she knew they wouldn’t like it because they were a little overprotective.

  She slipped her hand from the prince’s, ignoring the veiled look he threw her. Caspian turned to peer up at the crow’s nest. When he looked back down at the map, a slight wrinkle had appeared between his brows.

  “What’re ye lookin’ at?” she asked her father.

  Barrels glanced between them, opening his mouth. Ebba stared at him pointedly, daring him to ask what the problem was.

  Her father wasn’t a stupid man.

  “Uh, we’re adjusting the map to include what we’ve come across so far,” Barrels said, pointing at the map. “We added Medusa’s Lair here, and the Daedalion, and took off two of the islands we should have encountered but didn’t.”

  “We won’t be headin’ back there, though,” Ebba said, shifting to have a better look.

  Her eldest father lifted a shoulder. “We can’t know that.”

  True enough.

  The map consisted of two halves. On the left was the Caspian Sea, with the islands she’d grown up visiting exactly as they should be. On the right was the Dynami Sea where they currently sailed, a place no pirate usually dared to enter for fear of never coming out.

  A handful of small islands dotted the map over the Dynami, mostly to the west where the Caspian met this sea. The waters they currently sailed were notoriously rough and almost their own pirate superstition—at least in her mind. But Ebba had to wonder if the superstitions about this sea had carried over from times of old magic. The thunderbird had called this sea immortal waters, saying that marine immortals greatly preferred the isolation and rugged sea floor of the Dynami.

  Luckily, the marine immortals had kept to themselves so far. The only immortals they’d encountered were the thunderbird, already marked at the south-western corner of the sea, Medusa at her lair to the south-east, and the Daedalion.

  “Does the map show anythin’ about where we’re headed?” she asked, tapping her bottom lip.

  “Not a thing.” He gestured to the empty space to the north.

  Caspian tore his eyes from her face to look at the map. “Aside from the thunderbird, the map hasn’t been totally accurate anyway.”

  A loud thud sounded behind them. Ebba glanced back and caught sight of Jagger and Peg-leg speaking at the base of the rigging.

  With his wooden foot attached, Peg-leg set off up the shrouds to take the younger pirate’s place.

  She sniffed and turned her back on Jagger.

  “We should check the direction again,” Locks said, joining them from the bow.

  His emerald eye blazed as he passed her the dynami.

  She ran her fingers over the rounded end of the tarnished silver tube. Each of the parts was a slightly different shape, though all—aside from veritas—were the same length. The purgium had two flat ends. The scio one pointy end.

  The scio. . . .

  Her jaw dropped, and she sucked in her gut to peer at her belt.

  “Sink me,” she whispered.

  The scio was on her, and she held the dynami.

  Caspian cast a cursory glance her way. “What is—?”

  He stared at her hand and then her belt.

  “I’m holdin’ two o’ the parts,” she whispered. “And they ain’t blastin’ me.”

  Locks scowled at her, red tinging his cheeks. “That was careless.”

  After what had happened to Grubby, she agreed. “I didn’t think o’ it. Plank just passed me the scio in the hold.” Ebba ripped her eyes from the two tubes. “Why can I hold two all o’ a sudden? They’ve always reacted bad-like.”

  Barrels tapped one finger against the corner of his mouth. “Do you think you can hold any two of the parts now?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno. Ain’t likely to try, am I? Bloody hurts when the things fling ye to Davy’s.”

  “You should try with the purgium too,” Caspian urged, lifting his gaze to hers.

  “Ye want me to be hurt?” she asked in confusion.

  He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Never.”

  Locks and Barrels stared at their hands, and Ebba slid free again, trying to ignore the hurt in the prince’s amber eyes as she did.

  “The landlubber be right,” Jagger called from where he leaned—again—against the mast. “We need to know as much as we can about the root o’ magic. Ye should test the theory.”

  Perhaps.

  The parts had to fit together, after all. But why she should be the one to risk being catapulted into the sea from a magical explosion was a mystery. Locks and Barrels were both nodding, too, and she groaned dramatically. “Fine. But if I get hurt, ye’re all my slaves for a week.”

  “Servants, my dear,” Barrels corrected.

  “Same thing,” she shot back.

  He and Caspian shared an amused look.

  She stood and tossed the dynami back to Locks. “Place it on the ground there, Caspian, and everyone get back smart-like.”

  Ebba winced, recalling the last time she’d picked up two parts and been blasted to Davy’s. She’d had bruises for weeks.

  The others formed a ring around her, and she waved them farther back. These tubes packed a punch. “Don’t let me drown.”

  Gripping the scio, she took several quick breaths and edged closer to the purgium the prince had placed on the deck between them. Closing one eye, Ebba extended her little finger to the tarnished silver tube, slowly, slowly, carefully.

  She made contact and screamed, yanking her hand back.

  Nothing happened.

  Ebba stared at the purgium and touched it a second time, this time for longer. “Aye, I can be touchin’ these two as well.”

  “Ye gave me a flamin’ fright, screamin’ like that,” Locks scolded her.

  “I was expectin’ pain,” she explained. “It was a reflex scream.”

  “Ye should try with veritas,” Jagger said, holding the sword out. He was never far from the weapon and hadn’t been since Caspian had loaned it to him. The prince had a theory that the truth sword showed Jagger which thoughts were real and which were caused by the taint. Since Jagger was yet to give the sword back, Ebba guessed he still needed the extra help.

  She eyed the sword. “I ain’t touchin’ that for a ship filled with gold coins.”

  “If you’ve had a particular result with a different part, I believe we can safely assume the same would happen with the veritas,” Barrels said.

  “Aye,” Ebba said, jerking a thumb at her father. “What he said. It’ll be okay with the lot o’ them.”

  Caspian moved to stand by her side. “Let’s check the direction, then.”

  She glanced up and took his only hand in hers, smiling as his face softened. She hoped he knew that her discomfort with holding hands in public wasn’t a personal dig. Ebba didn’t just have one father or two parents. She had six. The thought of them watching her and Caspian kind of sucked the enjoyment out of touching him. Though maybe on Exosia, when two people courted, more touching was expected.

  Jagger rested a hand on her shoulder and white light exploded from their trio.

  Warmth surged through her, and she closed her eyes for the briefest moment, reveling in the pleasant sensation. Opening her eyes, she braced for the sight of the bronze aura shooting off her skin. The rich hue blazed out like usual, encompassing her, as though it originated from deep within. Jagger was a brilliant silver that made his flaxen strands appear nearly white while Caspian was bathed in molten gold.

  She smiled at them, and both men smiled back in a wordless exchange of how right the connection felt. They knew almost nothing about the phenomenon, but they had that.

  The three of them kept up their shining hold, and Ebba studied the beam shooting out of the white glow surrounding them.

  The direction was clear.

  And yet . . . not.

  Ebba stepped away
, almost loathe to break the link. “That can’t be pointin’ back northeast. It pointed northwest afore.”

  They all stared in the opposite direction.

  “We should’ve checked more often,” Jagger said. “We’ve sailed past the island.”

  Locks swore under his breath. “Let’s bring the ship about, then. From now on, we’re checkin’ every few hours.”

  “Aye,” she chorused with the others.

  Ebba hoped the dramatic change in direction wasn’t something to do with her and Caspian. They didn’t know what their role was in this quest. Not really. What if they were doing something wrong?

  Shaking her head, she made for the sheets with Locks, but Barrels stopped her with a tap on the shoulder.

  “My dear, we’ve missed our lessons the last few days. I thought we could make up for it today with a triple reading and writing session.”

  Ebba schooled her features into an eager mask. “Okay!”

  Barrels grinned, and she forced her mouth to do the same.

  A triple lesson? Dread filled her.

  Ebba wanted to read and write. But the daily lessons were a bit much. And to have to make up for a string of days while she was unconscious seemed cruel. Still, while several years ago, she would’ve ranted and raved, now she had a reason to learn. Ebba was willing to quash her reluctance and get on with learning. Then one day, she’d be able to read her fathers’ memories in the scrapbook they’d gifted her.

  Barrels turned for the helm, and Ebba let her fake grin slip away. Shoulders sagging, she trailed after her eldest father, ignoring Jagger’s snort.

  Four

  “How is he?” Ebba asked, tiptoeing through the line of hammocks to peer down at Grubby.

  “More color in his cheeks,” Stubby answered gruffly. “Might be wishful thinkin’.”

  He appeared about the same to Ebba, but she’d endured a reading lesson for the last three hours, so maybe she’d missed the change.

  She set her eyes on Stubby. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on Grubby. Great bags hung underneath. He hunched against the post behind him, sunk in on himself, expression vacant.

  “All the letters be swirlin’ about my head,” Ebba told him as she sat on the hammock on Grubby’s other side.