Ridley doesn’t seem in any hurry to explain, either. Instead, he smiles—slow, infuriating—and interlaces his fingers over his stomach. “That seems just like the Lady, doesn’t it? To thrust you into the Trials with strangers who know nothing of them,” he says to Fabien.
Fabien nods, confirming what we all already know—none of us are getting answers anytime soon.
My patience frays. I glance between the two of them, then at Zayan, who’s still glaring at Fabien like he’d love nothing more than to throw him overboard. Vinicola’s hovering nearby, looking as out of place as ever.
This can’t go on.
“So, from what I’m hearing,” I say, letting my tone turn deceptively casual as I shift my weight, eyes sliding over Fabien, “it sounds like we all need each other. In fact…” I let a slow smirk pull at my lips as I cross my arms. “Seems to me, our ‘young master’ here might need us even more than we need him.”
It’s a gamble, but it’s one worth taking. I’m just running on the assumption that Fabien isn’t as indispensable as he seems to think he is. If the Lady truly thrust him into this mess with a group of strangers, he’s in it just as deep as the rest of us. His sudden shift in attitude—giving me command of the ship, the lack of hostility—says as much. It’s leverage.
And there it is. Fabien’s eyes finally lift from the ground, and I catch the flicker in his expression. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.
“Considering I provide a vessel, rations, and a crew,” he replies, “I’d like to disagree. But yes, we do need each other.”
I lean in slightly, my smirk widening. “Then it seems only fair we set a couple of terms ourselves. Doesn’t matter how much you’re providing—we’re still the ones making this work.”
Fabien’s eyes narrow, but he nods, the movement sharp. He’s weighing his options. I didn’t peg him as the type to back down easily, not after what I saw on that mountain. But he’s more selective with his temper than I thought. Maybe even more selective than me.
“Is there something else you want, aside from playing the boss?” he asks, voice cool but edged. “That’s rather greedy, isn’t it,Captain?”
“I never said I wasn’t greedy.”
He doesn’t flinch, but there’s a tightness around his eyes, a silent acknowledgment. He knows what this is—a power play. I can feel him bristling beneath that cold exterior, but he keeps it in check, waiting for the next hit.
“State your terms, then,” he says after a long pause.
I don’t miss a beat. “First, we need to know exactly what these Trials are and what the Lady’s mark truly means. If our lives are tied to yours, we’re not going in blind. I want every detail.”
No room for negotiation. I make it clear—this isn’t a request. It’s a demand.
“Second,” I continue, my tone steady, “we need proper quarters. As captain, I’ll have my own space, separate from the crew.”
I pause, feeling the weight of what I’m about to say next settle between us like a coiled rope about to snap.
“And third—you’ll see to Zayan’s injuries. Medical help. And you’ll stop calling him a cripple.” My eyes narrow, daring him to challenge me. “I don’t like it.”
That hits its mark. His jaw tightens ever so slightly, a shadow passing behind his eyes, but it’s enough. He holds his silence for a beat too long, and I know I’ve struck a nerve.
The dismissive tone heats my blood, but I keep my expression cold, impassive. I’m doing my fucking hardest not to lose my composure.
“Fourth,” I say, forcing my voice steady, “I want my man, Vinicola, to create a mark for the sails. Our crew had one before. It drowned with the last ship. It’s only fair the mark follows the crew that sails it now.”
I watch Fabien carefully as I speak, but it’s Vinicola’s reaction I’m really waiting for. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile bloom on his face, and he steps forward with a new wave of lighthearted energy he always carries around.
“We stand quite immovable on that point,” he chimes in, suddenly lifted up. There’s a hint of pride in his voice, and despite myself, I almost smile.
Fabien turns to look at Vinicola, assessing, and for a moment, I think he’ll argue, that he’ll dig in just to push back on the terms I’ve set.
But then he exhales, his smile returning, sharper this time.
“Very well,” he concedes, his voice measured. “I’ll allow it.”
And just like that, the deal is made.
I don’t relax, not yet. I’ve seen too many pirates play these games, and I know better than to trust a man like Fabien. But as his eyes flick between us, something shifts in the air—something that wasn’t there before.
A deal. An understanding. And maybe, just maybe, the start of something new.
