Slowly, the roar settles into murmurs, a rare calm blanketing the tavern as the crowd waits for a story. Normally, I’d relish the moment, bask in the attention. But not tonight. I stay in the shadows near the entrance, scanning the crowd, trying to avoid notice.
Except I fail. His gaze catches me—sharp, cold, unavoidable. My father’s eyes lock onto mine from the best seat in the house, up on the second floor, his view perfectly positioned to control the room.
As I meet his stare, the rest of the tavern starts to quiet down even further, heads turning toward me. The weight of their eyes presses against me, heavier than the jungle’s humidity had been just moments ago. I can already feel the judgment.
Silverbeard rises to his feet, all smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that could cut through steel. “There she is!” His voice booms across the room, forcing my spine to straighten instinctively. “Thought the tide might’ve taken my daughter!”
A low rumble of laughter follows his words, but it’s not carefree. There’s a tension lurking beneath it. The pirates part for me as I move through the crowd, their gazes lingering too long. Admiration? Suspicion? I can’t tell, but I know these people well enough to recognize danger when I see it.
Silverbeard’s words are as much for the crowd as they are for me. His message is clear:You’re late. You’ve disappointed me.His voice might be wrapped in warmth, but those few who know him best can hear the iron underneath.
I approach him with a tight smile, keeping my expression controlled, playing the game we always play. The last thing I need is to give these onlookers more reason to talk. I know how fast rumors spread in this place, how eager these people are to turn the smallest misstep into a scandal. The Serpents thrive on chaos, but only when it benefits them.
And I’m already walking the edge.
Silverbeard’s eyes narrow as I reach the table, and though his lips don’t move, the slightest twitch of his beard tells me everything I need to know.I messed up.I nod subtly, acknowledging it. But before he can say anything, an arm swings over my shoulders.
“We’ve missed you, Gypsy girl,” Gibbons slurs, his weight nearly knocking me off balance. I recover quickly, barely managing to keep us both from toppling over.
“Gibbons,” I mutter, bracing myself against his grip, “I’ve been gone for just a day. Not a damn lifetime.”
His nose is red, cheeks flushed with drink, and he’s grinning like the rogue he is. “Aye, but that’s enough for us to miss you. Ain’t it?”
I let a small smile slip past my guard, though I can feel Silverbeard’s eyes still on me, waiting. He’ll see it as defiance, no doubt. But I can’t afford to show weakness in front of this crowd either. Confidence is the only currency that matters here.
“I missed you too,” I reply, patting Gibbons on the back as I ease him off me. “But you know what I didn’t miss? Carrying your weight around. You’re heavier than a damned anchor.”
Gibbons laughs, loud and unashamed, swaying a little as he steadies himself. “Ah, but you know I can’t balance on land without ya. Help an old pirate out, will ya?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” I say, forcing a laugh that blends seamlessly with the crowd’s raucous cheers. They’re eating it up, of course. They always do. I keep my smile light, my posture casual, even though I can feel the intensity of my father’s stare from across the table.
I guide Gibbons onto the bench beside Silverbeard before sitting down myself. Gibbons might officially be our boatswain, but in reality, he’s more like my father’s shadow—his oldest friend, his right hand. He was the first to join Silverbeard’s crew, and no matter how much rum the man downs or how unsteadyhe is on land, he’s earned his place. Plus, with that peg leg and land sickness, walking straight was never really an option for him.
Silverbeard’s voice cuts through the hum of the tavern, loud and commanding as always. “Swizzle!” he calls out, summoning our cook from the balcony railing where he’s been lazily watching the crowd. “Share some tales from our voyages,” my father says, lowering his voice with a knowing smirk. “And feel free to spice it up.”
Swizzle grins, tipping his hat before heading down the stairs to gather everyone’s attention. “Oi, you want navy tales?” he yells, clapping his hands. “How about I give you something better? Stories you’ve never heard before!” And just like that, he launches into a tale about sirens and the Sea King himself, his voice weaving a web of fantastical lies.
As Swizzle weaves his tales, I notice my father rising from his seat. His presence is like a storm cloud, and it pulls my attention, forcing the breath to catch in my throat. He strides over to Ben, our cabin boy, and extends his hand. Ben quickly places a pair of pistols into it, and my stomach twists. My guns. I totally forgot about those.
“Oh, the Gunsmith paid you a visit, huh?” I say, raising an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. My heart pounds in my chest. The whole reason I was allowed to separate from the crew for the day was because I spread the word my pistols needed repairs, knowing full well they only needed a quick barrel cleaning. I just needed an excuse—one that kept me here long enough to get coin for the compass, buy it, and then meet up with Zayan.
Ugh… How could you forget about your fucking guns Gypsy?!
I brought them to the Gunsmith in the morning right before I preyed on the fatty sailors and then things happened and… Fuck.
“He said you didn’t come to pick them up,” my father replies, his brow arched in challenge as he steps toward me. His broad, heavy frame makes the whole balcony tremble with every step. One of these days, it’s going to collapse under him—now that would be a tale worth telling. “So, where exactly were you that made everyone wait for you today?”
A forced smile tugs at my lips, my mind racing for a quick answer when Cali, our carpenter, steps in. She places a hand on my father’s shoulder, her tone light as she winks at me. “Come on, Silver. Let the girl be. She’s young, not like us. Clearly, she was off with some boy.”
Whatever’s left of my smile fades.
Fantastic. Thanks, Cali.
Her attempt to lighten the mood backfires instantly. My father’s grip tightens on the pistols, his eyes darkening with suspicion. As fearsome as Silverbeard is to others, when it comes to his daughter, he’s just a man—a man easily undone by the thought of his girl with some dirty pirate down the dock.
“Didn’t know you became a shaman in my absence, Cali,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “How else would you know something so untrue?” I extend my hand, motioning for my guns. “I was at the blacksmith’s, getting these beauties fixed. Took longer than expected, so I strolled the beach to pass the time. Sat down. Fell asleep. That ain’t a crime.”
My father’s eyes flick to my boots—right where bits of leaves cling to the soles. My heart skips a beat.
