The compass is still tucked safely against my side, its presence warm even through the fabric. If only Silverbeard knew I have it on me, all hair would fall from his face. He has always warned me not to take it out to sea, not to even hold it in my hand. Buthe won’t be able to stop me much longer. Soon, I’ll set my own course, far from the battles he still clings to.
I’ll create my own damn crew. I’ll steal a ship. I’ll forge my own path. I wasn’t born to fight old wars—I was born to explore new seas. And what better way is there to prove my courage than to defy the curse that supposedly has set on this compass?
I’ll prove to everyone that no such thing as infallible deities and their powers exist. Only wit and strength of the muscle.
I sidle up to the bar, still feeling my father’s judgment hanging over me like a cloud, but I shake it off. The bartender’s voice cuts through the noise, pulling me back to the present.
“What’s your poison?” he asks, his voice gruff but familiar.
“Beer,” I reply. My thoughts seem to be getting miles away, plotting, scheming, but I keep my voice steady. The last thing I need is to get any more drunk. Not tonight.
He raises a brow. “Not in a mood to celebrate anymore, eh?” I stare at him. “Oi, don’t give me such eyes, lass. Seems like the rest of your crew’s celebrating enough for the lot of you is all I’m saying.”
I let out a soft snort. “Aye, let them have their fun. Dizzy heads won’t do much good tomorrow.”
“Is that right? You’d think capturing the Sea King’s daughter and keeping her in a water-filled barrel below deck would call for a celebration. Quite the feat, don’t you think?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, playing along despite the absurdity. “Aye, quite the feat,” I mutter. “Just a beer for me, though.”
The keeper arches his bushy brows but nods, a smile tugging at his lips as he listens to Swizzle’s ramblings with everyone else. He pours my drink and sets it down with a thud.
“One would think you got your kick from somewhere else already,” he mutters as he slides the drink toward me.
I raise an eyebrow, but keep my tone steady. “One would think you talk too much, keeper.”
His grin doesn’t falter as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “All I ask is you don’t pollute my bar, Gypsy girl. You know the rules.”
My fingers tighten around the mug. “It was one bottle of rum,” I hiss back, my patience thin. “And you’ve got your return.”
“Aye,” he agrees, nodding, but there’s no relief in his eyes. His voice dips even lower. “But I also had a stranger sitting right there in your spot for hours, waiting for you. Cloaked up, face hidden. The folk is quick to judge. Quicker than you think.”
My heart skips a beat, but I keep my face neutral, the weight of his words settling in my gut.
Meeting up with Zayan here was risky, I know. But last time I entered Old Bayou and waited for him there, and tonight we flipped it around. All for a little thrill. Another thing to regret now.
I let my lip curl into a small, dangerous smile. “Maybe I’ll cut your tongue off first, then?” I murmur, quiet enough that no one else can hear over the raucous laughter in the room.
The keeper’s eyes harden for a split second, but he doesn’t back down. “Do what you must, Gypsy,” he mutters. Then, he steps back, puts a rug on the bar and starts rubbing it. His voice returns to normal as well. “My wife brewed this beer with guava. It’s sweet and fruity, not like the bitter swill from last time.”
Just like that, I’m off with a warning.
A man next to us looks our way and raises his drink. I cast him a glance, force a smile and raise my drink as well.
“Then I won’t be spilling it on your bar this time,” I say lightly, like I wasn’t almost on the verge of killing a man. “That malty, bitter stuff you served was nothing but bilge water. Fit only for feeding the fish.”
“The men liked it.”
“Men also tend to act first, think later,” I reply.
He nods, unable to argue the point. “Aye,” he replies with a smirk, “but I know a few women who tend to do the same. That’ll be a quarter of real.”
This bastard…
I fish out a coin and flip it to him. He catches it with ease, moving on to the next customer.
Fine, the tavernkeeper wants Zayan to never step foot into his building again? He doesn’t have to ask twice. Me and Zayan are never happening again, anyway. There’s nothing left to talk about.
I tilt my head back slightly, casting a glance at the crowd as they swirl around me, lost in their own revelry. Sizzle’s tale is wrapping up, and Gibbons’ booming laugh rises above the rest. I catch sight of Cali descending the stairs, boasting about beating some poor soul in an arm-wrestling match. She’s bound to win, as always, but the burly fellow takes her up on it, confident in his size. Little does he know, Cali’s muscles, honed by hauling slippery ropes and a diet of fish and salted meat, are a match for any man.
