“I don’t think I’m invincible.”
“You sure as hell act like it.”
“I act like the world belongs to those who are on the move. As it does.”
Silverbeard’s eyes narrow, his patience thinning. “Nay,” he growls. “The world belongs to the gods.”
Here we go again… But I’ll indulge him this time. I won’t argue for once.
I meet his hard gaze, standing my ground. “Then let them have the world,” I reply, voice cool but steady. “I want the sea.”
For a second, there’s silence. Then his nostrils flare, the familiar scowl deepening across his face. He leans in, his voice low, dangerous. “Is he aMarauder?”
My shoulders drop. This is too much. This man won’t rest until he digs through every inch of my defenses.
I start to rise, my legs itching to leave this blasted conversation behind, when I catch Silver’s gaze flicker past me. Something’s shifted in the room, the kind of change that makes every sailor’s skin prickle. Then, a gasp ripples through the tavern, and the raucous chatter dies, replaced by a thick, uneasy silence. My father’s eyes narrow, going cold and hard in an instant, the way they do when he’s about to strike.
No. It can’t be.
I don’t dare turn around. My grip tightens on the edge of the bar, knuckles white as my pulse quickens. The weight of recognition settles in my gut like lead before I even hearhisvoice.
“Oi, don’t stop on my account,” he says, calm and smug, like he’s walking into a bloody parlor, not a den full of Serpents.
Damn it, Cagney. What the hell are you doing here?
The tension in the room is suffocating. No one moves, no one breathes. I don’t even have to look to know it’s him. That cocky, reckless bastard with a death wish.
If I didn’t want to kill him before, I sure want to do it now.
Silverbeard’s jaw clenches, and I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my face. He doesn’t need to say it—he knows. I know. But we’re both too proud to acknowledge it. The boyisa Marauder.
For a heartbeat, everything’s frozen. Then, Silverbeard stands, slow and deliberate, drawing his sword with a metallic hiss. His voice is low, deadly, as he pins me with a look sharp enough to cut through bone.
“Last chance, Gypsy. Is it him? Is this the boy?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat’s tight, and my mind’s racing, but before I can even think of what to say, Zayan—bloody fool that he is—steps forward.
“What if it is?” he says, voice laced with challenge, not a care in the world that he’s one step away from getting himself killed.
4
Zayan
Ah, walking into the Serpents’ den—what a way to court death.
I’d love to say I had it all mapped out—that I’ve got a couple Red Ones waiting in the shadows, ready to swoop in the second I give the word. That it’s all just a game, really. But no, this is as reckless as it gets, even for me.
There’s a whole list of reasons why I shouldn’t have done what I just did. Marauders and Serpents may call it a truce, but we all know that could crumble faster than a drunk sailor’s balance. Doesn’t take much to fan the flames.
But let Gypsy charge headfirst into chaos while I stand idly by? Not a chance. She’s a tempest, wrapped in a human form, leaving ruin in her wake, and that damned compass she clings to only drags her further into the storm. So here I am, strolling into enemy territory, smirk on my face like I own the place, knowing full well I’m surrounded by men who’d gut me for sport.
“Now, now, gentlemen,” I announce, hands raised in mock surrender, oozing charm like I’ve got nothing to fear. “Why all the hostility?”
Their stares burn hotter than the midday sun, teeth bared like wolves ready to pounce. Funny, isn’t it? Not too long ago, I sat in this very tavern, cloaked and unseen. Just goes to show, bad blood between the Old Bayou and Skullcove runs deeper than any half-baked peace treaty between Marauders and Serpents.
They don’t move. Not yet. But their glares slide toward the one man who does matter—Silverbeard. His eyes catch mine, cold as the ocean depths, and I see a flicker of recognition, followed by a slow, deliberate grin. It’s not the friendly kind.
“The boy, eh?” he mutters, his voice a low growl.
