He shrugs, smiling faintly, as if he’s hinting at some meaning I’ve overlooked. “Not that I meant it… like that.”
It takes me a beat too long to catch his double entendre. The feeling of shame returns again.
38
Gypsy
Inarrow my eyes at Vinicola and Fabien, watching for the answer to sink in, but they just stand there, clueless.
“Are you serious?” I arch an eyebrow, folding my arms and leaning back slightly. “You don’t really need me to spell this out, do you?”
Vinicola beams, looking far too pleased with himself for tossing out a riddle he clearly doesn’t understand. Meanwhile, Fabien wears that expression I’ve come to call his “soft scowl”—which is really just a neutral face that ends up looking like someone’s pissed in his rum.
They exchange a glance—confused, like they’ve been at this a while and are no closer to an answer. I let the silence grow, savoring how they squirm, and feel a smirk tugging at my lips. This is almost too easy.
At last, Vinicola breaks, scratching his neck, looking all sheepish. “So, if we’re being honest here, Captain… I think I’m missing the mark.”
I catch the sight of Zayan, leaning against the wall behind the two of them. His eyes hold a glint that tells me he’s already figured it out, enjoying the show as much as I am.
“Think I should enlighten them?” I ask, tipping my chin toward him.
He shrugs, all nonchalance, though there’s that wicked gleam in his eyes. “Do as you like, love. But if I were you, I’d rub it in Rancour’s face a bit—show him he’s not as all-knowing as he likes to believe.”
I chuckle, relishing the flicker of irritation on Fabien’s face. His pride is hanging by a thread, and I can almost feel him biting his tongue to keep from snapping.
“Do I need to remind anyone that it’s the goddess’s riddle we’re talking about?” Fabien growls, voice tight with frustration. “If you have the answer, Captain, just spit it out.”
I arch an eyebrow, letting the tension simmer, just to watch him squirm a second longer. “Oh, so now you’re asking for the answer, are you?”
Fabien’s soft scowl deepens, his gaze unwavering as if sheer force of will might extract the answer from me. Vinicola, meanwhile, has shifted from sheepish to slightly worried, his hands now tucked behind his back.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, I finally give in. “Fine. I’ll spare you the agony. The answer, my dear, baffled crewmates”—I lean in, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper—“is themoon.”
Vinicola’s eyes light up, the gears clicking into place in his head, his mouth falling open in sudden revelation. “The moon—of course! It controls the tides!”
“Brilliant deduction, Vinicola,” I say, voice dripping with mock admiration. “You’ve just cracked what every sailor worth his salt learns before he can even walk.”
Fabien narrows his eyes, not one to take mockery lightly. “I should’ve just asked Ridley—he’s been captaining longer than I’ve known the sea,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else, sounding almost insulted that something so simple had eluded him.
From his spot against the wall, Zayan lets out a low, lazy chuckle. “No worries, Rancour,” he drawls, crossing his arms, “you’ve got plenty to be smug about without this one.”
Fabien glares, his jaw tight as ever, but then—of all things—he actually lets out a low, almost reluctant chuckle. It’s barely there, more like a hint of humor twisted into resignation.
What in the hell? Fabien Rancour… chuckling? The same man who’d sooner chew nails than crack a smile?
“Fine,” he mutters, his mouth barely curling into a smirk. “The moon. Noted.” His gaze flicks to me, carrying something a notch above grudging respect—almost warmer. “Thanks.”
Speechless isn’t usually my style, but I’m damn close to it now. The sourest, most miserable man I know—even more so than Silverbeard on a bad day, and that’s saying something—just laughed. Hell, maybe Vinicola’s finally wearing him down.
I give him a slow nod.
Zayan peels off the wall and saunters over, his smirk broadening. “Now that we’re all experts on lunar influence,” he drawls, “maybe we can move along before the goddess herself decides to come down and knock some sense into us.”
My gaze flicks to the narrow window in the captain’s quarters, where the sky outside is darkening, the sun barely clinging to the horizon. Soon enough, night will swallow it whole, and the moon will take over.
“Not long now,” I mutter, more to myself than to the others. “An hour, maybe two, before we’ve got enough light to work with. Needs direct moonlight, right?”
Fabien gives a curt nod, his voice low. “Yes. Direct moonlight.”
