I glance around at the faces in the dim light, catching flickers of their expressions. It’s like every man here has been painted with a different emotion. Relief, maybe, on some faces; a few look like they’re ready to sprint off this ship the second we dock. Then there are those with shock in their eyes, and a couple with a glint of defiance, jaws clenched.
Rye clears his throat, lifting his chin. “I’ll stay,” he declares.
Fabien’s gaze lands on him, his expression unreadable. “Understood,” he says quietly, and his eyes move to the others.
One by one, they mumble their choices. Some keep it vague, like they’re only halfway aboard with all this. Then, there are thelikes of Joshua, who don’t want to commit just yet. As each voice fades, the silence grows, filled with only the creak of wood and the rhythm of the waves slapping the hull.
Finally, Joshua’s gaze slides over to me, eyebrow cocked. “And you?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the edges as the ship pitches again, sending a little cascade of water dripping from the ceiling.
“Me?” I echo.
“You asked me why I’m doing this,” he replies. It’s clear in his voice that he accepted he might die now. There’s this kind of calm resignation in him. The powerlessness that speaks volumes. “What about you? Why are you here? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“Ah, well,” I say, forcing a grin that feels a bit too thin, “at this point, I suppose I’m here because…well, I don’t really have much of a choice.” I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my ears.
Usually, I’d toss in a charming tale, maybe something about fate and fancy footwork, about how I’m exactly where I need to be. I’d sprinkle in a few jokes, lighten the load. But it’s like my charm’s taken off lately and left me stranded without so much as a wave goodbye. I’m reaching for it, but it’s tucked itself away, deep and silent, leaving me feeling…empty. Hollow, even.
I stare at the handkerchief clutched in the man’s fist, feeling that familiar urge to say something clever, to fill the silence. But still, the words escape me. I already know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.
“Oh, come on,” he mutters. “Don’t be so grim. We could drop dead any second now. Why not get whatever’s on your chest off of it?”
But he doesn’t get it. I try, I do—I try to reach in, pull out something real. But all the words, all the feelings just…die there. Right in my throat.
Then, out of nowhere, it’s Fabien who steps in.
“He came in pursuit of his father,” he says, leaning back against the wood, his gaze as empty as I feel.
“Ah, yes…” I mutter. “My father sailed off with pirates, you see?”
There’s a ripple of interest, even among the men who’d closed their eyes and were attempting to sleep through the relentless swaying. Ah, yes, tales of abandon. Something they’d love to hear more of, I suppose, given that many of them likely did the same—left their families.
I shrug, plastering on a casual smile, though, for once, I’d actually prefer silence over chatter. How did Fabien even know this, anyway? I don’t recall sharing that tidbit. Maybe Miss Captain or Mr. Zayan mentioned it...
“He was... well, my mother always said he was mad,” I continue, trying to make my tone light. “The wind just seemed to carry him places. I suppose he was built for different lands, different seas.” I let the words hang, before I swallow hard. “Where I’m from, families don’t usually… part ways.”
Immediately as the last part leaves my mouth, I feel like a moron. I shouldn’t have said that. My mother always said,“never speak a truth you can’t bear to carry in silence.”
But it’s too late. It’s out now. And it hurts more than it did to keep it inside.
Joshua raises an eyebrow, the creases in his face softening. “Mad, you say? Well, seems to me there’s a bit of that in all of us here.” He gives a short, humorless chuckle. “Takes a certain kind of madness to chase the waves, whatever the reason.”
At least with this, I can agree. Whether my father is dead or alive, he most definitely lost his sanity years ago. Same can be said for me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. I’d just run the vineyard with my mother, helping her with the fruit and painting my feet with crimson grape juice instead of blood.
“Aye,” I murmur, my smile softening to something like a resigned sigh. But just then, I spot Miss Captain’s position, and, bless her, she doesn’t even realize she’s become my saving grace. “As much as I’d love to keep the fires of conversation ablaze,” I add, casting a glance her way, “it seems our dear Captain’s dozed off. Best not disturb her, considering the Trial and all.”
The men agree in a hum. And before long, silence falls. Then, gradually, one by one, they drift into slumber.
But me? Sleep doesn’t come so easily. My mind wanders far, past the creaking wood and salted air, into someplace softer. Somewhere warm and sweet-scented, where there’s no sting of brine or grit of sand—just rows of sunlit vines and the quiet rustle of leaves, and maybe an umbrella to shade me from the heat, not the weight of a sword or pistol.
Home.
And just when I can almost taste it, feel the soft earth under my feet... words start floating to me. Finally. They linger and settle, and soon enough, I’m humming along, even in my dreams, to a tune that goes something like this:
I don’t often find myself mired in thought,
For I’m not one to dwell on what’s wrought,
But, Mother, I wonder, as shadows roam,
