I take a deep breath, the sun already burning high overhead. It’s still early, but if I’m going to make it across without getting spotted, I’ll need to move fast, stick to the trees. If anyone sees me, I’ll have to disappear before they can react. Lucky for me, I’ve been a ghost on these shores before.
The shape of Escindida—that’s how the island is officially called—works in my favor. Old Bayou’s dock, with its sprawling layout, offers plenty of places to slip in and out unseen.Skullcove Haven might be safer, more fortified, but here? There’s always an escape route, and as long as Silver and Roche both claim the island, no other crew dares to stir up trouble.
It’s the only place where Silver and Roche grudgingly share turf. Rumor has it, they grew up here, so neither can fully lay claim without sparking a war. It’s the one spot in the Whisperwind Sea where both their flags fly.
I’ve heard all the stories, but Silverbeard never told me much about his childhood. Just enough to make me think that maybe he took me in because we’re both orphans. Saw a bit of himself in me.
Too bad I didn’t turn out the way he expected.
I kick at the sand, watching it puff up in the dry air. Another scorcher of a day, and the sun’s barely risen. I wipe the sweat from my brow and squint at the jagged rocks up ahead. They look miles away, but if I keep pace and scale them without slipping, I’ll be in Marauder territory by midday.
“No rest for the wicked, huh?” I mutter, licking my cracked lips. One deep breath, and I start moving.
A couple of hours later, my hands hit the slick rocks sprayed with seawater. I haul myself up, fingers gripping anything dry enough to hold. Before long, I’m on the other side, dropping onto the sand, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. The sun’s high and relentless, the air still as a corpse.
Shit. I’m burning through water faster than I thought. Can’t keep going dry like this.
I clutch my duffel bag tighter, tugging it closer, and head down the narrow, dusty path that skirts the market. In one swift motion, I pull the water skin from my bag and gulp down half before I even think to stop.
“Shit,” I mutter again, wiping my mouth. I don’t want to have to steal from anyone here. Buying is out of the question. The folk here? They’re loyal to Roche and his Marauders. He islike Silverbeard to the people in Skullcove Haven—beloved and feared. And the promise of his favor is worth alot.
I can’t be seen.
I glance through the gaps between the shacks, careful not to linger too long. The market’s bustling, traders shouting over each other, fishermen hauling in their morning catch. Kids dart between the stalls, shrieking and laughing, carefree as birds.
I wonder if I was like that, once—carefree, running wild like them.
It’s hard to remember anything before Silver found me. I was ten, maybe, just a scrawny thing trying to survive. He always liked to remind me about how I tried to rob him when we first met. Told me I went straight for the biggest, scariest pirate in the port. Not some stumbling fool like Gibbons, who swayed on land like a drunk flamingo.
No, I aimed high.
“You always had wild blood in you, girl,” Silver used to say, laughing. “Even as a whelp, you went for the big score.”
“Maybe I felt sorry for Gibbons,” I joked back once.
Silverbeard had laughed so hard he nearly fell over. “You hear that, Gibbons?” he hollered. “Even the whelp thought you were pathetic!”
The memory stings now, sharper than it should.
I tighten my grip on the duffel bag until my knuckles turn white. The bitterness settles like bile in my throat, but I swallow it down and leave the hilly part of the village behind, heading for the docks.
The shoreline here stretches out like an invitation—plenty of space for pirates who’d rather stay out of sight. As long as you don’t run aground on the sand shoals, there’s always a hidden spot to drop anchor on Roche’s side of the island.
Perfect for poachers.
The dock groans under my boots as I step onto the warped planks, the wood beaten by salt and sun. The water below is calm, almost too still, sky-blue with flashes of yellow, pink, and blue fish darting by. It’s early yet, so most of the ships are still anchored offshore. I spot a few big ones in the distance, but they’re no use to me. Too large to steal, too many eyes watching.
No, I need something smaller—quick, nimble, something I can slip away with before anyone’s the wiser. Something that’ll get me into open water fast, out of here before anyone even notices I’m gone. And once I’ve put distance between myself and this rock, I’ll figure out where the compass is leading me. From there, I’ll find a crew—one not weighed down by old grudges and dead legends.
A schooner or a sloop would do nicely. Something I can handle on my own, something that can slip into rivers if it needs to.
I keep moving, skirting the edge of the village where fewer eyes are watching. Then, my gaze lands on exactly what I need—a sleek schooner, moored out at sea, not even docked at the pier. Her white sails are furled, her wooden hull gleaming in the sunlight. She sits still, anchored beyond a stretch of sand shoals, perfectly hidden from prying eyes.
I squint, calculating the distance. Three cannon shots out, give or take. If I can just reach her without being seen, I’ve got a shot. The shoals will keep anyone from following too close, and anything bigger than a schooner won’t be able to navigate these waters fast enough to catch me. Maybe today, the weather’s actually on my side for once.
I scan the docks, looking for any eyes on me. A few fishermen are nearby, but they’re too busy with their haul to care. They need to get their catch to market before it spoils. A couple of men loitering about, but they don’t seem like trouble.
If there’s ever a time to act, it’s now. I just have to hope the crew on that schooner is too smart—or too lazy—to be baking in this heat on deck.
