Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the prisoner still tangled in the ropes. He’s a mess—hair whipping around like a ragdoll, face pale as a ghost—but he’s trying. I’ll give him that. For all his bumbling, he’s not giving up.
And that’s something. Right now, we both needsomething.
I sure as hell am not dying on this pitiful, tiny schooner, stuck outside the sand shoals near Old Bayou. Death doesn’t care where it finds you, but I do. I’m not going down as a traitor, or as the Marauders’ whore, or whatever else the Serpents want to call me now.
When I die, it’ll be on my terms. In a blaze of glory. Not like this. Not here. I refuse to let it end like this.
Gypsy Flint bested by a storm…? Pfft. No fucking chance.
“Oi!” I yell over the wind, pointing to the ropes the prisoner’s fumbling with. “Pull it tighter, before the wind eats us alive!”
He looks up, startled, and tries to tighten his grip, but the rope’s slipping through his fingers like water. “I’m trying!” he shouts back, voice cracking. “But it’s a bit… complicated!”
I bite back a curse, stepping toward him. The idiot’s going to get us killed at this rate. “It’s not complicated,” I snap, grabbing the rope from his trembling hands. “It’s survival. Now hold this—tight!”
He fumbles to get a better grip, knuckles white. “Right, Miss Captain! Holding tight! Just, uh… if I drown, it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”
I blink, caught off guard. He’s joking? Now? In the middle of a bloody storm? The man’s mad.
A short laugh escapes me, sharp and bitter. “You won’t drown,” I mutter, hauling the line with ease. “Wewon’t drown. But you might get thrown overboard if you keep handling rope like that. I’ll fucking throw you myself.”
His eyes widen again, and he looks like he’s about to argue, but instead, he just grins—nervous, wide-eyed. “Right… thrown overboard. Sounds… reasonable. Just, uh, for the record, I’m doing my best!”
“Your best looks pretty damn pitiful,” I say dryly, securing the last knot.
“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”
I glance at him—he’s still wearing that grin, but it’s a mask for the fear underneath. The man’s terrified, no question about it. But he’s still standing, still trying. Hell, I’ve seen seasoned sailors fall apart faster than this, and they didn’t have the nerve to smile through it. Maybe it’s stupidity, or maybe... maybe it’s something else.
As I said… We both need something.
I shake my head, a smirk pulling at my lips despite myself. “The world of piracy is a brutal one, but it sure as hell is free for all. Even for ones like you.”
I grab another line, keeping an eye on him. He’s gripping the rope like it’s his lifeline, which, to be fair, it probably is right now.
“Even for ones like me. Got it,” he mutters.
“And when this storm’s over,” I add, “someone’s going to need to scrub this deck—and it’s not going to be me.”
“Scrub the deck? Right, of course! Nothing says ‘I survived a storm’ like...scrubbing,“ he babbles, eyes flicking nervously to the bloodstains. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to get up close and personal with...blood. Really brings out the wood grain, doesn’t it?”
He flashes me a weak grin, and damn if it doesn’t hit harder than it should. I don’t know what’s crazier—him, for cracking jokes in the middle of this chaos, or me, for actually laughing at them. But before I can bite it back, another short, sharp laugh escapes me.
“You’re a damn fool,” I mutter, shaking my head as I secure another line. “What’s your name?”
“Vinicola!” he shouts over the roar of the sea. Then, he quickly adds, “But you can call me Vini. It’s easier to remember... rolls off the tongue, I think! I’m a bard, actually!”
“Not from around here?”
“No. But I’ve spent time on the islands. What gave me away?”
I grin once more. “It’d be easier to list whatdoesn’tgive you away.”
But as much as I surprisingly enjoy this conversation, talking will not save us from the storm. I glance out at the horizon—dark clouds seem to cover the entire skies.
“Alright, Vini! First, we need to secure this mess before we get torn apart. Stow everything loose and grab the barrels. Lashthem down near the mast, and if you see anything rolling, tie it off. Now.”
His pale face flickers with confusion, but he nods quickly, scrambling toward the scattered crates and broken barrels.
