I grab the nearest line, muttering a curse under my breath as the wind howls louder, threatening to rip the sails right off. We’ll need to reef them or this storm will tear us apart. I yank hard on the halyard, the rough rope biting into my hands, and call back to Vinicola, who’s tripping over his own feet as he ties down the last of the barrels.
“Drop the mainsail halfway! We need less canvas in the wind, or we’ll capsize!”
He blinks, clearly confused by the order. “Halfway? How do I—“
“Just do it!” I snap, yanking harder on the line. The sail flaps violently above us, the wind pulling at it like a wild beast. I grit my teeth, muscles straining as I pull it down partway and secure it to the boom with quick, practiced knots. “Now, Vinicola! Tie off the lower part of the sail! You see where it meets the mast? Use the rope and reef it!”
He has clearly never done it before, but he manages to tie it off. Sloppy, but it holds. For now.
I run back to the rigging, checking the sheets. They’re too loose—if the wind catches them wrong, we’ll be tossed like driftwood. I tug them tighter, wrapping the rope around the cleat and securing it with a quick knot.
The ship lurches, and my stomach flips as the bow dips into a wave, water crashing over the sides. Damn. We’re going to need to bail if this keeps up. I look toward the hatch, where the water’s already pooling near the entrance.
I sprint over and slam the hatch shut, locking it down tight. The storm’s battering us from all sides, and the rigging’s holding for now—but if this keeps up, we’ll need to pull the sails downcompletely. And with just the two of us? That’s a gamble I don’t like.
Hell, it’s bad enough this storm’s decided to swallow us whole right after I got tossed off the crew. But I’ll admit, luck tossed me a bone by crossing paths with this bard. If I hadn’t run into him… well, I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened.
The fact that he’s actually following my lead instead of dropping to his knees and praying to The Lady like every other coward I’ve seen? That’s something I won’t forget. I fucking swear.
So when the first flash of lightning cracks, close enough to feel it in my bones, and the thunder follows like cannon fire, I can’t help it. The madness of the storm’s in my blood now. I look at him—this strange, frail-looking man who somehow ended up in the middle of all this with me—and I half-laugh, half-shout over the chaos.
“Welcome to the pirate life, Vinicola!”
He stares back, wide-eyed, dripping wet, and then something in his gaze shifts. Something wild, raw—and completely out of place on someone like him.
“What a life to live!” he shouts, like he’s caught the fever of it too.
And for a split second, despite everything—the storm, the ship, the danger—the chaos in my blood hums right along with those words.
What a fucking life, indeed.
But then my eyes flick toward the horizon, and the feeling dies as fast as it hit me. Out there, cutting through the storm like a damn shadow, is another ship. Its sails stretch wide against the wind, like they’re daring it to tear them apart. And next to them, fluttering just enough to twist my gut, is a small grey flag.
Ash grey. Twisted black anchor. Swallowed by the serpent coiled around it.
Zayan.
His flag. His personal mark—the one he dredged up from the depths, along with whatever treasure he found for Roche. The one he used to leave behind like a ghost, like some silent message meant just for me. Always for me.
A chill runs down my spine, colder than the storm itself. Of course, it’s him. Of course he’s here, chasing after storms like he’s got nothing to lose. Maybe he thinks I’ll come running after him again. Maybe he’s foolish enough to believe I’d fall for it.
But not this time. Not ever again.
The only thing he’s getting from me now is a death’s kiss, and I’ll be more than happy to plant it on him. I’ll draw red before he even has time to smile that cocky, infuriating grin.
Except... something’s off.
That’s not a Marauder ship. Their flag’s nowhere to be seen. No, this one—it looks too much like the schooner we’re on. Like they were cut from the same damn cloth.
And then it clicks. Those two wet rats I threw overboard? Looks like they had friends waiting for them at Old Bayou. Now it’s coming back to bite me, like I should’ve expected. How Zayan Cagney ended up aboard their ship? That part I can’t figure out.
But whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re coming. Let them.
“How much of a bounty do you have on your head?” I shout at Vinicola, not even bothering to look his way. My eyes are locked on the approaching ship.
“Quite a lot, I’d guess,” he stammers, voice shaking. “Dorien’s got nothing he loves more than his daughter. He’d pay any price for Nicoleta’s supposed abuser.”
“Huh.” That explains the rats. No one sails into the storm for justanybounty.
