Zayan leans back like he hasn’t a care in the world, propping himself up on his elbows. “And you really think Roche won’t come after you, too? Silverbeard’s daughter, his biggest weak spot. Sure, he cast you off, but don’t fool yourself—Roche knows the old man still cares, even if he pretends not to. Killing you? That’s a clean shot. No war with the Serpents, but he still gets to twist the knife where it hurts.”
I lick my lips, and for a second, I can’t argue. He’s not wrong. It’s crossed my mind more than once—Roche coming for me, not as a rival captain, but as a way to watch Silverbeard crumble. Not a pirate feud, but a father losing his daughter. And damn if that wouldn’t be satisfying for a man like Roche.
“Maybe,” I admit, my voice level. “But it’s still better than having two walking targets on board. Besides, Roche’s hate for me? It won’t be as personal as it is for you.”
Zayan smirks, completely unbothered. “Personal just means I’m a threat.” His gaze flicks over me—casual, but far too calculated—and it makes my spine stiffen. “I know Roche’s methods. I know how he hunts deserters. I know how to disappear.”
“If that were true, Roche wouldn’t have caught every other Red who tried to run. They knew him too.”
“Not the way I do.”
I press my lips together. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s probably some truth to that. I’ve never heard of any high-ranking Marauder turning their back on Roche. It’s always the small fry—the ones never trusted with the real plans, the ones barely scraping by, the ones who couldn’t stomach the weight of sailing under a man like him.
But Zayan? He wasn’t like them. Roche’s right-hand. His prized treasure retriever. The one who dove deep into wrecks and brought back fortunes. The kid Roche practically raised.
“Let’s say that’s true, and you’ve got some worth,” I say slowly. “Doesn’t change the fact that I still hate you.”
He laughs. Of course he does. “Hate’s a strong word, love. Feelings can change.”
“Not if they’re justified.”
He sits up now, eyes locked on me like a predator watching prey.
“Oh, I’m sure your hate is justified. I’ve given you plenty of reasons, haven’t I?” He leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower. “I saved your life, after all. And that, I imagine, is the worst offense of all.”
I glare at him.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, tossing the coconut shell aside. It falls into the sand, rolling down the tiny dunes. “I would’ve survived regardless.”
He arches a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Would you, now?”
“Yes, I fucking would.”
I shove myself to my feet, fingers raking through my hair as frustration burns beneath my skin. It doesn’t take much to set me off—never has. There’s always been something wild simmering just below the surface, a chaos waiting for the rightspark to set it loose. Most people who push me this close don’t live long enough to regret it.
It’s only now that I realize how damn hard it is to manage your emotions when you can’t kill people on a whim.
It’s maddening. Unnatural, really.
With nowhere to direct the rage churning in my gut, I head toward the shoreline. My legs are slow, muscles burning from overuse, and every step feels like dragging a ship through the sand. But I don’t stop. If I stand still, I might explode.
Of course, Cagney follows.
“How about we focus on the present, then?” His voice trails behind me, casual, like we’re discussing the weather.
Present? Yeah, I can focus on the present.
“Where the hell is the bard?” I stop, feet sinking into the damp sand, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words.
“Still on the ship, I bet,” Zayan replies, far too amused for my liking. “Didn’t exactly pay him much attention once you threw yourself toward the island.”
“We need to go into the jungle, and he’s coming with us.”
Zayan glances back at the schooner, then at me, like I’ve just said something utterly absurd. “You want the bard in thejungle?“ He raises an eyebrow. “The guy who nearly fainted just holding the wheel for a minute?”
“It wasn’t just a minute. And it wasn’tjustfrom holding the wheel,“ I argue.
“What’s he done to get you so attached, huh?” Zayan asks, ignoring me completely, his expression shifting as something darker flickers across his face before he smothers it. “You, who’d rather bite someone’s hand off than shake it?”
