I don’t bother with a reply, just pick up my pace, heading straight for the water’s edge. Bending down, I strip off my soaked leather boots, tossing them onto the sand. My shirt and slops are already half-dry under this infernal sun, and they’ll dry again after another swim to the ship. Doesn’t matter.
The schooner rocks in the shallows, looking worse for wear. Its hull gleams in the sunlight, but the wood’s splintered, the sails torn to hell. It’s not that pristine ship I spotted earlier—now it’s a battered wreck. Perfect, just like the day. I grit my teeth and pull myself onto the deck, fingers gripping the rough wood harder than I need to.
“Bard?” I call out, scanning the deck. Nothing. No sign of him. I head for the hatch that leads below, muttering under my breath. “Vinicola?”
The second I say his name, I feel Zayan’s eyes on me, like I’ve done something wrong by knowing it. He doesn’t say anything, but the look’s enough—suspicious, like I’ve crossed some line.
Ignoring him, I follow the sound of thudding and splashing, wading through ankle-deep water below deck. The storm’s tossed everything out of place—crates, barrels, all shifted around like a child’s game. The water’s pooling here, soaking through what little remains untouched.
And there he is. The bard, standing near the cell, clutching a crate like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His skin’spale and gleaming with sweat, and he’s rummaging through the crate’s contents with shaky hands.
“Vinicola,” I call again, softer this time. He startles, his head snapping up as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His wide eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, the only sound is the slow, uneven drip of water around us.
“Miss Captain,” he breathes, more relieved than I expected, though he quickly throws on that crooked grin of his. “What brings you down here?”
I give him a long look. “What are you doing?” My eyes drift pointedly to the crate in his hands. “If you’re thinking of stealing something, good luck. Doubt you could lift the anchor on your own.” I step closer. “And even if you did, I don’t see you sailing this ship by yourself.”
His grin falters for a heartbeat, and he drops the crate with a loud splash, water sloshing around his ankles. “Stealing? No, no, I was just—well, it’s going to sound a bit awkward…” He laughs, that nervous, jittery laugh of his, and shuffles his feet in the shallow water. His boots make a hollow splash, and he looks down at them like the floor might open up and swallow him whole.
I raise an eyebrow, watching him squirm. “You were what?”
I’m not even trying to be intimidating. Truth is, I couldn’t care less about what Vinicola’s doing down here. Whatever he takes from this wreck isn’t going to make a difference to me—not unless he plans on using some half-rusted tools to fix this heap and make it seaworthy again.
But I know what I look like to him. I’m the pirate who almost killed two of his captors and left one of them writhing in agony. I’ve got tattoos that mark me as someone dangerous, and my voice, rough and sharp, always sounds like a threat, whether I mean it or not. So, to someone like Vinicola, all soft edges and quick smiles, I must look terrifying.
Which is probably why his pale cheeks flush a deep red.
He swallows hard, eyes darting to the broken timbers and scattered cargo like they’ll offer him some kind of escape. “I was just looking for my… songbook.”
“A songbook?” I repeat.
“Yeah,” he says, swallowing again. “Those pirates who captured me hid it somewhere on the ship. I saw them do it.”
I cross my arms, staring at him in disbelief. “A songbook? You ignored my order forthat? We’re sitting in a half-wrecked schooner, on an island that’s probably crawling with things that want to eat us, and we’ve got no food or supplies. You do realize we need to find something edible before nightfall, right?”
Vinicola rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Well, to be fair, it’s not justanysongbook. It’s got my… whole life in it.“ He says it like that’s supposed to justify everything.
I bite back a sarcastic laugh. “Your whole life.”
His face lights up with an awkward enthusiasm. “It’s, uh, a sort of journal, you know? Love songs, pirate ballads, an epic I’ve been working on about—“
“Vinicola,” I cut in, already feeling the headache forming. “If I promise to help you find thisprecioussongbook, will you stop wasting our time?”
Behind me, Zayan lets out a scoff, but I couldn’t care less.
Vinicola blinks, startled, then nods fervently. “Oh! Yes. Absolutely.”
I sigh, scanning the mess of crates and barrels around us. “Fine. But we’re not tearing the whole damn ship apart for it. If it’s not here, it’s not here. And if you want to go, Zayan, then head back to the island. This looks like crew business anyway.”
Zayan scoffs, that familiar, arrogant edge in his voice, but he doesn’t budge an inch. No surprise there. He’s just itching to prove he’s a part of this, even though no one asked him to be.
Still, despite all the reasons why it shouldn’t work, the three of us wade through the wreckage together.
Like a crew.
Or, at least, the very beginning of one.
13
