My eyes light up as I drop everything and rush to meet her halfway, a broad smile spreading across my face.
I’m sorry, Mr. Zayan. Our talk about love will have to be postponed.
“Yes! This is it! That’s my songbook!” I laugh, taking the notebook from her hands and eagerly flipping through its worn pages. The leather has done its job well; it’s a miracle the ink hasn’t smudged. I have everything here—every single song and poem that has come to my mind in the past two years.
“What’s it mean?” Gypsy asks, pointing at the golden crest. “Looks important.”
Of course, she’s interested in the gold that introduced the thing.
Every pirate I have met on these seas is interested in gold, especially one that looks this shiny.
The two that shackled me were interested in it as well. Amidst the need to deliver me to Dorien, they had time to strip me off my songbook and hide it to pawn it later.
What is funny, though, I noticed, that no one is really interested in the power of words on the islands. It doesn’t seem to have a place in their hearts.
“Ah, you know, it’s just a family emblem,” I say casually, hoping to deflect the attention. “Nothing more.” I’m still smiling, but my fingers already hook the songbook over my belt. I’mperhaps the least possessive man that sails around here, but this particular item is mine.
“Your family puts gold on all notebooks you own?” she presses on. There’s a glint in her eyes.
“Nope, just this one,” I reply.
A smart man would probably already take the golden crest off the leather by now in order not to make it such an obvious target for greedy men, but I never could make myself do it. That’s why, typically, I’m exceedingly careful about how, and whom I allow to see my songbook. But I know that if I’m supposed to spend some time with Miss Captain and Zayan, I can’t hide it from them.
The two of them… inspire me. The way they look at each other makes me want to write. And I wouldn’t be able to hide the songbook, given the way Zayan is determined to watch me non stop. He’d see it sooner or later. So, outing myself with my secret is the next best thing to do.
The two of them only look at me weirdly, until Gypsy shakes her head and swipes the back of her hand over her forehead. “You’re a really weird man, V,” she quips. Her sharp eyes narrow down on me, crinkling at the corners and even though it is a little intimidating, her gaze lacks that threatening quality it has whenever Zayan says something she doesn’t like.
“Why, thank you.” I crack a smile. “Also, I appreciate the nickname.”
“It’s not a nickname; I just forgot your name,” she says with a smirk, brushing past me toward the deck. Water sloshes in her wake as she moves away. Zayan and I follow. Me first, him behind me, breathing on my neck.
“Ahh,” I chuckle. “That’s because you don’t know what it means in my language. But fair enough.”
Gypsy turns over her shoulder as she continues walking. “Really? What does it mean?”
“Vineyard,” I answer proudly. “My mother was a poet in her own way,” I reply, a hint of nostalgia creeping into my voice. “And a vineyard owner.”
“Was?” Zayan grunts behind me. “Is she dead?”
I feel myself getting a little pale, but I tip my chin up anyway. I’ve noticed something about the locals—they’re incredibly blunt. Talking about death is like discussing bad weather. Both seem to be frequent occurrences here.
“I don’t know,” I find myself saying. “The last time I saw her was two years ago.”
“She’s probably fine,” Gypsy says, unfazed. “Two years isn’t long unless you’re a pirate. Plus, Sizzle, the cook on my father’s crew, always said drinking a lot of wine helps you live longer. Your mother drank a lot, right, being a vineyard owner and all?”
“Of course,” I respond softly.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” She climbs up, with me just on her toes. The sun is merciless, and my cheeks burn as the rays kiss them. But something else grabs my attention—the sea. It’s blue, calm, and utterly terrifying. My heart skips a beat.
I’m not a man of the sea. My roots are on land, where my heart feels safe. I never told Miss Captain that, since I had no choice but to sail into that storm with her. But now, my legs feel like jelly beneath me.
“You ready?” Gypsy asks, shielding her eyes from the sunlight with her hand.
“Ready for what?” I ask, though I know the answer. I remember Zayan coming for me to join her on the island, and I understand it’s the next step for the three of us.
Still, that doesn’t mean I want to jump into the water.
“Wait a minute…” She pauses, and Zayan sighs behind me. She turns to face me, her expression serious. “I know you’re a scaredy man, Vinicola, but don’t tell me what I think your body is telling me.”
