I snatch it from him, trying not to let my frustration show. “Alright,” I mutter, our fingers brushing for just a moment as I take it from his hand. A jolt of something sharp runs up my arm. I pull back quickly, but maybe too quickly, because the way his lips quirk up in that smug, knowing look makes me bite down hard on my own.
“The ship’s not ready yet. I’ll need some time more,” he says, his voice buttery smooth. “But it shouldn’t take long. When you haul Vinicola over here, take a look at those maps we found below deck yesterday. Would be nice to know what we have.”
I nod, half listening, half imagining punching him in the throat just for the hell of it. “Sure,” I murmur, stepping to the edge of the ship.
With a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes, I throw the plank overboard and leap after it, the sea rushing up to meet me. I grab the plank, securing it beneath me as I swim toward the shore. Vinicola’s face lights up when he sees me coming, the relief written all over his features.
“Finally!” he exclaims, wading into the water to meet me. “I thought you’d left me here to befriend the crabs.”
“Given how high your voice is, I doubt they’d hear you,” I tell him, smirking slightly. Gibbons used to say crabs can only hear low frequencies, which is probably why they love my father so much. His voice always sounded like distant thunder, heavy and rumbling. Silverbeard never had to shout to get their attention. Crabs practically crawled toward him.
“Huh,” Vinicola says, blinking at me, bemused. “Well, for what it’s worth, I gathered the supplies while I was waiting.” He gestures to the collection of fish and fruit that were lying by the fireplace he’s holding. “I’m ready to be rescued now, Miss Captain.”
“How helpful of you,” I mutter, pushing the plank closer. He clambers onto it, carefully balancing the supplies in his arms, while I roll my eyes and start kicking us toward the schooner. My strokes are strong, cutting through the water with ease, while Vinicola clings to the plank like it’s the only thing standing between him and certain death.
“You know,” he says, his voice dripping with forced nonchalance, “the water’s way more translucent here than back where I’m from. Makes it about ten times more terrifying.”
“Terrifying?” I glance up at him, a brow raised. “You don’t have to worry about sharks. They don’t usually come this close to shore.”
“Usually?“ he asks, his voice trembling slightly. “Oh gods, but theycouldbe right below us, couldn’t they?”
I can’t help but smirk. “Could be. But they’re not.”
He swallows audibly, clinging tighter to the plank. “It’s not the sharks that scare me, really. It’s the unknown. Anything could be lurking beneath us. And the worst part? I’d see it.”
“And if you didn’t?”
“Heart doesn’t ache from that which the eyes don’t see, Miss Captain.”
I roll my eyes, kicking harder until we reach the ship. Zayan’s there, waiting, leaning over the railing like he’s been watching the whole thing. He hauls Vinicola aboard with one swift motion, while I climb up after him, shaking off the water as the sun beats down, warming my skin.
Many unspoken things linger between me and Zayan. They’re still in the air we breathe. But I shove the aside, locking it upwith all the other things I don’t have time to deal with right now. We have work to do. And the sea waits for no one.
Heart doesn’t ache from that which the eyes don’t see, Vinicola had said. A wise little phrase, no doubt. Normally I’d pay it no mind.
But then again, The Lady sees everything, doesn’t she? Every blood-soaked hand, every stolen kiss, every damn betrayal whispered beneath the stars. If the gods are real—if she’s real—what does it take to make a goddess’s heart ache?
And if shecanache, then how do I make her ache because of me?
19
Vinicola
When I first set sail for the Coral Archipelago two years ago, I was convinced that sailing was the dullest activity known to man. I mean, truly—a never-ending stretch of water and the waves lulling you into a mindless stupor? Where’s the inspiration in that?
Then, of course, I was tossed onto a pirate ship. And let me tell you—my feelings didn’t change one bit.
What can a poor soul do on a creaky old vessel, trapped with the same bunch of surly, one-dimensional crew members, watching as the rum goes from delightful to... well, whatever that sludge was we drank last week? The ship becomes more familiar than my own reflection, and the people? Predictable. After a while, they lose the charm that makes anyone worth talking to.
So, what do you do? You sit, sip, and stare at the sky—waiting for something, anything, to break the monotony.
Or so I thought.
Turns out, I had never sailed with realpiratesbefore.
“Oi! Got a page to spare in that songbook of yours?” Miss Captain’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. I’m still tryingto catch my breath after wrestling the sails the way she commanded. Sweat drips down my spine, and my legs feel like they might melt into the deck any second.
There’s not a moment to rest. Yesterday’s adventure was the most exhausting since… well, since my rather unfortunate incident in Eldoria last year. Let’s just say the women of that town had some very strong opinions about what I ‘deserved.’ I had to do a lot of running back then.
