“Ten years we've been together,” Jorne said, looking over his shoulder toward the Quartermaster at the helm.
“Who do you sail for?”
Jorne frowned, but then huffed out a short laugh, “We sail for ourselves, lad. We’re pirates.”
Kamira hadn’t expected another answer, but she had tried anyway, wondering if, just maybe, this crew was more than what it seemed. So, she tried another tactic. “How did the Captain and well, all of you, form your pirate crew?”
He cast his gaze out toward the shrinking shoreline of Aksahri. “We were forced into it. Most of us were officers of the Aksahrian Navy. A few were merchant ship sailors. I was a fisherman. Cormac was once a Navy Admiral and the Captain, well, he was something else entirely.” Jorne looked behind him again and Kamira followed his gaze to see the Quartermaster watching their conversation intently.
Kamira looked away as she continued working the wax into the sail. She had learned a lot during their short conversation, but it also left her with so many more questions. Mainly, what had happened to force them into a life of piracy? And what did Jorne mean by the Captain being something else entirely? What sort of strange ship had she wormed herself onto?
“Best get a few hours of sleep once you’re done treating the sail. It’s well past midnight and we’ve an early start in the morning,” Jorne huffed. “There are a few extra hammocks down in the crew’s quarters that you can choose from, but you should go to the Captain for a pair of boots before then.” Jorne nodded and turned away, heading down into the ship’s hull.
Kamira watched him go, a look of horror frozen on her face at his words. She hadn’t thought about where she would sleep on the ship.
“Blazing biscuits,” she muttered into the night.
Kamira stood outside the Captain’s quarters, staring at the wooden door as if it might reach out and bite her.
It was late. She had just finished the sails and, as the night had gotten colder, so too had her feet. Pins and needles traveled through them with each step and she was desperate for a pair of wool socks and some boots.
She breathed in deeply, holding the breath in her core as she knocked once on the door.
“What do you want!” the Captain yelled through the door. “I said I didn’t want to be bothered!”
Kamira blew out her breath, “It’s Zev. I was wondering—” The door swung open before she even had the chance to finish her thought. She was greeted by a shirtless Captain, still in his pants and boots. His umber skin gleamed in the dim light, muscles shifting as he leaned against the door.
She tried her best not to stare at his torso, but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the chiseled flesh. There was not one soft part, and a thin coating of dark hair covered the top of his chest and traveled down his center, creating a ‘T’ shape as if pointing to… Her breath quickened at the sight.
“If you need something you can ask the crew, but not me, understand?” He was about to slam the door, but she put her hand on it before he had the chance, remembering what she had bothered him for in the first place.
“I was told you might have a pair of boots I could use.” She glanced down at her toes, wiggling them in an attempt to accentuate her point.
He grunted and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Wait there.”
She nodded, but stepped inside anyway, noticing the crumpled blankets and the pillow propped against the wall on his bed. He rummaged through a drawer hidden under it, grunting when he didn’t find what he was looking for.
“I thought I told you to wait outside,” he grumbled, limping past her toward a small bench next to his dresser. “I don’t want you in here stealing one of my daggers again.”
It was her turn to roll her eyes at him.
She decided to use this opportunity to try and coax some information from him. “Did you hurt your leg?” she asked, hands clasped behind her back as she glanced around the room, hoping it looked as if she was just trying to make small talk.
She was unsurprised when he didn’t provide her with an answer. Kamira watched as he lifted the cushioned top of the bench, revealing a compartment beneath from which he pulled a pair of leather boots and tossed them at her.
She caught them before they could fall and crush her frigid toes. “So, you didn’t hurt your leg then?” she tried again.
“That is none of your business.” He pointed toward the door, glaring at her. “You’ve got your boots, now leave.”
“Um, I don’t have any socks either.” She graced him with a wide, awkward smile. Her entire wardrobe had come from this man and he didn’t even know it.
“Bloody sails, boy! Why did you not have socks and boots on when you snuck aboard?” He growled, but went to his chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of old, holey socks.
She wasn’t about to complain that they would do little to keep her feet warm with large gaping holes in them. She would just have to make due, or maybe she could mend them.
Ripping the scraps of fabric from his grasp, she thanked him as he pushed her out the door and slammed it shut behind her.
5
