“Captain!” Cecco stands up straighter as I pass.
I grunt and keep going aft. When I walk into the galley, Cookson is huddled over the stove.
“Well?” I ask.
“It’s almost ready.”
“It was supposed to be ready an hour ago.” I snatch a bowl from the cabinet and hand it to him.
“Just need ter add a little more …” His gnarled fingers rove over the glass jars of spices he zealously guards. “Rosemary. That’s the one. Makes it stick ter the ribs.” He sprinkles a little into the pot then stirs it some more.
Pushing past me, he grabs a small wooden spoon, dips it into the pot and tastes it. Smacking his lips, he gives me a nod. “Ready.”
“Double serving.” I don’t have to say it. He always heaps the bowl high.
Once he’s ladled it in, he shuffles to the small stone oven and opens the door. “There she is,” he coos and pulls the small loaf of bread from the oven and places it on a wooden tray. “Came out perfect.” He grins and gathers some silverware to lay on the tray beside it. “Lunch is served, Captain.” He takes the bowl from me, puts it on the tray, and arranges the whole thing nicely. “I like ter have a nice presentation.”
I would give him some guff, but Cookson is dedicated to his craft. I can respect that, so I simply take the food and climb back up to the aftdeck.
Widow passes me and stares longingly at my platter, but she doesn’t make a move toward it. She knows that would end with a swift kick in her ass.
I pass Smee who is finally paying attention and skirting Blackbeard’s Cay. I want the entire island talking about the Jolly Roger before we drop anchor. Though I’m not too invested in my own legend anymore, I’m keen for everyone to take a lesson from what happened to Anne. To fuck with the crew of the Jolly Roger is a suicide mission, one I’ll happily assist with if there’s anyone foolhardy enough to try it.
Epilogue II
MOIRA
“Idon’t think I’m going to fit into this dress after I ate that entire loaf of breadandthe beef stew.” I hold my breath as Widow pulls on the stays.
“You’ll fit just fine.” She wrestles the corset into submission. “Am I being too rough? Are you all right?”
“I’m good.” I look down at the stitches on my chest. “If you collapse my lung again, though, I think Hook might actually keel-haul you.”
She shudders. “Ugh. I’ll be more careful.”
Once she has it laced up, I step back and look at myself in the mirror. “How do you wear these things all the time?” I smooth my hands down the top.
“I love them. Keeps me interesting.” She turns me around, then rubs something along my lips. “Now, look.”
I turn back to the mirror. “I look … spicy.” I smile at myself.
“You look like a pirate queen.” She fusses with my wings. “These aren’t bound up, are they?”
“No.” I wiggle them. “They’re perfect.”
“You can move and get to your knife?” She pulls at the high slit up my thigh, the crimson fabric parting scandalously at each hip.
I reach down and grab my knife, then slide it into its sheath on my garter. “All good.”
“Well, my work here is done. Now go on up. I’m going to get ready and meet Starkey to row over.”
“You two getting serious?” I tease.
“Absolutely not.” She shoos me from her room.
“There’s my princess!” Cookson calls as I pass the galley.
He puts a smile on my face, and I climb to the upper deck. The light breeze rustles through my hair and tickles my wings.
