Marina made a sound that might have been the beginning of a groan before she rerouted it at the last moment into a splutter of fury. Her gaze swept the deck in desperation, and it landed on Cali.
The shift was immediate. The fury softened. The eyes warmed. Marina had lost her powers, but apparently not the memory of them.
“Cali.” Her voice became gentle. “You and I were close once. You know I cared for you.” She took half a step forward, straining against Gert’s grip. “I would have done right by you. I meant what I said. And Vaskel, whatever happened between us, I nevermeant it to go the way it did. It was a misunderstanding. You know me, Cali. You know I’m not?—”
“I know exactly who you are,” Cali said, cutting her off. She didn’t say it with heat. She found, somewhat to her own surprise, that there wasn’t much heat left in her when it came to Marina. “I think Bonnie One-Eye is right. Some time thinking about how many people you’ve hurt, while you learn to yodel, might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Marina held her gaze for a moment longer, her eyes flashing hot, then she seemed to understand that there was nothing she could say, and she looked away with a huff.
A low, resonant hum ran through the hull and up through the deck beneath Cali’s boots. It seemed that Tris agreed with her.
Gert steered the hellkin toward the rope ladder that led down to the jolly boat, and Marina went with her chin jutted high. She didn’t look back at the crew before she descended, but Cali moved to the railing to watch her get in Jolli.
The little boat made her way to the shore in the hush of the morning, her oars dipping into the water as the pirates rowed in time. Marina sat in the stern with her eyes fixed ahead and her back rigid, defiant to the end. As the boat drew closer to the island, the figures on the beach approached to meet it, brown-robed women with hands clasped in front of them.
The boat grounded on the sand, and the pirates hoisted Marina out. There was a brief exchange that Cali couldn’t hear across the water, and then two of the robed women flanked the hellkin and the small procession began moving up the path toward the stone buildings, with the warbling notes of yodeling wafting behind.It was only then, as the jungle closed around her, that Marina’s shoulders drooped, and Cali sighed. It was over.
The pirates rowed Jolli back to the ship, and when she was tethered to Tris again, both vessels seemed to release a breath. Cali rested a paw on the railing and felt the contented hum beneath her palm.
“Same,” she whispered.
Gert climbed back onto the deck and clapped her hands together. “Ready to return to Eldu?”
The crew cheered, and Cali forced a smile as the island fell behind. The sails filled, and the ship found her pace, and Cali waited to feel awash with the satisfaction of a quest fulfilled. She had done what she set out to do—hunt down Marina, rescue the jolly boat, and keep Thrain alive. She’d even said goodbye to the woman she’d lost so many years ago.
She should have felt satisfied. She told herself that she did. But the wind rippled off the water and teased her hair into her face, and Cali found that the thing sitting in her chest wasn’t satisfaction at all.
Thirty-Seven
She heardthem before she reached the galley. Thrain’s low humming of a dwarf drinking song blended with the chittering of a raccoon and the scrape of a spoon along the bottom of a pot.
The door to the ship’s kitchen was propped open with a wedge of wood, and Cali leaned against the frame to take in the scene. Bramble stood on the worktable with a small wooden spoon, his bushy tail curled behind him, peering into a simmering pot. Thrain stood behind the stove, curls of cinnamon bark bunched in one fist. Who she didn’t see was the cook.
“Does Marvella know you’re in here using up her supplies?” Cali asked.
Thrain startled, almost dumping his fistful of cinnamon into the pot. “Hells and cinders, don’t creep up on us like that.”
“I didn’t creep.” Cali crossed to the pot and bent over it. The aroma was warm and spicy and sweet—just like Lira’s chai—but it was missing something. She grabbed the spoon from Bramble, stirred the liquid, and took a small taste. “Lira’s version has more spice.”
Bramble turned to Thrain and shook one small black finger at him.
The dwarf had the grace to look sheepish. “Aye, all right. You knew best.” He held up the cinnamon and looked at it as if asking it a question. “More of this, then?” Thrain crumbled more cinnamon into the pot while Bramble stirred. “There. That ought to do it.”
Cali took a seat on the short stool Marvella used when she needed to reach the higher shelves. “I didn’t know you were a fan of chai. I thought ale was more your style.”
He set the cinnamon down and wiped his hands on the front of his shirt, which already bore evidence of other spices. Then he pulled out the small bottle of green potion and took a swig before tucking it back into his pants pocket. “I suppose I miss the tavern and wanted to recreate a taste of Wayside.”
Cali breathed in and could almost hear the sounds of The Tusk & Tail. “Chai is a good way to do it, but I thought you were enjoying our adventure here.”
“I am.” He stared into the simmering pot. “Marvella’s a fine cook and a fine dwarf. More like a sister than anything else, though.” He breathed a sigh. “I’ve no complaints about any of it, but a pirate’s life isn’t for me, Cal.”
Bramble bobbed his small head, as if agreeing with this.
“I wouldn’t mind visiting the ship again, as long as I had plenty of seasickness potion.” He patted the pocket that held the bottle of potion. “But I miss Sass giving me grief over my boots tracking mud onto her clean floors. I miss Vaskel topping off my ale. I miss Rog’s tall tales and the way he laughs at mine.” He released a sigh that fluttered his beard. “I even miss that greedy ostrich.”
Cali laughed, her eyes watering. “I know how you feel.”
“Do you?”
