Page 16 of Valour

Hester stared into his blue eyes, a deep loathing rioting through her veins. Another boom of thunder rang, so loud she wondered if her ears would burst with it, but he did not flinch.

“Say you won’t go south, and I will untie you,” Septimus said, his voice dropping even lower.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room and his stupid, hateful, beautiful face.

“Take your hands off me,” Hester spat.

“Say you won’t take Bailey south.”

Hester’s mind was adrift. Would he really sink the Valour? Or was he bluffing? She could barely imagine life without the Valour. The ship was her home, her career, and more, it had been her salvation. Five years ago, she had been destitute. It had been the lowest time of her already abysmal life. Having been ejected from the orphanage on her sixteenth birthday, she had spent two years sleeping rough in the market square, taking jobs on ships, barely surviving. The Valour had turned all of that around. And the thought of Septimus scuppering her beloved ship sent a tide of fury rising through her. Septimus, who had everything handed to him on a plate. He had never had to worry about money, never had to eke out an existence, never had to face being turned down for expeditions because of his gender. She despised him for all of it.

There was another crash of thunder, and the rain thrashed even harder against the ceiling, the electric smell of the storm incandescent on her tongue.

“You wouldn’t do it,” she hissed.

Septimus sneered. “You don’t think so? I swear I’d do it. I swear it on my crew’s life.”

Hester choked, her throat burning. There was nothing graver than swearing on one’s crew. Nothing.

He was serious then.

“Fine,” she croaked, slumping in her bindings, the power in her blood rescinding, coiling back into her chest. “Fine.”

“I want to hear you say it,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“I won’t accept Charlotte Bailey’s offer.”

“Swear on your crew.”

Hester glared, nostrils flaring. “I swear it on the Valour’s crew.”

Behind her back, her fingers were crossed.

Hester stalked away from the Intrepid, rubbing at her sore wrists, more rattled than she cared to admit. The thunder had stopped, but the rain still thrashed down, soaking her to the skin before she reached the Valour at the end of the quay.

She could keep the magic under control most of the time, even make good use of it. It was one of the many reasons she was so successful. Being able to summon weather, combined with the other skills she had honed over the years had made her an unrivalled sailor. All of her life she had managed to keep the magic a secret. She had never met anyone who seemed to be able to do what she could, and she was all too aware that if anyone found out, she would be run out of town at the best, burned at the worst, for while the witch trials were long over, Hester was no fool. People were still superstitious, would still burn women suspected of being witches. And she highly doubted those women had real magic like she did.

And now it seemed that Septimus was guessing what no one else ever had, not even Fliss.

She frowned, stomping across the gangplank, rain dripping from her nose.

“Hester! Are you alright? What happened?” Fliss stood silhouetted in the light of the companionway.

Hester pushed past her into the dry, leant against the panelled wall and heaved a sigh.

Fliss stilled, her brows knitted together. “Come on, I’ve got to a good bit in my book. We can read it aloud to each other.” She put her arm around Hester’s shoulders, and they walked to Fliss’s cabin.

Hester sat on the neatly made bed in the little room, hugging a frilly pillow to herself.

Fliss plucked a book from her shelf and snuggled up next to her. “Are you alright? You don’t seem yourself. Did he take you to the Intrepid?”

Hester glowered. She was livid with him and what he’d said. “He did.”

“Wait—did he hurt you?” Fliss’s eyes roved over Hester’s body, snagging on the red marks at her wrists.

“No, I’m not hurt. He’s jealous of the Antarctica expedition. He made me swear not to go, to let him go in my place.”

“And did you? Did you swear it?”