“Cress, remind me where to find the Sailing Pig?” She couldn’t recall the tavern from their previous visits. It was either new, or in a part of time the crew of the Silence didn’t frequent.
“I wasn’t sure, but I asked around while you were with the witches. It’s this way.” The bodyguard gestured to a street on their left and began to lead the way, apparently judging that a threat was more likely to materialize in front of them, rather than behind. It felt strange for her shadow to walk ahead of her in the dimness of a road lit only from the intermittent spill of light from a doorway or window. A fight fell into their path, men stumbling out of a tavern in angry clumps. The two women side-stepped around it, easily slinking into the shadows at the edge of the street. The combatants were drunk and bloodied, and their fists missed more than they connected. It was easy to be caught up in a brawl like that. Elisabeth didn’t want to get drawn into a conflict from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They meandered through the warehouse district and into cobbled streets that spoke of stability and wealth—the brokers who sold the pirates’ goods were attempting to look respectable, a task that was doomed to fail in Elisabeth’s opinion. Legitimacy wasn’t built on cobblestones, it was built on blood. The merchants might be lining their pockets with gold, but they weren’t willing to fight for the town to rise above the trade that made them rich. They made it to the top of a small hill, and found the tavern, a sign with an overside pig in a longboat out front. Its windows overlooked the harbour, and Elisabeth took a moment to study the ships at anchor. The cracked mast was gone from the Silence and it gave the captain a twinge of anxiety—they were trapped in the town until the mast was replaced.
“Figures he’d pick a place like this,” she said, disgust clear in her tone, as she stopped to consider the tavern. It looked expensive, with gilded window frames, and real glass panes. “Let’s get this over with.” Desire pulled at her when she thought of seeing Henry, but she buried it beneath her contempt for the setting.
Elisabeth stepped inside, Cressia at her back, and paused for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the soft orange glow of the lamps scattered through the space.
“Captain Wolf!” Henry’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. She turned to see him sitting next to a large bay window, half of his profile in golden glow, the other shadowed. The Sailing Pig might have pretensions about its status, but every head in the airy space turned to look at the She-Wolf when he shouted her name across the room. Elisabeth smirked, and let a hint of power leech into her eyes as she walked through the space, her passage leaving a chill in the air, dampening the warm glow of the tavern. Murmurs went through the assembled sailors—most of the captains or quartermaster, she thought—and the merchants.
Henry stood to greet her, sweeping her a bow. She hooked a chair with her foot and dragged it so its back was to the window frame on the outside of the bay window and facing the room and door at least in part. She knew Cressia was at her side and keeping a watchful eye, but an over-abundance of caution was never amiss in places like the Sailing Pig.
“Captain Mortimer,” she inclined her head and sat, tossing her tricorn hat onto the broad window sill next to her seat and tucking her full satchel next to her foot. A barmaid appeared, face flushed and grey-green eyes wide as she sauntered up to their table. She had soft blond ringlets and a scattering of freckles across her nose. Elisabeth wasn’t sure if the young woman was reacting to Henry—the light made his features more handsome—or to her own presence—her reputation clearly known to the guests of the tavern.
“Get you a drink, ma’am?” She asked, gaze flitting to Henry every few seconds.
“Wine, red,” Mortimer answered for her, earning a glare for his presumption that she hoped cooled his blood at least by a few degrees.
“Aye,” she confirmed when the woman didn’t move. The single word was ground out between clenched teeth. Part of her appreciated that he knew her drink preference, and the other, louder part, resented him for speaking for her, even if it was just to the barmaid.
The woman gave a little nod and departed without another word, winding her way back to the bar, and deftly avoiding roaming hands as she twisted between tables. Elisabeth made note that the woman drew her focus, and wondered what small magic she used to accomplish it. Now that she noticed it, she saw it in the way that certain patrons followed the waitress with their eyes, regardless of the conversations at their tables, or full cups that sat at their elbows.
“I’ve been waiting for a while.” Henry grumbled, hand toying with his ale tankard, gaze softer than the tone of his complaint. It was clear that the pleasantries were over and they were getting to business.
“I had errands that required my attention.” She shrugged, and decided to turn the conversation. “I hope Leni’s been returned to the Silence now that we’re here.”
“She has. And I’ve got word out that I’m in need of a wind-witch.” It was as close as she was going to get to an admission that she was right. “I trust Mariss is back on the Jester.”
“Aye.”
The barmaid returned with a goblet of wine, halting the conversation with her presence. When the woman walked away again, casting one longing glance at Henry over her shoulder, Elisabeth suppressed a laugh. It was easy to be smitten with the captain of the Jester, she knew from her own experience, but it was different to see a stranger’s reaction to the silver-tongued devil she called a partner.
“What’s the status of the Silence?” He asked, unbothered by the serving woman’s attempt at flirtation, all of his attention on what felt to Elisabeth like an interrogation.
“The mast is coming off. Knowing Moira, the work’ll be done in two days, no more. Enough time to recruit more sailors, and replenish our stores. And allow the crews a few days of rest before we take them into a place that’s been trying to kill us since my thrice-cursed sisters spoke its name.”
“And you’re sure it’s where we’ll find the Atlas Stone?” He kept his voice low, leaning toward her across the table. The hand that wrapped around his cup of ale was close enough for Elisabeth to reach out and touch if she wanted. She fought the urge, met his intense gaze instead.
“Aye,” she confirmed.
“And there isn’t anything more you can tell me about Rowan’s Shroud?”
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“There isn’t. I know as much as you, or anyone. Most think it’s a myth.” She shrugged and sipped at the deep red wine. “We’ll learn the truth when we find it.”
“If we find it.” Henry’s eyes were dark when he said it, doubt clear in the line of his shoulders and the grim set of his jaw. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
“We’ll find it. Unless we die.” She flashed a brief grin with the words. He needed to know the risks of their venture, but she wanted to show him that death was not a thing she feared.
“Aye. We might. Some of us will.” He was solemn, turning the cup in his hand. Silence stretched between them, filled with the buzz of conversation that droned through the tavern. All of the tables were taken now, the space filling as darkness deepened beyond its windows.
“I’ve got a room upstairs. Stay with me tonight?” He raised an eyebrow at her over the rim of his cup and took a long drink while waiting for her answer. The way he asked, and his posture, told her more than his words—he needed the comfort of a body next to his during the cold hours of the night.
“Henry, I can’t. I have an obligation to the Silence. I’ve already spent too many nights away.” Regret bloomed in her chest, spreading an ache through her ribcage and into the sluggish thing she called a heart. It was the right decision. She’d learned the value of being present on her ship, of being visible, and available to the crew. Moira’s words held too much sway after Elisabeth’s absence. Leaving the ship was the only way to break the Sargasso curse, but it had cost her more than a handful of days under the sea. The short time she spent working the deck on their way to Driftwood, didn’t erase the issues that threatened to undermine her command. So while she longed for the pleasure of sharing Henry’s bed, she knew it was a path to disaster for her captaincy.
“Pity.” He drained the rest of the ale from his cup and slammed the container onto the wooden table top. She watched his gaze settle on the blushing barmaid, and fought the surge of jealousy that heated her blood. Of course he would try to hurt her for rejecting his proposal. Damn him, she thought. Bitterness tinged her emotions. She pulled a small gold coin from her pocket, and pushed a small hex onto the bit of shine. Elisabeth signaled the waitress, and the woman sauntered to their table.
“Another ale for my friend,” she requested and handed the coin to the woman. “For your trouble.”
“My thanks, Captain Wolf.” The barmaid took the coin, and the order, and retreated to fetch Henry’s ale. It was petty, she knew, to curse the poor woman, but the spell was mild: it would leave her sick for a few days, just long enough for the Jester to sail away from Driftwood Bay. Elisabeth hated that he elicited this reaction from her, and part of her was looking forward to the day when their paths diverged, setting her free from the longing she felt deep in her belly every time they were in a room together.
The ale appeared, and the flush was beginning to fade from the barmaid’s face, a slight pallor was setting in.
“A toast to you, Liz,” Henry said, raising his cup to her, and she touched her half-empty goblet to it. She finished her wine in one quick swallow. His eyebrow quirked up at the way she drained her drink. She set the empty cup down on the table, and gathered up her hat and satchel.
“We best be going.” Cressia emerged from a shadow next to the bay window. Elisabeth saw her scan the room to assess the safety of their exit. The bodyguard’s devotion comforted her in a moment when her mood was on the precipice of becoming sour. The hex, though frivolous, at least restored her sense of control over the situation.
Unperturbed, Henry drank the rest of his ale, and stood, wiping foam from his mouth with the back of his coat sleeve. “Allow me to walk you back to your ship,” he said, a purr in his voice. “It’s a dangerous town.”
“Suit yourself.” She waved him off when he tried to take her arm to steer her back to the entrance of the tavern, and walked away from him without another glance. She heard his soft laughter at her back, as she wove her way through the labyrinthine array of tables and chairs. Cressia led the way, her glower enough to get them to the door and back into the cobblestone street without incident. The night air was cool compared to the stifling warmth inside the Sailing Pig, and Elisabeth took a few long, deep breaths as they began to make their way toward the shipyards, the jetty, and the Silence anchored in the harbour. When they were beyond the spill of light from the tavern’s many windows, Henry attempted to take her arm again. Elisabeth stepped away from him, irritation rising at his insistence.
“I can take care of myself. And don’t need you propping me up like some city lass.” She growled the words, not bothering to look at him.
An exasperated sigh escaped from the man at her side, and he gripped her arm hard, then pulled her against him. “Does it bother you so much that I want to be close to you?” He asked. Longing rose inside her like a tidal wave with their bodies touching.
“No, it bothers me that I want it.” The words were out before she had a chance to consider them. The truth was thrown in his face in a way that left her too vulnerable. His familiar cocky grin pulled at his lips—part of her wanted to punch him to make him regret the expression. Without hesitation, he leaned in to kiss her, a long and lingering caress. She hated that she allowed it, hated that she enjoyed the heat that spread through her limbs, and hated the pleasure that pooled in her belly. She pulled away roughly, breathing hard.
“Damnit, Henry.” Elisabeth stalked down the street, without heed, her brisk steps taking her into the warehouse district in minutes. The security of her ship sat in the harbour, and she desperately wanted to reach the Silence. She needed to stay focused on their task—finding the Atlas Stone and killing the Skeleton King were the only goals she needed to pursue. He followed again, along with his amused laughter. He caught up with her in a few long strides, and walked at her side without speaking. The quiet was welcome after her outburst.
They were almost at the shipyards, which meant they were nearly back to the jetty where the Silence’s longboat waited for the captain to return, when Cressia disappeared into the shadows. The bodyguard’s sudden departure was the only warning of the three figures that stepped into the road ahead and behind them in an ambush.
“Captain Mortimer.” A deep bass voice called from the shadows of a leaning warehouse. “I’ve come to take your report back to our most majestic, our most beloved, our most feared, Skeleton King, ruler of pirates far and wide.” A hulking figure stepped into the dim light of the street, the stench of death wafting from it on the breeze.
“William Rove, you’re far from home.” Henry moved to stand in front of Elisabeth, belatedly blocking her from the newcomer’s view. “I’m staying at the Sailing Pig, why don’t we discuss it over a mug of ale in an hour.” The men that surrounded them moved closer. Elisabeth drew a knife and hid it at her side.
“No, Henry, it’s too late for pleasantries. You failed to find us when you arrived. Now, you, and Captain Wolf will accompany us. We’ll have a full account.”
Henry swore under his breath, the sound so quiet only Elisabeth heard. He pulled her close again, and gripped her wrist hard—a move she understood as a signal to sheath the blade.
“Not now, Liz,” he whispered. “Trust me.”
“Of course. We all serve the Skeleton King. No need to be unpleasant.” He agreed with the walking corpse—Elisabeth felt the magic rolling off the man that summoned them. She appreciated that Henry was pulling out all of his charm in a bid to diffuse the tense situation, but she didn’t like the idea of going with these men. She glanced around, counting their adversaries—six mercenaries and the creature. With Cressia hidden near them, the odds were in their favour. Elisabeth considered giving the signal for the former royal assassin to attack, but she didn’t want to draw the ire of the Skeleton King. At the end of the quest, she needed him to trust her enough to allow her to get close to him. There would be no fight, not in the street, anyway. Instead, Elisabeth put the knife away and relaxed under Henry’s grip.
“You’ll guarantee our safety, of course?” Henry prompted.
Rove guffawed in response. “Our hospitality knows no bounds.”
Sci-fi ? Telepathy ? Psychics
The technocracy will fall. And my powers started it all. Oops.
- Straight & queer romances. (No harem.)
- Seven-book interconnected series.
- Comedy Space Operas: .
- WLW Psychological Thrillers: .