Vengeance of the Pirate Queen (Daughter of the Pirate King #3)

Chapter 5

ALOSA’S REPLY ARRIVES THE next morning.

Sneaky little thing. I should have known she’d try something like this. I’d hoped I was finding enough things for her to do around the keep, but she misses the sea. Still, Roslyn disobeyed her orders, so dump her arse in a rowboat at Darmont as you sail by. I’ll have someone waiting on the docks for her, ready to bring her home.

In the meantime, I need to have a talk with Wallov. He needs to loosen the reins on Roslyn. We’ll figure something out. Hope you find a use for her over the next month.

— Alosa

I inform Roslyn of what’s to become of her when we reach the Seventeen Isles. She pouts but nods once. I suspect she’s going to make the most of her month of freedom.

As the days crawl by, I make a point of getting more familiar with the bodies aboard Vengeance . There are twenty-nine of us in total: twenty-three women, five men, and one not-basically-eight-year-old stowaway. I’ve never met over half the crew, so I set about changing that. I make rounds every day, asking for names and doing my utmost to memorize them. I make a point of knowing everyone’s duties and where everyone sleeps. I learn the day-shift and night-shift rotations, learn what happens when, and familiarize myself with the other inner workings aboard the ship.

I don’t want to be surprised by anything.

I catch up with old friends, which include two of the gunwomen, Philoria and Bayla. They’re regularly talking firearms, cannons, and other things that require any sort of explosion. They introduce me to Visylla.

“If you need anything blown up, I’ve got you covered, Captain” are the first words she says to me. “There’s enough black powder on the ship to light up a city. Don’t worry, it’s all in the hold.” She lowers her voice and hides her mouth behind her hand as she adds, “Don’t let anyone light a candle near the storage.”

“Is this an extreme use of exaggeration?” I ask, because I don’t know her.

“No,” Philoria and Bayla say at the same time.

“Don’t worry, Captain, the queen encouraged me to bring as much as I could fit on board,” Visylla says. “It’s all sanctioned.”

“We don’t have enough cannons to warrant that much gunpowder,” I point out.

“Oh, it’s not all meant for the cannons. I specialize in makeshift handheld bombs.”

I just stare at her, because what could I possibly say to that? As I pass by my old friends, I say, “Don’t let her blow up the ship.”

“Aye-aye,” they reply.

I’ll have to keep a careful eye on that one.

The crew behaves during the daytime hours, everyone performing their chores like clockwork. That’s when I have to be out and about for them to observe me and gain confidence in my abilities.

But then the sun sets, and I get to be myself. That’s when I observe them.

I often slip out of my captain’s coat and tread along the shadows of the ship, trailing wherever intuition takes me. Nothing should happen aboard Vengeance without my anticipating it.

Iskirra, the ship’s healer, makes money on the side by offering tattoo work to anyone who wants it. I like to watch her in the evenings with her needles and ink. It’s relaxing. Not to mention amusing the things the crew find important enough to permanently mark their bodies with. Taydyn, the fifth and final man aboard the ship, gets some sort of musical instrument inked onto his chest, right above his heart. Iskirra, herself, has several tattoos along her arms, one of which is a black and white rose that looks exquisite against her ebony-colored skin.

Enwen arranges card games in the galley almost every night before bed. I keep an extra-sharp eye on him, but true to his word, he doesn’t steal so much as a single coin from the crew, unless you count cheating at cards, which I’m sure he doesn’t. He’s very careful about it. Only cheats on low-paying hands so no one gets too suspicious or angry. He’s so quick with his fingers, switching out cards beneath the table, that no one else notices. He distracts the other players with tales of ghosts and kraken and other superstitious nonsense. I’d previously thought Enwen didn’t like gambling, but I think he does it because Kearan is often to be found at the card table.

Rorun is bedding one of the kitchen girls. I learned quickly not to go into the hold when I see the two of them ducking out of sight. Jadine, the cook, smokes a pipe in the evenings. She has her own stash of spices in the pantry that are just for her. Cyara, Unesta, and Ryndra—three of my able-bodied sailors—offer to tell fortunes for the crew, and Enwen spends far too much of his sneakily won coin to hear nonsense about the great deeds he will perform in his lifetime.

Tonight I crouch behind some crates in the galley after the lads are done playing cards, waiting to see who will venture here this evening.

A figure I don’t expect enters.

I know how to recognize people by their shapes and the padding of their feet. It’s a survival skill I developed at an early age.

Which is why I know with certainty that Kearan arrives in the galley alone.

My mind races with possibilities. Is he here to get into the rum where no one can see? Was the sobriety all a ruse? Or is he here to eat more than his share of the food? Or … what else? I didn’t peg him as one to poison the crew or anything else, but—

He doesn’t go for the locked pantry in the back. No, he sits on one of the benches nailed to the floor, rests his elbows on his lap, and leans forward.

After a few beats of immobility, he turns his head right in my direction. I don’t move, certain he can’t possibly see me in the darkness.

“Thought you might like some company,” he says.

When I say nothing in response, entertaining the notion that he’s added sleepwalking to sleep talking, he asks, “Captain?”

My heart beats a rapid rhythm, though I am not afraid. Merely irritated.

How did he see me?

“When have I ever given the impression that I want your company?” I ask.

He turns his gaze down to his lap. “Don’t you ever get bored all alone in the dark?”

“No.”

“You like your thinking time?”

“No.”

Definitely not that. I loathe reminiscing about myself or my past. My entire family was murdered before my eyes, and I have spent over a decade trying to forget those memories.

“Then what?” he asks.

“None of your business. How did you know I was in here?”

“I didn’t see you go into your quarters for the night.”

“You’re watching me?”

“Just observant, Captain.”

Liar. “That still doesn’t explain how you knew I was in here .”

He shrugs. “I saw you.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “The rest of the crew haven’t a clue that you spy on them. I only found you now because I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

He shrugs as though he thinks the question trivial.

It is anything but. I want to snap at him for making a habit of watching me, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Doing anything other than responding to him with my usual tone would only please him.

So I remain silent. It’s what I’m best at.

Except, instead of relishing in the quiet as I usually do, there’s a buzzing in my head. Something grating and irritating. It takes me far too long to realize the silence is making me uncomfortable.

You can’t be afraid of the dark when you’re the monster lurking in the shadows.

You can’t be uncomfortable if no one knows you’re there.

Yet he knows.

He’s here.

And he’s waiting as though he has all the time in the world.

Though the silence makes my skin itch, I refuse to be the one to break it. Then he would think I want to talk to him, and I can’t allow that.

“My first time on a ship,” he says, “I was just a boy. I was so nervous and unsure of what to say or do around all the men. I would hide. Listen to what everyone around me said and did. It was a comfort to learn that way. To observe without being seen.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“I know. I’m just making conversation.”

Damn him. Now the record needs to be set straight. “People are patterns. They do the same things. Make the same choices. When you learn the patterns, you learn to anticipate what they’ll do. It’s how I can be prepared for potential threats. I observe so I can protect.”

“What are my patterns?” he asks.

“Drinking, snoring, drinking, eating, drinking, yelling at Enwen.”

“Those are my old patterns. I don’t drink anymore. What are my new ones?”

I open my mouth but close it immediately. Because I realize I don’t know the answer to that. I watched him for so long for Alosa. I had no interest once it was no longer my job. I knew his patterns. I knew exactly what to expect from him.

That’s why I can’t stand him.

But now he’s different, and I don’t know him at all. I really don’t want to, either. But I need to as captain of this ship.

Shit.

I’ve gone too long without answering, so he says, “You’re doing a great job as captain, you know. It’s no wonder Alosa holds you in such high regard.”

Ugh, he’s complimenting me. “Yet I can’t fathom why she’s allowed you to remain among us.”

“I’m a seasoned helmsman, and I don’t cause trouble.”

“Not for Alosa.”

Kearan sits up, places his elbows on the table behind him, and leans backward. “Has there been a complaint made about me on this ship?”

“Not formally.” After all, who would I make a complaint to? I’m the captain.

“Sorinda—” he starts.

“Captain,” I correct.

“Captain,” he amends, “I’m truly sorry if I’ve done anything to offend. I would like there to be peace between us so we can effectively carry out this mission.”

“There is to be nothing between us.”

Shit again.

My voice came out too harsh. He’ll know I’m incensed, that he has an effect on me.

Kearan scoffs. “You think an awful lot of yourself. Sorinda, I want nothing between us.”

The force of my glare is probably lost somewhat in the near darkness, but I’m sure he can guess my expression and my thoughts.

“Captain,” I remind him through gritted teeth.

“ Captain , stop flattering yourself.”

“I—You—” I break off abruptly. I’m certain I’ve never stuttered before in my life, and I can’t imagine why I’m starting now. When I can collect myself, I begin again. “You told Alosa you would only join her crew if I was the one in charge of watching you during your probationary period.”

“I was a drunk. I said and did stupid things. I thought Enwen was good company, for stars’ sake. My judgment was altered.”

“Are you saying I’m only appealing to you when you’re drunk?”

A silence so thick I could cut it with my rapier fills the galley. Why did I suggest something so stupid?

“I’m saying I’m stone-cold sober now. I’m different.”

“Why?” I ask to change the subject.

“Why am I different when I’m sober?”

“Why are you sober now?”

Kearan says nothing for so long that I wonder if maybe he’s fallen asleep. Then, “That’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You dumped my flasks of rum overboard.”

“I’m to believe you were helpless to procure more?”

“No, it was a gesture that showed me you cared whether or not I was sober. You cared about me. So I did my best to quit and clean myself up.”

“Care?” I ask. “I don’t care about you. I did it because you stank, your teeth were yellow from the indulgence, and I knew it would piss you off. It was amusing to me, a way to give myself a reprieve from your stench.”

“Well, it worked, so why are you so angry?”

I take a breath to calm my voice. “I’m not angry.”

“Neither am I.”

“Good.”

Why does it infuriate me so when he tries to get in the last word?

“Kearan.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be familiar with me again. It’s captain to you or nothing at all.”

I leave lest he try to get the better of me again.

But he still manages, “Aye-aye, Captain,” before I’m out of earshot.

IN THE MORNING, IT is not a kitchen girl but Roslyn who delivers my breakfast.

“What are you up to?”

“Why do I have to be up to something? Can’t I just want to do something nice for my captain?” she asks.

She sets the tray down on my desk and steps back. I keep my eyes on her as I crack one of the hard-boiled eggs. Beside them are strips of bacon and a mango cut into squares. Roslyn says not a word until I’m halfway through my meal.

“You know, Captain,” she says a little too innocently. “I’ve just thought of something. Perhaps we should make the most of our time together.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I place my full attention on the food before me.

She is undeterred. “I once asked Alosa who had the highest death count in the keep. I thought it might be her, but did you know it’s actually you?”

I take a long pull from my glass of water.

“So I’m thinking, who better to learn from than you? Alosa has explained to me many times that I can’t grow up to be a siren like her. Ugh. If I have to hear the words You have to be born a siren one more time …” She trails off. “Anyway, all this is to say I’ve decided I’m an aspiring assassin instead.”

I nearly choke on my water.

Did she really just say the words aspiring assassin ?

“How many people have you killed?” she asks. “No, wait. First tell me how old you were the first time you killed someone. Then tell me how many.”

I cough before turning to her. Someone has run a brush through her yellow hair and pulled it back out of her face. She’s clean and bright eyed. Her dagger is sheathed at her waist.

“You think you ought to be rewarded for poor behavior?” I ask.

“Sorinda, I’m doing you a favor. You’ll have fewer people to kill if you teach me. We can share the work!”

“Your father would murder me.”

“That’s the best part! He’ll never know because he’s not here. And he could never murder you because you’re a professional murderer.”

“Roslyn.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Leave my room. Now.”

“But—”

“Go.”

“Fine.” She stomps her feet as loudly as possible and slams the door behind her.

If dealing with Roslyn is the worst of the trouble I have to handle on the way to the Seventeen Isles, I’ll take that punishment happily.

Such a futile wish.

When I step out onto the main deck, there’s not a breeze to stir my hair.

“Bring out the sweeps!” Dimella shouts to the crew. She yells out the names of the first sailors to take turns at the oars.

No wind is bad for morale. Rowing isn’t a task anyone enjoys, and I see many downcast faces. Enwen runs up top with a pair of gloves on.

He sees me and says, “It’s bad luck to be missing the wind so early in a voyage, Captain.”

“Don’t you dare let superstitious rumors spread on this ship, Enwen.”

“Not a rumor if it’s true.”

“Less talking from you and more rowing.”

He harrumphs as he helps the others remove the boards hiding a little inlet on the main deck. Below are benches and openings in the ship for the sweeps.

They take their positions, spread out over eight oars, four on each side.

“Heave!” Dimella calls in time, signaling the crew when to stroke. “Heave!”

Many grunt with each pull of the heavy oars, and I note that all the rowers are staring at me or Dimella. Where else do they have to look except right in front of them?

Dimella has a purpose, calling out the tempo of the rowing, but I am useless. There’s nothing I can do save stand over everyone and watch, yet there’s nothing worse than being the one laboring while someone near you isn’t.

I would hate me if I were down there, watching myself just standing around.

I should have asked to be put in the first rotation, but it’s too late for that now. I can’t switch with someone; it’ll be seen as a sign of favoritism, surely.

I rack my brain for ways to help the situation. I can’t talk to Dimella, as she’s keeping time for the crew. Kearan’s gaze is boring into me from the aftercastle, but I refuse to turn and acknowledge him. Maybe I should hide in my cabin? But the rowers will see me enter, think I’m being lazy. Or that I’ve gone back to bed. Sleeping while they’re working.

The internal struggle is making me irritable.

What would Alosa do? The Ava-lee doesn’t have sweeps. We all suffered together when there was no wind.

This is enough to give me a headache. I never had to worry about such things when part of Alosa’s crew. I was free to hide where I wished, do what I wished when I was off duty. But as the captain, I’m always on duty. I’m always expected to keep up appearances for the crew.

A figure comes up top, carrying a lute in one hand.

It’s Taydyn. He’s one of my able-bodied sailors, and he keeps to himself most of the time. But today he takes a seat among the rowers, pulls the lute into his lap, and starts to play. The introduction is upbeat as he strums, and his fingers move with the ease of a man who’s played the instrument a long time. It makes me miss Haeli. She was a rigger on the Ava-lee who joined the stars during our adventures trying to secure the siren treasure. She, too, was gifted with playing.

Soon, Taydyn begins to sing in a rich voice:

When the wind is dead and the seas are dull,

’ Tis my song what keeps me goin’

When the drink’s dried up and the food’s all gone,

’ Tis my song what keeps me goin’

The music turns slower, more morose before the next verse starts.

When the captain’s dead and the crew’s all bone,

’ Tis my song what keeps me goin’

When my lute’s gone flat and I’m all alone,

’ Tis my voice what keeps me goin’

He stops strumming his lute, his voice the only sound to be heard as he sings the last verse.

When the dark arrives and is out for me,

’Tis my song what rests at sea

It’s no shanty I’ve heard before, and I think it a little dark, but those rowing seem to appreciate it. Taydyn plays it again, and this time, some of the rowers join in. When everyone has the words memorized, he moves on to another song and another, keeping the rowers company.

More importantly, Taydyn has taken the attention off me, which I desperately needed. I can think more calmly now. I make a mental note to thank the man later for sharing his talents and keeping the rowers in good spirits.

I turn to look up at the aftercastle, where the helmsman is tapping his foot to the music. I sigh as I force my muscles to relax from the tension of being put on display. Last night, I let Kearan get under my skin. I wasn’t prepared for him to show up during my silent snooping around the ship, and I’m still unsettled from the encounter. Which I hate . I need to do something about it.

Then a thought occurs to me.

What better way to put Kearan back in his place than to show him he has no effect on me? To remind him I’m the one in charge?

Besides, if Kearan does anything I don’t like, I can always stick him with a knife.

The man in question widens his eyes in surprise when he sees me draw near. And as I step beside him, his words from last night come to me.

Captain, stop flattering yourself.

I cannot remember the last time in my life I felt embarrassed, yet Kearan managed it with just a few words. I should have listened to Alosa when she said he’d changed. Then I wouldn’t be in this ridiculous situation.

Even as these thoughts flit through my mind, I keep my face as smooth as sea glass.

“The crew doesn’t need me hovering over them,” I say to the man by way of explanation. “This is the most useful place for me to be until it is my turn to row.”

“You’re the captain,” he says. “You won’t take a turn rowing.”

“Yes, I will.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty. Your job is the hardest one on the ship.”

“Don’t try to sympathize with me, Kearan.”

Vengeance sweeps across the sea, the motion more lurching than when the power of the wind propelled us onward, but progress is better than no progress.

Kearan says, “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”

“I’m not in a bad mood.”

“Was it something I said last night?”

“No.”

He cranes his neck fully in my direction, but I stare straight ahead. “You aren’t embarrassed, are you?”

Despite myself, I blink slowly, still saying nothing.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, So—Captain. Like I said, I only want things to be easy between us so we can do this mission.”

“Stop talking, and things will be just fine between us.” Somehow I manage to keep my tone even, but I feel my cheeks heating. Luckily, my complexion is too dark for even Kearan to notice.

He stares down at the helm, and I take the chance to let my eyes shift to him. He’s not wearing his usual coat today. Without the breeze, the weather has grown rather warm. Kearan’s rolled his shirtsleeves up past his elbows, and I see a series of tattoos along the length of his right arm.

I had no idea he had those.

I trace the designs with my eyes, following the shape of a skull, an ocean wave, some sort of flower, a replica of his cutlass, a helm. Random geometric lines connect everything, mere scraps of his light skin visible between designs.

“Been working on it since I was fourteen,” he says, and I nearly take a step back from the shock of his voice. I’d forgotten those shapes were attached to a living, breathing, horrible human being.

“I don’t care,” I say.

“Sure. That’s why you were staring.”

“I was observing, not staring.”

“Are you embarrassed again?”

I press my lips into a tight line, unable to think of a response that would help the situation.

“It’s okay to ask questions, you know,” he says. “You don’t have to learn everything about people by spying on them.”

“People can lie when they can speak.”

His brow shoots up. “Damn. What happened to make you so dark?”

The question has my eyes drifting closed, a black so potent it could swallow me whole filling my vision. I hear the sounds of splashing water, of screaming.

Hide, Sora, hide!

I force the memories to the corners of my mind, where they belong. Yet I see red when I open my eyes again.

“I love being on the sea,” Kearan says, his eyes fixed on the ocean before him once more. “I love it so much, I wanted to mark my adventures on my skin.” He points to his arm. “I got the helm after the first time I was allowed to steer a ship. I realized I loved it and didn’t want to do anything else.” His finger moves to the sword. “When the captain gifted me my cutlass.” The skull. “The first time I killed a man.”

On and on he goes, detailing out his adventures, until he runs out of tattoos. When he starts to push up his sleeve higher, I stop him.

“I’ve heard enough,” I say.

“You sure? Seemed like you went somewhere else for a moment. You need more grounding?”

In all the time I’ve spent with Kearan, it hasn’t really been his pursuit of me that’s angered me the most. It’s the way he sees me better than everyone else—even when he was drunk. I try so hard to hide those parts of me, but somehow, he sees them.

It’s beyond infuriating. If he weren’t a member of Alosa’s crew, he’d already be dead.

“If you love the sea,” I say, “then why did you try to forget it by overindulging?”

His face falls, and he rubs idly at a spot on his arm. As he does so, his sleeve rides up, showing what I’m certain is the corner of a heart.

He doesn’t answer.

And just like I did before, he seems to drift somewhere else.

The ship slips off course ever so slightly, and I rack my brain for anything to say. I want to call his name. To yell at him. But I know exactly what loud surprises do to a person when their mind is in a dark place.

“Would you like a proper look at the new rapier Alosa gave me?” I ask. I draw my sword and hold it up to the light. The sun catches on the glittering gems, making the guard almost blinding.

“I’ve always favored the rapier, because of its speed,” I continue. “Also, it’s what my father carried as a nobleman. I like that it reminds me of him.”

Kearan’s eyes shift back into focus, and he slides his gaze to the weapon.

“Were you so eager to replace your old weapon?” he asks.

“It was starting to feel … heavy.”

“Because of all the blood it spilled?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it? Killing, that is.”

“Don’t we all enjoy the things we’re good at?”

“Often. But not always. I’m good at rowing. Doesn’t mean I love doing it. But I’ll take my turn like everyone else.”

I look down at the rowers below. Enwen’s face has turned red, but he keeps on like the rest of them. They must be nearing the end of their shift.

“I love killing,” I say. It’s the only thing I love. Sharing that moment with Samvin Carroter over and over again. The taste of revenge on my tongue. The sight of his face when he knew it was me ending it.

Kearan says, “I love hunting. Does that count?”

“Count?”

“As killing.”

What an absurd question. “Animals.”

“Well, yes.”

My eyes narrow. “Are you trying to find a common interest with me?”

He smirks. “Captain, you’re doing it again. Stop flattering yourself.”