Chapter 5 Cav
FIVE
Cav
No one can say Cav doesn’t pay for his indiscretions.
He waits at the docks for hours before the ferry master takes pity on him. With Cav’s black eye and bloody sleeve, he’s surprised that anyone offers him a ride, but he won’t look a gift fish in the mouth.
The sun hasn’t yet begun to rise. He still has time to get back to the Indulgence, but he hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and a cramp is spreading through his shoulder.
Despite that, the only thing occupying his mind is Lyx.
He leans back in his seat on the ferry and watches the wealthy island fade into the fog.
Seeing Lyx again was…
Every word that comes to mind is foolishly sentimental.
Did he learn nothing from the night before?
She’d rather see him dead than take him up on his offer to meet Heathen, but maybe that can work in his favor.
Maybe she’ll show up today just to try and kill him again.
Or maybe he thinks too highly of himself; it’s possible she’s just glad to be rid of him, but the way she lunged at him last night…
Heat coils in his stomach. Lyx may hate him, but that means she feels something. Hate isn’t apathy. Hate, he can work with.
The ferry bumps against the dock as they arrive. Compared to the glimmering wealth behind them, this island looks like a makeshift stand on the side of the road. Cav slips the driver a few coins and stretches out his shoulder.
Just seeing the Indulgence makes him breathe easier.
The ship takes up a good portion of the small port, the deep magenta and emerald sails creating a perfect backdrop for the sensual golden sigil.
Tableaus are carved into the sides of the ship.
Even the prow is meant to tempt passerby, a figurehead of three creatures entwined in bliss.
It’s a shame the ship’s exterior is the most salacious thing about it. With a huff, Cav crosses the dock and climbs the Indulgence’s rope ladder.
The ship is barely awake. Below deck, the crew begins to stir, but no one appears from the hatchway. If Cav hurries, he can get cleaned up before Heathen catches him. If he lays low for the next few days, his face can heal, and —
“Heathen’s not gonna be happy about that.”
Cav’s jaw clenches. When he lifts his eyes to the forecastle, he sees Cypher scrawling in a tattered journal.
She looks like a piece of parchment, light skin covered in tattoos that morph and shift.
Black markings linger on her cheek like a spilled inkwell.
Her pet crow sits on her shoulder, blinking its beady eyes and nuzzling the stubble of Cypher’s shaved head.
Her entire being screams to stay away. Cav wonders if she’s always been this way, or if it’s a side effect of her curse.
He doesn’t dare ask; she’s already hostile enough as it is.
She doesn’t bother to look at him, tapping the quill beside her eye until the ink in her skin morphs to match Cav’s bruising.
Asshole.
He hoists himself aboard and grabs a clean rag from the clothesline. “Heathen doesn’t need to know.”
“She already does.” Cypher’s quill twitches toward the captain’s quarters. “You’re late to your meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“The one Heathen called five minutes ago.” She yawns. “When they stormed across the deck cursing your name.”
Cav dips the rag into a barrel of rainwater.
Of course Heathen found out about his extracurricular activities.
Granted, he wasn’t inconspicuous, but he didn’t think word of his misdeeds would get back to the Indulgence before he did.
He scrubs at the crusted blood on his knuckles.
That means someone told Heathen. Someone went out of their way to point it out to her, interrupting her morning routine when they all know she hates any disturbance to her schedule.
“Did you tell them?” he accuses.
Cypher sighs. “Stalling for time, huh?”
“Was it a tattoo?”
“I don’t need magic to stay informed of your activities.” Boredly, she twirls her quill, never looking up from the page. “Your unpredictability has become predictable.”
“So that’s a yes?” He finds an oversized vest on the line and tugs it over his ripped clothing. “Some new ink showed up on you, and you went running to Heathen?”
For the first time, Cypher’s chilly gaze meets his. Her bird stops preening to give Cav a disapproving glare.
“Or maybe you have all the subtlety of cannon fire,” Cypher snaps.
“Maybe everyone on this ship knows what you do as soon as it happens — sometimes before.” Her head shakes, tension knotting through her shoulders.
All this bickering belies the root of the problem, but now, it’s cracking through the surface.
“Why would you go after Roderick on your own? That was senseless. He’s dangerous, Cav. ”
“Not anymore,” Cav grumbles.
Cypher doesn’t laugh.
Loathe as he is to admit it, the answer is very simple. “He tried to hurt Briar. He tried to hurt you.”
Cypher shifts uncomfortably. She won’t look at him now, still shaking her head and hunching deeper over her notebook. “You shouldn’t have done it.”
There’s no use arguing. From what little he knows of Cypher’s hex, she keeps everyone at a strict distance.
It wouldn’t matter either way; the two of them would be at odds regardless of her curse.
They never see eye-to-eye. Even this brief conversation has put a strain on the meager camaraderie they have.
Without another word, Cav tosses the wet rag aside and crosses toward the captain’s quarters.
The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out any clues as to what’s waiting for him. He sidles up to the window, pressing his ear to the glass and straining to hear.
Nothing. That’s telling. He knows exactly what’s going on behind that door; Heathen, sitting rigidly at their desk, glaring into the distance as they stew over what to do with Cav.
He tilts his neck and groans when it cracks. Gods, his body’s fucking sore. Every part of him yearns for his bed, but there’s no avoiding Heathen. As soon as she hears he’s onboard, she’ll be rapping on his door.
Another crew member emerges from below deck. “Cavalier!” Sweeney gasps, drinks sloshing in surprise when she sees his face. “What happened?”
Cav only smiles, wincing when the wound in his lip reopens, and tilts his head toward the coffees. “Who’s that second one for?”
Sweeney’s blinks are thick with sleep. “Uh — Cypher?”
Perfect. An opportunity for Cav to reestablish the barbed wire between them. “She prefers tea.” He reaches for one of the cups. “I’ll take this off your hands.”
Blearily, Sweeney nods, and Cav plucks the drink before he pushes through the captain’s door behind him.
Much like everything about Heathen, her quarters are meticulous.
Nothing is out of place. The furniture is built-in or bolted down, and the sparse decor gives little insight to the captain themself.
A large window spans the back of the room and looks out across the ocean.
On the left wall, a bookshelf is arranged by size and topic with a smattering of glass jars along one shelf.
A large curtain hangs on the opposite side, obscuring the captain’s bed from view.
At the center of the room, Heathen sits behind a wooden desk.
In the dawn light, their banshee appearance is even more intimidating.
Bones press up through the fat and muscle of her body, her skin a mixture of white skeleton and darker shading.
Her dark hair is cut short, bangs obscuring her opalescent eyes and the displeasure honed directly at Cav.
He forces his smile wider. “You’re up early.”
Heathen points toward one of the chairs facing her desk.
Cav moseys across the floor with his tail swishing behind him. He deposits the mug onto a coaster and eases down into one of the seats, inching the proffered coffee toward her.
If he acts like nothing’s wrong, then nothing is, right? Never mind the bruises blooming on his face. He prays there’s no remaining blood on his teeth when he beams. “How was your night, Captain?”
“Not nearly as exciting as yours.”