Chapter 6 Cav
SIX
Cav
Cav’s smile falters. “Straight to business, huh?”
“Why did you go after Roderick?”
“Because he went after the crew!” Cav’s facade falls away as he leans forward in his seat. “You were right; he did try to drug some of the girls the other night. I couldn’t sit there while he sailed off and got away with it. Someone had to stop him!”
“Someone would have.”
“Not fast enough.”
“Not publicly.” Heathen’s voice lowers between her teeth. “Colt was already on the Silver Spoon waiting in the bathroom. He was going to deal with Roderick quietly, but instead, the entirety of the ship got a front row seat to your performance.”
Cav flinches. It’s like he’s back in school, reprimanded with the dull thwack of a ruler. Of course there was a tail on Roderick. Of course Heathen had a plan for him. Why the fuck hadn’t that thought occurred to Cav?
He sinks lower in his chair, but there’s no escaping this. Goddamn his restless brain and how it itches with ideas until he scratches them. “I didn’t want him to hurt anyone else.”
Heathen flattens their palms to ease the tension from their body. “You don’t hunt down bad actors anymore, Cav. That’s not your job.”
“It used to be.”
“Yes: used to.”
The reminder stings like saltwater in his eyes. He knows Heathen’s right, but sometimes, Cav lets himself forget that things have changed. That he can’t do all the things he used to. That he’s not living the same life he was before.
Morning duties begin outside Heathen’s quarters. She glances toward the sound before her tone softens a fraction. “What’s going on with you? The past few weeks, you’ve been more…erratic than usual.”
She tries not to make the word sound like an insult, but Cav knows better. His spontaneity makes her skin crawl. The two of them may see the same big picture, but their methodology is completely different. While Heathen sketches a detailed outline, Cav is already splashing paint across the canvas.
He gives a halfhearted shrug. Outside, metal pots clang above the din of the crew.
It’s a stark contrast to the silence that drags on in Heathen’s office.
She’s deep in thought, fingers steepled on her desk.
Cav’s foot begins to bounce. Only once the quiet starts to chafe does Heathen finally speak.
“You have to find something to guide you besides your whims.” As a peace offering, Heathen takes the mug of coffee and settles it closer to her. “You can’t dive headfirst into everything and damn the consequences. You need purpose. You need an outlet. You need something.”
Cav tugs at a loose thread on the chair. Maybe it’ll unravel as easily as he does. Maybe it’ll explain why he can’t keep things together like Heathen and Cypher can. Maybe it’ll help him understand why, no matter how much he cares for the people on this ship, he always feels restless and aimless.
Heathen stares at the fraying fabric. “Stop picking at it.”
Cav releases the thread and fights the twitch of his fingers.
Heathen nods. “Now, tell me what you’re thinking.”
With a sigh, he scrubs a hand down his face. “I don’t know. It’s like I’m…some alley cat you brought inside. I’m clawing up the curtains, knocking over glasses, fucking everything up.”
Reckless. Impetuous. Impulsive. He’s heard all the descriptors before, but these days, it’s getting worse. It’s like he’s spinning in a circle, desperate for the momentum to carry him toward something that will hold his attention.
“Working on the convoy was so different,” he tries. “When I was a guardian, I got my hands dirty. I did the physical labor. I got rid of the people causing problems. I had an impact, but on the Indulgence, I’m just…here.” He turns his hands up helplessly. “Everything is routine. It’s…”
Boring.
He doesn’t say the word aloud, but from Heathen’s pursed lips, it’s clear she hears it. “Regularity is a sign of things functioning as they should be.”
“I don’t want things to go wrong.” He tips his head back toward the ceiling.
How can he express it? “Everything’s restricted nowadays.
We visit the same ports, keep pleasure ‘recreation’ to the cabins, offer only the most basic services…
” His fingers flit to the loose thread again, but he grips the arm of the chair instead. “I’m just saying, it’s gotten stale.”
Heathen’s brow quirks. Cav knows he shouldn’t speak so freely, but she asked.
“And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that things locked down after Prodeus took off with the convoy.”
Heathen bristles. Even years later, the former co-commander is a sore subject.
Cav can’t blame her. He served on the guardian ship hired to escort the Indulgence from port to port.
On the last night the two ships were together, Heathen and Prodeus argued until the wooden walls couldn’t contain it.
Rumors ran wild. Heathen denied him a larger stake in the business.
She refused him a bigger crew. She spurned his sexual advances.
It always came back to what Prodeus felt he was owed.
Maybe Cav should have seen the signs. On the final morning, Prodeus was uncharacteristically cheery, clapping Cav on the back when he disembarked to make some trades.
By the time Cav returned to the docks, Prodeus had sailed away with the guardian ship and its crew, leaving Heathen and the rest of the Indulgence to fend for themselves.
Somehow, they made it work. Cav joined the Indulgence. They cut out visits to the most lucrative ports, limiting their routes to the safest waters. Heathen laid out strict new rules for the pleasure ship to follow and removed any opportunity for surprises.
Funny how the person who cornered the market on pleasure can be so clinical. It’s as if Heathen thinks loosening their grip will send the Indulgence crashing straight into the rocks.
“I know you want things to run smoothly,” Cav acknowledges, “but this is not the crumbling business Prodeus left you with. You rebuilt it from the ground up. Now, it needs room to grow.” He counts on his fingers.
“The ship is too small. The route is too stale. You resist any new idea that comes along. We can’t keep up with demand; that’s how Roderick slipped through the cracks. ”
Heathen’s mouth twists. Cav’s lips tingle to amend himself, to fill the empty space, to say something, but Heathen always takes her time answering.
Processing, she says. Finally, her fingers flex over the map on her desk.
“You’ve certainly got a lot of opinions.
” The word is sharp, but it falls away as her fingers trace the Indulgence’s familiar route.
“But perhaps I have been playing it safe.”
Cav blinks. It’s not what he expected, even if it is true. “I only say it because we’re capable of more; you’re capable of more. I watched it first-hand. And I know a way it can happen again.”
Heathen sighs when she realizes where he’s headed. “We’ve been over this —”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he insists. “Let me prove it to you. The only way to be certain is with a good, old-fashioned experiment, right?”
Heathen’s eyes narrow. They didn’t expect him to use their own words against them, but they don’t give in so easily. “We don’t need an experiment. The Indulgence is popular because people know what to expect.” She spreads her hands. “Excellence.”
Cav shakes his head. “The Indulgence is popular because people want something provocative. An adrenaline rush. A risk.”
Both of them lean back in their seats. Heathen drums their fingers on the logbook and mulls over their rebuttal. “Despite my initial misgivings, Cav, I know you can perform. Your transition from guarding to sex work has been impressive. You’re a natural. Clients adore you, the crew respects you —”
Cav smirks. “You’re making my case for me.”
“However, I question your dedication.”
His mouth clamps shut.
Heathen continues. “No one can say that you don’t have creative ideas, but I’ve yet to see one come to fruition. You lose interest. You may be easily inspired, but you’re just as easily diverted.”
He averts his gaze. What Heathen says is true. He knows she doesn’t say it to be cruel, but it’s like she’s shining a spotlight on his biggest faults.
Maybe Heathen understands him more than he wants to admit.
Maybe he is chasing a feeling more than any real result.
Maybe he’s searching for something to make him feel alive again.
Maybe this experiment would be another in a string of failures, but he needs it.
He needs to pour himself into something.
He needs something to pull his mind back on track, or he’s going to end up beaten and bloodied on another Silver Spoon.
“Please —” His voice is dry. He clears his throat. “If you give me a chance —”
A sharp knock comes at the door.
Cav keeps his back turned, desperate to see this conversation through — but the visitor doesn’t wait for an invitation.
Cav grits his teeth when he turns in his chair. “We’re in the middle of —”
Cypher’s expression throws him off. She looks stunned, her motions slow as she closes the door behind her. Even her crow looks disturbed, shifting back and forth on its feet.
Heathen prods her to speak. “Yes, Quartermaster?”
Cypher wets her lips. “There’s a woman here to see you. She mentioned Cav. I think she’s…” Her hand tightens around the doorknob. “The siren.”
Cav is standing before he realizes. “She showed up?”
Heathen balks. “She’s real?”
Since the day Cav returned from his shipwreck, Lyx has been a myth on the Indulgence.
No one believed he’d actually been saved by a siren.
It’s been the crew’s favorite joke for years.
When they spot a dead fish in the ocean, they say it’s a gift from Cav’s mysterious lover.
When the wind howls in the distance, it’s the siren calling his name.
Slowly, Heathen rises from their chair. “Why would she come here?”
Cav clears his throat. “I may have run into her last night. On the Silver Spoon.”
“And you invited her to the ship?”
Cav doesn’t miss the way Heathen’s eye twitches when he follows her toward the door. “She wanted to meet with you. And since our reunion was a little rocky…”
Cypher’s brow lifts, but Cav pushes past her.
On the deck, the morning duties have halted. Everyone is staring at the top of the gangplank where Lyx stands, distrustful and beautiful as ever. Her gaze slides from one face to the next while a chorus of whispers spreads through the crowd.
It’s hard enough to believe that sirens exist, but Cav’s siren? That’s more shocking than anything else.
“I’ll be damned,” Heathen murmurs. “She is real.”