JAMES
V erdun comes into view, glowing in all its glory as the sun sets behind us, setting the tropical green oasis on fire.
While Verdun is a paradise, it is also in the middle of nowhere and neutral ground—no kingdom or pirates claim it, and the island is so small there isn’t any reason for either side to fight over it.
It’s mostly a place ships stop over at before continuing on either north to Argentum—the last real city before the Stormwrack—or east to Ironhold.
“Who is that?” Harrison asks at my side.
We’re both looking at the only other ship anchored in Verdun’s bay.
A ship that definitely shouldn’t be here.
“That’s a De’Vero ship.”
“She’s not flying De’Vero colors—” He trails off, knowing better than to question me. “Last I heard, the Seven didn’t bother with trade here. You think she was commandeered?”
It’s possible, especially since she’s flying the Black.
But I don’t recognize the colors and I know Harrison doesn’t either.
The flag is black with a simple white outline of swords crossing through an animal head—maybe a fox, but I can’t be sure from this distance.
Usually the only ships you see anchored here are the occasional pirate ship or merchant from Ironhold or Brookveil.
Harrison lowers the spyglass and turns to me. “Want to investigate?”
“See what she’s hiding, then raid her. Whoever that is, she’s not part of the Pirate Coalition.”
Meaning the ship is fair game to loot.
The entire affair is over quickly as my men clear the ship quietly to avoid signaling anyone on shore.
By the time I climb over the railing and onto the ship’s deck, they already have the three men left behind lined up on their knees.
I hear a scuffle, followed by shouts and curses, coming from the hallway leading below deck.
Seconds later, Harrison comes stumbling out with Lan following.
Both look furious and beat to shit. I raise an eyebrow at them as they drag the man responsible behind them.
With a shove from Harrison, the man falls to the deck, clutching his side where red is seeping slowly through his white shirt.
He climbs a little unsteadily to his feet and he’s—laughing?
Yeah, he’s definitely laughing.
Harrison steps forward and decks him across the face. The man goes down on one knee as Lan aims his pistol at him, but the entire event doesn’t quite smother his humor.
“You think this is funny?” Harrison snarls, yanking him up by his shirt.
The man scoffs, gets his feet under him and bares bloody teeth in a wild grin.
“What I find funny is you surprise a man with his pants down and then get your ass kicked—both of you—” He says, glancing at Lan who takes a step towards him, pistol still raised. “That’s what I find funny . But we all can’t have my sense of humor I suppose.”
Harrison, sensing me, releases the man and steps back. Wiping blood from his face, he turns his back on him and stops at my shoulder.
“Let me kill him, Captain,” he snarls quietly.
I look at Harrison, noting the multiple cuts on his face, the quickly blackening right eye and how he’s favoring his left side.
I’ve never known Harrison to lose a fight, or even come close.
He’s still breathing heavily but attempting to get himself under control.
Mostly I think it’s his ego that’s bruised but I don’t bother to comment on that.
I move past him, stepping towards the man responsible.
Unlike the other three men who are on their knees, this one has presence.
He’s standing tall, amusement still glistening in his eyes as he watches Harrison retreat.
Besides the cut lip and a sword wound gently bleeding across his side, he looks none the worse for wear.
Which tells me everything and nothing all at the same time.
I stop in front of him. “What’s your name?”
His eyes find mine and his attention slams into me like a physical force catching me off guard.
Those eyes, filled with humor a moment before, are now sharp—calculating—and the most vivid blue I’ve ever seen in my life.
They drift down my person and slowly, leisurely, make their way back up and suddenly I’m trying to avoid the thought of how this man is also absurdly attractive .
“My name is Fox, Captain.”
I highly doubt that’s his real name but I ignore it for now.
I take another moment to study him. He’s tall, about my height and just as built—strong for purpose, not just aesthetics.
Tousled brown hair and that smirk give him a rakish air and he has an authority about him that demands people stand up and take notice.
He’s giving off the pretentious energy of a noble but as the Black snaps gently in the breeze above us, I’m reminded of the contradictory nature of my original observations.
Fox takes in my attention patiently and by the time I meet his eyes again the smirk is solidly back in place.
Irritation floods me at his nonchalance and I’m about to speak when I catch a flash of black on his collarbone.
Two steps and my knife is to his throat, my attention locking onto the five small stars inked along his skin.
“You’re one of the five Houses,” I snarl. “De’Vero?”
Something flickers in his eyes, noticeable only because I’m close enough to see the depth of blue and how they also bleed into green, like the sea on a clear day.
He doesn’t seem concerned about the knife but he is deathly still—hopefully because he realizes an accusation like this could cost him his life where I’m concerned.
“Why do you say that?” He asks.
“The five stars—”
He makes a sound interrupting me. “Obviously, Captain, but besides that? I could very well be from any of the other Houses.”
My jaw ticks. “Your ship. It’s a De’Vero vessel.”
“Maybe it’s not my ship.”
“I’d be more inclined to believe that if you’d told me a name other than Fox, which happens to be the animal on the Black flying above us. Combined with the mark of the Houses and the De’Vero vessel we’re standing on—” I give him a humorless smile. “You can see how this looks.”
Fox has the audacity to shrug and give me a slightly lopsided grin. “I suppose anything is possible.”
Anger rushes through me and I step back, raising my pistol I suddenly find in my hand. I level it at his face.
“I think it’s more than that,” I say. “Unfortunately, that means I have to kill you.”
There’s no fear in his eyes. In fact, if anything he still looks amused.
“If you must,” he shrugs again. “Seems like a waste of money though.”
I must be looking at him like he’s crazy because he adopts the most condescending look I’ve ever seen on a man and folds his arms across his chest showing off defined muscles underneath.
“Regardless if I’m a De’Vero or not, a noble of the Five Houses would bring a hefty ransom. Especially if I happen to be from Draevorn. Seeing as they’re exiled and all.” He looks me up and down again. “But, carry on, I’m sure you already knew that.”
His flippant attitude is provoking irrational rage to bubble up. I turn the gun on one of the three kneeling men and pull the trigger, hardly bothering to make sure my aim is correct.
Is that a flinch? I draw my other pistol and point it at the second man, barely sparing a glance before I pull the trigger again.
Besides a tightening of his jaw, Fox shows no sign of distress, fear, or anything other than that infuriating aloofness.
The last man kneeling is now thoroughly terrified and shaking on his knees so hard I can almost hear his bones rattle from here.
I nod to Lan who removes his mark from Fox.
“Wait—no—” The man’s pleas are silenced as the pistol goes off and he falls to the deck, dead.
I hold out my hand, and without breaking my glare at Fox, Harrison places a pistol in my grasp.
I level it once more at his head. He’s right, he would fetch a good price either at the slave auctions or ransomed to the King of De’Vero—hell, even the Seat of the Seven in Saltmere would probably pay a nice sum.
Especially if he’s a Draevorn, although I don’t think he is.
No one’s heard from that house in over a decade.
Regardless, I’m loath to admit he’s right—the extra money is not necessarily something I can pass up at the moment.
I lower the pistol. “Take him back to the Tempest .” I turn away and head back to the railing. “Throw him in the brig.”
Back on the Tempest , I’m sitting in my cabin, nursing a glass of rum with my boots on my desk, when Harrison barges in, anger written on every inch of his face.
I nod to the bottle before he can speak, hoping he can drown some of his anger first before he unleashes on me.
He fills a glass with rum, throws it back and repeats the process once more before he turns to me.
“Why isn’t he dead?”
“I don’t know you to get your pride hurt, Harrison.” I turn my gaze on my glass, swirling the liquid.
“He’s a De’Vero,” Harrison growls, ignoring the comment. “Even if he won’t admit it—”
“I know.” And I did. Call it instinct or whatever, but I just know in my bones he’s one of them.
“Well?” Harrison leans over the desk, palms pressing hard into the wood and looking inches away from losing it again.
“Well, what?” I take a sip of rum and look up at him.
“Why didn’t you kill him? I thought you wanted them all dead?”
I let my feet drop and throw back the rest of my rum before standing. I lean over the desk, bringing my face close to Harrison’s.
“While I don’t often mind the counter viewpoint to my decisions, this one is not helpful.
” Harrison picks up on the dangerous undercurrent of my words and stiffens.
“Your pride is hurt because somehow Fox came out on top—he’s right, you do look like he kicked your ass—” His jaw tightens and a growl escapes him.
My lip curls in displeasure and I straighten.
“Get your pride under control, man. We’ll doublecross the ransom and kill him then—but the bottom line is: we need the money. ”
I pour another bit of rum and sit back down. I lean back and look up at Harrison again. “We’ll have plenty of opportunity to ruin him—I need you to exercise some patience. And some restraint.” I add for good measure. “See what you can find out but no mutilating and no killing…for now.”
Harrison scoffs but his anger has simmered down to displeasure. “That’s rich coming from you.”
I cock an eyebrow at him and sarcasm drips heavily from my words. “You know, I think there’s a saying for that…”