CASPIAN
I settle in, take a sip of rum and launch into Up She Rises , one of my favorite shanties.
I rarely sing—and by rarely, I mean never.
Of course I sing with people, but never to people—but as the night settles around me, it seems to drape the ship in a sanguine mood and I couldn’t resist. The song falls from my lips, rowdy and lively.
When she leaves safe harbor
Headed for the fishin' ground's unknown waters again
And you wave goodbye to the friends on shore
Steamin' with a northern wind
The waves they roll and the wind's pickin' up
And the night is comin' on fast
She turns her back to the Island shore
Through the high waves she will blast
I’m about to hit the chorus when I see movement in the shadows. I know who it is, and I smirk to myself swaying with the song as I belt out the chorus.
And it's oh, oh, oh, up she rises
The water rolls off of her deck
Oh, oh, oh, up she rises
Guided through the sea by her captain Jac k
Oh, oh, up she rises
She's headed straight into the wind
Oh, oh, oh, up she rises
She goes back down, but she rises again
I can’t see Blackwell’s face very well, but warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the rum.
I enjoy baiting him but damn if it isn’t turning into something more.
We’ve been avoiding each other, but I know it can’t last. What he’d said to me in his cabin hit a nerve, tugging at something I don’t want revealed.
He wants to strip away the names and the titles I hide behind until there’s nothing left but me .
I’m not sure I’m ready for that. So I ran—knowing I’m only proving my brother right—sometimes I am a coward.
But I’ve been running from the nightmares for so long I don’t want to bring them out—with their gnashing teeth and tearing claws.
What will be left of me in the wreckage? The Fox? Or the Prince?
Or something else…
I find Blackwell’s eyes in the gloom and hold them as I sing the next bit.
In the morning the winds are calm
And the waters they glisten with the rising sun
The captain says, "All men on deck"
"There's a day's work to be done"
We climb the rails, and we hit the decks
We've reached the fishing grounds at last
We work the day and hear the captain say
"There's a wind storm comin’ up fast"
The crew joins me as I sing the chorus again and I watch Blackwell disappear below deck.
Together the crew helps me finish the song and afterwards there’s cheers, laughter and pleas for more.
I decline gracefully and leave them to their evening.
Before I can really decide on a destination, I find myself standing outside of Blackwell’s cabin.
The door isn’t all the way closed, so I shove it open and stroll in.
Blackwell is sitting in his chair behind his desk, sipping rum, his perpetual scowl on his face.
He looks up as I enter. “Usually it’s polite to knock.”
I pour myself a glass of rum and plop down on the cushioned bench beneath the window. The room is warmly lit by a few lanterns but the shadows are deep, flickering across old charts and rum bottles.
“This is hardly polite society.” I regard him over the top of my glass. “Especially since the last time I was sitting here I was in chains.”
I count it as a win when his scowl lightens and his lip twitches, barely. I cross my ankle over my knee and throw my arm across the back of the bench.
“No socializing for you tonight?”
“The men don’t need the Captain ruining their fun.” He doesn’t seem at all bothered by that as he sips his rum.
“Right. God forbid they see you smile,” I tease. “Do you even know how?”
“I can smile,” he grumbles.
“Maybe someday I’ll do something worthy of one.” I realize how flirty the undertone of that sounded but Blackwell doesn’t bite. He throws his boots up on his desk and rests his chin in his hand.
“You can sing really well.”
The compliment catches me off guard but the praise lands on me like a caress.
“I don’t do it often,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Same reason I suppose—the men don’t need the Captain ruining their fun.”
“You don’t sing at home?”
I scoff. “No,” I say flatly. “Definitely not.”
He wants to ask. I can feel it. But instead he downs the last bit of his rum and reaches for the bottle.
The silence slips deeper, broken only by the slosh of alcohol in his glass.
His movements are deliberate, unhurried and methodical as he stops the bottle and sits back again.
His eyes catch the gleam of the dancing flame, and I have to suppress a shiver at the predatory look he’s giving me.
“Truth for a truth,” he states.
A slow grin slides across my features. I throw back the last of my own drink, studying him. I nod once as I get up to refill my glass, grabbing the bottle near his boots. I glance at him briefly before I focus on pouring.
“Would you have killed me?”
Blackwell watches me fill my glass and waits until I’m seated and settled again on the bench.
“What makes you think I’m not still going to?” He says it with no expression on his face except for a small glimmer in his eye. I huff a laugh, flashing a smile that I know pulls my dimples out because I watch his eyes catch on them .
“Do I need to sleep with a dagger under my pillow?”
His eyes shutter as they jump back to mine, the movement so small I could’ve easily missed it from where I’m sitting, except for the fact that I was looking for it. Blackwell runs his bottom lip through his teeth.
“That’s a good practice anyway—” He trails off as he hides behind his glass.
“I’m also the only one who knows the coordinates,” I shrug. “But you’re avoiding the question, Captain.”
“No.” He looks down at his glass, his voice flat. “No, I don’t believe I would have.”
“Why?” I try not to stare at his mouth, but his lips are wet with rum and it’s incredibly distracting.
“That’s two truths.”
“So it is—fine, your turn.”
Blackwell takes his time. His boots slide off the desk and he brings the bottle of rum over to me, topping off my glass.
He looms over me as I lounge back in my seat, and it takes a lot of willpower to keep my breathing steady while the rum pours, because his proximity is making my blood heat.
He retreats to the table, and I take a quiet breath while his back is turned.
Only once he’s sitting on the edge of the table with his ankles crossed and a full glass of rum, does he ask his question.
“The lines of poetry you tucked into the book—” He takes a sip of his drink. “Did you write them?”
The poetry again. The man has a thing for it, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hot as fuck that we have that in common.
I nod. “I did.” I lean forward over my thighs and fix him with a sly smile. “If you answer my second question, I’ll tell you the whole thing.”
“The whole thing?”
“The whole poem.”
The silence stretches as he thinks about it but he never once looks away.
“You intrigue me.”
When he doesn’t go on, I look at him in amusement. “Go on, Captain—if I’m going to tell you a whole ass poem, you need to give me more than that.”
The tension in the room is thick, and there’s suddenly an energy between us that has my heart racing. I don’t know if he’s going to elaborate—the frown on his lips makes me think he’s debating how much he wants to hear the entire poem. He sighs, runs a hand over his mouth and finally answers.
“I rarely meet someone who looks me in the eye and doesn’t back down.” He pauses but it’s not long. “Your fearlessness challenges me in a way I find—liberating.”
“Liberating? Or a turnon?” I ask mischievously .
Blackwell gives me a look like I’m pushing my luck and I laugh quickly. “Fine, fine.”
I stand up and finish off my rum. I walk over and set the glass next to Blackwell, forcing him to turn and look over his shoulder at me. I study the maps on the table for a long moment, feeling his eyes. I caress a line of latitude on the worn parchment and begin.
The weight of his past clings to him,
a ghost that does not whisper,
but drags its nails along his spine
a reminder, of the blood on his hands
Do you dare?
I glance up and meet Blackwell’s gaze, smoldering and dark. Heady in a way that burns without a single touch. Something passes between us and I know after this moment, things won’t be able to go back to the way they were before.
Do you dare to trace the scars without asking for their stories,
to know that he is both the wreckage and the wave
—the steel and the surrender
nothing more than a man, aching
under the weight of his own name.
He reaches into the depths to drown his sins,
the sea the only one who doesn’t flinch—
Do you dare?
To bleed without shame
To speak of ruin and not break
Because while some men are made of storms
he’s made of the silence that comes after
Blackwell stares into the depths of his glass as the silence stretches, a faraway look on his face. It makes me hesitant to break his reverie but I’m dying to know what’s running through his mind.
“Oh Caspian, that was marvelous—you are an amazing poet,” I say in an exaggerated voice.
Blackwell looks up, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Is that supposed to be me?”
“I had to say something to fill that potentially awkward silence. ”
He scoffs. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”
“You’re right, too complimentary.”
“No, I’d never say marvelous .” He narrows his eyes at me. “And I gave you a compliment earlier.”
I hold up my hands, trying and failing to hide a smile. “God forbid you give more than one a day.”
Blackwell shrugs. “If you’re lucky.”
“I’m surprised you even gave me that one honestly.” I lean towards him slightly and wink. “But I’ll take whatever you give me, Captain.”
Our gaze holds and the silence stretches again, heavy with something strange but not quite unwelcome building beneath my skin.
He doesn’t move, except for the way his eyes are studying mine with a touch of something very close to intrigue shining in their depths.
Deciding to quit while I’m ahead, I pull back and tap my knuckles on the table before heading towards the door, ready to leave the ambiguity of this man alone for the night. I pull the door open.
“Good night, Caspian.”
Exhilaration rushes through me and I look over my shoulder to see a begrudging scowl on his face. Such simple words but I can’t stop the smile that comes after, or the warmth that accompanies them.
“Good night, Blackwell.”