Chapter 5 Alaric #2
Why were her fingers still touching it? I turned, though it caused my teeth to grit, before I caught her wrist and asked, “Enjoying yourself, witch?”
Her eyes widened, her cheeks blossoming with color as she pulled her hand away, breaking the moment. “Just trying to keep you alive, huntsman.”
And my heart never felt so alive. This was ridiculous.
She worked in silence for a long while before trying to figure out how to clean my hair.
We decided that if I could prop myself up on my elbows, she’d be able to wash my hair in the clay bowl.
Part of me wanted to just forget it, but the other part desperately wanted the grime out of my hair.
I’d feel more presentable, more like myself than a half-alive corpse.
“Your whalebone necklace is on the mantle,” she said quietly, as if she’d been deep in thought. And it bothered me that she had probably been deep in thought about me.
Her fingers brushed through my hair, sometimes touching my forehead. She had to change the water out twice because my hair was so dirty, a thought that made me feel more embarrassed than it should.
“It was from the first whale I killed,” I said, and when she didn’t press me any further, I decided to not share anymore. But, after a moment, she asked, “Did it scare you?”
“What?”
“Killing the whale?”
I pursed my lips. “I was mostly afraid I’d miss or not kill it, and the thing would have the harpoon stuck in it, living a miserable life in pain…”
More silence. “You’ve killed so many of them.” It sounded as if she spoke more to herself than to me.
“I don’t glorify it,” I said. “I’ve killed them–many times. They’ve fed my crew. Built my fleet. Given me power and independence any man would dream of.”
“But they’re sacred,” she said. “Living, breathing spirits. What did they do to deserve the torture and murder you’ve done to them?”
So she was one of those people. Most saw whalers as just sailors, a cog in the great wheel of ocean trade. But some saw us as killers. They preached about the “rights” of whales, as if beasts could understand rights. To them, we were the lowest of the low.
Normally, I’d roll my eyes and let their words wash off like seawater. But I found myself saying, “I haven’t raised a harpoon in years. My men do all that now.”
“You haven’t raised a harpoon,” she said, and left the rest in the air between us: But you haven’t walked away, either.
“I’m not leaving the whaling business.”
She didn’t argue. Just finished drying my hair, the towel catching gently at the ends before her fingers combed through it. My heart lurched. It was foreign, unwelcome. I braced against it like I would a storm.
What in the briny seas was that feeling?
“We’re from two different worlds,” she said, standing. And I knew what she meant: when I healed, I’d go my way, and she’d go hers.
Yet the thought needled at me. And the fact it bothered me—that leaving her bothered me—was even more irritating.
By the second week, I could sit up long enough to pretend I wasn’t completely useless.
I had attempted to bathe in the washroom but I was too weak. Ginger gave me towels to wipe my body, but I truly just needed a good bath.
I felt like a beached whale: a mass of deadweight that didn’t move and smelled like rot. How the girl could stand to be around me was truly a mystery.
The sun filtered through the jealousie windows like gold dust, and a soft breeze stirred the scent of ginger and salt through the little cottage.
I’d grown used to the rhythm of this place: simple meals, soft-footed care, and the quiet hum of her voice as she moved about.
It was maddening, in a way. Gentle. Easy. Dangerous.
Ginger entered the room holding a woven basket and a stack of books against her hip. She gave me a look–in her strange head-turned way–that was both kind and bossy.
“You should come sit outside,” she said, tipping her chin toward the little patch of shade just beyond the cottage. “Under the coconut fronds. The sun will do you good.”
“I don’t need the sun,” I muttered, shifting my sore body against the cushions. “I need to be back on my feet.”
She rolled her eyes. “One step at a time, whaler. You don’t have to do anything once we’re outside. Just relax and breathe.” Her gaze softened. “Please.”
I let her help me outside, her small shoulders under my massive arm.
The palm leaves rustled against each other and the air smelled of salt and sea.
The ocean shimmered in the distance and whales breached.
Ginger set a quilt on the ground, laid out a few books, and arranged a couple of pillows like she had all the time in the world.
When I didn’t reach for any of the books, she offered one.
“No thanks.” I lied down and stared at the leaves above.
It was just a short walk, I thought in frustration.
But I was panting, breathless, like I’d run for miles.
Ginger lied down next to me, our shoulders touching, and read her book. Her face was slightly turned towards me, her eyes on the coconut trees to the side. Was that how she read?
I glanced sideways, unintentionally reading the words on the page. “What is this?” I asked.
“A story from the old island kingdoms,” she said, running her fingers gently along the page. “About a fisherman who fell in love with a princess.”
“That sounds ridiculous,” I grunted.
She ignored me. “Want me to read it out loud?”
I didn’t answer. She looked at me–though her eyes looked beyond mine. Her face was so close to mine. Her vanilla scent enveloped me and I had to look up at the palm leaves to pretend that she didn’t affect me.
After a moment, I said, “Sure.”
Don’t know why I said sure.
Maybe I just needed something… A distraction from her sweet scent. Her gentle presence.
She read aloud, her voice smooth and slow, like waves lapping a canoe.
And blast it if I didn’t start to enjoy it.
Her voice wove between the lines. Warm, expressive, patient. I didn’t understand why the fisherman didn’t just marry a commoner, but there was something strangely captivating about the story. And then somehow my attention moved from the trees above to Ginger.
I was half-listening to the story, half-watching the sunlight catch in her long dark hair.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. The words washed over me, unhurried, and I closed my eyes.
Then I heard the crunch of boots on the path.
I sat up too fast and winced. Ginger reached out to steady me, but I waved her off, already recognizing the voices.
“Captain?” came Destin’s familiar, somber voice.
I turned to see him and Thatcher emerge from the trees, looking like they’d just come home from battle. Mud on their boots, sweat streaking their faces, scars and bruises lining their skin, and relief shining in their eyes when they saw me.
“Took you long enough,” I said, voice gruff with emotion I didn’t want to show. I was glad to see them alive, but also slightly bitter, though I didn’t know why.
“You’re alive,” Thatcher said, then added, “And reading fairy tales.” A grin spread across his face as he looked from me to the witch, as if seeing us together made him happier than just seeing me. “Thought we’d lost you for good.”
I didn’t even bother with a comeback. Just nodded as they both clapped my hands. Destin hugged me but quickly pulled back as I grimaced.
Malia brushed coconut fronds from her dark skirt, her head turned as she eyed them. Destin gave her a slight bow. “Miss.”
She nodded back.
“Where are the twins?” I asked, my voice tightening. “How many did we lose? Why did the Corallure crown attack us? Is the Crimson Wake gone?”
Destin shook his head and held up his palm. “Everything’s alright, captain. We lost four men.”
I grimaced. Four men. Still too many men.
“The rest are recovering at the inn right now. And, from what we’ve been told by the guards at the port… it wasn’t Corallure that attacked us.”
“They had the coat of arms,” I snapped but Destin shook his head.
“It wasn’t them, Captain. We received word that the king’s ships are going to keep an eye out for this mystery ship that attacked.
The messenger got a bit touchy when we blamed them, and said we’re lucky to be alive.
The king has asked for shipbuilders to the port to help fix the Crimson Wake—they want us out of here.
If we’re lucky, we should sail out of here soon.
Nearly all three thousand barrels of oil intact. ”
At the mention of the barrels, Ginger visibly tensed.
This conversation seemed so out of place, maybe even inappropriate and callous around someone as soft as Ginger.
“And the twins?” I asked again.
“They’re gone.” Destin pursed his lips. That hit like a blow to the ribs. It was my one promise to Sereth…
Thatcher folded his arms and shrugged. “Soon as we got to shore, they took off into the woods.”
Ginger’s eyes widened and she watched as Destin handed me the sealed note from Sereth. “Figured you should hold onto that.”
“You need to find them,” I said.
“Already sent some men out to investigate,” my first mate quickly responded.
Thatcher, always the one to joke when it wasn’t the time for it, said, “They were probably just scared of you… or Sereth, like everyone else.”
I clenched my jaw and slipped the note into my shirt pocket without a word.
Ginger was quiet beside me. She played with a strand of hair at the mention of Sereth.
Destin and Thatcher exchanged a glance, but said nothing.
“We’ll keep searching for the twins,” Thatcher said, standing. “But we wanted to make sure you weren’t, you know, dead.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
Destin glanced at Ginger, then Thatcher, then me. “Is there anything else you need, captain?”
“Keep investigating what ship attacked us,” I said. “I want to hold them responsible for the deaths of my men.”
They nodded.
Destin asked, “Are you planning to rejoin the crew? We can help you walk back.”
And then it hit me. When could I? I wasn’t in a position to ride a horse, or to walk to the port. From what Ginger said, it was a good mile or two…
Could I make it that far right now?
Not yet.
Back at the inn, I’d probably have the town doctor come in and check on me.
He’d be cold. Calculated.
We’d eat food provided by the inn.
But I couldn’t leave yet.
Shouldn’t overdo it when I was healing at a steady pace.
I looked at Ginger and she pursed her lips. It was an awkward moment.
Part of me wanted to go, to be reunited with my crew and figure things out.
And the other part knew I was not yet recovered to take such a journey.
“I don’t want to impose. I’ve been here long enough–” I started to say when Ginger placed her hand on mine.
It caused a million foreign feelings inside of me. And self consciousness too. I didn’t want my men to see me like this.
But how could I get angry at her?
“You should probably wait a few more days–even a week or so,” she said, adding, “And you are welcome to stay here.”
I nodded and turned to my men.
Thatcher grinned. “Don’t get too comfortable here, Captain. You're starting to go soft.”
Was I?
I raised a brow. “Get back out there before I throw something.”
They left with a salute and a bit more spring in their step.
It was good to see each other. To know that we’d all survived.
We had a long road ahead, but at least we were alive.
Once they were gone, Ginger looked at me. I met her gaze. Neither of us said anything for a long while. The wind rustled through the trees again. The waves broke in the distance.
Finally, I leaned back again. Stared at the palm trees.
She lay down beside me.
Silent.
“Your cousin… did you grow up together?” she asked.
I watched the light filtering through the fronds. “Yes. Started out on a different whaling ship, then he jumped on when I started my own business.”
“How did you get the money for a ship?”
“Leased it, then paid it off quickly with the whale oil.”
Those had been very rough times. Rough beginnings.
“I didn’t come from wealth or luxury,” I said. “You’d understand, I’m sure.”
Didn’t mean for it to be offensive, but, based on the run-down cottage, Ginger didn’t seem like much of a wealthy person either.
More silence. Then, softly, “I used to have a nanny,” she said. “And a tutor… which is how I learned to read.”
Frowning, I looked at her.
This truth revealed something: she hadn’t grown up poor. I figured she taught herself to read.
But now that I thought of it…
She did seem quite educated. Like she had read a lot of books.
On herbs and plants, specifically.
“How’d you end up out here?” I asked. Had she grown up in Corallure in a wealthy family? Why wasn’t she married off to a wealthy man, then? Or reveling in the things that high society did?
“Once my stepsister came into the picture, I was no longer needed.”
Stepsister?
“Anyway.” She cleared her throat, fingers idly tracing the edge of the book.
“Life’s like a wild garden—you think you’ve learned every leaf and root, and then a new bloom rises from the soil, one you’ve never seen before.
Just when you think you know it all, you find out how much you never really did. ”
She was right.
Because I was in the thick of it right now.
Just when I thought I knew enough about people, there was this young woman before me.
A mystery–a beautiful mystery.
Someone I wanted to figure out.
Even if I knew anything between us was forbidden, maybe even wrong and unnatural.
We were so different. Too different.
And yet… I brushed my hand against hers. Her skin was soft. Her hand small compared to mine.
The touch sent warmth through my entire body.
Her breath hitched.
“Mind reading me the rest of the story?” I asked.
I had too many things to worry about: the twins, figuring out who ambushed us, making sure the shipbuilders did a good job repairing the Crimson Wake, and figuring out her… Ginger.
But it could all wait for a moment longer.
She smiled softly and opened the book.