Chapter 9 Stories in the Night
Riley
Two days later, Riley was still pissed off about Rowe boarding the Moonshadow, and the crew party was doing nothing for her mood.
Not even Calla joining them for the occasion made her feel better. Because she certainly wasn’t here for Riley. She never looked in Riley’s direction once.
Instead there she was, on the quarterdeck, having a drink with fucking Rowe.
Their new chief gunner, who always sneered at Riley like she was better than her.
And clearly, Calla agreed. Riley had been first on this ship, but Rowe had been assigned a fucking cabin on the officers’ floor as soon as she’d stepped foot on deck, her own private space, while Riley was still stuck sleeping up in the crow’s nest. So a direct confrontation wouldn’t get rid of her, because Riley would lose.
She would have to plot some other way to get the woman off the ship before the damn cat got her claws on Patch.
Melissa. Even her fucking name was pretentious.
At least the little sharp-toothed monster was nowhere to be seen tonight, but that only set her on edge further because she could be crouched in the shadows, just waiting for the right moment to pounce.
So Riley didn’t let Patch out of her sight.
Not that he seemed intent on going anywhere these days.
Ever since that cave collapse, the rodent had all but been glued to her side, and Riley liked it–she did, she didn’t want to be alone–but it was also a little stifling.
She had a feeling he was concerned, though she couldn’t tell why.
The only reminders of what had happened were the black, slithering marks on her hands, but as far as Riley could tell, they did nothing other than stain her skin.
She didn’t like them, of course, but they seemed harmless, as long as she kept her gloves on.
As harmless as the new tattoos that kept sprouting up all around the ship since Rowe had joined. They weren’t even that good, so Riley didn’t get why everyone was rushing to get one in the first place. They were stupid.
“If you keep glaring so hard, your face’s gonna get stuck like that,” someone said at her back.
Riley tore her gaze away from the quarterdeck. “I’m not glaring,” she said defensively as Nyxen took a seat beside her.
“Scowling then.”
Riley made a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh, then she looked out to the sea.
For once, it was calm, the night sky clear and sparkling with pinpricks of light.
They still had a little reprieve until they caught up to that storm the compass always seemed to lead to, and the crew was making the most of it, cheering and drinking and singing their hearts out.
Riley had joined hoping the festive mood would rub off on her too, but then she’d seen Calla seeming to have such a good time with Rowe and she’d regretted coming up here at all.
“They’re just friends,” Nyxen said, and Riley froze, her eyes widening.
“They used to work on the same ship some years back, before it got pillaged by another pirate crew and Rowe stopped sailing. They don’t see each other very often, so they have some catching up to do.
In case you were worried.” Nyxen raised his eyebrows, daring her to contradict him.
Riley felt her neck heat. Was she that obvious?
“I’m not–I don’t–” She wasn’t jealous. She didn’t get jealous.
Not over Sable and Calla, so why would she get jealous over someone else?
Riley’s glare was back as she glanced at the two of them again.
Almost as if she couldn’t help it. And she didn’t know how to cling to the deep, slippery feelings inside her chest, but she knew how to grip her anger, so she gripped that.
“I just don’t get what she’s doing here.
You said she stopped sailing. Why did she have to bring that cat here? Why did Calla let her?”
She regretted her outburst as soon as it was out of her mouth, because Nyxen was laughing at her.
Not out loud, so she couldn’t glare at him, but it was right there in his eyes.
They were glinting in the lantern light.
“Rowe’s in love with Kittredge. And they’re not like you and Calla, so you can rest easy. ”
Riley blinked. “Like me and Calla?”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “And Sable.”
Riley’s face heated so suddenly she feared she was blushing, and she took a sharp breath. The air on deck reeked of rum and sweat and salt. “Calla hates me,” she said after a moment. But she didn’t deny the obvious half. It would’ve been useless. “It’s just Sable.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
Riley chanced a look in his direction. He seemed entirely serious.
“She can’t even look at me, Nyx,” she said, and her voice fucking wobbled, and it was pitiful, and she hated all this feelings talk already.
Feelings were stupid. Who invented them?
Feelings only made her feel like shit. She missed Sable, and guilt tore her up from the inside over Calla, and Nyxen trying to make her feel better only made her uneasy, and none of this was pleasant. Feelings fucking sucked.
“All she does is look at you.”
As much as she studied him, Riley spotted no hint of mockery in his voice or on his face. “Bullshit,” she called.
He tilted his head at that. “You know, there’s an ongoing bet among the crew.”
The change of subject seemed a bit sudden, but Riley grabbed it with both hands. “There’s always an ongoing bet among the crew.”
“About you.”
Riley scoffed. “Do they think I’ll fall overboard again?”
Nyxen hummed. “No. About whether the captain and her first mate are going to fight over you once we’re all back together again.”
Laughter broke out from her throat, sharp and bitter.
“They see the way the captain looks at you, too.”
“Bullshit,” she said again. He was just pulling her leg. And he was very good at it, too, because she wouldn’t be able to tell if the notion weren’t so ridiculous in the first place.
Nyxen shrugged. “Alright, then.”
That had been too easy.
Riley narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion as he grabbed a pitcher of rum and filled her tankard to the brim before all but shoving it in her hand.
“But I’m tired of seeing you feel sorry for yourself.
So. See that girl over there?” Nyxen asked, indicating one of the crew further off.
One of the gunners. Chopped brunette hair and hazel eyes.
She was a rough-around-the-edges sort of pretty.
“Go and talk to her. See how that goes.”
Riley frowned. “I don’t–”
“Just talk. Humor me.”
Riley glanced at the woman again, and this time the gunner was looking back, and smiled, holding up her own tankard in a silent greeting.
The inviting tilt of her lips was hard to misinterpret, but Riley was already entangled in too many feelings to be interested.
She’d thought about it, of course. But every time she considered having a lay with someone else, thoughts of either Sable or Calla filled her head, and the desire poured all out of her, because she had no space left over for strangers anymore.
It was the most unsettling feeling. She’d never felt that way before.
She glanced back at Nyxen. The lantern light painted the surrounding wood in amber and shadow, and his eyes glinted in challenge.
“Just talk,” he repeated, like he wanted to prove something.
And Riley wasn’t tempted. But she was curious.
So she went over, navigating the feet thudding against deck boards with every stomp and the pirates trying to pull her into loud, drunken dances.
“Hi there,” the gunner greeted as soon as Riley got close, her smile widening.
“Wanna sit? I think the old man is going to tell us another one of his stories. We’ve got a little bet going on ever since his first one, but none of us has been able to predict what sort of stories he’d come up with next. Fun to try, though.”
Riley tilted her head. She hadn’t been close enough to hear his leviathan story that night, but the pirates on board had talked about it.
They’d thought it ridiculous. They’d spit at the claim the sea might be anything but evil, but clearly they were changing their minds about that.
Riley barely stopped herself from glancing at Calla again.
It was obvious why the captain hadn’t been able to trust the crew with her secret.
With her vulnerability. The weight of what Riley had done after sniffing out that secret settled under her skin like an itch she couldn’t scratch.
So she took a seat on the wooden bench instead, returned the greeting, took notice of how the gunner shuffled close enough for their thighs to touch.
Riley couldn’t dredge up the woman’s name, and she didn’t ask, pretty sure she’d forget it again by morning anyway.
There were other pirates around, and they were all surrounding Haddock and Pip in a haphazard circle. Pip was thrumming with energy, glancing at the gathered pirates like he had something important to say and the self-control it took not to spill right then was close to making him burst.
Riley hummed and took a sip of her rum. “I’m getting the impression it won’t be Haddock talking tonight.”
The gunner’s brows furrowed. “Why are you saying that?”
Riley shrugged. “Just watch,” she said, and made herself more comfortable. Her fingers brushed the gunner’s as she braced herself against the bench.
Two breaths later, Pip finally burst. “Haddock said it might be a good idea if I took over the storytelling this time!” he said, grinning wide. “Right, old man?”
The old man inclined his head and spread his hands in invitation.
“I know a lot of you asked me about what happened with the sirens, and I didn’t tell you much, even though you all seemed very curious. But now I will!” He slapped his hands together in glee. “So… ready?”
Several grins broke out within the group. “About fucking time, kid,” Gadrielle said, leaning against the mainmast. “Spill.”