35. The Ghost of Jonah Lovibond #4
Cecily looked up. Jonah was no longer transparent, but stood before her entirely real. One hand eased her fingers away from her face while the other held the knife, the black scale now red with blood from where he’d sliced his own palm.
“What did you wish to say to him?” Jonah asked, reserved but curious.
The temptation to tell him everything roared up from the deepest place in her soul where she missed her father the most. But this was not her father—no matter how easy it might be to convince herself he was.
As though he could tell what she was thinking, the edge of Jonah’s mouth lifted—an expression familiar from countless beautiful memories. “Go on, Cecily. You may take as much time as you wish.”
Her mouth worked, struggling to form words.
Her name. He’d said her name, and it was perfect. In that perfection, she couldn’t resist his offer, so she cleared her throat, took a breath, and let the story spill from her.
She spoke of everything that happened between her father’s death and now, every bitter piece laid bare, every joyful thing spoken of with a lightness that surprised her.
She told him she’d found friends and a new home on Copson’s ship, fallen in love with a pirate and married him, and how Fiero had tormented her in spite of it—to the point of attempting murder.
Jonah listened with quiet reservation, emotions flickering through his eyes so quickly that she hardly had time to read them before they were gone.
She was grateful for that—it was another difference from her father, who had been more expressive, but who had also only ever been a regular man in a quiet village.
And perhaps Jonah, too, was battling some temptation to see her for who he wished she was. Perhaps he craved her voice—his daughter’s voice—in the same way she longed to hear her father’s, and that’s why he had offered and now listened to her so intently.
When she reached the end, he let the silence stretch long enough for Cecily to wonder if maybe he’d heard all she had to say and despised her for it. He might kill her, declaring it was unfair to have lost his daughter when it should have been her.
Cold crept over her skin as the anger reappeared in his gaze, and surely now his judgment would come. She would bear it, even if logically it wasn’t her responsibility, but there was little logic when it came to the kind of remorse they both endured—
Jonah turned his head and grumbled, “Copson.”
Behind Jonah, Copson hadn’t moved, nor had the fear left his face. “Lovibond,” he said.
The ghost captain inhaled slowly, and the ship held its breath, awaiting his judgement. Then he growled, “Bring me the man in the brig.”
Copson passed the order to another who ran to obey. All around, the crews shuffled against a ripple of anxiety, but neither Cecily nor Jonah paid them any mind as he met her gaze again.
“It is hard to look at you,” Jonah said, “without seeing my Vanetta. Had it been her telling me any of this, my forgiveness would never have been in question.” He shook his head, looking almost disgusted.
Cecily’s stomach dropped—until he added, “I would never have thought to despise her, and were your father given the chance, I am certain he would say the same of you.” He ducked his chin, bringing his face closer.
“I do not despise you, Cecily Copson. It is good you are alive.”
Her lip trembled. Such a simple statement that felt as though it could change her whole life from darkness to light. Though the well of grief that had carved a trench through her heart a year ago remained, the guilt, the shame, the horror, eased.
“You’ll spare us, then,” she said.
He frowned. “I’ll spare you for nothing in return.
But for the lives of your crew, I will take the tide stones—and I will have this.
” He held up the knife with its coiled bronze handle.
She could see the faint outline of it through his hand as the wound on his palm had stopped bleeding, and he was beginning to lose his solid form.
“I have not held my wife in nearly two decades, and for being given the ability to do so, I will agree to walk away with only the man who took my child and spare the rest of your crew.”
She eyed the knife. That handle was the only gift Copson had ever given her, the only beauty she’d made out of two weeks of hell, and while she would part with it, she wanted one more thing.
“Then I also want your word that you won’t come for my family again,” she said. “I’m proud of that knife, and I went through trials to create it, but you can have it so long as you promise that too. Copsons are not as heartless as we seem.”
Jonah paused for long enough that Cecily worried he wouldn’t agree to it. But then he shoved the knife into a pocket inside his coat and said, “You have my word.”
He held out his hand for Cecily to shake, and she took it, noting with a shiver how her fingers sank into his flesh.
But then the cold in the air vanished, and when Jonah let go of her, the blood on her hands was gone.