Chapter 7 On The Cliffs #2
"Should I take them to the rear of the cove, sir? Keep them away from Crow's curious eye? Surely he'll wonder why you have two women bound and gagged with the company."
"No," Harlow barks quickly and decisively.
"This one will not be leaving my side until she is to depart from this realm.
And that one is her softness. I'm assuming it's the only way I'll get her to talk when the time comes.
Follow." He yanks the chain again so hard the iron bites into my wrists and I have no choice but to do as told or fall—in which case I'm certain he'd simply drag me across the scorching rocky path.
We make our way out of the wooded area back into the hot sand that still burns under my feet. Bright sun assaults my vision and dances off the soft waves that lap around the hull of a massive ship.
The Nightingale. She isn't as magnificent as the stories have told. Where is the sleek obsidian hull? The sails spun in weaves of gold and silver, rippling with iridescent scales stolen from the dragons in the far east?
I blink against the sun. Stories. They're just stories. Used to mystify or frighten.
This Nightingale is made of creaking dark oak and white sails.
Mounted at the bow, a great serpent is carved, fangs bared and tongue flicking.
Three small boats loaded with pirates row toward the shore in uniformed, powerful strokes.
A sense of cold dread fills me at the figure in the front.
I can't make his face out from here, but I'd bet money on who he is.
"Move," Harlow snaps, jerking me forward towards Solomon, who waits beneath an assembled tan canopy, surrounded by a buzz of guards tensely watching the sea captain's progress over the water.
Solomon glances at us, lifting a brow. "I thought you were to bring the nymph slaves to the cave?
And why is a novitiate of the Sisterhood with you, unless—?
" He draws in a sharp breath, waiting for us to move within whispering distance.
"Unless you've done it?" His muddy eyes scrape over Harlow and then me, and then Rowan and Blue Eyes behind us.
He takes in every inch, every wrinkle in our clothes, every displaced hair. "Where is it?"
"This one," Harlow hisses, yanking the chain so hard I crash into him, "was in the cave. Hiding. Your guard here found her."
Solomon's face hardens, but there's a look of desperation behind the mask. "Search her—wait—search them all. Him and her, and the other." Solomon nods to another guard who approaches Blue Eyes, holding Rowan, to start patting them down.
Harlow happily obliges in his task, hands roaming under and over me. The rightness of burying the crown piece settles in. Even if I don’t have it…if I never complete what I need to do to save her, I can rest in the knowledge of knowing it's one less piece for the monsters of the world to hold.
His hands slither roughly over my lower abdomen, between my thighs, and I tense, flicking my gaze toward Blue Eyes being searched as a distraction from the awful feeling, if only to keep from vomiting up the green concoction.
He's watching me, face closed off and unreadable as the shorter guard pats him down, shuffles through his satchel and pockets in a much more dignified way than Harlow's searching me. "Nothing, sir," the guard finally says.
Solomon glances at Harlow who gives a shake of his head. "Unless she swallowed it, it's not here, brother. Shall I cut her open to see?"
The shorter guard beside Solomon goes a shade paler so that his dark freckles are more prominent on his face.
"No, not here. It will draw too much attention. It's time to approach. Leave her and the other with these two and follow. We'll need to be cunning." Solomon moves past the table and canopy, making a slow trek toward the shore where Crow's boats are mere yards out.
Harlow's face falls but he nods to himself before shooting a withering glare toward Blue Eyes, moving closer to him.
"I don't know what you're playing at, healer, but let's make this clear now.
She is mine. Do not let her out of your sight for one second.
If she runs, shoot her in the leg with your rifle, but I want her alive. "
Blue Eyes's jaw tightens, but he nods all the same, taking my chain from Harlow.
"Sit down," he says toward both Rowan and I.
My legs stiffen in automatic defiance, but Rowan quickly complies, looking pale and pained still, despite whatever he did for her ribs.
A low flash of humor dances across his mouth—fleeting.
"Must you make everything difficult? Sit.
Now. The rejuvenating effects of the laeknir potion will wear off any moment and then you won't be sitting by choice. And it will hurt."
I glare at him, tipping my head defiantly. "What does my pain matter to you?"
"It doesn't, but your livelihood does. You're hiding something." His voice is cold again. Frigid in its quality, but I don't waver. Neither does he. We glare at each other like we were born to do it until a booming voice echoes across the cove, stealing our joined attention.
Rhyland Crow. He's docked and sloshing through the shallows in dark leathers—a color only one shade deeper than his ebony skin.
His head is shaved to the scalp and intricate dragon tattoos decorate both sides, starting at the temple to hook around his ears that are studded heavily with small gold hoops.
He's the biggest man I've ever seen, tall and broad as a bear.
Massive arms I can imagine would crush Solomon with one squeeze.
There's no weapons I can see—perhaps they're hidden under his long coat.
Or perhaps he really doesn't need them at all.
"Captain Crow," Solomon says in that amicable, fake voice I've heard him use with the Sons and the Sisters at Blossom House.
Commanding. Charming. Nothing like the gravely, feral quality when he's barking orders at his brother and guards.
His arms go out wide beside him before falling. "Welcome to Helgate."
Crow's face is stone. It has the look of a gray sky right before a storm breaks over it. At his side, his crew lugs three heavy chests from the boats, but they don't move forward to join us on dry land.
"Where is the crown?" He speaks with a thick accent I can't place—not that I'm worldly, anyway.
The extent of my travels have been from Aurorae to the shores of Ethirya and then years lived in its capital, Helgate.
But being a port city, it gets its share of visitors from around the globe.
Plenty slinking through the Slags, looking for trouble.
Solomon's laugh barely cloaks an undercurrent of annoyance. "Might we not share a drink first? I must say, I'm still honored the pirate of pirates has graced these shores. Come to my tent, bring your loot. Let us trade properly."
A ripple of unease spreads through Solomon's men at the answering look on Crow's face.
"Hold this," I hear Blue Eyes whisper sharply to the short, freckled one as he thrusts my chain in his hands.
Off to protect his master. The thought is bitter and severe—and I'm honestly not sure why I care at all.
This freckled guard is much scrawnier. I could knock him down and grab Rowan.
We could make for Helgate and hide in the busy streets until it was safe to go elsewhere.
Still, I stare after the back of his deep maroon uniform slowly pushing past the others. My fingers twitch within the tight cuffs and I start to plant my feet so that there's power behind the elbow I plan to thrust into Freckles's chest.
"The crown piece," Crow repeats firmly and holds out his palm, fingers leaden with gold rings.
I watch Solomon shift nervously and cast a glance at Harlow beside him before reaching into the inner pocket of his coat. A series of clicking quickly follows the movement: Rhyland's crew cocking their pistols, unsheathing their scabbards at the perceived threat.
Solomon's guard follows suit, raising their rifles in response.
"Easy," Solomon chortles with some semblance of good nature, though I can see from back here the red slowly creeping up his neck.
"I'm just grabbing the crown piece." He withdraws a silky black kerchief and makes a show of unwrapping it.
Its dark edge catches the sunlight, gleaming for a moment before he offers it out with a weary stretch of his arm. Crow reaches for it.
No one lowers their weapon, but it seems everyone is holding their breath—even me.
It's a fake! I want to scream. Perhaps I should.
The chaos it would unleash might be enough to get away.
My lips start to part when Freckles's hand jerks at the chain, pulling me into him to slap a sweaty palm over my mouth.
I didn't even realize he was paying attention. How messy of me. Careless. Clumsy.
Still, Rhyland Crow's eyes depart from the crown piece to track the movement. His dark face hardens and to my surprise he tosses the shard back at Solomon's chest where it plunks off and falls into the sand between them.
His massive hand drops to his side. Maybe there is a hidden weapon there. "Did you really believe I would fall for that, Black? Where is the real piece? Tell us now and we'll let your guards here leave with their heads, a privilege you've lost."
"I-I—" Solomon takes a moment to stammer over himself and I feel a hope rise up inside of me. Maybe they'll shoot him and Harlow, both.
The hope is short lived and turns to ash in my mouth when a flash of color in the distance bleeds to life against the horizon.
Deep blue sails attached to a sleek magistrate ship.
The royal navy has made it, or at least some of them.
From behind us, more of Solomon's men start flooding the cove, weapons ready.
Rhyland's crew of ten is thoroughly outnumbered, and that's before the magistrate’s ship has even sent their soldiers ashore.
The magnificent vessel practically glides in between the cliffs and comes to a halt within boarding distance of the Nightingale.
It's enough to make Solomon recover from his moment of fear to boom with laughter.
"The only prize you'll be getting today, Rhyland Crow, land razer, Pirate Dread, is the unfortunate end of a noose.
Meanwhile, I'll profit off your death well into the afterlife.
Men, load the gold into my wagon." He's using his true voice, barking orders at the guards next to him.
They hesitate at the murderous looks the scarred crew members are giving them, but the sight of reinforcements and the magistrate's flag whipping in the wind above the naval ship rallies their courage.
Some start forward and none of Crow's men move, even as they take a handle on each end of the chests of gold meant to be Solomon's reward for handing over his piece of the Midnight Crown.
I look back to Rhyland and a strange twinge shoots through my stomach to find him smirking at Solomon before his lips pull back into an eerily bright smile.
"What are you grinning at, you fool? Don't realize the gig is up, eh? The king can't wait to get a rope around your neck and make you pay for all the trouble you've caused him," Harlow taunts, and dares a step forward.
Solomon lays a hand on his brother's shoulder and yanks him back.
"Tell your men to lower their weapons. It's over, Crow.
They're taking your ship now. There's nowhere to go.
" An undercurrent of unease threads Solomon's voice.
The faintest of shakes. Something isn't right and he knows it—I know it, too, and cast a glance at Rowan’s position still on the ground beside me.
I need to grab her and run. The reinforcements are rushing past us without a second glance.
A whirl of color that my eyes follow back out to the shore. Back to the ships where a uniformed speck of a man is walking across a plank to board the Nightingale.
That's when the first explosion goes off, taking the man and half of both ship’s hulls with it.
Surprised shouts go through the air and gunfire follows, but not from the beach or water. A guard beside Solomon falls. And then another. And then one running by me hits the ground. And I realize what's happening a moment before one of Solomon's men screams it.
"The cliffs! Crow's men are on the cliffs!"