Chapter 9 A Bargain for Truth
Trine is worshipped as one goddess expressed in three eternal phases: Bloom, the spark of beginnings and vibrant potential; Thrive, the fullness of life and sustaining power; and Wither, the inevitable decline that brings transformation and renewal.
These aspects are not separate beings, but the cyclical rhythm of Trine herself—a divine reflection of birth, life, and death.
—Excerpt from the forbidden 'Anatole Text', written by the Crimson Scholar
When we move over the rocky barrier and the sandy cove peaks into view, I almost cry with relief.
The ground is littered with dead guards in maroon coats.
The few left alive are lined up along the base of the cliff, staring strickenly towards the water where what's left of the two ships continues to burn against the horizon, their dignity along with it.
A pair of pirates stand before them, young despite their shared dusky gray hair— twins by the look of it.
They both turn when we pass and nod to Crow before studying me with their strange golden gazes.
I don't care about any of that though. I only have eyes for one person and Rhyland Crow doesn't fight me when I jerk out of his grasp, fumbling with the clunky chain as I race over the hot sand to where she sits beneath Solomon's white canopy.
It's riddled with bullet holes but effectively keeps the beating sun off Rowan's pale, sweaty skin. Next to her, the blonde woman with the eyepatch is sitting atop a wooden crate, counting out silver and gold from a familiar leather pouch. The initials stitched into it are SB, and I realize it must be Solomon's. Strapped to either leg are pistol holders. The sight of them brings back the memory of Freckle’s blood spraying over my face, and I realize I’m probably still caked in it.
Rowan jerks when she spots me and tries to get up, but the woman shoots out a firm hand to keep her still.
Before I know it, I'm tumbling into the sand beside her, my bound hands everywhere at once, eyes scanning her over for injuries.
She's so pale. Her auburn hair is unbound from its usual kerchief and spills down her back.
She grits her teeth and shifts to reveal a makeshift bandage on her shoulder, crimson seeping through.
Already, I'm reaching for it, peeling the layers away to see a small hole where a bullet must have pierced, straight from the front and clean through the back.
"Rowan," I whisper, and tug the bandage back into place as gently as I can manage.
Her large brown eyes are red rimmed, swimming with tears.
I rise unsteadily to my feet and turn to Crow behind me. "Fix her." It's a demand that leaves little room for argument and I don't falter, even under his hard returning stare.
The blonde next to me releases a low whistle, her eyebrow shooting up.
"What?" I snap at her, bolstered by my panic for Rowan. My anger that I've put her in this situation at all.
"Oh, nothin'." A little smirk creeps across her thin lips. "'Cept that the last person who spoke to the captain like that is sleepin' with the fish."
"Fish are fine company, better than most humans. I'd happily join them as long as he heals her shoulder." Well, maybe not happily, but my bluff is strong as the idea of going near the water again is almost enough to undo me.
Crow isn't phased in the least. He looks past me to the woman, removing what's left of his ruined shirt to reveal the thick muscle beneath. "Sabre, are you hurt? I saw the bullet hit you both."
The woman, Sabre, shakes her head. "Nah, it only grazed me. Got the Centurism cultist good though." She waves a hand towards Rowan
He looks Sabre over anyway, only stopping his inspection when he's satisfied it's just a scratch. "Alright," he says, "gather the men. Tell them to grab what they can carry and choose a horse waiting up on the ridge. We'll need two wagons, the covered ones. Prepare to ride east."
"'Course, Captain. What do we do with these land slugs? They've seen your face." The coin purse jingles when she motions toward the guards.
Crow's calculating midnight eyes study them for a moment, hardly skipping a beat.
"Harlow got an eyeful and he's on his merry way back to Helgate.
The time for elaborate disguise is over.
We all knew it wouldn't last for what's to come next anyway.
" They share a look, heavy with unspoken words before he continues.
"Tie them together and bind them to a tree.
Blindfold them with their cravats and inform them if any man so much as moves before the cool of night touches their skin, my men left on the cliff will shoot them.
" Sabre nods and starts to move, but his words slow her.
"I need to speak with Briggs, where is he? "
Stiffness makes her shoulders rigid, and her glance skitters sideways toward Rowan and I. "About that…."
A flicker shoots across Crow's face, like shadow passing over candlelight. "What's happened?"
"Nothing like that," she says quickly. "It's only…this Solomon Black fellow took an interesting turn after you raced off for this one." She looks my way and back. "I think we might of broke something in that brain of his. Got a potion for that?"
Fleeting relief settles into his features and he shakes his head. "Even if I did, Solomon Black is not a man worth fixing."
The woman nods, that smirk coming again.
She gives a final quick, hesitant look down toward Rowan and then sets off toward the crewmen scattered across the beach, looting the bodies of the fallen.
Thankfully, none have drifted as far as the shaded wood where I buried the crown piece.
I don't risk looking long, worried Crow will notice.
He starts to move toward the waterline where the hulking dark figure of Briggs stands next to Solomon knelt down in the water, but I'm up on my feet, ready to grab his arm. The look on his face when he turns it sharply stops me from doing so. My bound hands hover an inch or so away, but I scowl.
"You said you would heal her."
"I was there. I remember your demand."
"So do it. Now." I don't care if my attitude means I'll be sleeping with the fish. It can't be worse than whatever he has in store for me when I refuse to give up the crown piece.
He levels me with that cold stare, so absent of anything. Bone chilling. Uncompromising. A kind of look that leaves you desperate to escape it. "I don't remember agreeing to your terms."
I strain my memory. Fuck. Fuck, he didn't. He didn't say a thing back now that I think of it. My teeth grind together. "Excuse me for figuring it was implied. That you might have a shred of honor or—"
"Careful with your next words." His voice turns low and warning, a threat simmering beneath it. The heat from the sun seems to intensify. I feel myself falter back as he steps closer. "What did you find in that cave? The truth and I heal your friend. You both walk out of this cove fully intact."
I swallow, resisting the urge to look back at Rowan. It will only chip away at my resolve. As deeply as I care for her, the truth isn't an option. Not when so much hangs in the balance.
"Stop trying to think of a story." Irritation interrupts the blank canvas of emotion on his face.
"I was trying to find the crown," I spit, pushing more anger than I feel into my voice.
A spark like lightning cracks through the midnight swirls in his eyes. The faintest hint of satisfaction pulls at the corner of his mouth. "Why?"
I let out a humorless laugh and raise my tethered hands only to slap them back down onto the front of my thighs.
"Isn't it obvious? There are literally chains around my fucking wrists.
And I'm not the only one. My people are losing.
We can't keep living like this. That crown could save us all.
" My voice breaks at the end. A nice touch—believable enough.
It makes my heart ache in the echo of it.
I'm no hero. My words to Morgana ring through my head and are truer still. There's a pit of self disgust clinging to my stomach. I'm not doing this for Nymph kind, though I wish I was.
A fraction of skepticism lingers in his gaze. He's not entirely convinced, but could be. And that's what matters. I grab onto it like a loose thread, hoping to unravel his suspicion.
"What was Harlow talking about? The ship—a god?" he presses.
I laugh again, feel it coil around my insides like a serpent.
"Harlow is mad. You aren't from here, but everyone knows he's unstable.
You watched him flee and abandon his own brother and guards, didn't you?
It was the same the night he took my màma and I captive on his ship.
The storm hit. There were black waves big as mountains.
He panicked and took a longboat when lightning struck the mast and set the sail aflame.
He abandoned everyone. It was fire and lightning he saw, and luck that saved me.
I don't remember much. Just washing up on shore, but there was no god.
" I hesitate, for a moment too nervous to meet his eyes when I add, "A god would never help a nymph. "
His dark brow lifts but he seems to brush away the last statement as though it's too uncomfortable to dwell on. "And your mother?"
That coiling feeling turns icy cold—a weight threatening to pull me down through the depths of the world's core.
I let it show on my face. "Dead." My eyes drop to my bare feet, the lie tasting wicked on my tongue.
"At least, that's all I can assume. I spent years searching for her to no avail.
I did think, for a fleeting moment, that maybe the crown—"
"A single crown piece won't bring back the dead." He says it with such sharp finality, my mouth instantly snaps shut.
"But it can free an enslaved race. I know it has some sort of power—"