Chapter 14
Will couldn’t stay in bed a minute longer. Not after the nightmare.
It was the same one—always. Subtle variations kept him on his toes and maintained the sensation of terror freezing his bones, but the ending never changed. His childhood home always burned to ash, his parents always died, and he always found himself back in his own personal hell.
Aboard the Baroness.
He awoke when confronted by the gnarled face that had haunted him since he was ten, hideously distorted by a mechanical eye blinking red.
Staying in bed meant more sleep, and more sleep meant more nightmares. Sebastian would have to be satisfied with nearly two days of rest; Will was ready to see the state of his ship.
So now, he stumbled around the Maelstrom with a cup of coffee swirled with cream, augmented by Silverspoon.
His body was stiff and aching, the stab wound in his shoulder sending relentless jolts of pain down his spine.
Whenever he moved, it was like being impaled again.
The puncture wound at his side seemed to twist his insides out of shape, and the sizable slice across his back had made it painful to get dressed.
The skin stretched whenever he moved his arms, pulling at Gareth’s stitches.
Sebastian filled Will in on what had been going on the past couple days, which mostly boiled down to ship repairs and proposed plans for their landing in Vaelstead tomorrow.
Missing the memorial was particularly upsetting, but Will was grateful Sebastian had taken the lead in his stead.
Everyone who willingly stepped aboard a Sky Lord’s ship knew they might die on it, but that didn’t make the losses sting less.
Tristan. Huxley. George. Boaz. Curly. Kit.
All good men. All decent people. None of them deserved to die.
Sebastian and Will were finishing up rounds when they came upon Amaya, sitting on one of the railside benches with a small stack of books.
“You left her out?” Will asked.
Sebastian shrugged. “It didn’t feel right to lock her up again after . . .”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but Will caught his meaning. As much as it injured his pride to admit, she’d saved him the other day.
Conflicted, but knowing he needed to address her, Will waved Sebastian off. He approached Amaya slowly, peering over her shoulder to glimpse what she was reading.
Ah. So it was that book.
“Not exactly the legacy I wanted,” he said, frowning at the unflattering illustration. It was just an artistic interpretation, but that was how people thought of him—as a beast. A monster. Deathsmoke. And perhaps he was.
Amaya turned, those beautiful eyes of hers going wide. Panic dashed across her features and he raised his hands, signaling that he came in peace. Fighting the urge to groan from the way his body protested, Will sank onto the bench next to her.
“It’s okay,” he said, hating how tired he sounded. “I’m not sending you to the brig.”
The lines in her forehead smoothed, tension releasing. “Why not?”
Will thought back to the fight, forcing himself to relive the paralyzing incompetence. The failure. He’d been fading fast, his muscles rejecting movement. Sixth Sense protected him, but its warnings didn’t help if he couldn’t move.
And Amaya . . . she’d seen it. She’d seen her captor suffering and chosen to help.
“You . . .” Why couldn’t he admit she’d saved his life? Perhaps his ego was damaged. Perhaps it needed to be.
Finally, he cleared his throat and forced the words out. “There’s a good chance I wouldn’t be here if not for you.” Her expression remained unchanged. Not good enough? He cleared his throat again. “So, with that in mind, I’ve decided to pardon you for stealing.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Was that supposed to be a thank you?”
“Was it not?”
“No. And I didn’t steal anything.” She turned her back on him and continued reading. Except, Will knew she wasn’t reading. She was staring at that awful drawing.
Will studied the way her hair curled down her back and fell across her shoulder, blocking her profile. How could someone be so annoying and so exquisite at the same time? He licked his lips, searching for an adequate response.
“You still haven’t thanked me either,” he said at last. “And you did steal.”
Amaya spun back around and narrowed her eyes, scanning him from head to toe. Her focus lingered on each of his visible injuries. Will felt like a bug trapped under a microscope, his skin tingling under her analytical gaze.
“It’s not stealing if I was going to give it back—it’s borrowing. A pirate should know that.”
“Except we don’t borrow, Sinclair. We steal.”
“Then that just makes me one of you.”
She finally made eye contact, pinning him with the full force of her cerulean stare. It was like she could see right through him, and Will disliked the vulnerable sensation.
He also hated that she was right.
When he didn’t reply, Amaya lifted her chin. “I suppose we’re even.”
That was an acceptable compromise. He needn’t offer thanks for the repayment of a debt. Will nodded curtly and ran a hand through his hair.
“I suppose we are.”
Amaya swung her legs over the bench to sit parallel to him and slid the book over. “I’ve been doing some research on Graven…and you.” She paused, tilting her head. “That sword is a real piece of work. And jumping onto that other ship? I can’t decide if you’re brave or just an idiot.”
Will tugged on his right sleeve, covering the spidery black scars that crept down his forearm. “I might say the same about you.”
That automaton could have ripped her to shreds, and she’d barely been able to hoist Crowe’s axe high enough to swing it.
A hint of a smile crossed Amaya’s lips, triggering a vaguely fluttery sensation in his ribcage. Will rubbed at his chest to ease the uncomfortable sensation, under the guise of massaging his shoulder wound.
“Let me see that.”
Picking up the book, Will thumbed through a few pages of his chapter, skimming the text.
It was all speculative—no scholar really knew where he came from or how he’d come to be on the Maelstrom, they just knew he was Graven’s protégé. Graven’s protégé who had gone behind his captain’s back to become a Sky Lord.
“Any footnotes?” Amaya asked.
“Yeah. It’s bullshit. Don’t believe everything you read.”
“What about him? Dorian Duaric?”
Will hadn’t expected to hear that name today. Amaya rifled through another book, laying it on top of the first one. “Did you know him?”
“Of course.” He didn’t particularly want to talk about Duaric, but if she didn’t hear it from him, she’d find out from someone else. “He was Sebastian and Serena’s father.”
“What?” Amaya’s mouth fell open. “She told me you grew up with Graven, but she didn’t tell me that.”
“Serena likes to talk about other people more than herself.”
“Well, what happened to him?”
“He died.”
“I know that. How? Why didn’t one of them take over?”
“They didn’t want to. I did.”
Will left her first question unanswered, watching the finest of lines formed between Amaya’s dark brows as she attempted to make sense of his statement.
He didn’t blame her for not knowing how to feel about it; Sky Lords had fearsome, violent reputations in Veridian. Not all of it was earned, but it generally paid dividends for Sky Lords to cultivate a certain type of persona.
Will had done the same, crafting a facet of himself over the many years spent aboard the Baroness that didn’t blink at violence and cruelty. He justified everything he did today by drawing a moral line Alastor Graven never had—minimizing the collateral damage in their raids.
Because he’d once been that collateral damage.
But they did conduct raids. And sometimes it seemed like that bloodthirsty persona—cultivated as a mask to help him survive when he’d needed to be strong—had truly become a part of him.
The worst part of that illustration was that it wasn’t a lie. Not completely . . . not anymore.
Will pushed the books back to Amaya, sick of looking at them.
“I’ve been thinking about your situation,” he said. “And I know it’s not fair, but I can’t let you go unless we find another way to activate the Skystone. I’m sorry.”
At first, Amaya was quiet, looking down at her lap. Will imagined he’d upset her and prepared for a verbal lashing, but her next words defied expectation.
“Even if you did let me go, I can’t go home.”
Amaya’s shoulders slumped forward, her eyes downcast. She looked hopelessly deflated. Will fought the temptation to touch her and offer some form of tangible human comfort. He instantly understood her line of thinking without her having to explain.
She explained anyway.
“That attack was . . .” Amaya shook her head. “I’m a target. My best friend died when Corsair came to Sorrento, and if I go back, who’s to say my father won’t be next? I can’t lose him, too.” Her voice quivered, a heartrending vibrato that wormed its way into the calloused parts of Will’s heart.
“What I don’t understand,” she continued, “is why you didn’t hand me over. The Skyvault can’t be worth this.”
If she expected it to be a difficult question, she was wrong.
“Two reasons. The first is, we need you to find the Skyvault,” Will said. “It might not seem worth it to you, but it’s important.”
“You think Ronan Pearce is really in there?”
“I know it sounds farfetched, but Graven believes it. And if he’s right, then we need to get to Pearce first.”
“What’s the second reason?”
Will hesitated. “The second reason is . . . you’re innocent. You didn’t ask for this, you were dragged into it. I know what that’s like. And you’re smart not to go home—Graven will raze Sorrento to the ground if you give him a reason.”
He looked at her, the corners of his lips twitching up in a slight smile. “Anyway. We have a common enemy, and I’ve decided I’m willing to be your ally instead of your captor.”
“You’re still a Sky Lord,” she said, staring at her lap.
Will heard all the words she didn’t say: Vicious. Thief. Scoundrel. Pirate. He couldn’t blame her for thinking that after what she’d just seen in that book. But he wore the labels like armor.
“It might not be a bad idea to keep a Sky Lord in your corner.”
“Not Graven, though.”
“Obviously not.”
She bit her lip to conceal a smile, and something about the glimmer in her eyes made Will’s chest tighten. “You really want to be in my corner?”
“I do.” He let his words marinate for his benefit as much as hers. “For as long as you’re on my ship, you’re under my protection. All I ask is that you follow my orders like the rest of the crew. Think you can manage that?”
She met his gaze for a beat, then abruptly tore it away.
“I . . . thank you. Yes. Deal.”