Chapter 27 #2
“Now you’re here,” Will echoed. He was still holding her, the weight of his arm a steady reminder that she was safe.
He stroked her hair absentmindedly, twisting a damp strand around his finger.
Everywhere he touched, he awakened a myriad of senses Amaya had forgotten she’d put to sleep six months ago, distracting her from the conversation.
She nuzzled in toward his neck, wondering what it would be like to kiss him there. How much warmer she would be if he dared to touch her somewhere not covered by fabric or hair.
“But none of that explains why I found you half naked and freezing to death by the lake,” Will said.
“Oh, that.” Amaya worried her lip between her teeth. “I jumped.”
“You jumped?”
“I’ve done it before. Camden and I used to go cliff diving from there.”
“Cliff diving?” Will sat up straighter, looking at her with disbelief. “You?”
“Yes, me.” Amaya lifted her head and nudged him. “Why so surprised?”
“I shouldn’t be anymore.” He flicked Eagle Eye on her ear. “Airships, cliff diving, Aether. Maybe we should start calling you Bluebird.”
Amaya stuck her tongue out at him playfully. “Is that my pirate nickname?”
“Mm, not yet. Perhaps someday.”
Someday.
Now that she had her feet on solid ground, all Amaya wanted to do was take flight again. But that would require leaving her home and her father permanently, and declaring herself an enemy of Veridian. There was no version of this where she got everything she wanted.
She let out a heavy sigh, releasing more of her weight to rest on Will.
He tilted his head to look down at her. “What?”
“Just thinking.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “What about?”
“Victor—the lieutenant. We’ve been courting for about six months now,” she admitted. It shouldn’t feel like such a shameful secret, but after his actions at Starcrest, being associated with him was no longer irritating, it was mortifying. “My father arranged it. We’re expected to marry.”
Will shifted his position, and his muscles tensed beneath Amaya. “Well, that won’t do.”
Amaya turned. “Hm?”
“I’m not inclined to share my things, for one. For another, you realize I’m going to have to kill him.”
Before Amaya could even unpack the magnetic absurdity of that first statement and the way it sent a pool of fire straight to her core, she had to address the second.
“That’s a joke, right?”
When he didn’t confirm it, Amaya pulled away from him, incredulous. “Will. No.”
He had the audacity to look at her like she was the one being ridiculous.
“He shot one of my men, he stole their relics, and he’s holding them captive in that hellhole of a prison. And he—” Will cut himself off.
Amaya didn’t let herself imagine what he’d been about to say.
“That doesn’t mean you have to kill him.”
“It does if he stands in my way.”
“You can’t just . . . you can’t just kill people.”
Will’s eyes sparked, the distance between them expanding. She’d struck a nerve. “How do you think I got you off the Bitterwind? How do you think I fought off the Stormrunner?”
“But—”
“I’m a Sky Lord, Amaya. I didn’t earn that title by being squeamish about doing what needs to be done. Killing people who’ve caused harm is part of the job.”
Justice through violence.
That was how he’d described it in Vaelstead. He lived by that. Amaya didn’t . . . but was it horrible that it kind of made sense?
The pause between them stretched long and heavy.
“I’m going to grab something to eat,” Amaya stammered, wobbling as she stood. “Then we can go.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No—it’s fine. I’ll just be a minute.” Amaya needed a second to breathe, clear her thoughts. Without waiting for a response, she wandered out into the tavern barefoot.
The justice through violence mantra continued to bounce around her skull.
Kill or be killed was Will’s world. He’d saved her and protected his crew by killing. Why should Victor be spared when dozens of smugglers, enemy pirates, and fleetmen had already died at his hand?
Besides, there were people Amaya wanted to see dead, too. Namely, Graven and Vesper Corsair.
Amaya shook her head, repulsed at herself for trying to justify the idea of Will murdering Victor. But hadn’t she justified injuring him to escape Starcrest? The lines between right and wrong, which had once been so clear to her, blurred before her eyes.
With enough mental gymnastics and desensitization, anything could be justified. So where was the line?
Thinking about it made her stomach queasy. She stumbled to the counter in a daze.
“Miss?” the innkeeper asked, approaching with concern. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. Do you have any . . .”
Amaya paused, sensing eyes on her. She glanced to the left, and her sore muscles pulled taut.
A slender man with slick black hair and a deathly pallor sat in the corner. He wore a black leather coat, a clawed glove on his left hand, and black boots that meshed with the shadows under the table.
Silence and Ghost.
But Vesper Corsair didn’t look how Amaya remembered him. Vicious burns scarred his face on one side, stretching from a scorched hairline all the way down his neck and to his left hand. The melted flesh was raw and angry—a recent injury.
Corsair caught Amaya’s eye with a lethal glare, one raised eyebrow sending shivers down her spine.
Shit.
“Miss?” the innkeeper repeated.
Amaya shook her head. “Never mind, we’re fine. Thank you.”
She turned on her heels and dashed back to the room, fear injecting mobility into her limbs. Amaya checked over her shoulder to make sure Corsair wasn’t behind her—realizing she might not even know if he was—before ducking inside the bedroom and locking the door.
“Will,” she said, breathless. “It’s Corsair. Vesper Corsair is outside.”
Will’s body visibly tensed. “What? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! You think I don’t remember what Corsair looks like?” Amaya hugged her arms around her, drawing Will’s coat tight and tucking her hands under her arms so they wouldn’t tremble.
Will and Lockwood might not have nailed Graven down, but this was as good as confirmation that he was following them. Tracking them.
“Stay here,” Will said. He approached her and put his hands on either side of her face, his thumbs smoothing across her cheeks as if they hadn’t been at odds just moments before.
He kissed her forehead, hands trailing down her neck to the locket’s gold chain. He gently lifted it up and over her head, folding the pendant into a fist.
“I don’t care what you hear, or what you think you hear. Do not open this door. I’ll be right back.”