Icebound on the Valour

1. In which dreams are shattered and old fears are awakened

IN WHICH DREAMS ARE SHATTERED AND OLD FEARS ARE AWAKENED

Five tankards of ale were the perfect amount.

Hester had not had five.

She drained her eleventh tankard from the lofty height of the bar top and swayed, wondering if she had perhaps overdone it, then dismissed the thought.

From her vantage point on the bar, she surveyed the room.

The tavern was adorned with harpoons mounted on the walls, shining in the light filtering through the dusty windows.

The room was crowded with the sailors who had just returned from sea, and the locals swept up in the celebrations.

It had been so easy to carry on drinking until the sun rose.

And there, in his usual corner, Septimus. Brooding, as usual, and miles apart from the working men and women in his fine black jacket, gold buttons winking. He had more money than everyone here put together.

Hester smirked. Perhaps it was time to part him from some of it, especially as she didn’t have enough money to pay for the night’s drinks. She stamped her foot, almost toppling off the bar. The crowd fell quiet, all eyes on her.

“Charge it all to his tab!” She pointed a tattooed finger out across the room.

Septimus’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, but his irritatingly handsome face soon disappeared from Hester’s view as the crowd rose to their feet, cheering and clinking glasses.

A thrill ran down her spine. It was ever so easy to taunt him.

Ever so easy to get a rise from him. She never understood why he wore a constant scowl.

Why he took life oh-so-seriously when there was so much fun to be had.

“Hester, you didn’t,” Fliss hissed.

She looked down at her old friend, head swimming from the sudden movement. “Oh, but I did.”

Fliss rolled her eyes and reached out a hand, beckoning her down.

With a cackle, Hester grasped Fliss’s hand and hopped to the floor.

“You’ll thank me when we can afford to eat later.

” She dragged Fliss to the door, and they tumbled into the street, the crowd pushing and shoving to flee behind them.

Hester glanced back over her shoulder. Would he follow them?

Rage at her? Demand satisfaction? A cat-like smile spread over her face, and she slowed her pace.

The beamed houses, already looking as if they would topple over into the street, seemed to lean in further. Fliss yanked her down the busy pavement, Hester tripping over the cobbles.

Her friend shot her a glare and muttered, “I suppose you think that was funny?”

“It was the perfect end to a perfect night. Come on, what’s he going to do?” Hester wriggled against Fliss’s grip on her wrist, to no avail.

“There’s plenty he can do, and well you know it. You’re in trouble now, Hess.”

Hester hummed her agreement. It had always been that way between them, even in the orphanage; Hester would get into trouble, and Fliss would worry. “I’d do it all over again, dear Felicity. In fact, what are you doing this evening?”

“Nursing a headache, I’ll wager,” Fliss said, flicking black curls over her shoulder and loosening her grip. Hester dawdled along the street. Yes, a headache was definitely on the cards.

In the distance, the town hall clock rang nine times. It had been an age since they had stayed awake drinking all night. At least two weeks.

She checked again for any sign of Septimus. Imagined him barging his way through the crowds to get to her. But no, he was nowhere in sight. Hester slowed right down, and Fliss linked arms with her, attempting to hurry their pace.

“It’s almost as if you want him to catch up,” Fliss muttered as they reached the docks.

Hester grinned.

They staggered between the fishermen sewing nets and the sailors scurrying to prepare vessels for departure.

The gulls cawed, circling overhead, the smell of brine and the day’s catch fresh on the air.

They passed the boats tied alongside the quay until they reached the very last ship, a finely crafted three-masted barquentine.

She had the name VALOUR written in gold lettering along the stern, framed by three stars.

Recalling the last time she’d gotten this drunk and the swim that followed, Hester spread her arms wide and crossed the wooden gangplank, closely followed by Fliss.

She stumbled to the stern and down the companionway, into the cool belly of the ship, through the long, wood-panelled corridor that led to the living quarters.

“See you in a few hours,” Fliss said, disappearing into her cabin.

Hester sauntered to her own door. It was a shame he hadn’t caught up with her.

She longed for that little buzz that ran through her every time they had a shouting match.

He was so quick and clever with his insults, and she could give back as good as he gave.

She flung open the door to her cabin. The cosy little room was drenched in sunlight from the open window, her dressing table covered in books and charts, her—

“Good God!” She staggered back, the inebriated smile wiped from her face.

Septimus sat on the rumpled quilt of the bed with an ankle crossed over his knee, all bristling muscle and sapphire-blue eyes beneath a furrowed brow.

His black hair was tied back, a short beard framing the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the skin of which bore a deep golden tan.

He stood, the bed groaning, and pushed up his shirt sleeves to reveal tattooed forearms.

Hester leant against the doorframe. How had she doubted he’d come after her? Of course he would. She was especially impressed that he’d broken into her cabin. “Septimus!” She feigned surprise. “How did you manage to—"

“Get here before you? I know some shortcuts. And I’m not three sheets to the wind. Now. You owe me…” Quick as a hurricane, he took a bar tab from his trouser pocket and stabbed it to the wall next to her dressing table with a knife, “seventy-five gold coins.”

Hester narrowed her eyes, shoving her hands into her belt.

She had expected a verbal back and forth, not for him to stab her pride and joy.

Through her teeth she said, “It’s a funny old thing, Septimus, but I don’t have that amount of coin just lying around.

I’m sure you understand.” She was certain he did not.

Septimus took a step forwards, his muscular frame dwarfing her. “I want my money back. By Friday.”

Hester stood her ground, pushing away from the doorframe.

“Friday,” she repeated. If he wanted to play the game this way, she would retaliate in kind.

At a moment he least expected. A coy smile crept over her features as she imagined ways to pay him back for the knife in the wall. Oh, so many options.

“You are insufferable, Hester.” He stepped closer, face like thunder.

She scoffed and folded her arms. “Just because you’re used to everyone cowering in your presence, Pirate Lord.

” It was true, he ruled over the captains with an iron fist. One missed Guild payment and you were out, no second chances.

Little did he know they all collaborated in secret to ensure that never happened.

“You might live longer if you had the sense to fear me.”

That old chestnut. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Is that a threat? I fear nothing and no one. Not even you.” No, she was not afraid of this man.

Not after all she’d been through in her twenty-three years.

What could he do that was worse than she had already faced?

He was only five years her senior, yet acted like she was a child.

Septimus closed the small gap between them, a lock of dark hair falling from its tie. “Some say you’re a witch. Surely you’re afraid of the stake? One word from me, and you would be burning.”

She laughed. He was pulling out all the stops today.

His threats were as empty as her coin purse.

“A witch! I’d have turned you into a toad long ago if that were true, my lord.

You do realise witches aren’t real? Oh—to be a witch, wouldn’t that be fine?

” Hester fixed an insolent grin to her face.

Who had said she was a witch? She wasn’t aware of any such rumours.

He was trying to scare her, to anger her, and she couldn’t let that happen.

It was now especially important that she remained even-keeled.

Septimus paused, his eyes darkening. “I wonder then, what would make you afraid?”

“I told you, nothing. Perhaps you need your ears cleaning out?”

“Perhaps you need to stop kidding yourself.”

Hester barked a laugh. It was time to end this.

The exchange wasn’t going as she had expected.

He was clearly in a bad mood about something and taking it out on her.

“Surely you have someplace to be, my lord? Important matters to attend to?” She eyed his shining leather boots, raking her gaze up his black breeches, embroidered waistcoat and the fine jacket that lay on the bed—her bed—, gold buttons flaunting themselves at her.

“I have my respects to pay at Amery House.”

“Amery House?” What on Earth was he talking about? What respects would he be paying to Ernest Bailey?

He stilled, his frown softening. “You haven’t heard, have you?”

A lump rose in Hester’s throat, and she clutched the edge of the dressing table. She did not want to hear what he had to say next.

Respects.

Ernest.

Septimus lifted a hand, as if to touch her, to offer comfort, and she shifted back out of reach. “No.” It couldn’t be true. She swallowed against the tightening of her throat. “No.” She shook her head, backing out of the cabin until her back hit the wall of the corridor.

“Hester.”

He swam in her vision, eyes burning.