23. If There’s a Will, There’s a Wave
If There’s a Will, There’s a Wave
There’s uncertainty in the crew as Silas speaks to them. The offending ship sits in the bay, unmoving. Waiting.
The wait is the worst part, watching as the longboats from the other ship grow, minuscule specks in the distance turning into people with faces as they come closer.
We are in the same position as the merchant ship we raided weeks ago.
What do you do when you’re the one raising a white flag of surrender?
I’m not sure where to stand or what to do with my arms, so I cross and uncross them, anxiety piquing.
I watch as ten members of our crew disappear across the beach and through the trees. When I look back at Silas in confusion, he says nothing, just turns to the water, searching for something.
Astra paces on the sand as the longboats draw nearer.
We’re still missing half our crew, but when I peer out to the water and beach, there is no sign of them.
I wait with Silas on the sand, the half of the crew that’s still here—minus those aboard She Deceitful—standing at our backs, hands on their pistols and knives, shadows of uncertainty across their features.
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” I whisper, leaning toward Silas.
“I have this handled,” he tells me instead.
Frowning, I pivot to scan the beach. Charlotte and her crew rest at the tree line, crouched in wait, hands reaching for their own weapons as they watch us in silence.
Silas hasn’t pulled his shirt back on, so I sneak a peek at him, my gaze dragging over his skin.
My attention snags on the scar across his heart, then slides to the tattoo of a wave crashing on his left shoulder.
A slight sheen of sweat glistens across his tanned skin as the sun rises higher, and I recall us rolling in the sand yesterday, falling back into the warm ocean as we laughed and kissed.
What I wouldn’t give to be back there.
“You’re staring,” Silas whispers, tilting his head at me.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat, but Silas’s pinky brushes the back of my hand, there and then gone, and it reminds me of the way our hands touched on the rock on the beach all those weeks ago, back when I was still formulating a plan to steal his coat.
I smile, ducking my head to control the blush creeping up my neck.
“Do you want to hear a joke?” Eddie asks from somewhere to my right.
“Now is really not the time,” Mick says.
“Why was the crew’s morale low?” Eddie asks instead.
“Eddie,” Mick scolds.
There’s a long silence, and I think Eddie has given up on his joke for now, but then he sucks in a sharp breath and says, “They let themselves get tide down.”
The beach is silent for a beat. And then Silas chuckles, and I can’t help it, I laugh, too, and soon the whole crew—or what’s left of it—joins in.
We must look like a group of maniacs, holding our hands to our bellies, a cacophony of screeches and cackles as the other ship’s crew approaches the beach.
But Silas’s laughter cuts off too soon, and the rest of us fall silent in anticipation.
The incoming crew clamber out of their boats, wading through the water to the beach.
They are dressed much the same as we are, although some are in finer fabrics and richer colors.
The captain stands out among them, his cream brocade coat nearly blinding under the sun.
He has lacy frills at the edges of his sleeves, and his gold pants shimmer when the light catches them just so as he crosses the sand toward us.
His cleaner, fanciful clothes paired with the rather large ship makes me think they’re wealthy. Certainly wealthier than us.
The captain steps forward, his jacket flung back to show his hand resting on his pistol. He doesn’t appear to be a man who can fight hand to hand, let alone beat Silas’s speed with a pistol. No, he looks tired and haggard, at the game too long.
“Who is the captain here?” he demands.
I straighten with a frown and glance at Silas. How can he not see it? The way Silas stands, the jut of his chin, the narrowed eyes, the way the crew surrounds him—he is a captain, through and through. There is no mistaking him for anyone else.
Silas steps forward. “Captain Rivers, is it? I’m Captain Silas Night,” he says with a polite nod.
But where Silas is cordial, the other captain is hostile. “How did you know about our route? Who told you?”
Silas smiles as he folds his arms across his chest. “There’s a thing about pirates you may be unaware of. We always manage to get information, one way or another. Whether it be the whereabouts of a certain item or the route of a privateering ship, all we need is a bit of gold.”
My lips part in surprise, and I take in their crew again, their finer clothes. I see gold rings on Captain Rivers’s fingers, the decorative pistol gleaming at his side. And I knew privateers existed, but I never … I never imagined I would come face-to-face with them.
It is a part of history I never imagined myself tangled in, and now I am standing before the very people who worked with the colonizing powers, raiding and pillaging, not necessarily for themselves, but for the colonizers.
Who would willingly take part in this?
Right. The money. In the end, they’re just glorified pirates with papers.
Captain Rivers sneers. “Is that right?”
“When I got news of your route, I suspected where you were heading.” Silas looks at him pointedly.
“And I’m sure, when you saw my ship along your route, you thought sinking it was your best way of continuing unencumbered, but I fear you’ve stumbled upon not one but two pirate crews.
” He motions sidelong to Charlotte. She stands slowly from her spot under the trees, lips tugged down into a frown, but at the ready. Was she always a part of this?
“Now,” Silas says as he closes the distance. “You have very few options here. You can run, but you may have noticed my ship is blocking your path, and if I signal to my crew, you won’t be boarding your ship again.”
Captain Rivers bares his teeth.
“Your other option, of course,” Silas continues before the captain can interrupt, “is to bargain.”
Captain Rivers is undoubtedly furious, and I press my fist to my mouth to keep from laughing. This is Silas at his best. He is a brilliant captain who cares for his crew. And he has outmaneuvered this man in every way possible. This is the Silas I know and respect—the Silas that I care for.
When we came here, I didn’t know what he had planned.
All along, since that night in the tavern, he has been strategizing.
He gave no hint of the scheme he was running, and somehow, it has worked out in his favor.
Silas could not have predicted the storm, could not have known this would still be their route.
But he took a chance and called the right shots.
“My ship will destroy yours before you ever have the chance,” Captain Rivers warns.
Silas raises a brow.
“The crew,” I say, realization dawning. Silas and the other captain turn to me. Captain Rivers looks confused, but Silas only smiles. “The crew,” I say again, louder this time. I laugh, I can’t help it. “You brilliant man.”
I could kiss him.
He’s taking one hell of a chance, but if he can pull it off—
Captain Rivers’s face twists as he comes to the same conclusion, and we all swivel to the water, to the large ship bobbing there, just as a black flag emblazoned with a skull and dagger is raised above it.
Silas tilts his head at the other captain. “It would seem your ship is under my command, Captain Rivers.”
“That’s impossible,” he spits.
“I’d say it is very possible,” Charlotte says, walking up beside me. Her hand rests on her knife, her head tilted toward the man. “Far too many people have underestimated Captain Night, and it seems you just have as well.”
Silas watches unmoved as Captain Rivers reaches for his pistol, but Silas’s hand is already stopping him, knife out and blade pressed to the other man’s throat. I thought we were dead, and here we are on the beach, Silas in control.
Damn, Silas. Damn.
“Now, I need something from you before I decide what comes next.” Silas presses the blade in farther, and Captain Rivers’s crew reach for their pistols and knives, but Charlotte and the rest of She Deceitful’s crew already have their pistols cocked, loaded, and aimed.
“Willie Taylor,” Silas says slowly. “Which one of your crew is Willie Taylor?”
Astra steps forward in my periphery, drawing their knife from their belt. I shiver as they brush past me, determined. Their head is tilted down, hat shadowing their face as they stop behind Silas.
“It’s all right,” they say slowly.
They reach up and pull off the hat and then the scarf, their thick, long chestnut hair falling free. They glance past the crew and Captain Rivers, eyes cutting to a form in the back. The crew begins to part as Astra steps toward them.
They shrink away as if in horror, leaving nothing in Astra’s path as they creep through the sand toward the last man standing.
He’s unmoving, eyes wide, hair artfully disheveled.
He is a pretty thing, with red hair and a dreamy smile that has likely seduced many a person, and I can see what Astra saw in him once.
But it has been years, and Astra has been harboring this grudge since they were abandoned at the altar.
And maybe, in another time and place, Astra would humiliate him, make Willie Taylor feel worthless, but what use is that in a world built on the sea? There is only one way for revenge in this world.
And it is death.
“Astra,” the man, Willie, says. He holds up his hands in surrender, smiling even as he searches for a path out. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough.” They stop before him, knife twirling in their fingers. Astra has practiced these lines, practiced that move for this very moment, intent to put on a show.
“You don’t have to do this,” Willie Taylor says.
For a man who has lived most of his life at sea, he expects far too much of pirates.
“Captain!” Willie Taylor yells.
But his captain will not look at him. Willie Taylor sees it, too, and there is fear in the way he cowers when Astra grips his shirt in their hands. Captain Rivers’s crew make no move to help him, knowing what’s to come.
Astra has no care for fanfare. There’s no dramatic speech to be made as they pull away before slipping the knife into Willie Taylor’s gut with ease.
I can hear the squelch of the knife slicing through skin and muscle, hear as Astra twists the knife until it’s in up to the hilt.
I flinch at the sound, wanting to turn away, but Silas’s eyes are on me, waiting to see what I’ll do, how I’ll react.
I want to run. I’ve always been scared of facing things—danger, blood, my past. But I have nowhere else to go. My right foot takes half a step back, but I freeze, knowing there’s nothing I can do.
Lips peeled back, Astra steps away, taking the knife with them. Blood drips into the sand, splattering a gory image across the beach as it dribbles. “Thank you for teaching me to love myself,” they say as Willie Taylor drops to his knees.
I can’t look away.
“Thank you for teaching me that there’s so much more out there than marrying a sad, boring boy who makes empty promises.”
Willie Taylor presses his hands to his gut, bright red blood gushing from the wound and painting his fingers.
“Thank you,” Astra says with finality, “for giving me a second chance at life.” Willie Taylor falls face-first into the sand with a garbled sound, and the blood seeps in around him, pooling.
“Without you,” Astra says as they wipe the bloody blade on their thigh, “I would have never found the thing I love most.” Astra sheathes their dagger in their belt, turning to us. They smile wickedly, taking in the crew of She Deceitful. “This.”
Our crew rushes forward, their calls splitting through the silence. Someone nudges me, and they crowd around Astra, but I stay where I am, watching on.
I thought I could belong here. I thought I could just stay at Silas’s side and forget about returning to my time, but I am suddenly the outcast once more. I look across the crowd at Silas. He meets my eyes, the corner of his lips tilting, and though I want to smile, I can’t.
Much as I want it to be, this isn’t me.
I don’t belong.
I’ve been denying it for weeks, ever since I kissed him in that room, but I’m not a pirate. I never was, and we were fools to ever imagine otherwise.