Chapter 11
Abead of sweat trickled down the center of Nia’s back as she ladled spiced stew made from chicken and root vegetables into a sailor’s waiting bowl.
He smiled a gap-toothed grin and thanked her politely in the Yarenen language, of which her miniscule vocabulary was quickly expanding.
She said the appropriate “you’re welcome” back—no doubt terribly pronounced and accented—but the sailor winked anyway before moving on to get a round of hard flatbread from Laurent.
Laurent smiled at her as well, proud of his new pupil.
Over the past few days, when she wasn’t slipping away to search the ship and coming up empty, Nia had learned he was from the islands between Yarene and Souna, and older than Nia had initially thought, his shoulder-length black curls shot through with gray.
He and Nia had become fast friends. From the first time he’d teased her for under spicing the food, and when she’d caught him ogling one of the particularly well-muscled sailors, they’d joked and gossiped the days away as the Monsoon continued its course away from Roseforte and whatever trouble was brewing after the attack.
“I hope Laurent isn’t working you too hard.”
Nia looked up from her task to see Splinter Zanta holding out two painted porcelain bowls. Her hair was now unbraided, but for a few beaded strands, and was pulled back from her face by a green scarf.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” Nia ladled the bowls full of heaping portions, steam laden with saffron, cumin, and some other spices she didn’t remember the names of curling up between them.
“Come eat with me,” Zanta said, gesturing with one of the bowls toward a small table in the corner of the mess.
“Are you asking me to abandon my post, Captain?” Nia teased.
“I’m sure Laurent won’t mind. Will you?” They both looked to where the cook was not-so-subtly eavesdropping.
“By all means, give the captain what she wants.” He smiled and took the ladle from Nia’s hand, replacing it with two rounds of flatbread coated in olive oil and salt. Leaning close, he added conspiratorially, “She’s quite the tyrant when she doesn’t get her way.”
“Is that so?” Nia smirked, as Zanta rolled her eyes.
Nia stepped away from the steaming stewpot and reached back to untie her apron with one hand, holding the bread in the other.
She didn’t miss how closely Zanta watched her.
Was it mistrust or interest? Nia pushed her ample chest out a little more as she teased out the knot at the small of her back.
She’d barely seen Zanta around the ship since being assigned to the galley. When they sat down at the table, Zanta pushed one of the bowls across to her.
“How are you settling in?” Zanta asked, scooping up a large bite of stew with a section of flatbread and chewing ponderously.
“Well enough. I’ve lived on a ship before.”
“Have you?”
Shit. Nia shouldn’t have said that. She was becoming too comfortable here after just a few days.
More than a few times she’d found herself standing at the rail just watching the water, and feeling the salt spray on her face.
This ship, being so close to the sea again, had lulled her into a dangerous sense of home she hadn’t felt in years.
“As a child.” Nia fished a piece of chicken out of the yellowy-orange stew with a spoon and chewed slowly to avoid saying more.
She hadn’t quite mastered the Yarenen tradition of eating with bread-based utensils.
Zanta searched her face for a moment, then, seeming to sense Nia’s reluctance to speak more on the matter, pivoted to other topics.
She asked which crew members Nia had met thus far and if she’d been seasick, and before Nia knew it, her spoon scraped the bottom of her bowl.
“You must be hot working in that dress all the time,” Zanta said. Her eyes traveled down the curve of Nia’s shoulder, and Nia thought they lingered on her bustline for just a moment too long before returning to her face.
Well, she was hot now with Zanta’s lovely brown eyes on her.
Did Zanta realize what she was doing, how Nia was reacting to just a simple lingering look?
Why was she being so reactive anyway? Because Zanta was a beautiful woman seemingly showing interest after Nia had been with only men for so long?
Or because Nia had already decided to try and seduce her if she couldn’t find the chest elsewhere?
Nia looked down at the dress she’d been wearing since the day she’d first been dragged onto the Monsoon.
It was definitely getting to the point of needing laundering, but she had nothing to change into.
Especially nothing she could go prancing around a ship full of pirates in.
Nia lifted the neckline of her dress, noting how the movement pulled Zanta’s eyes down, and gave the fabric a delicate sniff.
She wrinkled her nose purposely, though the clothes smelled more of cooking than sweat, no worse than any other sea dog on board.
“I could use a change of clothes, I suppose.”
“Come on, then.” Leaving their empty dishes on the table, Zanta led her to the hall.
Nia threw an apologetic look toward Laurent as the door swung closed behind her.
She followed Zanta to a storeroom close to the one that had been converted to her room.
It was evening now, and the only light in the windowless room came from the deck prisms refracting the hazy almost-sunset over chests lining one wall and a wardrobe against the back.
Nia hadn’t explored this room yet, and her eyes quickly scanned over the chests. None were the small iron box she was looking for, but a few were big enough to conceal it. Then again, if Zanta had somehow managed to open it—which Nia both dreaded and doubted—the treasure could be almost anywhere.
“See if you can find something that will fit.” Zanta lifted the lid of the closest chest and began riffling through a stack of folded clothes and blankets within. Nia drifted further into the room, drawn by the tall wardrobe at the back.
“How about this?” The captain held up a pair of rough brown trousers that tied at the waist with a drawstring. Nia scrunched up her nose in distaste.
“What, you’re jealous you’re no longer the prettiest girl on your own ship, so you’re going to make me wear rags?” Nia quipped. She opened the wardrobe, revealing several hanging gowns and practical dresses, most of which were definitely too small. “Ah, this is more my speed.”
She heard Zanta scoff behind her. “These aren’t rags. Trousers are much more practical for working on a ship.”
“It’s not like I’m going to be climbing the ratlines,” Nia said without turning around.
Her eyes roved over the dresses. Only three looked likely to fit her.
An emerald silk gown that would set off her red hair fetchingly, but was definitely not suitable to wear on a ship.
An austere ensemble consisting of a faded white blouse and an even more faded gray skirt that may once have been black.
And a blue dress that was both practical and not completely drab.
“At least try the trousers,” Zanta said.
“Find some that aren’t brown or gray, and I’ll consider it.” Nia swept the skirts in the wardrobe aside. They did not reveal a concealed iron chest, nor did the corners or back of the wardrobe give away any clues to a false bottom or back. She heard Zanta rummaging through more chests behind her.
Well, it was one more place to check off her mental list of where the treasure was not. A small thread of unease thickened in the pit of her stomach. What if she couldn’t find it? Would she get dumped back on land and have to start her life over once again?
“Why do you have all these dresses if you don’t like them?” Nia asked to distract herself.
“Some belong to the crew. Others we couldn’t manage to sell off for what they’re worth. And some are for disguises,” Zanta said. “How about these?”
Nia found Zanta kneeling beside a second chest, holding up a pair of puffy-legged burgundy trousers with vertical slashes of saffron yellow.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“They’re not brown!” Zanta said brightly, and Nia got the distinct impression she’d purposely found the ugliest pair possible just to spite her.
“They’re hardly more practical than a skirt,” Nia protested. “Who’d you steal those off of? A court jester?”
“You said you’d consider it.” Zanta’s lower lip stuck out slightly.
Well shit, with Zanta pouting on her knees, looking up at Nia with those big brown eyes, how could she say no?
“Fine, hand them over.” Nia began to unlace the front of her dress to get at the skirt fastenings beneath.
“What are you doing?” Zanta had stood to hand her the trousers, but now averted her gaze, as if shy to see Nia undressing.
“Trying on the stupid trousers like you wanted,” Nia replied innocently, secretly pleased she was having this effect on the other woman.
She shucked off the outer layer of her dress and dropped it to the bottom of the wardrobe.
Which disappointingly did not sound hollow when the heap of fabric landed on it.
“I can’t very well do that with all this nonsense on.
” She began undoing the ties of the inner skirt.
“Hurry up, then.” Was that a slight blush rising to her cheeks? Nia dropped the inner skirt and stepped out of it toward the blushing captain, wearing only her chemise, stays, and underwear.
“Hand them over.”
Zanta looked up, startled at Nia’s sudden closeness.
Her eyes caught first on the freckled tops of Nia’s full breasts, half spilling over the top of her stays, then traveled down to her waist and ample hips.
Nia took the ridiculous trousers from her and stepped into them, shimmying a bit to fit them over her rounded thighs and buttocks.
Zanta hadn’t taken her eyes off her, as if mesmerized.
Nia fastened the trousers. They were clearly made for a man, and stretched taut over her thighs and butt where they were supposed to be loose.