Chapter 11 #3
With one last thrust, Nia let out a cry, muffled by her fingers still in her mouth, and buried the dildo deep. Filling. Pleasure suffusing every inch of her. Her upper body collapsed against the crate, her core clenching around the delicious girth.
She wished she had someone to kiss. Someone to pull against her chest so they could listen to her pounding heart. But all she had was herself, and a box of polished wooden cocks to keep her company.
Zanta hurried straight to her quarters, not bothering to stop or answer when Sabriye tried to ask her a question.
Her mind was awhirl. The curtains of the alcove the crew used as an altar to La and Fa—the Yarenen sea serpents that were said to protect sailors—fluttered in Zanta’s wake.
She slammed the door of her quarters so hard the trinkets on her shelves rattled.
Zanta slumped onto the pile of floor cushions at the center of the room, staring at loose threads sticking out of the fabric that once held beads and shells. Her lips tingled, as if they were still imprinted with Nia’s kiss.
Zanta thought she had healed from Emilie’s death.
She’d hoped that the fact she’d only been with men since then was just a shift in preference, not a symptom of the lingering trauma of holding the love of her life in her arms as she died.
Of feeling Emilie’s blood pour through her fingers so that they would never quite feel clean again.
When Nia had finally acted on their flirtations and kissed her, Zanta’s mind had gone pleasantly blank, until Nia cupped her face just like Emilie used to, and the guilt had crashed into her like a tidal wave.
As if finally kissing another woman after all these years was a betrayal of the love she and Emilie had shared, and taking pleasure with another woman corrupted the memory of Emilie that she still held nestled like a fragile flame close to her heart.
A knock sounded on the door, and Zanta froze. Anticipation and trepidation both warred in her at the possibility it might be Nia. When she didn’t answer right away, Sabriye’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.
“Captain? You alright?”
Zanta opened her mouth to say, yes, she was fine, just tired, but nothing came out. She blinked, realizing a tear had slipped down her cheek to cling to her lip. She dashed it away, scrubbing off the imprint of Nia’s kiss with it.
“Come in,” she called, hoping the slight waver in her voice didn’t carry through the door. It opened, revealing the concerned face of her first mate. Sabriye closed the door softly behind her.
“Did something happen?” Sabriye asked. She didn’t approach, knowing from their many years of friendship that Zanta wasn’t the type of person who craved closeness when she was upset.
“Nothing, just…” Zanta didn’t want to tell Sabriye about the kiss. It felt like something she should keep close and secret. Not as close as she held Emilie’s memory, but still something just for her. “Something just reminded me of Emilie.”
Sabriye’s expression softened, but her brow remained furrowed. “Did you hear what I said in the hall?”
“No, what is it?” Zanta patted her cheeks delicately. Making sure no more tears had fallen. It was late, but the job of a captain was never done, even for a pirate.
“We’re being followed.”
Sure enough, when Zanta made it to the deck and raised the spyglass to the encroaching night, there were a pair of ships clearly following in the Monsoon’s wake.
Not close enough to make out their names, but closer than she liked any ship to be that wasn’t friend or prey.
These two looked suspiciously like they’d broken off from the small fleet that had attacked Roseforte, and that would mean the Monsoon herself was the prey.
She lowered the spyglass, and the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach quieted, pushed back in the face of an opportunity to do what she did best: captain her ship.
“How long?”
“Spotted them an hour ago, but they’ve been closing in, Captain,” the lookout said. “Thought we saw them a few days ago too.”
So while Zanta had been dallying and exchanging flirtations with Nia, some upstart captains had caught their scent and decided to pursue. Zanta scowled and looked to Sabriye. “Our bearings?”
“Smack-dab between Fontaine Island and Yellow Isle. Heading southwest,” Sabriye rattled off.
Two islands in the string of Talvan-controlled lands between Souna and Lasland.
Not the worst place to be chased, yet far from ideal.
It would take several days to get out from between them and into the Center Sea.
From there, they could run south to Yarenen waters where they were more comfortable and could lose their pursuers more easily.
“You said they were gaining on us?” Zanta asked the lookout.
The lookout pursed their lips. “Definitely closer than they were before. Whether they can actually catch us, I’m not sure.
” If these two ships really were chasing them, Zanta doubted they’d allow her the time to get back to her own familiar hunting grounds.
But what else was she to do? It wasn’t as if turning to fight was an option either. Two against one.
“Stay the course,” she ordered Sabriye. “But put on some speed. Maybe we can put some distance between us and really see if they can catch up.”
“Aye, Captain.”
It was a solid plan. Not bold but not conservative either. Yet a sour weight settled in Zanta’s stomach, a premonition that something had shifted and she was in for a world of trouble she could not yet see.