Chapter 17
The north coast of Lasland appeared on the horizon, craggy as a toad.
The lookout whistled down from the crow’s nest to alert them, and Nephele—who liked to sit up there and keep the crew company, especially if they had food—took to the air with a screech, flying ahead as if to scout the Siren Song’s way to safe harbor.
Unfortunately for her, Rowan planned to turn east toward Souna, and from there, skim the coast down to the Sunrise Sea, Zanta’s usual stomping grounds.
The small dot that was Nephele grew even smaller, and eventually disappeared into the distance.
They would have to put into port at some point to gather information on the whereabouts of the Monsoon and possibly resupply.
But at least they were sailing away from Kefrye and hopefully Shaw.
Rowan was well aware that this plan was ultimately a foolish one, but Yves’s immediate insistence that he should retreat back to Illusion like a gutless worm had rubbed him the wrong way and brought out a stubbornness to rival even Fox’s obstinance.
Now Rowan was determined to see his decision through. Not only to warn Zanta of the trouble coming her way, but also to prove Yves wrong and force him to apologize for once. As much as Rowan loved Yves’s domineering manner in the bedroom, he did not appreciate it in other aspects of their lives.
Rowan would never admit out loud that leaving things the way he had with Yves unsettled him, which in turn made him miss the bastard all the more.
If Yves just apologized and agreed to help him, or at least not hinder him, Rowan would consider forgiveness.
But Yves was probably well on his way in the opposite direction, ready to stalk the deep waters once again.
Being parted from Yves in anger reminded Rowan of how he had fled from Illusion, determined to never see him again.
This fight was not quite so severe, and Rowan regretted leaving his wedding ring behind and what that might mean for Yves’s volatile mood.
Last time, Yves had marauded across the seas with a ferocity that terrified even other pirates.
What would he do this time? Sink a dozen ships and pillage a dozen more? Raid the Marran coast?
Rowan contemplated the gray sky where Nephele had disappeared.
Never mind that Yves’s own actions would put an even bigger price on his already expensive head.
How was being hunted by Warrick any different than what they usually got up to?
It wasn’t just Rowan who’d promised to be more careful—though he was definitely the more breakable of the two.
Rowan stilled, an unsettling thought forming.
Yves was obsessed with protecting Rowan to the point that he had to actively stop himself from locking Rowan up for his own good.
But seeing as Rowan’s stubbornness was sailing him toward further danger by placing both him and Zanta in one place, what better way to protect him from afar than by eliminating the threat?
What if he was going after Warrick?
A sharp whistle from the crow’s nest split the peaceful air.
The signal that they’d sighted a ship. Rowan spun, fear and anticipation that Warrick had already found them pounding through his blood.
He could see nothing of the other ship from this low vantage point.
He drew his own whistle from its place on his belt and piped up to the lookout.
Friend, foe, or prey?
The whistle came back. Unclear.
Great. A mystery ship behind and Lasland ahead. They were fast approaching land, and he would soon have to make the decision to keep with the plan and veer east toward Souna and Talva, where there would be a higher presence of enemy ships, or abandon the plan altogether.
He scaled the lines of the main mast till he was halfway up and settled on the yard. The tall masts of the other ship appeared over the hazy line of the horizon. The Siren Song had slowed as it neared the coast, and if the other ship was following, they were gaining.
Wind ruffled Rowan’s hair like a lover’s touch. He set the spyglass to his eye and peered at the other ship as it closed the distance. It was three-masted. Large as a warship. It ran up its colors, a white skull and tentacles on a dark blue field. The Kraken’s flag.
Rowan snatched the spyglass away from his eye. His heart lifted even as his stomach plummeted. Yves was not going after Warrick. He was coming after Rowan.
To what end? Forgiveness? Or had he decided to chase Rowan down and drag him back to the safety of Illusion after all?
A hawk’s screech drew Rowan’s eye back to the crow’s nest, where Nephele had returned to circle before diving down to perch beside Rowan, her sharp talons digging into the wooden yard.
“It’s the Kraken,” the lookout called, his voice carrying easily to Rowan’s new perch.
Rowan nodded but didn’t answer, his mind ticking through Yves’s possible motives while his heart and stomach battled it out over how to feel.
The lookout raised his own spyglass again and called down, “They’re hailing us. ”
So they were. The blue and yellow upright bars of a hailing flag had been run up the mast beneath Yves’s colors. Rowan raised the glass again, gaze roaming over the tentacle carvings on the hull.
“Want me to reply, Captain?” The lookout unfurled both the affirmative and negative signal flags.
Rowan’s insides still warred with each other, the weight of indecision paralyzing him.
Even if Yves was here to apologize—which was unlikely—Rowan was still mad.
This casual contact and his traitorous body’s eager response only heightened that.
He wasn’t some dog happy to heel to Yves’s beck and call.
He was the Ghost Hawk, and if Yves thought he could be forgiven so easily, Rowan would let him sweat it out.
The pad of Rowan’s thumb found the callus at the base of his ring finger, left there by his absent wedding band.
“No reply,” Rowan answered, “we’re ignoring them.”
May 19th, 1668
The straight razor glided across Rowan’s throat, slicing away the soft fuzz of stubble he’d let accumulate over the past few days.
Nephele’s talons clicked against her brass perch in the corner as she tore into a bilge rat the crew had caught for her breakfast. It was the third day since the blue and yellow hailing flag had flown atop the Kraken’s mast, and Rowan was holding strong.
He hoped his refusal to meet was making Yves dwell on his actions.
He’d made Rowan feel small. Like someone to be pushed around and sent off to hide.
Not like an equal. Rowan put up with a lot to love Yves, but he refused to be treated like a subordinate in his own marriage.
Now, the Siren Song skirted along the coast of Lasland, heading east and staying well enough away so as to not be seen as a threat to the coastal towns.
The same could not be said for the Kraken’s Fury.
While the Siren was small and quick and could pass herself off as a civilian vessel, the Kraken, with her great bulk, could not be mistaken for anything other than what she was: a vessel of power and violence.
And on top of that, Yves was doing nothing to hide.
The Kraken’s deep blue sails hung proud and full on her masts beneath the snapping skull and tentacle flag.
After it had become clear that Rowan was ignoring his overture, Yves had dropped the niceties.
There were no further attempts at communication.
Instead the Kraken dogged the Siren. Sometimes close and sometimes from afar.
But never close enough for Rowan to see Yves on deck, and never far enough to lose sight of them.
The Kraken courted a violent reaction, trying to bait Rowan into acknowledging them in any way.
Rowan grimaced at his reflection in the mirror, then schooled his face to stoicism so the razor wouldn’t catch on the raised scar tissue on his cheek.
He’d grown increasingly exasperated over the last few days.
Yes, he was being petty by refusing to acknowledge Yves, but was it not just as petty for Yves to match his energy and use his bigger ship to try and intimidate them into submission?
He should have come to Rowan hat in hand, an apology on those beautiful lips.
He should’ve decided to hail them again instead of matching Rowan’s obstinance with intimidation.
So they played a new game of cat and mouse now. One that would likely not end up with them in bed together this time. Who would break first and give in to the other’s silent demands?
A few times, Rowan had thought of running up the signal flag and getting it over with.
But his pride wouldn’t let him. Yves was just so infuriating.
He couldn’t help but give in to the anger Yves sparked in him.
He’d always played second fiddle to the Deep Water Demon as a pirate.
He refused to do the same as a man. Their relationship must stand on equal footing or not at all.
So for once, he would let Yves come begging.
The tearing of rat flesh accompanied the tink of his blade on the edge of the soap bowl as he scraped suds and hair off.
These broody contemplations were interrupted by a protesting shriek from Nephele when Fox burst into the room without knocking. He’d become even more comfortable in Rowan’s quarters the past few weeks, still creeping in most nights to climb into Rowan’s bed just to have someone next to him.
“They’ve signaled!” Fox declared, almost giddy, as if the standoff between the two captains was a dramatic bit of theater that had finally come to fruition.
Rowan hastily set the razor down and wiped the soap from his face with a towel.
“What flag?”
Fox made a face, and crossed the room to make little soothing noises at the disgruntled hawk. “He wants to talk, dummy, what else?”