Chapter 19
“Stay alert. I’ll be back soon.”
Zanta didn’t stay to see Sabriye’s nod. The Monsoon had left the two mercenary ships far behind, and still wove a circumspect course to throw off their trail. They weren’t out of danger yet, but it was all that could be done for now.
Zanta stalked belowdecks. Now that the danger had passed, her thoughts turned back to the vacant, haunted look on Nia’s face.
Worry still thrummed in her chest, a persistent and unfamiliar beat that said, Nia.
Nia. I have to find Nia. She did not know what she would do when she found her.
Only needed to know that she was safe. They’d escaped the mercenaries for now, through sheer luck.
But they’d need to put enough distance between them, or find a place to hide before morning.
She didn’t know why they were following the Monsoon so doggedly.
Yes, Zanta and her crew were pirates, but it seemed like more than that.
Why would mercenaries connected to Marra risk pursuing her through Talvan-controlled waters?
Why follow her all the way from Roseforte, if indeed these ships had been involved in the attack?
She was successful, but she rarely ventured further north than Lasland’s south coast. She was of no consequence to them, surely.
Unless she had something on board they wanted.
Or someone.
The thought stopped Zanta short in the hallway.
Who was Nia, really? Zanta had been able to tease little snippets out of her here and there.
Nia had lived on a ship as a child. Nia was an orphan.
Nia watched the sea like she longed for it.
And Zanta knew other things about her too.
She was kind, hardworking, flirtatious. She had a joyous, insatiable appetite for life.
Yet that strange melancholy was a part of her too, and it tickled Zanta’s curiosity.
Despite all this, Zanta knew next to nothing about who Nia was beyond the confines of the Monsoon. Could she be in trouble with the mercenaries somehow? But what would warrant sending several ships after her right to their greatest enemy’s doorstep?
Zanta shook her head, trying to dislodge this line of suspicion. Right now, all she had to do was find Nia.
She hurried down the hall and stopped in front of the room Nia had been staying in. That thrum of worry still beat in her chest. She knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again. “Nia? It’s over, you can come out now.”
No answer. Zanta’s chest tightened. Nia couldn’t have fallen asleep. Not with that ruckus going on outside. Had she been hurt somehow? Zanta tried the handle, and the door swung open easily, revealing a dark room.
A dark, empty room.
The thrum loudened. Insistent. A flash of memory assaulted Zanta’s mind. An image of Nia climbing the rail of the Monsoon. Desperate. Ready to jump into Roseforte Harbor. What if she’d actually done it this time? Or been hurt in the battle even after Zanta had sent her to hide?
Zanta turned from the empty doorway and ran.
“Nia!” Her voice sounded panicked, when just half an hour ago she’d been perfectly calm shouting orders in the middle of the attack. She opened the next door. Nothing. Then the next and the next, her panic mounting with every moment Nia didn’t appear.
She had to be here somewhere. Zanta’s foot hit something and sent it pinging against the wall.
She skidded to a halt, picking up one of Nia’s hairpins.
It had been on the floor in front of the storeroom her crew had jokingly dubbed the atelier.
Zanta tucked the pin into her pocket and wrenched the door open.
Nothing. She made to move on to the next, then paused.
The room was as dark as the others, but a beam of orange light from the hall fell through the doorway and illuminated the large wardrobe on the opposite wall, Zanta’s own shadow blotting its doors.
It would be a terrible place to hide. Obvious. No avenue for escape if you were found. There were loads of better hidey-holes on board the Monsoon. But Nia wouldn’t know any of those. She’d only been on board for a few weeks and was not yet fully trusted. Not permanent.
No, that wasn’t true. Zanta did trust her. They were well on their way to becoming friends.
Zanta stepped over the threshold, closing the door partway behind her so a small sliver of light illuminated her path.
“Nia?” she called softly. No answer. She crossed the room quickly. A swath of rich fabric was caught in the bottom of the door. She knelt, not wanting to loom over the frightened woman if she was indeed in the wardrobe.
“Nia?” She reached for the door handles.
The wardrobe’s doors burst open, nearly whacking Zanta in the face.
Nia half fell, half lunged out in their wake.
For a split second, Zanta tensed for an attack.
Maybe Nia thought she was an enemy—but the tavern maid’s strong arms wrapped tight around her waist, Nia’s face buried into her shoulder.
They swayed back with the force of her exit, almost toppling to the floor.
“Zan—” A choked sob drowned the rest, Nia’s voice muffled where her face pressed into Zanta’s chest.
Zanta’s arms came up to clutch Nia to her, relief edging out her panic. Nia was here, alive, and seemingly unharmed despite her fright.
They stayed like that for long moments, clinging to one another.
Zanta on her knees and Nia sprawled half in, half out of the wardrobe.
Nia must have been clutching the noble’s dress as she hid, for it was now trapped between them, subject to Nia’s tears and the crush of their bodies.
The voluminous skirts piled around and under them like a drift of blown leaves.
“There, there.” Zanta had never been much good at comfort.
She patted Nia’s soft orange curls, perpetually falling out of their pins, and experienced a stab of something foreign through her chest. Affection, maybe?
Or was it merely relief that her stubborn charge had survived that harrowing brush with the mercenaries?
She tried to clamp it down. Now was not the time to puzzle over anything like that. It was clear the Monsoon was being hunted, and the frightened, shivering woman in her arms might have something to do with it.
Nia’s shaking shoulders stilled, her arms loosening their hold. Zanta found herself reluctant to let go. But she let Nia sit back.
The sliver of light from the hall sliced across her face, illuminating one pale green eye, and a stretch of tear-reddened, freckled cheek, a loose lock of hair falling across it.
Oh. She was beautiful like this. Her bawdy confidence washed away with her tears, leaving only the raw, unmasked woman in its wake.
All questions about Nia’s potential involvement with the mercenaries fled Zanta’s mind. She held her breath.
“I’m…sorry,” Nia hiccupped, scrubbing her sleeve across her nose in a very unladylike manner.
“I don’t know what came over me. It’s just…
” She stopped herself, collecting the words she’d been about to say and stowing them away inside herself.
Her eyes rose to meet Zanta’s shadowed face. “The battle is over then? We won?”
Zanta let go of her breath. “We escaped. They might come after us again.”
Nia’s eyes widened. “What do they want?”
The question seemed genuine, and Zanta dearly wanted to believe it was, that Nia had nothing to do with the attack.
“I don’t know,” she answered sincerely. She searched Nia’s expression. But again, was caught by her loveliness in the half light. “Are you okay?” She couldn’t stop herself from reaching up to tuck that copper curl behind Nia’s ear.
Nia stilled. “I…I’m fine.” She seemed to take stock of Zanta for the first time. “Are you injured? It sounded…” Her words trailed off as Zanta’s hand moved to cup the side of her face.
“I’m fine,” Zanta assured her. By the Serpents, what was Zanta doing? Nia had just been crying. Zanta had just fought for their lives. And yet, in the beat of quiet, Nia leaned toward her ever so slightly. Zanta mirrored her movement and kissed her.
Nia made a small, pleading noise against her lips, her hand coming up to rest on Zanta’s shoulder. It was nothing like their first kiss, all full of lust and false passions. This was tender, almost reverent. Nia’s lips tasted of tears.
They broke apart, and Nia’s fingers snagged in the shoulder of Zanta’s shirt, as if to stop her from running away again.
But Zanta didn’t feel like running this time. Residual adrenaline from the battle coiled in her gut, mixing with the salty taste of Nia’s lips, the sight of her green eyes, confused yet open.
“Zanta, I—” Zanta pulled Nia to her, and their lips met again, more insistent this time.
Nia’s body shuddered, and she leaned into the kiss, her lips parting.
Warmth tingled across Zanta’s skin as Nia’s tongue slipped between her lips.
The tension in her core coiled tighter, and she pushed Nia against the back of the wardrobe, her hand moving down the side of Nia’s neck.
Nia arched into her touch, sighing as their kiss deepened.
Zanta wanted her, all of her. She disentangled the voluminous dress from between them and cast it away, barely breaking the kiss.
She slotted her knee between Nia’s thighs, pushing one of them gently to the side.
Nia’s hands wandered to the hem of Zanta’s sweat-soaked shirt, pushing it up her torso and framing her waist. Zanta kissed a trail down her neck to her breasts and buried her face between them.
Gods, Nia was so soft and lovely. Zanta inhaled her scent as the pillowy mounds pushed at her cheeks with every breath.
Zanta’s knee hitched higher, brushing the junction between Nia’s thighs. Nia’s hips twitched in response, grinding her still-clothed sex against the muscles of Zanta’s thigh. She groaned, her hands moving to cup Zanta’s ass and keep her there.
“Gods, I want you,” Nia gasped. Zanta looked up, finding Nia’s face flushed with arousal. Cheeks pink. Lips kiss-bitten.