Chapter 21
They caught the trade winds west, intending to head around the north coast of Lasland.
If they could circumvent the blockade, they had a chance to get back to familiar waters.
The mercenaries were nowhere to be seen, and Zanta felt like they’d finally slipped the noose of these past weeks of strange happenings.
For a few days at least, Zanta and her crew were free again.
Until the Lonesome caught up. Sabriye spotted it before they even had the Laslandish coast in sight.
It wasn’t as damaged as Zanta had hoped, but the Marigold wasn’t beside it.
It bore down on them quickly, and fired several shots off the Monsoon’s bow, harrying them until they were forced to turn north instead.
Truthfully, Zanta was almost glad for the distraction. It kept her from thinking about Nia.
The next morning Zanta stepped, yawning, into the crisp dawn air.
The days had already given way to summer heat this far south, but the mornings still belonged to spring.
Zanta stopped short on the top step, yawn aborted, leaving an unfinished feeling in the back of her throat.
The orange disk of the sun crested the horizon, painting bright stripes on the sea and sky, and silhouetting a lone figure.
Nia sat with her skirts tucked around her legs, chin resting on her folded arms on the rail.
Her hair shone rose gold in the light, at peace with the morning and the sea.
She didn’t turn at the sound of Zanta’s footsteps, mesmerized watching the sun’s blush on the waves.
What Zanta could see of her profile held longing in every line.
Zanta drifted toward her a few steps before she stopped herself. What was Nia thinking about? Was she missing home? Wondering about the people she’d left behind?
Or was she wondering why Zanta had been avoiding her?
Zanta tore her eyes away from Nia’s beauty, guilt tightening her belly.
It had taken exactly one night for the weight of what she and Nia had done to fully settle onto her.
She’d been taken in by Nia’s vulnerable beauty in a moment when the adrenaline of battle still sang through her blood.
She could almost say she’d been bewitched, if she believed in that sort of thing.
The rational side of Zanta’s mind said that they’d done nothing wrong. She and Nia were grown women who'd let a storm of high emotion turn into physical passion. There was nothing wrong with that.
But the other side, the side that still loved and grieved Emilie, had already condemned the act. When Nia had seen her the next morning and smiled that bright, sunny smile, freckled nose wrinkling, and leaned in for a kiss, Zanta had run. And she’d been avoiding her ever since.
It had broken something in her to see Nia’s smile fade away, but Zanta couldn’t quite get past the overwhelming feeling that she’d cheated on Emilie.
“Captain?”
Zanta snapped from her reverie, realizing that she’d been gazing at Nia for much too long, tracing the slope of her nose, the curve of her neck limned in sunrise. Nia’s head snapped around at the sound. The helmsperson made their way down the steps and clapped Zanta on the shoulder.
“Been here since before dawn.” They nodded toward Nia, speaking quietly so she wouldn’t overhear. “Thought she might be fixing to jump again, so I kept an eye out. But she just watched the water.”
“Thank you.”
They shrugged. “All’s quiet with the mercs.”
Zanta nodded. The Lonesome maintained its place off their port side, still preventing them from turning west toward Lasland.
The helmsperson nodded and retreated below for a much needed rest.
“Zanta.”
Shit. Nia stalked toward her, soft face no longer wistful, but determined. Zanta retreated up the quarterdeck steps, but Nia only followed.
Shit, shit, shit. Zanta should’ve escaped below while she still had the chance. Now she was going to be trapped up here.
“Go check the lines,” Zanta murmured to the relief helmsman, and took the wheel from him. He took one look at Nia’s stormy expression and retreated down the opposite set of steps.
“Zanta!” Nia barked. Gods, she was so close. Zanta didn’t look at her.
“I’m busy.” She could practically hear Nia roll those bright green eyes.
“Busy avoiding me,” Nia scoffed. “Is it your habit to kidnap women, seduce them, then ignore them? Or am I special?”
The ire in her voice finally forced Zanta to look at her.
Color had risen high on her cheeks, her hands on her ample hips and a half scowl, half pout on her lips.
Gods, even like this, Zanta found her adorable.
She imagined how devastating Nia must look scolding wayward sailors at the inn.
Zanta wasn’t into degradation, but she could happily make an exception for this woman.
“You’re not special.”
Nia’s mouth dropped open in shock, and Zanta almost fumbled the wheel spokes when she realized how it sounded.
“No! I mean…” Zanta wanted to bash her own head against the wheel. “I don’t do this. I never do this.”
“So I am special.” Nia cocked an eyebrow.
Oh, she was being obstinate now. Why wasn’t Zanta annoyed?
“I didn’t kidnap or seduce you,” Zanta argued, trying to get back on track.
The eyebrow arched higher. “Eating me out on the floor of a storage room isn’t seducing?”
“Oh yes, you and your flirting and big teary eyes had nothing to do with that!” Zanta shot back.
“So it was pity that led your tongue to my cunt? How generous of you!” Both their voices climbed higher, and Zanta flinched. The morning shift would be making their way up soon, and she didn’t want to hash this out in front of them.
“Lower your voice!” Zanta snapped.
“Oh forgive me, Captain, for speaking out of turn. I forgot I’m not worthy of even a passing word, let alone a morning after kiss!” Nia’s voice dripped with venom, but her pale eyelashes darkened with tears. She whirled. “I’ll take my leave.”
“Wait!” Zanta caught her hand before she could think. Instead of wrenching away and storming off, Nia’s fingers tightened in hers.
“I’m sorry,” Zanta said.
“I don’t appreciate being ignored,” Nia sniffed. Some of the fight had gone out of her.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” Zanta tugged Nia a little closer. The guilt ate at her edges, but Zanta pushed it away. “I…It’s complicated.”
“Didn’t seem complicated when you were moaning my name,” Nia grumbled.
“Nia, I’m going to tell you something.”
Nia met her gaze, peridot sparkling in the growing light.
Zanta continued, “I had a fiancée, years ago. She…” Gods, how could Zanta describe the horror of Emilie’s death?
The way it had reshaped her whole life? “She died five years ago. I haven’t slept with another woman since, and what we did that night was overwhelming.
I felt guilty for betraying her.” Truth be told, she’d barely slept with men either.
She’d attempted with Rowan and been rejected.
Nia remained silent for a few seconds, processing, lips parted ever so slightly. Zanta bit her lower lip to keep from kissing her.
“What was her name?”
Even this felt like giving away so much. “Emilie.”
Nia looked away, toward the rising sun.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she finally said quietly. She crossed the arm not held by Zanta over her belly. Defensive.
“What?”
Their eyes met again, fingers tightening. “You said you felt guilty,” Nia said. “You don’t have to. You obviously still love her, but what we did doesn’t lessen that. It didn’t mean anything.”
Zanta tried to swallow her heart back down, but it stuck in her throat. “I…” Her words were arrested by Nia’s smile as she stepped closer.
“Guilt doesn’t look good on you, Captain.” She reached up to smooth the crease from between Zanta’s brows. “Go on loving her, but don’t feel bad that you're attracted to me. You deserve pleasure, and I can give you that. No strings attached.”
Oh. Why did it feel like a flock of deranged birds was trying to burst from Zanta’s throat? Nia was offering her an out. A way to assuage her guilt and still have Nia, for as long as that might last.
The morning shift was starting to filter onto the deck below. Nia tilted her head.
“What do you say, Captain?”