Chapter 27
North. Always north. Nia glanced toward the Lonesome on the starboard side, still following at a distance, harrying them.
A few days ago, they’d swooped close and got a few shots off as Nia cowered in her room.
But it hadn’t lasted long enough for the memories to beset her.
And when she’d emerged again, they’d fallen back to a safe distance and the Monsoon’s course had skewed more northeast than due north.
And when Zanta had given orders to head east, to see if they could manage to reach the coast of Talva and hide in some cove, they’d been blocked from that too.
The Monsoon’s occupants hadn’t seen a smidgen of land since leaving Souna’s fringe islands behind.
It was almost as if the Lonesome was steering them toward some predestined place. Nia couldn’t figure out what their purpose was. What she did know, was that for all Zanta and her crew’s plans and machinations, they couldn’t manage to slip the Lonesome’s tail.
If they kept on this course, Nia could no longer deny their eventual destination. Their heading pointed straight toward the Sleeping Isles, and the ring of perpetual storms that guarded it.
The Lonesome was chasing her home, whether they knew it or not.
Nia smoothed her palms against her stomach.
Her nervous habit of checking for the silver key.
She’d debated leaving it hidden in the secret compartment in the dick box for safekeeping.
It wouldn’t do for Zanta to see it now that they were frequently undressing each other.
But decided against it when being without it for a day had almost sent her into a panic.
Besides, she’d need it if she ever managed to get into Zanta’s room.
Last night though, the Lonesome had dropped back even more.
Maybe to regroup and confer with the Marigold, which they hadn’t seen in a while.
A pit had opened up beneath Nia’s ribs, filled with the reanimated corpses of her anxiety and hope.
No ship could pass through the Storm Ring unscathed.
The sea around the Sleeping Isles always demanded her price, one Nia was afraid she’d have to pay personally.
And after that, if they survived, she’d have to face her own people again.
“Oi! Nia! Hand me that ball of string, will ya?”
Nia snapped from her thoughts to find Colm hoisting a line of multicolored paper lanterns above her head, his bulk on the rope ladder blocking out some of the sunlight.
All around, the deck buzzed with activity.
Some pirates set up tables from the mess hall, tuned a Yarenen stringed instrument similar to a fiddle, and decorated.
While others trimmed the sails to try to press the advantage the Lonesome’s sudden distance had given them.
Tensions had been high ever since the Lonesome denied them their intended course, so now that they had a little breathing room, Laurent, Sabriye, and Nia had devised a plan to help the crew let off a little steam.
Tonight they were celebrating the summer solstice, and their captain’s birthday.
Nia picked up the string ball in question.
“I can’t exactly come up there in this!” she called up to Colm.
She wore her original peachy pink dress, freshly laundered.
It had been drying in the sun all day, fluttering from the rigging along with her underthings for all to see.
Now it felt warm and stiff against her skin.
“Got something else under there I should know about?” Colm teased with a wink.
Damn Laurent. He’d been after Colm for weeks. Did he tell him about the wooden dicks? When he finished cooking Zanta’s birthday feast, Nia was going to throttle him.
Then again, she couldn’t quite blame him for whatever pillow talk came out of his mouth after Colm’s dick had loosened it for him.
Nia planted her fists on her hips. “I do not know what you are referring to,” she said in her best approximation of Madame Durand’s sternness. She didn’t quite pull it off. “Do you want the string or not?”
A gust of wind kicked up, almost jerking the line of lanterns from Colm’s hand. “Yes, yes. Toss it.”
Nia did. It sailed right past Colm’s thick legs and splashed into the waves.
Colm almost fell off the ladder with giggles until Sabriye’s call of “Captain on deck!” interrupted him.
Finally. Sabriye had whisked Zanta away to “get her ready for the party” at midday, and it was nearly dinnertime now. Nia turned, eager, only for words to die in her throat.
Sabriye stepped out of the way, and the deck went silent.
Skirts swished around Zanta’s legs. The elegant teal dress from the wardrobe hugged her body from well-formed shoulder to generous hip, where an elegant rapier rested, before flaring out around her legs.
Some of the embroidery was missing. No doubt semi-precious gems, cut and sold when the pirates had acquired the gown.
But it was all the more beautiful for the simplicity.
She took Nia’s breath away.
“Well?” Zanta called, long gold earrings tinkling as she moved her head, brushing the elegant column of her neck.
“Haven’t you ever seen a woman in a dress before?
” The silence cracked, as if her words had broken them all from a momentary spell.
The preparations took on a frantic pace, rushing to finish before dinner, even as crew members called birthday congratulations and compliments to their captain.
Nia didn’t move, still bewitched by the captain’s beauty. Her skin heated as Zanta’s gaze landed on her.
“Dinner is served!” Laurent burst from below with several other crew members, bearing dish after dish of steaming, fragrant food.
Nia really should’ve been helping him, but Laurent had insisted she pretty herself up for the party instead.
He must have managed a moment to do the same, for he wore loose pants, a sleeveless caftan, and kohl and a few artful smears of paint around his eyes.
A small cheer went up among the crew as they set the platters on the tables, and Nia was quickly swept away in the tide of hungry pirates.
She ended up seated precariously between Colm and Laurent at a different table entirely from Zanta. Food was served. Delicious as always, and she added her voice to the wash of compliments toward Laurent who smiled and preened and encouraged them all to praise him more.
They all fell into easy chatter between bites of food, and Nia surrendered herself to it, barely even hearing the shameless flirting Colm and Laurent volleyed across her. Her cheeks still felt warm, and she found her gaze drifting again and again to the other table.
Zanta sat easily at the head of the long table, presiding over her crew like a queen.
Whenever she spoke, all within earshot turned their heads and listened.
They leaned forward to hear the words falling from the lips Nia so desperately yearned to kiss.
Nia’s mouth practically watered as she imagined crawling beneath the feasting table to indulge in a feast of her own beneath Zanta’s skirts.
Deep brown eyes rose to meet hers, and Nia’s heart ached and sang with sweet chords of music.
Zanta smiled, head tilting, before she looked away.
The music continued to ring in Nia’s ears until she realized the crew had struck up their instruments.
The fiddle-like Yarenen string instrument, a drum, a flute, and something that looked like a pan flute.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the spell Zanta had her under.
Why should she lose her head because the woman she was sleeping with, the woman she was using to get to her treasure, put on a dress and a little rouge and kohl?
Nia wasn’t some blushing virgin. She and Zanta had been sleeping together almost every day since Zanta had called Emilie’s name in the pantry.
She didn’t love Nia. They hadn’t even spent a night together.
Nor, frustratingly, had Nia been allowed into the captain’s quarters.
It had been all quick and knee-buckling trysts in storerooms and alcoves.
Nia’s chest grew tight, ribs embracing her lungs like a crushing cage. She turned to tell Laurent she needed air, only to find him in Colm’s lap with his caftan undone, feeding the bigger man bits of food and whispering some rather filthy things in his ear.
“Are you having a good time?”
Nia practically jumped out of her skin at the sultry voice in her own ear. Zanta’s warm breath sent goosebumps across her neck. Nia allowed a split second to compose herself.
“That question is better posed to you, birthday girl…” She trailed off, wrinkling her nose with a giggle. “Birthday captain.”
“Dance with me.” Zanta took her hand, and Nia found herself being tugged onto a clear section of deck where other pirates already twirled to the lively music, all of them—but for Nia—armed, in case the Lonesome decided to take advantage of their celebration.
Zanta spun Nia under her arm, then pulled her close by the waist. Nia almost lost her breath, but there was no time for that.
Zanta led her in a series of unfamiliar steps that had them both giggling and tripping over their own feet.
Everything passed in a blur, the rest of the crew melding into color and sound until it was only her and Zanta and their bodies moving together, timeless but for the measure of their breath.
Eventually, the riotous music slowed and so did they. Their skirts, pink and blue like the meeting of sunset and sea, swished against each other as they swayed. Zanta’s breasts heaved against her bodice.
“I thought you didn’t like dresses,” Nia said, when she’d caught her breath.
“I never said that. I said they were impractical for a pirate ship.”