Chapter Twelve
“Since I’m stealing the captain’s daughter, Rafe and Lady Carmine are proper burned,” Echo explained as they stood up.
They sauntered over to the wardrobe and threw both doors open.
“Pity, I liked being a famous courtesan, even if I was my only customer.” They began sorting through the clothes inside, examining the skirts and fingering the seams. “Oh well, I can adjust the glamour in some of these, so they’ll still be good for something.
Here, put this on.” They hefted a dress from one of the hangers and tossed it over the back of the couch.
“Will it make me look like … Lady Carmine?” Emmaline asked. She’d been about to say ‘you’, but that didn’t feel quite right, since the current version of Echo looked nothing like the seductive lady.
Echo hummed and shrugged without further comment. They sorted through clothes, tossing some to the side while hanging others back up in the wardrobe.
Emmaline clutched the dress to her chest and scooted behind the dressing screen.
The fabric was a soft, elegant maroon. Even without trying it on, she could tell the bodice would be daringly low cut, like nothing she’d ever worn before.
Heat suffused her cheeks and she considered asking Echo for something more modest. Then again, perhaps a courtesan considered this modest since the fabric was opaque and the skirt would completely cover her legs.
She undressed quickly before she lost her nerve.
As she set her old clothes aside, her hands lingered on the fabric of her skirt.
She’d left her and her mother’s satchels on Everett’s ship.
Her medic kit, Mama’s supplies. Unless she returned to her father, they were lost now.
This dress was the only thing she had left of home.
But her father’s men had seen her in it. The necklace changed her features, but it didn’t change her clothes. Anyone who looked closely enough might identify her, and Emmaline needed to leave the island without alerting her father.
Sighing, she set her dress aside and stepped into the one Echo had given her.
It would be a bit long, and a bit loose around the bodice, but hopefully it would add another layer to her disguise.
She slipped her arms into the three-quarter sleeves, then reached behind her to tighten the ties.
As she did, something felt … off. Oddly tight and full.
She looked down at herself and gasped. “Rafe!”
From the other side of the dressing screen came a barely suppressed giggle. “If you’re going to call my name, I’d prefer it’d be one for a character I didn’t just kill.”
Emmaline stomped out from behind the dressing screen, arms crossed over the plump, pillowy breasts spilling out of the bodice. “Give me something else,” she demanded, glowering at the wardrobe.
“Sorry, princess, but all of them have that enchantment,” Echo explained, hazel eyes dancing with delight. They cupped their hands in front of their own flat chest. “How else do you think I’m going to please my customers when I don’t have any natural assets?”
Emmaline’s lips pinched in a tight, displeased line. “I’ve told you not to call me princess.”
“Should I call you queen instead?” they asked, waggling their eyebrows. “Since you’re on such good terms with a king and all. Are we expecting wedding bells in the future?”
Emmaline sputtered at the absurd suggestion. “Silas is my friend. There’s nothing like that between us.”
“Great, so I have less competition.”
“I … what?”
Echo placed their hands firmly on Emmaline’s shoulders.
She stared up at them, eyes wide, uncertain of what they intended to do next.
Then to her shock, they spun her sharply around and began tying up the laces of her dress.
“Don’t look so startled, Em. Who wouldn’t want to marry a king? If he’d have me, of course.”
The words took a moment to register for Emmaline, and once they did, she could hardly contain her laughter. “I highly doubt he has any interest in marrying a pirate!”
“Damn, there goes my retirement plan.” Echo finished lacing her into the dress, then guided her over to a mirror. “What do you think?”
Emmaline examined her reflection: pale blond curls; a thin, upturned nose; and a full, hourglass figure. Certainly no one would recognize her like this. “I look … different.”
“That’s the whole point,” Echo replied. “Hide you in plain sight.” They picked up a satchel and handed it to her.
“Carry this for me, will you? Can’t bear to leave everything behind, but I also can’t have both my hands full.
In case we have to fight to the death.” They swished their empty hand through the air, wielding an invisible sword against an imaginary opponent.
Their real sword was in a sheath at their side, slung low over one hip.
Emmaline hoped they wouldn’t have to use it.
She expected Echo to lead them down the stairs and out of the front of the establishment, but to her surprise, they walked over to the painted-shut window.
While Nico had struggled, the window opened easily under Echo’s hands.
“Warded,” they explained, tapping the sill to draw Emmaline’s attention to a small symbol carved into the wood.
Then they climbed through the window and disappeared over the edge.
Gasping, Emmaline leaned through the opening and searched the ground, expecting to find Echo’s body splattered two-stories below. Nothing. She turned her head, frantically searching for them, only to come face to face with them hanging from the side of the building.
They winked. “Great time for a good luck kiss if you’re feeling generous.”
She blinked at them, too stunned from their position to register the flirtatious comment. At first, she thought they were held up by more magic, but as she squinted through the dark, she realized they were holding onto an iron rung drilled into the brick structure.
“No? Shame. If I die, it’s on you, princess.” Despite their bleak words, they scurried down the side of the building with grace and efficiency, arriving at the bottom without a scratch. They positioned themselves below the window, arms held out. “Well? Are you coming?”
Emmaline glanced behind her at the door that would lead her back into the establishment, wishing they could leave through the front. But she understood why they couldn’t—her father’s men had probably posted guards around the brothel, prepared to capture Rafe the moment they saw him.
Bracing herself against the windowsill, Emmaline carefully crawled over the edge, reaching for the iron rung. Her knee slipped and she inhaled sharply, tightening her hold on the frame. “Echo—” she said, her voice as unsteady as the rest of her.
“I’ve got you.” The words would have been more reassuring from a lesser height.
Emmaline gritted her teeth and leaned the last inch forward, grabbing the iron rung so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
It took a few more seconds for her to trust the rung to hold her weight enough to slip one leg out the window.
In the darkness, she could only use her toes to find the next rung.
When they did, she sighed in relief and allowed her weight to settle on it as she pulled the other half of her body out of the window.
Soon, she was clinging to the side of the building, the first step of her descent done.
“You’re doing great,” Echo murmured, keeping their voice low so as not to draw attention from any passersby.
Emmaline did not agree with their assessment.
She continued clinging to the first rung she’d grabbed, too nervous to let go.
Her hands began to cramp as she strangled the iron for dear life.
I can’t simply hang here forever. Either my father’s men will find us, or my hands will give out.
Taking a deep breath, she stretched her foot below her, blindly searching for the next rung.
When it landed, she removed one hand to repeat the process.
Carefully, step by step, she descended, her confidence building with each success.
On the next rung, her foot slipped.
A gasp escaped her, and her hands tightened on the rungs holding her up until the iron bit into her palms and scraped against her skin.
Gentle hands grabbed her waist. “I’ve got you,” Echo said again, this time much closer.
Emmaline tilted her head over her shoulder.
She was still a few feet above the ground, but she’d made it so much further than she’d realized.
Loosening her grip, she climbed down the last few steps, Echo’s hands holding her steady.
When she reached the ground, she turned around and gazed up into their hazel eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Echo stared down at her for a moment, their mouth parted as if they wanted to say something else. After a few seconds of silence, they cleared their throat and said, “Right, well, time to run.” Then they grabbed Emmaline’s hand and dragged her toward the street.
The crowds in the street offered plenty of cover for their escape.
Scantily clad women called out their services.
Drunken sailors roared with laughter or sang sea shanties at the tops of their lungs.
Musicians performed, their instruments clashing and mingling as they competed for the biggest audience.
Despite all the noise—or perhaps because of it—Emmaline occasionally spotted the silent stalkers in the crowd, their expressions dark as they searched people’s faces, looking for two runaways.
Even when they locked eyes with Emmaline, they barely gave her a cursory examination before moving on to the next person, all thanks to Echo’s glamours.
A drunkard jostled Emmaline, slamming into her shoulder.
Her fingers started to slip from Echo’s grasp.
With a crowd this large, if she let go, she didn’t know how she would find them again.
Finding the harbor would be easy, but she didn’t know which ship belonged to Echo’s captain.
She strained forward, trying to keep that tenuous hold on them.
Just as her fingertips brushed against theirs, Echo changed their grip, snaring her wrist and tugging her forward.
“Thought I lost—fuck,” Echo’s eyes widened as they traveled down to Emmaline’s cleavage.
Worried she’d finally fallen out of the low-cut bodice, Emmaline ducked her head to examine herself. Her glamoured breasts remained full and fully covered. But something else was missing …
The silver necklace with the other glamour. Her eyes widened and she turned back, trying to search the ground.
“Damned pickpocket chose the worst time,” Echo snarled. They jerked Emmaline forward, now flat out running through the crowd. “How’s my satchel?”
Emmaline’s other hand gripped the strap, her elbow covering the flap. “Fine!”
“Great, because we might fucking need it—”
“There!” someone shouted.
Emmaline didn’t need to see who spoke to guess that it was one of her father’s men, spotting her now that the glamour had slipped away.
Echo cursed again under their breath and picked up speed.
The crowd finally thinned, providing Emmaline and Echo an easier escape route, but it also meant there were fewer obstacles between them and their pursuers. From the corner of her eye, she saw a large, dark hand reach out to her, trying to snatch her right out of Echo’s grasp.
A crossbow bolt sliced through the air a few inches from Emmaline. Braz snarled in pain and frustration as the bolt pierced his shoulder.
Emmaline looked for their savior, following the bolt’s path.
A woman stood on the desk of a small ship, her red hair billowing in the night breeze. With practiced ease, the woman reloaded the crossbow and aimed toward the next person chasing Emmaline and Echo, pulling the trigger a second after aligning her shot.
Another grunt came from behind them with a thud as someone dropped to the ground.
Emmaline couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder. Nico knelt in the street, hands surrounding the bolt lodged in his thigh. Her heart squeezed at the blood already staining his pants, worried that the bolt may have hit an important artery.
“Permission to board?” Echo shouted toward the shooter.
Emmaline turned around in time to see the woman sneer before she growled, “Permission granted, you damned rascal.”
A ramp connected the ship’s deck to the harbor. Emmaline wobbled slightly as she stepped onto it, but before she could worry about falling into the water, the woman reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Echo, I swear to the gods, if you’ve brought a harlot on my ship for your own amusement, I’m tossing you overboard and keeping her as my first mate.”
“I’m the only harlot here, Captain,” Echo replied with a cheeky grin.
The captain didn’t even need to issue orders for the crew to burst into motion. They dragged the ramp on board before anyone else could use it. Someone was already at the helm, and the sails were already unfurled, and in a matter of minutes they were pulling out to sea.
Hands on her hips, the captain glowered at Emmaline. “And who are you?”
Captain Moira Rhosyn reminded Emmaline of Griselda—tough, no-nonsense, and ready to fight anyone on a moment’s notice.
It almost put her at ease, though she worried the captain would be as unwelcoming to strangers.
“Emmaline Orestes,” she introduced, still panting from exertion.
“I’m …” she didn’t know how to describe herself.
“Everett Shaw’s daughter,” Echo finished, their gaze locked on the distance.
Emmaline turned to look in the same direction, her lips parting in shock.
Her father stood on the dock, his eyes locked on her. The ship had moved far enough away from the docks that he couldn’t reach it without a rowboat, but they might still be able to hear each other if they shouted.
Everett said nothing. He simply watched as another pirate crew absconded with his daughter.
The silence was more disturbing than any threats he might have shouted.
Emmaline couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Why is he letting me go after chasing us through the streets? Why isn’t he trying to follow?
If Captain Moira and Echo were still talking, Emmaline didn’t hear them. She couldn’t take her eyes off her father. The man she’d waited a lifetime to meet.
Did Mama feel this way when she left him? The thought made her heart ache at everything she had lost—and everything she was still searching for.