NO MERCY FROM DEVILS
She was alive.
How long that would remain true was yet to be determined, but for now, she was still here, still breathing, and she intended to stay that way.
Cecily’s limbs burned as she climbed, weak from disuse, scanty meals, and her furious swim.
Dark water churned beneath her, promising to receive her body and soul if her arms gave out.
Far above, Jack didn’t glance back to see if she followed.
Once he reached the top of the ladder, he swung over the rail and disappeared, leaving her alone on the side of the ship.
Good. If he didn’t care to track her, she could probably scurry onto the ship unnoticed.
She kept climbing, one hand over the other as the wind pushed past, teasing her with the drop below as it clawed through her wet hair and made the ladder sway. But she would not fall, even as the thrill of the last half hour began to fade.
While piracy might be better than what she’d been headed for, she was fully aware she may have been trading one hell for another.
A ship full of pirates might not be so different from a ship full of prisoners and guards, but with each shaking pull up the ladder, she bolstered herself with all she’d already faced and overcome.
The chance of a future, she reminded herself.
She was doing this because there was some small hope of a life beyond prison and hard labor.
And even as her body quaked, even as she doubted what laid ahead, she was invigorated by a power she hadn’t been allowed to own for months.
It had only been one choice, but even so, if this was the way one decision could make her feel, how much better would her next choices be?
This was merely her first step toward freedom.
A minute later, she reached the top, but she paused when she could see through the balustrades. Though she’d accepted what lay before her, she wasn’t particularly eager to throw herself onto a pirate ship without first seeing what, exactly, she was walking into.
On the right was the bow, to her left was the stern with its raised quarterdeck and the helm. Underneath were two doors, one of which she assumed led to Copson’s quarters. She noted the position of the masts, crates, rigging, cannons, and places she might scamper and climb and hide.
As for the pirates themselves, while she might have imagined any number of horrors—regardless of the captain’s assurances—her brow furrowed at what she beheld.
All around, tender-eyed men mingled with newly freed prisoners who batted their lashes, flirted, and chatted with the men in such a way that looked…positively normal.
These women who she’d spent the last six months hating and fighting, well, they might have been regular civilians for how at ease they seemed, as though they’d stepped onto some sort of grand new life of contentment.
She supposed they had. At least, it would seem that way to them.
If there were any misgivings, Cecily couldn’t tell.
There was such an air of relief about them.
They didn’t look around like she did, assessing every face and corner of the ship.
Even Morgyn seemed at home talking with a pirate with no hint of evil in her eyes—though Cecily was sure it was still there, perhaps just hidden for the sake of impressing their saviors.
And then there was Hester, half hidden behind Greyson who had her pressed against a wall, their mouths locked in a kiss that looked far more like they were attempting to swallow each other.
Everyone was happy. Joyful. Looking for all the world like they’d found heaven.
Cecily didn’t trust anything that much, but her limbs were moments away from failing her. She hauled herself over the rail. As she stepped down, her gaze bounced from one pirate to another, catching on their weapons—swords, daggers, the ax strapped across Greyson’s back.
She unclenched her teeth, dropping her shiv into her hand.
“Well, aren’t you brave.”
So much for going unnoticed. Cecily stiffened as Jack appeared beside her, his handsome face unsmiling.
Blood ran from his left cheek to his chin, mingling with beads of sea water before dripping to the deck.
Though he stood several feet away, he somehow managed to give the impression of looming over her.
He tilted his head, letting the sun catch the gash in his skin. “Welcome to the Fortuna Royale.”
He said it like a threat, and she would take it as one. With a glance at the sword at his hip, she gripped her shiv tighter, angling it so that with a quick press of her thumb, she could shove it from between her fingers and into his neck.
A deep laugh rumbled from behind her, “Brave indeed.”
Alarm shot down her spine. For the second time that evening, she acted without thinking and lunged for Jack’s sword.
He wasn’t fast enough to stop her as she yanked it free and spun, brandishing her shiv in her opposite hand. She brought the sword down, slashing—
Toward Captain Copson.
It was too late to stop, or else she might have. One did not pick a fight with an infamous pirate.
But the captain merely broke into a terrible grin as both blades arced toward him.
He easily dodged, stepped forward to grab her wrists, and used her momentum to shove her toward the mainmast. She stumbled forward, her chest hit the wood, and he smacked her arm against it hard enough to make her drop the sword.
Then he twisted her arm, locking it behind her back.
She cried out as pain lanced through her shoulder.
“Drop the shiv, girl,” Copson said into her ear, his fingers tightening around her other wrist and forcing her arm back. “Or I’ll break your bones and take great delight in it.”
It had been so fast, so effortlessly smooth—
“Let go,” she snarled, gritting her teeth as blind rage roared from the pit of terror that had swallowed her so many months ago. It screamed through her veins, thundering in her ears, and she thrashed as the captain’s hold turned crushing.
For a man who should have been close to seventy, he was a great deal stronger than the prison guards had been. Perhaps there truly was something supernatural in his blood.
Regardless of if that were so, it was wise to fear him.
“I won’t tell you again,” he said. “Drop it.”
She hissed a breath, and even though it went against her every instinct, she managed to open her hand. The bone blade clattered to the deck.
Jack came beside them, snatching up his sword and shoving it into its scabbard. When he straightened, his eyes were fixed on her, mirroring her fury.
“You’re not so fierce without a weapon,” Copson mused. “What’s your name?”
She gritted her teeth. Though she tried to bite back the sharpness on her tongue, she spat, “Cecily Shoard.”
The captain didn’t release her. “You’re making enemies very quickly, Miss Shoard.”
God above, she knew that, but this time she didn’t mean to. Saying so would only make her sound more petulant than she already did.
Copson was a terrifying force behind her, but he spoke conversationally, which made it all the worse.
“You cut my first mate and turned a sword on me, which puts me in a rather foul mood. I understand this all might be rather overwhelming, but try it again, and I will put very little thought into killing you. I am not merciful, and neither is my son.”
Jack’s lips twisted into a wicked smile as understanding dawned on her. The cruelest, most bloodthirsty pirate in the world had a son. She saw their similarities now, from their features to their height. And if Jack’s expression promised anything, he was as bad as his father, if not worse.
She was used to worse.
“Never knew any mercy,” she ground out. “There is none for devils—none from them either.”
Copson hooked his foot around her ankle and knocked her leg out from under her, releasing his hold at the same time. She crashed to the deck, her palms stinging as they connected with the rough wooden boards.
The captain leaned over her, his stormy eyes glittering. “At least you know what to expect.”
All around, prisoners and crew had stopped to watch. Among them, Morgyn smirked.
Copson continued, “Be as angry and pettish as you like, Miss Shoard, but I won’t have you causing chaos on my ship. I’ve been kind by rescuing you from that godforsaken boat, and you’ll be grateful or I’ll make you wish you were dead.”
She glared through strands of short, tangled hair that had fallen into her face, but this time she managed to hold her tongue.
This was a new kind of devil, not like those who had thrown her in prison or the ones she’d found when she got there.
Copson had a measure of mercy, however small it may be, but fighting wouldn’t help her survive. Only silence would.
The roaring in her icy veins quieted a little. She was tired of fighting, and without a sword, she had no hope while she was so thin, bony, and tired. Though she was as impulsive as they came, she could keep her mouth shut if she tried.
“Seems we have an understanding.” Copson turned to his son. There was judgment in the his gaze, and Jack challenged it with a scowl. “How’d she cut you, Jack?”
Jack’s eyes flicked to the tiny knife near his feet. “A shiv.”
“No, how did you let her get close enough to cut you?”
Jack’s jaw clenched. When he offered no excuse, Copson said, “You’re better than that.” He glanced at Cecily as though she were no more than a barnacle. “A good lesson, I suppose. Don’t let it happen again.”
Cecily smirked. At least she’d had victory in this one small thing.
Jack’s flinty gaze sliced toward her. Seeing her smile, his hands clenched into fists.
“She’ll be your responsibility,” Copson said, and Jack’s attention snapped back to his father. Cecily’s smile vanished.
“My responsibility?” Jack demanded.
His responsibility? she would have said if she were willing to challenge the deadly captain. But Jack was doing that just fine on his own.
“I’ll not have her running free on my ship until I can trust she won’t try to kill us all in our sleep,” the captain said evenly.
“Kill her. It’s no matter to me.”
Cecily opened her mouth to retort, but Copson spoke over her. “We need crew, not corpses. Besides, she hasn’t done anything drastic.”
“She would’ve killed you,” Jack argued. “The articles—”
“She doesn’t know the articles. If she breaks them again, then we’ll kill her. For now, we show the others what happens when they cross a Copson, never mind two.” The captain turned on her. “There are laws on this ship, and you’ll do well to learn them. Jack will show you.”
Jack barked a laugh. “Captain—”
“She’s only a girl,” Copson said, eyeing the cut on his son’s cheek.
Cecily understood the insult—both to her and Jack—and nearly scoffed.
“Don’t get caught unaware again. And don’t let her too far out of your sight.
Occupy her with something menial.” He studied Cecily’s dripping clothes and hair. “Put her in the ashes.”
He began to walk away, but then paused to add, “And don’t let her near anything sharp.”
Her stomach turned, but there was no space to argue as Copson called orders to the crew. Not that she would have. Jack didn’t, so she knew it was best to keep her mouth shut.
Nothing sharp—she’d be damned if she couldn’t have a knife. If she could hide one while being held prisoner, she could do the same now.
As the crew dispersed, she thrust out her hand for her shiv, but Jack batted her fingers away and snatched the bone, grumbling, “Like hell, wench.”
She gave him a sour look. “You manhandled me, you ass.”
“Oh, I apologize,” he mocked. “I only thought of you exploding with the ship. Had I foreseen this outcome, I would’ve left you there and rejoiced at your demise.”
She climbed to her feet, facing him with the full force of her scorn. “I don’t like being touched.” Not like that. Not when a touch meant harm or force, and she would not stand for such a thing again.
“So you’ve said.” He stepped toward her, bringing his bloody face close to hers. “Rest assured I won’t try again.”
She eyed the ragged cut she’d left on his face. If she couldn’t have a true blade, she’d make one with words. And if she was to be made an example, she’d make him one as well and demonstrate every reason to leave her alone.
“You poor, pretty boy,” she said. “Would you like an apology? I’m not feeling so inclined to give you one, but I’m sure I could try to make it sound sincere.”
He glowered at her.
She grinned. “You should’ve left me on that ship.”
“I truly wish I had.”
“Why didn’t you?” He didn’t need to know she had decided to come to the Fortuna Royale on her own. Let him think she would’ve stayed and blown up. He could torture himself much better than she could, and it would be a pleasure to watch.
He pinned her with a heavy, hateful look, and she memorized the way it burned over her skin.
“I suppose I thought you were lovely,” he muttered.
“But now that you’ve cut me, humiliated me, and burdened me with your presence, you could wear the loveliest face in the world and I wouldn’t give a damn. ”
She remembered the way he’d looked at her in her crusty dress, which was at least three shades lighter after being in the water. Her sickly complexion hadn’t seen the sun in a year, and yet he’d thought she was pretty.
She, too, had thought him exceptionally handsome before he’d grabbed her. What a shame.
With a low, gruff laugh, she said, “A good lesson, I suppose.”
He swept his hand over his face, smearing the blood toward his lips, then flicked his fingers at her, smattering her nearly clean dress with hateful drops of red before he stalked off.
Spiteful brute. She didn’t know how long she might be stuck with him, but it was no matter. Work didn’t bother her, and she would have Hester for company. She could withstand a great number of things if she had her, and now they would have this life ahead of them—
A boot scraped against the deck, purposefully loud, and Cecily knew it was Hester before she turned.
The woman’s face was flushed, and strands of straw-yellow hair had pulled free from her braid. For the first time since meeting in Bridewell, there were no bars between them.
The ice stirred in Cecily’s chest, fondness creeping up her throat.
Then Hester’s swollen lips broke into that disturbing smile. With a delighted laugh, she declared, “I’ve decided to marry the bald one.”