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They nod and we exit the room, Ramsay closing the door to his quarters as much as he can considering I shot the lock off.

“Will the cage keep her?” I ask. “Maybe you should put her down in the hold.”

And out of your room.

“Don’t tell me you miss the cage yourself?” he asks. “Not to fret, luv, you’ll now be staying in one of the officer’s quarters. A whole room to yourself.”

His way of saying I’m sleeping alone.

But he’s not.

CHAPTER30

Maren

A streamof sunlight hits my face, waking me from my slumber, and it takes me a moment to realize where I am. I’d never been in the officer’s quarters on theNightwind, so I wasn’t expecting such a quaint space. It’s a lot smaller than the captain’s quarters but it’s still tastefully decorated, with a narrow shelf lined with worn books, a small basin and bucket, a painting of some tropical island. The porthole window is above a small desk and I can’t help but wonder who would have sat here before, penning letters or tallying things in a logbook.

I slowly sit up and smile when I see my trunk, having forgotten all about it. Though I am getting used to dressing like a pirate, I have missed my dresses, my own clean clothes that fit me like a glove and haven’t been worn by a skeleton.

I get out of the bunk, careful not to hit my head, and go to my trunk, rummaging through it until I find my undergarments, a stark white chemise shift, petticoat and a pair of champagne stays. I forgo the panier since it only makes it harder to maneuver on the ship, then I decide to forgo the gown too. It’s too hot for it, too stiff and clumsy, not to mention I no longer have a maid to help me with the pins. Why not just wear the shift? I know it would be seen as immoral to be seen in just your undergarments, but I don’t have any shame left on this ship and I don’t think anyone cares.

I decide to lace up the stays and the matching stomacher down the front, since my bust needs the support, but when I’m done I’m just in those, my shift, and the petticoat. I decide most of my shoes are too awkward for the boat with their heel and decide that if there’s a pair of men’s boots small enough for my feet then I’ll be wearing them.

I don’t have a mirror to look at my reflection but when I’m done I feel liberated and free. I feel like I’m still holding onto my Syren femininity yet I’m doing it my way, no longer boxed in to what society has been telling me how to dress.

I leave my new quarters, passing by the other rooms which belong to Lucas and Henry who share a room, Cruz, and Sam and Thane who share another. The rest of the crew sleeps before the mast in a large room filled with hammocks.

Then I head for the stairs, passing by the captain’s quarters at the end. I feel a twinge of jealousy again at the fact that Nerissa is caged in the room. Why isn’t she in the hold or the chains where Sterling is? Does he want her in there for other reasons?

I ignore that acidic feeling in my gut and go up the stairs to the top deck.

It’s early, but everyone seems to be up and the sun is bright in my face, the salt air waking me up in an instant. I spot Ramsay at the aft deck sitting on a bench to the side of the helm beside Drakos the Greek who is whittling a piece of wood with a small paring knife that I always see in his possession, Henry watching Drakos as he works. Thane is at the helm with Crazy Eyes and Lucas discussing a chart and, occasionally turning around to see what Ramsay is saying.

I’m about to head up there when I notice Sam on the quarterdeck, waving me over. She’s sitting on an overturned crate cross-legged, a tall mug of what I assume is steaming coffee in her hands, adorned in her usual attire with a tricorn hat on her head.

“Fancy some?” she asks and then pats the seat beside her.

I nod, feeling strangely shy all of a sudden. I’d become so used to dealing with all the men on board and their brash ways, but Sam intimidates me. Perhaps because she’s so confident in her ways, owning who she truly is and not giving a rat’s arse what anyone thinks. Plus I’ve seen her fight.

I sit down next to her and she hands me the mug. “Here, you have some of this brew. I can get more from Sedge later.”

I give her a grateful “thanks” and take a sip of the coffee. “Strong enough to put hair on your chest,” I say with a cough. “How is Sedge?”

“He seems to be alright,” she says. “Nerissa reversed the curse so he looks more or less back to normal. He’s happy to be here, though perhaps a little traumatized.”

“I bet,” I say.

“Might I say, I like the way you’re dressed,” she says, eyeing me up and down. “So much better this way, ain’t it? Easier to move around without all those layers, not to mention cooler.” She pauses, peering at me. “And you, are you traumatized?”

“Me?” I ask. “No, I’ve been through a fair bit worse than that. The skeleton crew were practically angels in comparison.”

“I meant with Bones,” she says in a knowing tone. “He told me that he fed from you.”

I freeze, shoulders stiffening, before I carefully lower the mug from my lips. “He told you that?”

“Aye,” she says, leaning back against the rail and adjusting her black shirt. “So you know all about the Brethren of the Blood now.”

“Did he tell you…whyhe fed from me?”