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He glanced at the dead captain, and then at me, before tipping his head my way. It seemed a nod of respect, and some kind of brotherly reassurance. And it was all I had left to cling to try to regain some sense of myself. This Bellamy would never understand exactly what just unfolded. But he would never forget it either.

When I stepped back, scarlet soaking through my tunic in blooming stains, the ship was silent. Those few who remained of this crew looked at me in disbelief, their eyes wide and weapons raised, but unmoving, not daring to approach this panting, half-blind, blood-soaked maniac standing over their mutilated captain.

“Here’s your captain!” I shouted to the crew. “And how will you lot return to your king, or your governor, commodore, or whichever bastard it is you blindly obey, and bold-faced explain that you couldn’t defend him or his ship?”

The men grumbled and whispered inaudible muttering to each other. I continued, my hand on the hilt of my cutlass and my other hand scooping up the captain’s hat that had fallen in our duel. “I give you a choice. I drop your captain into the sea, and you follow him, or you stay and sail free under my command, and we share in the spoils evenly—spoils that make your current sailor’s pay look like a pittance. What say ye?”

The seamen hesitated for a moment, looking around at the fallen bodies of the other crew members. It was silent for a time, before one man finally stepped forward with a solid “Aye. Ye fight like a devil. I’d be a fool not to sail under a cap'n who can hold his ground like that.”

Soon, the rest followed, likely because there were too few of them to do anything to stop it, or because they knew there was nothing better than a sailor’s wages waiting for them back home. One by one they pledged their allegiance to me, and no one dared oppose me as I nudged the captain’s body off the side of the ship and into his watery grave.

“Then we repair the damage here and set sail,” I said, walking the length of the deck to its center. I looked at the mast overhead, up toward the rolled-up sails. They provided a perfectly clear view above of the Spanish flag waving against the afternoon sun.

“You,” I pointed to a sailor. “Cut a piece of sailcloth and blacken it with tar.” The man scurried off to follow my orders, as I examined the condition of the ship and how it could be modified to better serve its new purpose.

I never wanted to be a pirate. But it was all I had left. The things I wanted and the things I deserved were always at odds. And I deserved this. Who was I to argue that a pirate wasn’t as good as any other man? At least we admitted to our depravity instead of hiding it behind politics and blackmail. It was an identity that wanted to claim me, no matter how many times I tried to outrun it. And I was tired of running.

I made my way to the captain’s quarters, where I studied the table of maps and legends and whatever other documents covered the desk in the middle of the room. With blood-stained hands, I cleared the table, sliding the papers into the floor without concern. A brown leather coin purse on the desk caught my notice, and I quickly emptied its contents. With my knife, I cut out a small piece from the leather and removed the drawstrings to fashion an eye covering. I doused my gashed eye with a splash of liquor from a flask in the room, resisting the need to groan at its bitter sting. I hardly worried about wiping the rest of the blood off me. I’d clean it up better later, when I could think straight.

I leaned on my elbows, catching my breath and clearing my head. A single teardrop managed to sneak its way out before I choked back the rest.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, lost in my ponderings, before a knock at the door demanded my attention. It was the sailor from earlier, who’d returned with the tar-blackened flag. I lay the flag flat on the floor and knelt down to paint our ship’s Jolly Roger. Using whitewash from the storage hold, I painted the skull, and beneath it I designed two tridents crossing instead of crossbones or swords.

“What’s the name of this ship, lad?” I asked the sailor, standing up to examine my work, as though it mattered.

“La Redenciòn, sir,” the man replied timidly.

“Fitting,” I muttered under my breath.

I thanked him with a curt nod. Then I left the quarters and walked back out on deck, noticing the pale red glow against a darkening sky that came just before sunset. Tucking a knife between my teeth, I began my climb up the mast with the newly made flag in hand. And once at the top, where the ocean wind blew fierce, I cut away the Spanish banner and replaced it with my pirate flag.

The task was long finished, but I steadied myself against the foremast as my distorted gaze followed the old flag getting swept away in the wind. It drew my eyes to the horizon, where I looked out at the sea I would now roam. Nameless, damaged, alone, and forgotten by time.

I’m sorry, Katrina.

My only comfort was knowing she wasn’t here to see what I’d become. But if damning myself meant saving her, so be it. My only chance to find her again someday existed solely in the care of Noah, and that did little to ease my thoughts…but it was something. I just hoped what I’d given him had made it back with him, and he had the sense to remember what I asked him to do with it.

I’d have to set out to ensure Katrina understood what it all meant by the time it got to her. Somehow, without changing the course of history, I’d have to find a way to bridge my past and her future so that we could find each other again. And with a ship and crew of my own, battered as they may be, I stood a fraction higher of a chance of accomplishing that. I didn’t know how long it would take, especially with Thane still out there determined to hunt me down.

But I had all the time in the world.

44

Seasick

Katrina

I’d fainted from the effort of burying the trident. Right before the world around me faded to darkness, I remembered hearing Bellamy call my name, followed but the sound of a splash. But then I closed my eyes and drifted.

When I woke up, I was lying in a bed covered by fine silk sheets and blankets. The can lights above me were set just dim enough so that I could see the room’s polished, hotel-like interior. To the right of me, light spilled in through the crack in the drawn curtains over the window. I sat up, rubbing my head, and thankful that I was clothed and could feel legs and toes instead of fins. I wore a simple black night chemise that smelled like rose petals. Not my style, but better than being naked.

“I’m so glad you’re awake!” McKenzie’s melodic voice made me jump. I hadn’t even noticed her sitting in the leather armchair in the corner. “We’ve been taking shifts to sit with you,” she said, standing up.

Her tattered 18th century clothing was gone. She looked clean and fresh, dressed it new, modern clothes. I wondered how long I’d been unconscious.

She must have noticed me eyeing her new outfit. “Cordelia’s clothes,” she said, pointing to herself and me. That explained my interesting attire.

“Are we still on the yacht?” I asked, trying to peek through the slit in the curtains.