Page 14 of Bloody Black

T hree years later.

The Flying Rose bobs beneath my feet, and like kelp on the reef, I shift and flow. Perfectly in tune with the waves. My fingers grip the helm easily, calloused from months of steering and sailing.

“You sure you won’t come with us?” Teach asks, eyes hopeful, his long dark hair flopping into his eyes as he tries and fails to tie it back.

“Eh,” I huff. The tavern would be packed to the rafters, and I fancied a night of solitude, alone with my book and the moon.

“The crew won’t be happy. You’re too aloof from them.”

“As the captain, I’m meant to be aloof.”

“As your crew, I tell you that you could be a bit more friendly. Blackbeard. ” He emphasizes the name my crew chose .

I shoot him a dirty look. “I should have pushed you overboard when I had the chance.”

“You needed another pair of hands.”

True enough. After what I’d been through, I never wanted to look a man in the eyes again, much less have them on a boat with me in the middle of the ocean. Teach and Samson were the only exceptions.

We’d had to take on more crew, too, since a properly functioning ship requires more than ten people.

So I’d had to get over my aversion. Not that there were many males approaching me.

Blackbeard, murderer, dreaded and feared, was certainly not the catch you’d think. No one was lining up to court me.

Beside us, dolphins leap in the waves, frolicking alongside as The Flying Rose limps into port.

Above, the town of Venedria perches precariously, ancient stone towers and brightly painted houses, windows glinting in the sunlight.

The port shimmers in the midday sun, full of weathered sloops with tattered sails, their hulls barnacled by long voyages.

Domino inspects a tattered sail over Samson’s shoulder. It’d worn through, again. Samson scratches his shining purple head, sighing theatrically.

“The stitching’s hopeless,” Domino calls to me.

Holly frowns. “It’s naught but thread and patches. I don’t think we can get by with another repair.”

Samson shrugs, spikes twitching. “Patch it with prayers and spit, if you must.”

Domino easily moves to the left, avoiding the spikes and spines that came within an inch of her exposed skin. “Luckily this happened in Venedria, rather than a league away. You’ll need to pay a visit to Calisto.”

Involuntarily, I shudder. Calisto reminds me of William. Every time I glimpse his golden hair, I have flashbacks of the docks. He fancies himself in love with me; I avoid him as best I can, which is difficult, considering that he’s the sole supplier of sails in all of the southern seas.

Teach leans toward me and whispers. “I’ve seen how he looks at you, so I don’t blame you, but…”

Inwardly, I cringe. Only he or I ever dealt with Calisto.

We’d lose half of our monthly profits if we sent anyone else to negotiate.

Moreover, if he didn’t have a spare sail, we might be stuck in port for a week.

Which would mean we’d have to be registered with the dock master, plus pay more docking fees.

“Can’t we use the spare?” I ask, grimacing.

“That old thing? A strong breeze is going to tear through it like a cobweb.”

My fingers twitch against my hip. “Prudence?”

The witch looks up from the coil of rope she’s been braiding into tight, sailor’s knots, fingers moving with sharp precision. “Aye?”

“Can you fix this properly?” I gesture vaguely at the sail.

She smiles, slow and smug, and finishes tying. “You know me.”

That I did. Her magic was strong but volatile. It followed her moods. Having Prudence use magic to fix the sail was like asking fire to fix damp wood. A temporary solution, sure to end in disaster. But it would help me avoid Calisto .

She rolls up her sleeves as she walks toward the stairs. “I’ll need my kit.”

The moment she’s out of sight, Teach lets out a low whistle. “You’re trusting her spellwork again?”

“I have no choice,” I mutter. “At least Prudence doesn’t think we’re courting.”

When she returns, Prudence stumbles into us, tripping over Pyrrhus. A streak of brown darts from between her legs. “Damn you, fleabag! Get out from underfoot!”

He leaps toward us with a shriek, and I catch the brown tabby with one hand.

Half his whiskers are missing due to an unfortunate incident with a very large rat, and one of his ears had been burned off entirely…

but Pyrrhus was a godsend. Not only did he keep our ship free of vermin, he also was an excellent judge of fish–more than once, he’d saved us from poisoning ourselves.

“Now, now,” I place him on the beamed railing. “Don’t trip people. It’s rude.”

Xandretta turns to another member of the crew. “Everyone can take their leave.” She pauses. “Did Mercy want to…”

“She never does.” Prudence runs her hands over the frayed fabric. “I already tried.”

I drag my hand over my face. “That’s fine. I’ll stay with Mercy. I can’t waste my time drinking in the tavern.”

“You need to have a drink and relax. You’ve been plotting to kill William’s men for months. You’ve had them watched. You’ve built up your skills and stamina. You’re ready. We’re ready.”

“It still feels like a risk... ”

“You’re the fiercest pirate on the sea. Sailors shake to even hear your name,” he says proudly. “Surely you aren’t scared to step upon land?”

“Scared?” I scoff, too loud, too sharp. “I’m not afraid of anything, least of all a dockside tavern full of lice-ridden men.”

Prudence’s hands glow softly blue, and she hums a low tune. “Aren’t you going to visit your friend?”

My friend. Good old Ben.

My father is dead, murdered in his throne room by William’s men. And according to William, Ben helped.

“I was planning on it,” I mutter.

“Good,” Teach says amiably, as our cat Pyrrhus wreathes between his legs. “It’s settled. You can come to the tavern after.”

“I’m busy.”

“Why spend another night plotting and planning and prepping? It won’t make the difference.” Prudence leans over the rail, studies the waters below us.

Yellow and black striped fish nip at the hull, pale fins slicing through the wake.

“Go a-land. Get yourself some of that fancy snail cream you’re always putting on your face. Have a drink. Enjoy the evening.”

With a deep breath, I continue, my voice low. “I don’t want any distractions. No high-risk operations. Not when we’re so close.”

Not when William is sitting on my throne, wearing my crown. Running my kingdom.

“We’ve cut off all his supply lines, made William look like the inept ruler he is. We’ve planted spies everywhere… But the plan remains the same. If Roger is onshore, you bring him to me.”

Xandretta gives me a long, slow blink. “What if you go ashore, have a relaxing night with friends, and we take The Concorde at sea?”

As if they have a life of their own, my fingers lift to touch my rioting curls. As a princess, it’d always been upswept and braided, threaded with pearls or diamonds. Overdressed, powdered, and perfumed. Not anymore.

Now it falls in a chaos of tangles, full of braids and beads. I wear men’s breeches instead of silk gowns. My hands are calloused, nails bitten to the quick.

Swirling black marks my neck and chest, thick as brambles.

In fact, the only thing that remains of my former self is my pale skin. I’d sunburned until I blistered in my first three days at sea, and vowed I would never allow it to happen again.

And yet… I carry with me a deep-seated fear that someday, somewhere, I’ll step around a corner and there he will be. That I’ll be helpless before him again. William. Even though the entire kingdom thought Princess Anne was dead, some small part of me still worries.

“The King of Celestia isn’t going to be in the tavern,” Teach says, as if he could read my mind. “Besides, between Xandretta’s teeth and Holly’s breasts, no man will even notice you’re there.”

Teach returns to the topic at hand. “Besides, a bit of rum makes anyone a friend.”

It’s so close to William’s phrasing that I shudder.

“They aren’t friends, Teach. They are crew. Captain–” I point at myself. “Crew”. I gesture around .

Soren, Roger, Venka, Baldric… they too had been my friends. Look where that friendship had gotten me. I’d learned too well that no one could be trusted, even those you’d known your entire life.

Teach sighs, but Prudence agrees.

One of the ship runners approaches, babbling with excitement. “We require jerky, tea, ale, more rope, dried beans and…” he consulted his list. “Lye soap and lemons.”

“For tea,” he mumbles, when I gave him a sharp look.

“Two lemons per week per person,” Holly called out, “or you’ll find teeth rattling on the deck.”

“For gods’ sake boy,” I growl, irritated. “Put whatever you want in the gods damned tea. I don’t need to approve every bloody purchase.”

“Don’t you snap at Jon, he’s got more sense than half this crew,” Holly chastises me. “Another year or two…”

“Aye, but for the next eleven months he’ll be absolutely useless.”

“He is not. Jon is thorough and keeps a daily account of rations, supplies, and everything we steal. He’s shit for guarding it, obviously, but at least now we’ll notice when someone starts pilfering our wares again.”

“So it’s Jon now, is it?” My gaze roams the hillside above the port, thick with the brightly painted townhouses and cottages of Venedria.

Holly’s always adopting orphans, stray people who need a bit of care, and she nods emphatically. “He’ll make a fine sailor. Useful to you.”

“One day, a decade from now, if I live that long. ”

Teach wisely stays silent, and attempts to hide his answering grin. “He’s thirteen, not three.”

The Flying Rose gives a screeching lurch, as the hull scrapes along the dock.

“Watch what you’re doing, idiot,” Prudence complains.

“The sea calls and I answer, spines and all,” Samson mutters. “She gives no say in where we land.”

“Aye well, you almost speared Holly like a lionfish.” Domino vaults over the side of the rail, her boots landing easily on the wooden pier. With practiced pale hands, she loops the rope like a noose.