Page 22 of Bloody Black

Pondering Ben’s words, I mull over what to do and stroke the rose dagger.

It’s still shiny. Silver, malleable, and probably heated in large cauldrons in the smithery. He would have used a cross-peen, a set of fine tongs, to shape that silver into beautiful things, mirrors, crowns, and swords.

My dagger has a fully bloomed rose in a circular shape at the end, and then petals form the guard. On its blade, there are swirling vines, romantic, sweeping flourishes. One of a kind, designed by the queen.

I can’t remember much of my mother: hazel eyes, brown hair, and little else. I could tell what sort of person my mother was by her art. Soft, yet fierce. Refined, with a wild heart. And men took her from me.

I take a long, slow drink directly from a bottle, letting the rum burn its way down my throat.

Here on the quarterdeck, the world is quiet. The lieutenant is bound to the mast. Xandretta is inspecting the instrumentation around the helm–a panel of nautical stars, a map carved into the wood, some magical numerals.

“I think it measures depth,” she announces. “I just cannot figure out how.”

The main deck is abuzz with activity. My crew is cleaning, hauling, and picking through the dead.

There are over a hundred sailors that I command, many of whom I don’t even know their names.

We pick up new sailors at every port, all eager to be ferried to the next place, taking their share of whatever spoils or treasure we find along the way.

As for Robb’s men, still bound and kneeling, I’m not quite sure what to do. The Concorde is so large I cannot possibly handle it without them, and yet I’m loath to invite enemies to eat and sleep among us. This is a strong argument for burning their boat and leaving its ashes in our wake.

On the other hand, it is such a lovely ship…

beautifully well-made. I stroke the banister with my fingertips.

It pains me to imagine cutting the rosewood masts, to leave it adrift.

Perhaps Wi lliam has stood here, given orders from this very spot.

This was his crown jewel, his favorite. Apart from being well-made, The Concorde is well-armed. A warship for a warlord.

I’d love to turn it against him.

Wouldn’t it be lovely to destroy what remained of his navy with it?

“She’d be a bitch to steer,” Teach mutters, as if he can hear what I’m thinking. “Too damn big.”

Domino wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and recaps a bottle of rum. “She’d be worth a fortune, if we could sell her.”

“We can’t sell one of the king’s fleet. Who would be crazy enough to buy it?” Holly folds her arms across her bosom with a scowl.

“What say you?” I ask the djinn, still inspecting the helm with a critical eye.

Prudence scoffs, not letting Xandretta answer. “We’ll send her down to the dreaded deep. Keeping it will only put a bigger target on our backs.”

Perhaps I want a target on my back. Perhaps I want William to chase me down, so I can have the joy of killing him. Hang his carcass from the bow, after I cut off his dick and feed it to him.

Xandretta must read my mind, because she grins, a terrifying, heart-stopping smile. “Keeping it most certainly would taunt your enemies.”

“It’ll be more comfortable. Cleaner,” Teach says to Holly, a gleam in his eye. “And there are more private rooms aboard.”

Hm. A stateroom with a real bed. That sounds nice.

But so do cannons, guns, a hundred swords, and better sails.

There are even ladders down to the sea, nailed to the back of the ship, so sailors can swim without drowning.

Not to mention several hundred pounds of fresh food and liquor, and cast-iron chamber pots.

But I don’t make decisions like my father did. He’d make up his mind without facts or reason, relying only on his own ego, then drag his entire council along for the ride.

“We’ll vote,” I declare. “All in favor, you must say ‘aye.’”

My inner circle shuffles their feet. To my surprise, there’s a chorus of ‘ayes’, and only one ‘nay.’ The nay being Mercy, who really would prefer we drift around aimlessly, never doing much of anything. Despite being Prudence’s twin, she’s really not much for pirating. Or pillaging.

Decision made, I stroll over to the stairs, looking down at the main deck. “Ahoy! Sailors! We’ll keep this ship as plunder!” I jab my cutlass skyward.

AYE! AYE! AYE! They shout so loud, they drown out Roger’s moaning.

“Go dig ‘round in the hold. Find us some rum to celebrate,” I say over my shoulder.

“Aye, sir.” Prudence and Domino leave, striding through the crowds of men.

“Our ship needs a new name! Any suggestions?” I shout as loudly as I can, trying to make sure all can hear. My throat will be raw afterward, but it will be worth it.

Samson yells above the crowd. “ The Moon’s Embrace !”

Silence. Everyone stills.

“The what? ”

“ The Moon’s Embrace .” The enormous urchinite gestures vaguely with a nervous laugh, his purple spines clicking. “It’s poetic.”

A sailor near him scoffs, spits. “It’s a pirate ship. Not a bloody love letter.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” Holly mumbles from behind me. She’s already mopping, washing away the blood drippings from the quarterdeck.

Xandretta, now at the helm, snorts. “Waste of a good ship, naming it something like that. How about we call her The Devil’s Mist ?”

It hits a bit too close to home, and I know she suggests it just to provoke Rokhur.

“ The Tempest !” a sailor shouts.

“ Siren’s Demise !” That one earns a few approving nods from the group.

I feel Rokhur’s presence before I see her, the telltale crimson mist stretching like fingers over the bodies on the main deck. Searching for fresh parts amongst the dead. Luckily, Robb hasn’t noticed that particular horror yet.

“ The Black Widow !”

Teach rolls his eyes. “Why is it always devils, ghosts, and widows?”

Samson scratches the back of his neck. “Tradition, I suppose.”

“Any other suggestions?” I call out to the crowd.

Robb speaks up, still tied to the mast. “I suggest you abandon this boat and move on. You keep this ship, everyone in the kingdom will be looking for it.”

“Seems a bit too long for a name, but I really wasn’t asking you.” I wipe a bloody hand on my pants.

“Do you expect us to fear you?” Xandretta glares down at Robb. “You’ve been hunting Blackbeard for months, and the only time you’ve seen her is when we were murdering your crew. The only thing more legendary than Blackbeard’s sailors is the incompetence of King William’s. Led by you.”

He doesn’t reply to that.

Rokhur drums her fingers against her hip, which has at least three different shades of human skin. With a disjointed smile, she says, “What about, Queen Anne’s Revenge ?”

Queen Anne’s Revenge.

It feels right. There isn’t a person in all the five kingdoms who doesn’t know the story of Princess Anne.

The false story that William shared around, of how brigands stole me from our marital bed.

As a result, mothers name their baby girls anything but Anne, because now the name is seen as bad luck.

An omen of true love unfulfilled. It’s a convincing lie he fed my people, while he stole my crown and sat on my throne.

Queen Anne’s Revenge . I repeat it silently to myself, letting the name take root. Let it settle into my bones, into the chain of curses around my neck. Tasting the weight of it. I’d always believed that a name is a kind of magic. It’s a promise to the universe; it tells the gods what I plan to do.

Once I have my revenge, they’ll know him for the liar he is. I’ll nail his twisted tongue to the wall, up where my citizens can see it. To remind us all of how we never should have believed a word out of his mouth .

“Let’s put it to a vote?” Samson wrinkles his nose.

Across the deck, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Prudence’s mouth. She wants revenge on William almost as badly as I do, hates my husband as only a best friend can. “Aye. Queen Anne’s Revenge , most feared,” she says, first to cast a vote.

Teach and Holly vote yes.

“N-n-nay,” Mercy declares.

“Nay,” Samson mutters. “Tis too bitter for a ship’s name.”

Prudence laughs. “It is. But it suits her.”

That it did.

One by one, the sailors raise their hands, and Queen Anne’s Revenge wins by such a large margin it’s almost not worth counting.

“Aye.” Xandretta glances up from her sketch. She’s drawing Roger dangling above us, his jaw hanging loose.

I’d like to add the rest of my old friends alongside him. Briefly, I imagine Baldric, Venka, and Soren, up there, swaying in the wind. The vision pleases me so much, I shiver. Raising my sword above my head, I shout: “To the Queen Anne’s Revenge !”

“To the victors go the spoils! To the losers go the scars!”

To the victors go the spoils! To the losers go the scars!

The crew roars with approval. Our chant is deafening; all aboard scream it at the top of their lungs. Everyone except for Robb and his sailors, who sit dead silent, watching it all with dread on their faces.

Robb looks pained as our eyes meet. He doesn’t know what the name means to me. That I am she and Anne is me.

“Well?” says Domino, with a saucy look at Robb that makes me twinge uncomfortably. “What do you say, Lieutenant?”

He shakes his head. “You’re not here to raid my ship. You’re trying to start a war.”

I laugh. Start a war. I didn’t start anything. That was William, when he pretended to love me. When he kissed me and proposed to me. When he killed my father and my maids. When he gave me to his men to use. When they murdered me and hid my broken body in a box.

I lean over him. “No, Lieutenant Maynard. I’m not here to start a war. I’m here to finish it.”

“How long will it take him to die, you think?” asks Holly, her brow furrowed.

“Longer than we’d like.” Samson shrugs his massive shoulders, purple spines bristling.

Jolly ole Roger, looking like a living flag, is screaming. A flock of seagulls has noticed him and is circling. Every now and then, one gets bold, dives in, and pecks at his skin.

It’s hilarious.