Page 27 of Bloody Black

D on’t drink coffee after noon. It’s Holly’s advice, and some I should have listened to.

Now it’s after midnight, and I’m lying here wide-eyed in the lieutenant’s sheets.

Which, unfortunately, smell like him. Soft, brushed silk, clean.

.. The pillow is a dream, the perfect amount of feathering; and it smells just as divine as my enemy. It crawls inside my nose like a worm.

Robb Maynard is upstairs, tied to the mast, probably sleeping, and he’s still pissing me off.

I should shove him and his damnably comfortable bed through a porthole.

The ship creaks like it’s breathing, ribs rising and falling with the tide, every joint shifting and groaning. Somewhere deep in the hull, Rokhur whispers. Too low to hear clearly, but enough to raise gooseflesh on my arms. She doesn’t sleep.

And truth be told, neither do I. Not really. Ever since I died, I find that I don’t really need to. I still love to lie quietly, listening to the murmur of the sea.

Tonight, however, it needles under my skin. Too slow. Too loud. Again and again, my mind goes back to him , turning over our interactions like playing cards.

Robb Maynard. William’s handsome lieutenant. He has a smile like a guillotine, and that is exactly where I’ll end up, if I drop my guard around him. He has been hunting Blackbeard, the same as every ship in William’s fleet. I’m sure he’d love to win the king’s favor by beheading me.

With an irritated huff, I shove back the covers.

Stand, stretch, go to the windows of the state room.

I push the shutters open, letting the sea breeze caress my face.

It’s balmy, placid. The sea is black glass, and not a single cloud mars the sky.

The islands are dotted with palm trees, and waves break on white sand beaches.

It’s all uninhabited.

I lift my hair off my neck, sweating. I’ve never quite gotten accustomed to the heat in the south; I miss snow and fire and cinnamon tea. Home.

Resigned to being fully awake, I grumble curses to myself as I dress, as I climb the stairs to above deck. Teach steers the helm, whistling softly.

“How is it?” I ask, my voice low.

“Quiet. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

I shrug, non-committal. Across the way, I can see Robb’s slumped form.

His chin is against his chest, hair falling forward.

His hands are still tied securely behind his back.

Hobbled. Far from dangerous. Holly sits cross-legged near the stern, shirt half-unbuttoned, sharpening a long curved blade with lazy strokes.

I resist the urge to wake him up and scream at him. Afterall, he hasn’t done anything.

Yet. He hasn’t done anything yet.

“We should reach Isla Lorah in a few days.”

My network of fourteen wives—or rather, spies— tell me that Baldric frequents a brothel there every two weeks. I can hardly wait to surprise him at his favorite haunt.

“I’ll take over if you want,” I tell him.

“You’re up early.” He glances up at the moon.

“Eh.” Scrubbing my face with one hand, I take a seat on the platform next to the helm and pick up a compass, weighing it in my palm. “Anything new?”

“Saw something odd earlier. Stern rigging. One of the cleats—looked like someone redid the knots, but not the way we tie them.”

“That’s bad.” Improperly tying the rigging can lead to the mast snapping in half. One strong wind, and we’d find ourselves without a main sail.

“Could have been any of the new crew,” Teach says, reasonably, but he rubs his gold coin necklace, superstitious.

“It’s an honest mistake,” I mutter. “Likely Domino when she’d been drinking.”

“Aye, it’s a possibility. Although it’s been quite awhile since she tied a knot wrong.”

I yawn, unable to help myself .

Off to our left, I can see the stone cliffs that outline the barrier islands. We’re officially in Celestia territory. Not a single lantern on the ship is lit; we simply can’t risk being seen. Unless William changed things, there are guard posts all along the coast.

“How do you know where you’re going,” Robb asks, breaking the silence.

“She steers by the stars.” Teach says, voice full of pride. “Knows quite a bit of astronomy. There’s no place in the sea where she isn’t at home.”

“You shouldn’t answer his questions. He’s not permanent.” I feel salty, and it’s not the sea breeze. Robb Maynard is not a puppy; my crew cannot act as if he’s not the right-hand man of our greatest enemy.

Robb chuckles. “Is she always like this?”

“No,” says Domino as she approaches, also working the night shift.

“Yes. Most definitely.” Teach takes a sip of coffee.

“Swords?” Domino asks.

“Sure.” I’m itching to do something, to move, to burn off some of this nervous energy.

I return the wheel to Teach.

Robb watches as the two of us square off, facing each other, and draw our blades. Slowly, I exhale, balancing myself, focusing, feeling the list of the boat upon the waves and letting my body adapt to the tide.

Strike. Domino moves first, but I’m already stepping sideways, feeling the breath of her blade as it slices through empty air. The night hums with motion—the whisper of the tide, the thud of boots on wet wood, the crack of blade against blade.

Her signature move is a sharp chop from overhead that, if I were anyone else, would have cleaved my right arm from my body. Effortlessly, I shift. Pivot. Swipe. The deck beneath me is slick with sea spray, the ship rolling gently with the tide, but my footing is sure.

Our blades crack against each other. Teach’s grin is white in the moonlight, and he chuckles. Domino presses me back, back, and then relents.

She loves sparring almost as much as I do. She’s nowhere near as good; and she still doesn’t hold a candle to Ben or William.

This thought pisses me off, and my next attacks are all wild, missing their mark entirely, and Teach cocks his head. He’s wondering what’s wrong with me, probably.

“Feeling reckless?” Domino grunts as our blades lock.

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” she smiles, easily parrying a strike. “Just popped up to relieve Teach from the helm a few hours early. You do that all the time.”

I stab at her savagely, nearly driving my blade through her pale hand.

She lifts a brow. “Easy there.”

“Sorry.” I retreat a few paces. She’s right; tonight I’m more teeth than technique, more fire than finesse.

As we continue, I regain my focus, and drift mentally into the place where there is only movement, only the quiet, where my body is a weapon.

With a small spin, I vault up onto the railing, then continue sparring.

My muscles burn—not in exhaustion, but in that sharp, familiar way that promises strength.

The breeze picks up, sweeping through my long, dark hair, lifting strands and sending them whipping against my cheeks.

“Show-off,” Domino mutters, and I laugh.

The night wind rushes over me, cold against my sweat-heated skin, but I barely feel it as I step through the sequence, soundless and weightless, effortlessly pivoting. The ship, the waves, the moon and stars, Domino’s cutlass whistling toward me…

None of it fazes me. None of it intimidates me. After all, I’m already dead.

It is only when I feel the lieutenant’s eyes on my back that I falter. A single foot misplaced. The wind gusts, and for a breathless second, I sway too close to the edge.

He gasps, loud and startled, and the ropes groan under the strain of his arms as he lurches forward. Worried I’ll plunge overboard, lost in the sea. He acts as if he’s trying to get to me.

My body adjusts without thinking, my boots light against the slick wood. My muscles are loose, my arms fluid, no more than a feather on the wind.

I don’t fall. Of course I don’t. But my sword falls to the deck with a clatter. Quickly, I recover, then hop down from the rail. Unshaken.

Xandretta hands me my weapon, and our eyes meet. She glances toward our captive, resheathes her blade.

Seduce him, she mouths.

Piss off, I mouth back.

I hate it. Hate the way his presence pulls me out of my body, out of the rhythm of my blade, making me hyper-aware of him. I hate how he looks at me, like I’m small and feminine.

My mouth tightens into a thin line, but then softens somewhat as I take in his facial expression. Raw, rapt… It is its own reward–concern, shock, surprise, delight. Like I’ve rewritten his understanding of the world.

“What?” I can’t stop myself from sounding sharp.

“You didn’t flinch. You nearly fell into the sea, and didn’t so much as blink.”

“It will take more than a wave to make me fall.” My voice is cold and clipped.

“Right. Of course.” He seems to realize how awkward he’s making things.

I lean back on the railing, letting the silence stretch until it strains.

“There are a lot of people who want you dead,” he says at last. “How is it that you’ve managed to elude all of them?”

One beat, then two, passes. “Because your army is incompetent.”

“Who taught you to kill so cleanly? Or do you just enjoy it so much you taught yourself?”

I shrug. “Enemies make the best teachers, don’t they?”

The lieutenant doesn’t seem to know what to do with that answer; he frowns, his strong brows furrowing.

“Whatever happened to winning him over to our side?” Teach mutters from the helm .

Winning him over would mean I’d have to be much, much nicer. And at the moment, I don’t feel like doing that. I feel like fighting.

“Forgive me if I’m not friendly, Lieutenant Maynard. Are you, or are you not, here to kill me?”

“What she means is, Blackbeard here doesn’t have many friends. As you can imagine.” Teach gives Robb a sympathetic look. “We didn’t intend to disturb your sleep.”

He gives Teach a casual shrug. “She has disturbed my sleep for longer than I care to admit. I’m just happy to see her in the flesh. Learn that the person I’ve been hunting is real, and not a ghost.”

A ghost is not that far from what I am. In fact, his description is more accurate than he knows. What would he do if he knew just how close he was to the truth? That I died and was brought back to life by a demon. Would he speak with me so easily?

Teach smiles amiably. “It’s unpleasant to be tied up and locked down, no matter who you are or what you’ve done.”

I think of Mercy in her cage. Once upon a time, we were the ones locked in the dark. Locked up by people like him. As I walk toward the mast, I resheath my sword.

“You keep your balance well, but you’re favoring your left side,” he says. A beat. “An old injury that never healed.”

I clench my fist. That was the wound that cost me my crown, the one that made me lose to William on the day we met.

The fact that the lieutenant even noticed is a red flare, shot up into the night sky.

He’s too observant, sharp-eyed enough to notice my grip.

Not many soldiers can do that, which means he’d be a formidable opponent.

One that Ben would have kept me from taking on.

“If you’re going to test your skills, untie me. I’ll put up a real fight.”

At least he’s not a liar. But a dead woman can’t be beaten, and I’m in no mood to reveal that to him yet.

“Have I ever told you that I prefer my captives quiet and restrained?” I fold my arms over my chest.

Xandretta glares at me. You’re supposed to be seducing him.

He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t look away. And since breaking our eye contact would be a sign of weakness, neither do I. A full ten seconds passes.

“Every time I think I’ve seen the worst of the world,” Robb says, his voice sharp as the blade at my waist, “I meet another monster. And I realize William is not alone in his taste for slaughter.”

Feigning boredom, I pick at my nails. “Your criticisms wound me, truly. Do you ever stop talking? ”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Congratulations. It must have taken years to learn how to be so annoying.” My fingers twitch at my sides, ever-eager to reach for my knife. “Go to sleep.”

“Impossible.” Robb exhales and closes his eyes. “You’re still here.”

“Allow me to remedy that.” I stomp away, down the stairs and back to his stateroom, leaving him to sleep under the stars.