Page 33 of Bloody Black

T wo days. That’s how long I spend carving Baldric apart, removing pieces of him until he’s nigh unrecognizable. A few of them, I plan to mail to William. Anonymously, of course.

He cries. He shakes and kicks and twists and tries to get away. Just like I once did. I show him the exactamount of mercy he showed me.

“Old friend, it’s been fun.” The sheets are awash in blood and piss, and his chest is more similar to ground meat than man. “But I’ve settled our score, balanced the scales. People to be, places to see, and all that.”

When I walk out of the room, I’m so saturated with his blood that one of the women retches.

The other two have a hard set to their faces, obviously ready for anything.

Their plans? I cannot even guess. But these women are the only reason I didn’t kill him.

There are others he’s hurt in this house, and they want their pound of flesh too.

What kind of person would I be if I deprived them of it?

I hand a hammer over to one of them, my fingertips staining her hand red. “He’s all yours.”

With a tip of my hat, I walk away, whistling. Straight to the brothel’s bathing chamber.

So I can get his stench off me.

Sinner’s Rest is the finest brothel in Isla Lorah and the heart of my spy network. The women keep it well-stocked with lavender, oranges, and secrets. It’s quiet, peaceful, and a perfect place to meet. Tonight, I need all three.

The madam gives me a knowing smile as I pass. “Water’s hot, Captain.”

It always is. I smile in thanks, slipping inside. The staff here know better than to ask questions, though they are happy to answer mine.

I disrobe in the candlelight, easing into the pool with a grateful sigh.

It reminds me of my bathroom in the castle.

The walls were polished pink, veined with gold, and there were always white peonies.

I spent hours there daydreaming, soaking in bubbles that smelled of vanilla and almond, the water kept hot by some obscure spell.

Later, the maids would come. They’d kneel at my feet and perfume my skin with jasmine and comb out my hair with wide-toothed ivory brushes.

A perfect life for a princess.

Spoiled. Stupid. Silly .

Slowly, methodically, I scrub away the blood beneath my fingernails, wash it from the creases of my skin.

I tip back my head, giving a low moan of appreciation as blood rinses from my hair.

White rose petals and lavender float by, drifting like little ghosts across the surface.

The scent of the soap—rose and orange peel, thick and decadent—clings to my skin as I drag it down my arms, lazy and languid.

My mind is blissfully blank. Not numb, exactly, but suspended.

Like dice held just above the gambling table, waiting to drop.

Thick steam rolls upward, curling around the ceiling beams like fingers.

Velvet drapes hang heavy over the windows, muffling the street noise outside, casting the room in shadows.

A single golden candelabra glows beside the tub, its wax dripping like tears.

The hush and heat blur the edges of everything.

I could almost believe I’m alone.

“Would you like to visit the pleasure rooms after this?” asks a soft voice. A maid. In her hands, she bears a red silk robe.

“That won’t be necessary.”

I don’t need pleasure. I need whispers. I need William’s men to start sweating into their skivvies and sharpening their blades. I need them to know that Blackbeard is on their trail, hunting them down one by one.

It’s a critical moment; and any distraction, no matter how small, is to be discouraged.

She curtsies, leaving the robe on the back of a chair.

Taking care of Baldric has me away from the ship for too long. It’s possible that the handsome Lieutenant Maynard has wriggled free, stolen back his ship, and is sailing away into the sunset .

The silence that follows is thick, expectant, like the room itself holds its breath. Beneath the water, the heat soothes muscles I hadn’t realized were aching. Tired but triumphant, I bask in the kill. Another name scratched off my list. Another ghost with no more breath to haunt me.

Slow minutes pass, and my thoughts drift. To William. To Ben. To the ship. To him , again.

The lieutenant.

Mindlessly, I chew at my thumbnail. I still haven’t gotten much information from him.

“Perhaps I’ll lock him in a trunk and let him sink to the bottom of the sea.” I inhale deeply.

But that would be unfair. After all, Robb Maynard never did anything to me.

Most likely, William doesn’t yet realize I’ve taken The Concorde . He has no idea that his prized warship now bears a pirate flag, and that his old friend Roger spins below the crow’s nest like a weathervane .

I laugh softly, imagining what a revelation that will be. With a happy sigh, I imagine sending William a letter. No, a package. A pig heart with nails through it, perhaps.

There’s only one dark cloud on my horizon. The water is pink. One drop of blood falls, blossoms. Mystified, I touch my fingers to my throat, and they come away red. The demon’s magic continues to spread.

The discreet knock a few minutes later is one of mine. Not a customer, not a maid. Only spies use the second door, the one behind the copper mermaid .

“Come in,” I murmur, eyes still closed.

There’s a creak, followed by a shuffle of feet.

“King William has doubled the number of patrols for the southern coast of Celestia. Dockmasters have been notified to shoot you on sight.”

I recognize Sable’s voice immediately. Low, throaty, like she’s spent far too many years smoking. “I suppose I’ll have to avoid them.”

“How are the seas?”

“Wet.” I lean back, spreading my legs wide like a man.

“You’re a lady. The life of a pirate hasn’t changed you from who you truly are. Not really.”

“Don’t tell that to the crew,” I reply. “Or all the men I’ve killed.”

She seems disconcerted, and awkwardly shifts from foot to foot. She’s new; it’sbeen four months since we started working together, and this is only our second meeting. I take pity on her. “Men are here for your body. I’m here for your ears. No need to worry.”

This bolsters her courage, and she squares her shoulders. “No one has seen Roger. We assume that he–”

“Is dead,” I say pleasantly. “Carry on.”

My spy falters again. Then continues. “Venka remains in the castle. He is William’s foremost advisor; they are rarely apart.”

That’s because they prefer to bed the same woman, although I didn’t know that when I married him.

“Baldric—”

“Is downstairs, chained to a bed, being mutilated by the ladies of this house. He’ll be indisposed indefinitely. ”

I crack open one eye. Sable is one of my so-called wives. With golden, flowing hair, and a beatific smile, one would mistake her for an angel, rather than a spy.

“How are things with Alexander?” I ask, curious. She sleeps with one of William’s advisors, and her best friend is married to another. Sable’s information is as golden as her hair, and she has never failed me. Not yet.

“He continues to ask why we cannot marry.” She gives a small, grim smile. “I continue to tell him that he already is.”

Prick. Spotswood was the least of my favorites; he’d served my father as a youth.

But he hadn’t been there that night, hadn’t been involved.

Therefore, he was safe from my blade. I’d made him into a source of information, rather than using his skin for a rug.

In that sense, he didn’t realize how lucky he was.

Steam wafts off my skin as I rise from the water and don the crimson robe. It’s cool to the touch, silky. Expensive. This house knows me too well.

“What do you know of Lieutenant Robb Maynard?”

Her eyes narrow. I can tell she doesn’t want to answer me.

“Indulge my curiosity. Does he come to the brothels here, in Isla Lorah?”

“He doesn’t come here. Nor any. Too good for the likes of us.”

Interesting. How does she know him?

“A wife, then?”

“Nay.”

“So you know nothing,” I say flatly. “Nothing whatsoever?”

Tell me, little liar.

Sable purses her lips, clearly torn. For a moment I wonder if she’s sleeping with him, if I’ve somehow selected an unlucky spy who serves two masters.

“I don’t know anything.” She says it too quickly. Too easily. I’ve heard better lies from drunk dockhands.

My eyes narrow, and I belt the crimson robe, tying the sash in a tight knot. I could press her for information. I could kill her now, and eliminate the chance of her selling my secrets later.

Or you could wait and see. It’s Ben’s voice I hear, a whisper in my ear, always guiding me.

“Tell your general that Blackbeard was overheard boasting in a tavern on the isle of Venedria. He claims to have slaughtered William’s men and captured a lieutenant. Say he’s tall and tattooed, dark and deadly.”

“Is that the truth?” she mutters.

I eye her and decide to risk it. “All too true, fortunately.”

“You captured Lieutenant Maynard?”

“Aye. Currently tied to my mast.”

Sable’s brow furrows. She knows him. Has to. “Are you going to kill him?”

She doesn’t ask like a lover would. Or even a friend. But she is interested in his fate, though for what reason I cannot determine.

“Not today,” I say. “Though who knows what the tides may bring.”

My spy palms the bag of gold, weighing it in her palm. Weighing the truth .

“Anything else?” I ask idly, picking through a tray loaded with fruit, chewing a grape. Soft. Lush. It bursts on my tongue, decadent and sweet.

She takes a deep breath. “I… know him.”

“How?”

“He’s from Rivelle. Like me.”

Like William.

“And you know him?”

“Not well. The general groused that it was because of his friendship with the king that he got his appointment.” She presses her lips into a thin line, holding the rest of her words in.

Keeping them from me.

“Interesting.” The dagger rests on the tray beside the grapes. I pluck it up without a sound. Then cross the room, slow and unhurried. I stand in front of her, staring into her eyes.

“One last thing,” I murmur.

She stiffens, but doesn’t run. My golden goddess is beautiful, soft, but built with cold steel underneath. She is a weapon. Shaped by men and sharpened by me.

I press the flat of the blade to her throat—not cutting, just a cold kiss against skin. Her pulse flutters beneath it, but her chin is raised, her eyes flat calm.

“I know you’re lying, Sable. I do not like it. However, I am no jealous male. I do not require you to tell your secrets, and I do not care if you serve two masters. If, however, you betray me…”

My lips brush her ear, soft enough to be mistaken for affection. “I’ll carve the price out of your flesh myself.”

Her breath catches, and a visible tremor shivers through her .

I lower the knife, and pat my clothes. Then pluck out a letter, carefully folded. “I’ll need you to deliver this to Princess Genevieve.”

It was risky, but I had to warn her about William. How he would lie and kill, how he couldn’t be trusted. Of course, it was very likely she wouldn’t believe a letter that had no signature. She would have every reason to dismiss the warning.

She takes it with long-nailed fingers. “The… but that’s impossible.”

“I pay you to figure it out. So. Do.” I return to the fruit tray, dagger still in hand. “You may go. Give my regards to the general. And your daughter.”

My knife slices into a fig and blood-dark insides spill onto the plate. Sable all but flees, the door slamming behind her, leaving me alone in the heat.