Page 34 of Bloody Black

I n the east, the sun rises, a drop of molten gold in a sky so pink it hurts my eyes. I haven’t slept. The deck of the ship is full of raucous men, with plenty of rum, dice, cards, and games.

Jolly Roger sways in the rigging. Seagulls have been feasting, plucking away flesh and sinew, leaving behind a skeletal ornament. He’s still wrapped in the remnants of his black cloak. The sun has cooked what remains, but a stiff breeze carries away the smell.

“How fares the afterlife?” I smile up at the corpse. “Is your hell hot enough?”

“Welcome back,” Xandretta drawls.

Satisfied, I lean against the rail. “Any problems while we were gone?”

“We’ve had a minor mishap with the gunpowder, nothing otherwise amiss.”

“Oh? ”

“We had some rolling sea, and a dozen or so barrels went overboard.”

Hmm. My eyes drift over to where the barrels are clustered, tied snug against the railing for easy access. The Queen Anne’s Revenge carried four hundred barrels, so the loss wasn’t a tragedy, though certainly it is a loss I would have rather avoided.

“Orders were given but some idiot forgot to take them down to the hold,” Samson grumbles. He shoots a look at Robb, still bound to the mast.

“Or someone cut the ropes intentionally.” Prudence tucks a clove cigarette behind her ear. “I can’t imagine who that might be.”

A saboteur. Interesting.

Robb frowns. “Me neither.” Though his hands are bound, his shoulders roll back in a deliberate attempt to maintain control. He studies me, then Teach, as if silently calculating which of us might believe him.

Annoyed, I curse the entire lot silently.

This is yet another distraction I cannot afford.

Up next is Soren, the man who taught me to shoot an arrow and ride a horse.

Fire a pistol. I haven’t figured out a death gruesome enough to repay his treachery, not yet, but there isn’t much time left to think about it.

He resides on Brannalee, an island just north of here. It’s two days’ sail, at most.

“You should have paid closer attention,” I say pointedly.

“Aye, sir.” Xandretta doesn’t look contrite in the least. I can tell she doesn’t consider it to be a major issue.

Prudence scowls as she ties off one of the sails. “We shouldn’t have his men aboard.”

“You would have killed them all straightaway, I’m sure.” Teach shines his boots with a brush, patiently covering the worn places with brown polish.

“Aye.” She finishes the knot and straightens. “They can’t be trusted. The lieutenant is King William’s man, through and through. He’s got something up his sleeve, I can feel it.”

I couldn’t argue with her. Robb most certainly did have something up his sleeve, and damned if I knew what it was. Though perhaps what she’s most upset about is the walk on the beach. She’s a jealous old soul, and it tires me to always deal with her raging…

Prudence glares at Robb; the lieutenant feigns innocence. “No quarter. No mercy. That’s the rules. Your rules, Blackbeard.”

It’s not that I don’t agree with her; I do.

It’s not that Robb isn’t dangerous, a serpent in our midst, because he is.

But he’s too valuable as a source of information.

As bait. As trade, as leverage. I’ve never had anyone in my hands whom William might actually care about having returned.

Even though I don’t know precisely what to do with the lieutenant for now, and I don’t quite understand the conflicted feelings he brings out in me…

I refuse to kill him.

For now, at least.

And I cannot let anyone else kill him either, however much they might want to.

Moreover, I cannot let Prudence steer my decisions. She’s a deckhand and I am the captain, and she’s overstepping with the constant complaints about my decisions .

“Prudence, I’m well aware of the risk, as well as our rules. But he is not a merely a captive, he is leverage.”

“If that’s true, then why—”

“I am also certain that, as captain, I am free to amend the rules at any time. For any reason. Am I not?”

Her gaze darkens. “Of course, sir.”

It would have been easy to let it end there.

But no. Prudence never can let an argument die, not without herself being the clear victor. So as she strides across the deck and walks past our captive, she spits at him.

And misses.

Her saliva hits the deck with a wet slap, gleaming like a pearl, a few inches before settling near Robb’s boot. He shifts, just barely, involuntarily and seemingly unbothered. Around us, boots shuffle. The air thickens, the tension rising like a tide.

Internally, I groan. I don’t want to discipline one of my inner circle, especially not in front of everyone else, but now every sailor on deck is watching. Goddamn this witch for being a perpetual thorn in my side.

“Clean that up.” My voice rings with command.

Her face is a wall of granite; her eyes spit fire. “No.”

Around me, a ripple runs through the crew. No? For a sailor to refuse their captain is unheard of. Treasonous.

That Prudence would say ‘no’ to such a trivial request is not shocking, of course, but she must know I’ll have to retaliate. That it cannot be tolerated.

“You will swab the deck or be left in the harbor. ”

Certainly, I’ve never threatened any of them with such a thing. Suspicion dawns on their faces, and some openly frown at Robb. Others nod encouragingly, happy to see Prudence put in her place.

She looks just as shocked as I am. “You would leave me, and keep him? That snake in our midst is more valuable to you than me?”

It isn’t about value.

Not about him versus her.

This is about order, rules, hierarchy, and how she is a sailor and I am the captain.

There are appropriate ways to dissent, and Prudence knows those well enough by now.

Her actions are pure spite, insubordination, and set a bad example for others.

So I cannot let them pass, no matter how close we are, or our history.

“Clean up your mess. No one else will.” I stare straight into her eyes.

Anger hums between us. It’s obvious that she longs to slap me in the face and rage. But Prudence doesn’t. She knows she’s broken protocol; she’s been at sea far longer than I have. And although she might be a rebel, she appreciates rules.

Glaring at me, she crosses the deck and picks up a rag.

Then she bends at the waist, all grace and elegance, and swipes up the mess at Robb’s feet.

“Better?”

“Much.”

Relieved by her acceptance, I’m not expecting it when she throws the rag straight into my face. It strikes me, then tumbles to the ground between my feet.

A gauntlet has been thrown, and the hush that follows Prudence’s defiance stretches long and loud.

The only sound is the creak of the ropes, of Jolly ole Roger’s boots bumping against the mast. Everyone wants to see what I’ll do, what I will say.

Across the deck, I catch Teach and Holly exchanging a look—tallying odds.

My fingers itch for a pistol. For a noose. For the violence that would soothe the demon marks around my neck. For me, action brings clarity. Soothes my demons.

The watchful gazes of my sailors press heavier than iron against my shoulders. Judging my weakness. Waiting.

These are shark-filled waters. Do I dare to bleed? Am I Blackbeard, vicious and cunning and cold? Am I Anne, the sentimental princess who trusted the wrong man?

I decide to turn my back on her. As if her anger is too small to warrant the blade—and return to the helm. To Xandretta, who stares straight ahead.

After a brief pause, Prudence steps back into the sailors, fading into the group like debris sinking into the sea.

Xandretta gives a long sigh. “She’s going to fight this. You know how she is. We’ll have to keep an eye on those two in particular.”

“Or else she’ll be poisoning his breakfast. I know.” The rest of his crew blends in, but not Robb. Not Tremaine. I’ll have to put a guard on them, day and night. Unless I let them sleep elsewhere, somewhere safe.

Like his stateroom.

An image, far too vivid, intrudes. Robb next to me, in bed. His bare chest. What would he say? What would he do?

More importantly, why would I care?

The sun sets red on the horizon. “Pull up the anchor. Run up the sail, and let’s put this wretched rock behind us. ”

With a troubled expression, Holly raises her hands, and an answering gust of wind catches the sails, filling them, pulling us forward. And high above, Jolly Roger spins, his empty sockets watching.

Smiling permanently down at me.

A gust of wind tears through the rigging, snapping the sails overhead, but it’s not the wind that makes my stomach twist. Domino and Samson exchange a look.

Quick, fleeting. But I catch it. Domino’s eyebrow lifts, just barely.

A question. A doubt. Samson’s head tilts the smallest degree to the side. A warning. A refusal.

Neither of them speaks, but they don’t have to. The glance between them is louder than words, heavier than lead in the belly. They disagree with my decision.

Other members of the crew move as if they’re wading through honey, feet slow and plodding as they check sails and tug ropes. Annoyed, I retie some of the ropes, steadfastly ignoring Robb’s gaze.

“Captain—” Teach murmurs, stepping close.

“Tell the sailors we’re going. If the storm gets bad, we can take shelter at the next island over.”

“Aye, sir.” Teach shrugs, unbothered.

I set my jaw, smother a flicker of regret. It’s not his fault that Prudence is always stirring the pot.

As we move out into open water, I ponder the mood. There’s a sting in the air that’s not the salty wind, a sinister undertone I don’t like.

Meanwhile, Robb studies my hands, the dark red hem of my gown, the damp places on my boots. He knows it’s not water .

“Could you stop staring—”

“Where were you?” His voice is oddly brittle, laced with disappointment.

I finish knotting the rope and turn to him. “Busy.”

“They told me that you slipped away to Sinner’s Rest.”

A myriad of emotions cross his face. The look he’s giving me, strangely wounded, suspicious, strikes a nerve.