Page 50 of Bloody Black

P ulling Robb aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge is worse than carrying him to the rowboat, worse than watching him bleed out.

In the end, it is Tremaine who climbs down to us—we tie Robb to his back like he’s a sack of coal.

He carries him aboard, hauling himself up the long ladder that’s mounted on the back of the ship.

Multiple times, Robb screams in agony.

I climb with a knife clenched between my teeth, carrying both our swords.

Xandretta and Teach are there. Holly lies at their feet, shirt torn open. Her wound is even worse than I imagined. Straight through her breast, low on the left side… It’s clean through—I can’t figure out how she’s still alive.

“We’ll need to stitch the front, roll her over, and then stitch the back.” Tremaine has taken charge, holding a cloth to her chest. His hands are coated in red .

“Shouldn’t we move her below?”

“Not until we close it up…”

“Bring a needle. Fishing twine.”

Everyone is talking at once. It’s so much blood—Holly’s chest is a horror. The white of one rib is peeking out. Robb suddenly seems fit as a fiddle in comparison.

Sitting between their bodies, I am filled with such a profound panic that I fear I will pass out. Vibrating with tension, blind with worry, I grasp for anything within reach. Anything to hold onto.

Robb’s elbow.

He turns, takes in my pale face, my soaked hair, the wild panic in my eyes.

“Anne. Anne.” He tries to twist and hold me, but the pain makes him cry out.

“What are you—argh!” Tremaine sees Robb. “Don’t move, you idiot.”

“I’m going to take care of her. And him.” Tremaine grasps my face, turns my chin toward his. “I’ve got them. But I can’t help, if I’m dealing with you. And we can’t let Robb move. Yes?”

I can’t see anything but my friend. My friend, who sacrificed herself to save my sorry skin again.

On the other side of Robb, Xandretta threads twine through a curved bone needle. We use it to mend sails. She seems unbothered, quick and capable. But it’s a large wound, and infections happen easily…

“I must take these pants off you,” Xandretta tells Robb.

Robb grimaces. “I need a drink. ”

“Get this man some rum,” Tremaine calls out. Then, to Robb, he says, “You’d be amazed what you can mend with a needle and a grudge.”

Meanwhile, Holly’s unconscious. She won’t hear, but Teach reassures her anyway. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll fix you right up.”

Then what? Will Holly wake up and help me kill my enemies? Take on William and the rest of his men? Lay siege to a castle?

“Anne?” Tremaine says pleasantly, “Can you go downstairs and check her berth? Make sure there are clean sheets, and then we’ll carry her down in a few minutes?”

No. I can’t go. If I leave, I’ll never speak to her again.

I shiver and stare at Tremaine, at his auburn hair and warm brown eyes.

“I need you to make sure she has a comfortable place to sleep. Not here on the deck. See?” He speaks to me like I’m a child.

I’m still gripping Robb’s elbow. He’s wincing, the hilt of his knife clenched in his teeth as Xandretta sews his skin back together.

Try to calm down. This has happened before. We always make it through. Domino, Prudence, and I… we have all been stabbed, shot at, chased. This is nothing new.

“Okay.” I nod slowly. “Okay.”

Stumbling to my feet, I force myself down the stairs, through the corridor, my hand skimming the wall for balance. My legs are unsteady and slow because I don’t want to leave them.

But then I have a thought. If I hurry, she won’t die.

If I run, if I do what was asked, if I get the room ready quickly enough, Holly will live. There is no logic to it. No reason. Yet, I cling to it like a raft.

Before I know it, I’m running. Sprinting through the boat.

I shove open the door to the infirmary, and my bare feet slip on the planks, still polished fine with lemon oil.

The space is small, spartan, and neat. The hammock is rolled up, tucked high. The cot is narrow, low to the ground, with one folded blanket and a single pillow, dented from where someone slept here the night before. I tear them off, throw them aside.

There are clean linens in the trunk at the foot of the bed. I know this. Holly is nothing if not predictable. Steady. Loyal. Kind. Always cleaning everything, always trying to fix me.

My fingers fumble the latch.

I yank the trunk open, nearly tear the first sheet in half pulling it out. My breath comes in gasps, uneven and shallow, as if I’ve been running. I smooth the sheet over the cot with shaking hands, and as I do, tears sink into the mattress, spreading like pale ink.

She’s not going to die. Not right now. That’s what Tremaine said, and he wouldn’t lie to me.

But if not now, then tonight. If not tonight, then sometime before morning, with the fever that will come. With infection. With blood loss. I’ve seen what happens to people with holes through their chest.

There is only one thing that can prevent Holly from dying, and it’s not a set of tidy twine stitches.

As I well know, certain death can only be avoided via one method: a bargain with a demon.

The air thickens as I clamber down to the lowest deck of the Queen Anne’s Revenge . The demon has saved me before; she’d do it again. This ship is her home, too. Her magic is powerful; she can certainly heal Holly. She can undo the wound like it never was.

The moment it leaves my lips, something in the air shifts. Cold creeps in. Not the kind from the sea—but the kind from old places, where light doesn’t reach.

“I’ll pay. Whatever you want—just don’t let her die.” My voice cracks. “I know you hear me.”

The shadows do not stir.

It’s quieter here, away from the noise of the crew, the shouted orders, the glare of sunlight. Lanterns flicker weakly, and each step feels like descending into the belly of something ancient. I press my hand to the bulkhead, whisper her name again. “Rokhur.” Louder, this time. “Rokhur.”

Nothing. The shadows do not answer, but I feel them shift, like something just beyond the edge of vision.

“You said you’d come when I asked.” My fingers drag along the wood, toward the front of the ship.

“You want my soul? Fine. Take it. Take whatever you want. Just—please help. Holly is dying.”

Still nothing. Down below decks, the Queen Anne has already started to wear.

The rot of Rokhur’s magic tainting her, twisting through boards, infusing her sails.

Mildew curls in the corners, slimy fingers just waiting to creep a little further.

A lantern swings slightly, casting shadows that ripple like oil along the floor.

The hallway is longer than I remember.

“Rokhur?” I say, into the silence.

Not a single sound answers.

I move tentatively, tiptoeing as if the ship itself might try to stop me. The shadows grow teeth, black and glistening, curling under doorframes like smoke. A low groan echoes somewhere above—wood shifting, maybe.

I pause at the junction that leads deeper into the hold. The way down is unlit. The air down there isn’t just stale, it’s cold, and it presses on my skin.

For a moment, my hand grips the wall and I just stand there, breathing hard, the tears drying tacky on my cheeks.

“Stop spooking yourself over nothing,” I order myself. It’s a boat. Below-decks are always dark. I’ve sorted through dozens. I’ve easily grabbed munitions, bottles of rum.

I take one step forward, down the narrow stairs. The lantern in the hall above sputters. Then goes out. Hyper-ventilating in the darkness, I freeze. Something brushes my ankle, and I scream, launching a vicious kick.

Pyrrhus yowls, and a ball of fluff streaks past.

Relieved, I fall back against the wall. “You stupid cat!” I shout after him.

A breeze slithers past my shoulder, though there are no windows. It smells like rot and smoke.

“Please?” I say, knowing she’s here.

“ No.” Her voice is cold. Controlled.

The word hits like a slap. I’m stunned, the breath punched from my lungs. She’s never said ‘no’, not even once.

“Wh–why not? You always help me.”

My knees buckle, and I brace myself on the damp wood. Above me, the lantern flickers then dies, casting the hold in suffocating darkness. For the first time since I clawed out of that trunk, I feel powerless. Truly, terrifyingly alone.

Rokhur’s red eyes glow, casting everything in crimson light. “Perhaps I grow tired of you always calling upon me, like a child needing a mother.”

I almost snap back. I am not a child. The words rise, hot and sharp, but I bite them down until the taste of copper floods my tongue. I do need her. And she knows it.

“If you don’t help, she’ll die.”

Rokhur doesn’t even bother to shrug her bony shoulders. “Then let her.” She turns away, her cloak dragging rot across the boards.

“I’ll give you anything.”

“You have nothing to offer.” Rokhur goes to the porthole and looks out at the rolling sea. “I have all that I want, Anne of Celestia.” Her head tilts at an unnatural angle, her decaying jaw sagging. “And the things that I do not yet have, I will take. There is no need to bargain.”

“She’s your friend.”

Rokhur laughs, an unsavory sound that reminds me of breaking glass. “Aboard this ship I am feared, hated, or ignored. Never a friend.”

“I’m your friend. ”

“Blasphemy.” Rokhur bares her teeth. “Nothing means more to you than revenge, least of all the ones who made it all possible. You don’t have friends. You have tools. Shields. Weapons you wield.”

What can I say? She’s right. I cast aside Mercy and Holly, even Teach, all in my pursuit of William and retaking my throne.

Every bend, every loop, every letter of these cursed bargains around my neck…

All to put him on his knees. Even Prudence has turned her back on me.

There’s nothing left for me but to continue the quest, to finish it.

“If I stop, it will all have been for nothing. If I turn back, they died for no reason at all.”

“Tell yourself whatever you need to.” Rokhur adjusts her gown. “You said you would pay the price, no matter how high. It should not shock you that the cost is not only yours to bear.”

I want her to save Holly. I have to make her save her. So I have to promise her something. Yet, I can’t decide how to proceed. What she would want to hear. If I beg, perhaps I am too loyal. Too foolish. If I say nothing, then perhaps I have no loyalty, even to those who deserve it.

“William took my throne,” I growl.

Her laugh is as sweet as a poisoned apple. “And I brought you back to reclaim it.” Rokhur glides through the shadows, her patchwork face a kaleidoscope of horror. “I own you. Your life is mine, Princess. You sold it to me when I brought you back from the grave.”

My throat feels as if it’s full of wool. “I know that, but…”

“I made you. I gave you breath. I gave you strength. And you squander it on that sack of meat! ”

“I am still yours,” I plead. “Your servant.”

“Your life is mine!” she hisses, suddenly nose to nose with me, her red gleaming eyes like burning coals. “Mine! None of these others matter!”

“It is! I know!” I resist the urge to stab her in the chest. She wouldn’t die; it would only make her angry. “But I need Holly to win!”

“You and I will deal with the usurpers.” Rokhur whirls away, her ragged cloak gaping open to reveal uneven white ribs. “She’s nearly dead anyway. Let the sea claim what it is owed and be done with it.”

Appease her. Say whatever you have to. Calm her.

“Fine. Of course. You’re right.” My smile is wooden, hollow. Inside, however, I’m screaming. Holly will die without help; and I scramble to come up with a plan.

However, Rokhur seems satisfied. “You and I will take the castle of Celestia. Reclaim your crown.”

“Together,” I reassure her.

“Unless…” she says slowly, turning back toward me. “You choose. Holly or William. You can save one woman or kill your husband, but you cannot do both.”

“What?” I stare at her, my pulse crashing like waves against my ribs.

“Is Holly worth it?” Rokhur smiles. “You want your crown, you want revenge. You want so many things, Blackbeard . But are you still willing to pay the price of having them?”

Briefly, I close my eyes. Praying for patience, but also, seeing William laughing on my throne. It only lasts a moment. Then, in my mind, I see Holly. Stitching my wounds. Putting lemons in my tea. Standing next to me with a rusted fishing rod, her red hair blowing wild in the wind.

I can’t lose another person.

“I choose her.” The words come from my lips before I’ve even really decided, but the instant they are spoken, I know it’s the right thing to do. “I choose Holly.”

“If I fix her, then what will you do?” Rokhur seems intrigued.

“I’ll fight William myself. With my own two hands.” I swallow hard. “I won’t ask for your help.”

Something in my chest lifts, lightens; I’ve made my choice. Besides, I’m better than I once was. This time I’m prepared. I know what to expect. I’ve seen him fight. This time, I’ll have the element of surprise.

This time, I don’t need Rokhur’s magic to win, because I can hold my own.

“Save Holly,” I repeat. “And I will handle William.”

Rokhur’s expression is unreadable. “So be it,” she says smoothly, and the lanterns gutter low. “I hope you’re ready.” Her form slips back into the darkness like smoke, leaving the scent of sulfur behind.