Page 13

“ M ake way for Emerald Cove!” The blond-haired man shouts from the deck above. The rest of the crew busies themselves on the deck, making their way to their stations.

I place the Serpent’s Key back into my coat pocket, making sure it’s secure, given that it’s the only thing keeping me alive at the moment. Then, I wander next to the helm under the shield of the quarterdeck wall where the elaborate carving is etched.

Large waves curve along the bottom half of the wall, revealing a treacherous display of the ocean at her most violent moment.

On the left is a carving of the moon and stars, radiating their light upon the glittering surface.

Either the woodsman who carved the piece was a great painter as well or Grayson paid a pretty shilling for two artists to complete the piece, because as I draw closer, I notice gold flecks are painted amongst the depicted sky, marking all the stars, while the moon is carved and painted in a pearlescent white that glows every time the morning sunlight hits it.

Running my hands along the surface, I feel the ridges of every mark the carver made into the wood. It must have taken days for him to complete such a piece.

“Excuse me, miss.” I turn around and find I’ve made my way behind the wheel and Grayson’s helmsman is staring at me.

He’s tall and lanky, but strong arms spill out from the rolled sleeves of his tunic.

A good fit for a helmsman. His height makes it easier for him to see over the wheel and his strength is a great match against the churning sea the ship will have to fight against.

Stepping out of his way, I bump against the edge of the staircase with my shoulder and hiss. “Agh.” Pain shoots down my arm and back as I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. Cradling my arm, I stumble forward, out of the shadow of the quarterdeck.

Sunlight hits my face. Opening my eyes I look out toward the crew and see a few of them glancing in my direction.

Fucking hells . These men don’t need any more reason to perceive me as some weak woman incapable of taking care of herself.

Rolling my shoulders back, I suck in a breath and stow away the agony ripping down my shoulder blade, forcing myself to go to a place I’ve been many times before—a dark and unfeeling place.

The ship slips away from the docks, along with my freedom. I ignore the pang in my gut as Silvermoon Landing grows more distant and I focus on the gentle lapping of the waves against the ship’s sides. The sound is familiar and comforting, despite my circumstances.

Another order comes from above and I step further onto the deck to see Grayson with his hands settled on the railing as his quartermaster beside him activates the crew.

The hard edges of Grayson’s face seem to have softened and I wonder if it’s because he has the very thing that every pirate lord desires—the key to the most sacred treasure of our time.

The Serpent’s Key weighs down on my shoulders—its cost too great, too burdensome. So much of me wishes to give it back. To turn the dial of time and make different choices.

Choices that wouldn’t have led to Raven’s death .

Grief and regret settles so firmly in my chest, I fear I will never be parted from them. Not when everything that happened last night was my fault. The blood— her blood—still stains my hands.

“Hello, milady,” a cheerful voice sounds from behind me—a direct opposition to the sorrow that clutches my throat. “Captain says I am to show you to your quarters. Follow me this way.”

Turning around, I ask, “Who are you?” My voice cracks against my will.

He—who is more boy than man—stops for a moment and smiles at me. “My name’s Tommy. I’m one of the Captain’s deck hands, or I want to be,” he says, sheepishly. “I’m still learning the ropes.”

There’s something sweet about him. Something sweet that will rot soon enough if he is to sail beneath Grayson Tyde’s flag for long.

“Come on.” He ushers me forward with a smile that splits his freckled face. “This way.”

Straw colored strands of his unkempt hair stick out in all directions. Unlike most of Grayson’s crew, he appears a little more disheveled, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to take care of himself. His tunic is half tucked into his trousers and one of his boots is coming untied.

Given his green age and the way he sticks out like a sore thumb, I imagine he won’t last long. Shaking my head, I follow him across the deck toward the stern, weaving through the crowd of men readying the ship for the crossing to Emerald Cove.

When we arrive at the stern, my mouth goes dry as Tommy takes a key from his pocket and places it inside the lock to what appears to be the captain’s quarters.

A large wooden door made of strong cedar wood looms in front of me.

More carvings are etched into its surface and I wonder how many times Grayson has had to replace the door, given the amount of pillaging he’s done over his long life.

Similar to the wall behind the helm, the carvings depict a raging sea with the heavens shining high above it.

Two ships lay in ruin beneath the water, their fragments strewn about the ocean’s sandy floor.

A watery grave—much like the one Grayson made for the Sea Dragon just a few nights ago.

If one could not glean from Grayson’s hard face and the darkness that seems to hover around him that encountering him means certain death, they’d certainly learn of his ruinous endeavors from the art etched into the wood’s surface on his ship. He is evil incarnate .

As though my thoughts conjure the pirate lord himself, I feel the heat of his gaze settle upon me.

When I turn to look at him, he smirks. Something about that smile tells me everything I need to know.

Grayson Tyde is not to be trusted, no matter what fragile kindness he has shown in shielding me from the wickedness of his crew.

Little does he know, he has set a snake loose upon his ship.

And I have every intention of using my fangs.

I shoot him a withering look before turning my back on him to follow Tommy through the door.

Sea mixed with the scent of cedar fills my nostrils.

The space is larger than any captain’s quarters I’ve ever seen with a huge wood framed bed centered against the back wall.

Stacks of leather-bound books litter the side tables and several rolled-up maps are strewn about the various corners.

Red light spills onto the floor from the paneled windows lining the door at my back.

While there is a mess of papers on the desk to the right, Grayson’s bed is neatly made with the duvet and sheets folded down and tucked tightly under the mattress. Four pillows line the headboard and the mere sight of them makes my eyes dreary.

It was a long night and sleep threatens to take over me. But there is no chance I will be caught sleeping in his bed. Not ever.

The floor will have to do.

“He wishes for me to stay in here—with him?” I ask Tommy, who stands to my left.

“No, milady. Your quarters are through this door.” He gestures to the left, to where a smaller door is located in the corner of his room. It looks, at first glance, like the door to the captain’s personal dungeons.

So, not in his bed. But right next to it.

He wants to keep me close to him, no doubt, and likely away from the members of his crew who might not be trustworthy, given the significance of what I carry in my coat pocket.

I follow Tommy to the door, but stop just in front of it, noticing a canvas surrounded by a silver filigree frame to my right.

The painting reminds me of the carvings etched into the Caelestia’s wood surfaces with its dark nature.

A white capped sea rages at the bottom—so violent it appears as though the ocean herself is raging against some unseen grief.

Gloomy clouds hover above her surface with strikes of lightning crashing into the water.

An unjust attack that the sea can’t defend herself against. Higher—above the clouds—is a serene heaven of thousands of stars lit against the darkness of the blackened canvas.

The moon hangs to the left, the paint similar to the quarterdeck wall.

It glows a pearlescent hue, changing like an opal from the rays of light shining in through the windows.

But what strikes me the most is the cleaving of the heavens.

Down the middle of the night sky is a belt of clustered stars mirroring the sides of an inky black crevice.

The paint is so black it seems to draw light into it.

I find myself being pulled closer, like the canvas itself breathes life and sings some siren song.

Beautiful and mesmerizing. Too stunning to look away from.

“Milady?” Tommy’s voice is like a broken twig in a silent forest snapping me back from my stupor.

Blinking, I turn to him. “Yes, sorry.”

Without looking back at the painting, I meet him through the open door into the adjoining chamber.

“This is where the captain would like you to stay.” He moves to the side so I can fully enter the space.

The same cedar wood from Grayson’s room lines the floor and walls.

A long dresser sits opposite the bed and two side tables occupy each side of the headboard with lanterns above them.

It’s plain, with no finishes or décor—a lonesome sight compared to the homey space built right next to it—but the bed looks plush and the sheets appear clean.

Honestly, it’s quite more than I would have ever ventured a pirate lord would bestow upon a captive.

I turn to look at Tommy, not sure what to say next. I was expecting to be chained to a corner below deck, not free to roam with a room all to myself.

“All right then,” he says awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to it, milady.”

“I’m not a lady, Tommy,” I inform him quietly. “I’m a pirate captain…not of noble blood.”