Page 18

T wo days have passed since Grayson assassinated the merchant ship’s captain and crew.

Two days and I haven’t felt the sun on my face or the breeze whisper through my hair.

I tried to push myself to make it to the deck this morning when I felt the ship stop moving, but the heaviness of the past few days have left me weary in bed.

It is one thing to hear of Grayson’s cruelty. It is another thing entirely to witness it firsthand.

The only face I’ve seen since the attack was Doc’s when he came to patch up my facial wound a few hours after we parted the merchant ship.

The solitude has been welcoming—and torturous.

Raven’s face has haunted most of my waking hours since there have been little distractions to keep my mind occupied.

The grief clamps around my heart, filling my time with long moments of regret and guilt.

Wondering if I had made even the slightest change to our plan, would she still be here?

It is a special kind of torment to ask oneself a question that can never be answered.

A punishment that is not nearly brutal enough for the sin I have committed that led to her untimely demise.

A death that should have been mine, yet air still fills my lungs with each breath I take.

Mindlessly, I reach for the Serpent’s Key. Turning the box over and over in my hands, I close my eyes and trace my fingertips over the lines that are embossed along the sides.

The gold is cool to the touch. Unlike the feeling of Grayson’s warmth every time he has been near. Keeping my eyes closed, I envision the pad of his thumb and forefinger grasping my chin as he tilts my head back, ensuring I can’t look away from him.

Even now, my toes curl against the duvet on the bed.

My eyes fly open and I slam the Serpent’s Key back onto the bedside table, jostling the small vial of healing potion I have yet to consume.

“Agh!” I groan in utter frustration. Scraping a hand down my face, I let the anger simmer beneath my skin. The anger I feel for him . . . and for myself.

The spell of unwanted desire he has over me is like weighted chains fastened around my ankles before I walk off the plank. Whatever it is I—no, my body —feels for that male is nothing more than conjured tricks that he picked up from some witch or siren.

He may have lured me into his charm for a brief moment, but there is no way in hells I will allow myself to be enthralled by a male who lacks all honor. Who kills at will and is no better than the man who took Raven’s life.

Sitting up, I gingerly back myself against the wooden headboard.

It took a great deal of effort to get dressed in my newly cleaned clothes this morning.

I could hardly raise my left arm more than a few inches.

It’s starting to lock up and if I don’t do something soon, it won’t be long before it’s rendered completely useless.

I look back at the vial and that’s when I see it. A small rectangular notch extends out from the right side of the Serpent’s Key. Picking it back up, I press on the notch and it slowly goes back to its original place, making the surface smooth once again.

“A puzzle box,” I whisper, turning it over and over in my hands.

When I slammed it down, I must have hit whatever piece releases the first notch of the puzzle.

Now I recall why the pattern of lines along the side looked so familiar to me.

My father used to bring puzzle boxes home to me after each of his travels.

They all look different. That’s part of the lure, actually—realizing a puzzle box is a puzzle and not just a box.

My all-time favorite had been a puzzle box that looked like a clamshell pendant.

Only once I’d discovered the ridge at the base of its clasp would it pop open, revealing a pearl.

A knock lands at my door and I jump, almost dropping the trinket.

Turning around, I see the door slide open and Tommy’s boyish face peers through the crack.

“Hi, milady. Captain says he wants you to dine with him tonight.” His eyes shift to the Serpent’s Key.

“Did you discover something new?” he asks and I know whatever I tell him will go directly to Grayson.

Sliding the box back onto my bedside table, I replace it with the amber vial. “No, I was just looking it over to see if I could pick up anything new that I hadn’t noticed before.”

Tommy nods. It’s hard to say if he believes me.

“I’ve heard Doc’s potions work wonders,” he adds with a nod to the untouched potion on my beside table.

I purse my lips. Then he pulls away from the door, giving me a moment to get ready, but I can still see the edge of his frame through the sliver of the open doorway.

Looking back down at the amber vial, I weigh my options.

It would certainly benefit Grayson and his crew if I were knocked unconscious until they truly needed me.

That wouldn’t be until after they made port at Emerald Cove and restocked their supplies and fixed the damages made to the ship during their last pillage.

That would be at least a week’s worth of time.

The glass is cool as I pick up the vial and raise it to the candlelight.

Could such a small amount of something knock me out for that long?

Or is it truly just a healing potion that would aide my recovery and help me get back to using my left arm?

Which would greatly benefit me should the time come that I have an opportunity to escape.

“Hells, here goes nothing.” I pop the cork top off and take a large swig of the contents, swallowing the entire vial in one go.

Rich as Northern honey, the potion is sweet on my tongue. It’s decadent and unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. I wait to see if anything happens. When I don’t immediately pass out or feel drowsy, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and reach for the glass of water on my bedside table.

After draining the glass, I let my shoulders drop and thank the heavens it wasn’t poison or some sleeping potion.

Setting the empty glass on the table, I rise and head for the door.

Tommy smiles at me when I open it fully.

“What did I say about calling me, milady?” I raise an eyebrow at him and he blushes before sweeping his gaze to the floor.

“Sorry. Miss Rowenya.” A shy smile moves across his lips and the pure innocence of it makes my chest feel like it’s going to implode.

It is the same kind of smile Raven would wear every time we set sail on the open ocean.

When there was no land in sight, no chance of her being tied back to the fate I’d found her shackled to.

Her smiles were a reminder that no matter how badly she’d been treated, she still held onto joy.

I don’t know Tommy’s story, but for how young he is and knowing he found himself on a pirate ship with Grayson Tyde as his captain, I am fairly certain his beginning wasn’t a loving one either.

A deep sadness settles in my bones as I place my hand on Tommy’s forearm. “It’s okay, Tommy.”

His bright eyes shine when he looks at me and his smile widens. I wish I could see Raven smile like that again. A bond as close as sisterhood was so easily severed with a bad plan and the sharp edge of a knife. She’s gone. And it’s my fault.

“Is something wrong, Miss Rowenya?” Tommy asks, his voice gentle.

I look up at him and try not to see Raven’s face instead. “Yes,” I lie. “Everything’s fine.” Straightening my spine, I bury any feelings of sorrow under the cloak of numbness. “Where does your captain wish to dine?”

Tommy takes my words as truth and beams at me again. “Let me show you.”

Grayson’s dining quarters are elaborately decorated, much like every other part of his ship.

A large mahogany table is centered in the room with six chairs surrounding it.

The extravagance makes no sense for a pirate ship that witnesses high seas, but then again, not much about Grayson Tyde makes sense.

My mouth waters at the savory notes hitting my nose.

A large roasted chicken basted in melted butter and herbs is surrounded by countless side dishes filled to the brim.

Golden potatoes sprinkled with rosemary sit next to bright green asparagus and brussels sprouts.

There’s a basket of flaky pastries and dinner rolls to the side, along with a dish of melted butter.

My stomach grumbles loudly.

It’s a feast for a king. A display of utter wealth and power, and judging by the easy smile on Grayson’s decadent lips, he knows it.

“You’ve been feeding me slop when you’ve had all of this, just for you?”

Grayson’s long coat hangs on the back of his chair, where he’s leaned back with a goblet of wine nestled casually in his hand.

A leather tie zigzags through the eyelets in the deep V of his tunic.

I wonder what the hells the point of the tie is given he has it loosened, and his dark tan chest is on display.

I scowl, trying to avoid looking anywhere but at that sliver of smooth skin he seems to love showing off.

Mischief twinkles in his eyes and I ready myself for whatever remark he’s about to toss my way.

With a gentle wave of the goblet, he says, “I’d hardly call chicken thighs, vegetables, and potatoes slop.

” A feline smile widens his face. “Then again, for a woman raised amongst nobility, I guess one would consider that to be a meal made for peasants.”

The hairs on the back of neck rise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about?—”

He holds up a hand, giving me a pointed look that clearly says, Let’s not waste time playing games, Rowenya. We’ve got good food to eat.

I sigh, biting my tongue.

“You didn’t actually think I would take a stranger onto my ship,” he proceeds, eyeing me in the way predator does prey, “allow them to maintain their hold over a very important artifact, and let them be free of shackles without knowing a little something about them?”