Page 53

D eep hollers and the sound of clashing metal wakes me from my slumber. Propping myself onto my elbows, I look around the room—Grayson’s room—to find him missing.

Settling back down, I lay my arm across my forehead, thinking of Grayson’s promise to destroy the world for the sake of seeking vengeance on my behalf.

He can never know the truth behind the scars that mar my face for I fear he may do exactly as he promised—given that the man responsible still breathes.

But at least we were able to come to an agreement of sorts. I shall have my freedom, despite his instincts to shield me from any possible threat.

I could never live that way. Not when I have fought my entire life to be free of someone else who has bound me to a debt I’m not wholly sure is even of my father’s making.

After our conversation yesterday, we spent the rest of the early evening with Zaos, planning the route through Dead Man’s Passage from Grayson’s memory.

There are only a few routes through which the Caelestia is able to fit, given her size.

The large rocks jutting from the ocean’s surface are not the only problem.

Much like my learning of the great glaciers of the northern seas, the stone isles peppered along Dead Man’s Passage grow larger beneath the surface, making it difficult for a ship with a large hull to pass over without scraping the bottom.

It will take more than experienced sailors and a strong ship to make it through the passage unscathed—we will need the wind and the currents and luck on our side as well.

Zaos is still only half convinced that the Solise Mountains are where we will find the treasure. He spent half the night arguing with Grayson about the riddle written on the Serpent’s Key and whether or not my translation was correct.

I told him I had half a mind to sew his mouth shut and tie him somewhere below deck so we wouldn’t have to listen to his unsavory doubts any longer. Much to my dismay, Grayson rebuked my idea.

So, I let the two of them argue it out while I drowned my own worries in half a bottle of rum before passing out in Grayson’s bed.

Looking over to my left, I see his side is undisturbed. The throng of pillows lay exactly where they were last night when I crawled under the duvet.

He must not have slept at all.

Through the paned windows, I see a line of shadowed men standing outside his quarters as another round of hollers sounds through the door.

“What in the hells is going on out there?” I throw the duvet off my legs and dress quickly before heading toward the door.

Thick, hot air hits my face as I open the door and stride out onto the main deck and nearly run into the back of one of Grayson’s men.

Stopping myself just as the toes of my boots meet the backs of his, I stumble backward, but catch myself before I fall on my ass.

I recognize the man as one of the main deck workers when he sneers at me over his shoulder.

Once he realizes who I am, that scowl disappears and is replaced with a strangled smile.

“Sorry, Miss Rowenya. I thought you were one of the men trying to get a free shot in.”

His ruddy nose turns even more red as he shifts to the side, giving me a path forward.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I jut my hip out. “And you think they would start by kicking the backs of your boots?”

He shrugs. “I’ve seen a lot of tactics in my day. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone tried to take my feet right out from under me.”

Tilting my head back and forth, I huff. “Actually, I see your point.” Nodding toward him, I ask, “What’s going on?” as another clang of metal rings through the air.

He takes a step back so he’s right next to me, but there’s still too many bodies in front of us to see what everyone is staring at. “Captain never gets in the ring, but I think something has his mind jostled, because he’s been fighting anyone willing to take a shot at him all morning.”

“What? What do you mean your captain is fighting ?” My heart leaps into my throat as I stand onto my tip toes, trying to see over the men standing in front of me.

“He’s in the ring as we speak.”

“With whom?”

“Zaos,” the man whispers. “Before you came out, I couldn’t peel my eyes away. They’ve been going at it for an hour now.”

Zaos . . .

My heartbeat settles just a fraction. This is no mutiny or challenge. They must be sparring. But if the man says he rarely sees Grayson get into the ring, why in the hells would he do so now knowing that we all need to reserve our energies for what lies ahead—and for who pursues us from behind?

I give the man a gentle smile before I shove my way through the crowd. There’s at least six rows of bodies I have to move through. Most of the men grumble as they shift to the side to let me pass, forced to tear their eyes away from the spectacle.

Once I make it to the inner ring, I stop and my blood turns to fire in my veins.

Grayson Tyde is shirtless. Sweat glistens over his tawny skin in the morning sun as it runs down the muscles of his strong back. His long black hair falls over his shoulders as he lifts his sword up to meet Zaos’s attack.

I swallow the dryness of my throat as my gaze skates down the back of Grayson’s torso to the thin linen fabric of his black pants that hug every curve of his ass. Biting my lower lip, I wish I was sinking my teeth into him instead.

The two of them shift as Grayson swings his sword down across Zaos’s daggers with a force that sends sparks flying into the air.

Sinking my nails into my palms, I fight the urge to run between them and devour him whole for his entire crew to see.

That feeling grows when they start to circle one another and I get a full-frontal view of the powerful male.

The same strong arms that have held me close are ribboned with large veins, revealing just how hard he’s been working all morning.

Like a phantom kiss, I feel the sensation of them wrap around my waist, pulling me in.

But that feeling is nothing compared to the heat that singes my core as I take in the beautiful cascade of muscles that line his abdomen. The four distinct lines of muscle end just above the edge of his pants.

My fingers start to twitch with the need to run my hands over him and explore every delectable inch. A tender ache starts to build between my thighs.

I want him.

Gods, I want him .

Despite the sweat that covers his chest and abdomen, he’s not breathing heavy as he smiles at Zaos and says, “You’ve grown weak, my friend.”

“Weak?” Zaos throws his daggers onto the deck and palms two throwing knives from his sweat soaked vest. “We’ve been sparring for over an hour and you’re relentless .”

“And you think our enemy won’t be?” Grayson widens his arms, his longsword pointed high in the air.

He doesn’t strain with the effort, even though I know the sword he’s wielding must be heavy.

He turns to his audience. “Hear me, my friends! We have enemies closing in on our backs when we are this close to uncovering the most sacred treasure in the Southern Realm. They hunt us as if we are some wounded prey faltering in the woods with every step we take. Do you think that once they find us they will grant us mercy? That they will allow us a breath once their cannons start pointing in our direction, or worse yet, we find ourselves at the end of their swords?”

There’s a resounding cry of “No!” as many of the men throw their fists in the air. Some even unsheathe their swords, as if Blythe has already been spotted along the horizon.

“They will not!” Grayson yells, thrusting his own sword higher into the air, and the crowd erupts.

Electric energy vibrates around me and I find myself smiling like a bloodthirsty fiend. For there is no soul aboard this ship who wishes to see Blythe walk the plank more than me.

Grayson lowers his sword and points it right at Zaos’s throat. “That is why we must train like we are fighting the enemy.”

For the first time, I see a smile creep over Zaos’s lips as he crouches low and spins away from the tip of Grayson’s sword. With lightning speed, Zaos flicks his right wrist, then his left, letting his throwing knives fly.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I watch as they head for Grayson’s neck.

All it would take is the right angle of the knives slicing across his flesh and he’d bleed out.

No amount of Doc’s healing potion could save him.

But Grayson moves with startling swiftness, whipping the blade of his sword left and right, blocking the path of Zaos’s attack.

The throwing knives bounce off Grayson’s sword and clatter to the wooden floor below our feet.

Shouts of excitement erupt around me as the men watch their captain and quartermaster start parrying again.

Grayson brings his sword down upon Zaos, but he darts out of the way, maneuvering into a barrel roll as he picks up his discarded daggers just in time to defend against another strike from Grayson.

That’s when I realize . . . this is all a show.

Zaos isn’t fatigued at all, but Grayson needed his theatrics to instill fight in the crew.

They’re using this moment to prepare the men for what they’re up against because Blythe won’t back down.

Not this time. Too many days have passed for him to ponder over what was taken from him and I know his wrath has only grown.

And with Malihaim at his side, his chances of success are much higher.

Grayson and Zaos know this. Which is why it is vital to instill hope in the crew.

Hope that they can defeat the enemy, even if it’s through sheer will and grit.

Shaking my head with a grin, I gaze up at the cloudless sky and think of how I have done the same thing with my own crew—using whatever tactics necessary to bolster their confidence when we set sail in pursuit of dangerous bounties.