Page 68 of Pirate Witch

It’s gorgeous. I have no idea what I was expecting, but this… this is an amazing gift. I clutch the grip tighter and start for the stairs, my nerves calming slightly as hope blooms in my chest.

Wherever Val is holding our date, it’s deep in the bowels of the ship. I don’t think I’ve ever descended this many stairs since I came aboard.

What’s your game, captain?

The answer becomes clear as I finally reach the bottom and emerge into a room that seems like it’s made entirely of seamless glass. We must be at the front of the ship, if the shape of the room is any indication, but we’re deep beneath the waves. Outside, ropes strung with glowing pieces of crystal illuminate an underwater kingdom the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Corals in every colour and fish so small I’ve never seen their likeness float past.

If not for that light, I might have been wary about being this far below the surface. The oppressive darkness, so cold and unwelcoming, could easily have drawn me into a spiral.

But the crystals banish my fear of the inky black seabed, leaving only wonder in its place.

I’m so caught up in the view that I don’t notice the spread before me until Val coughs and draws my attention to him. He’s standing beside a table set for two, with candles and plates of steaming food. The angle of the hull should mean the table leans drunkenly, but it seems almost fused into place in midair, suspended above a mage circle.

He’s giving me a floating dinner date beneath the waves. I blink in surprise, but I’m rendered speechless when he opens his mouth.

“For one night only, I guarantee no cutting remarks, sarcasm, or lies,” he begins. “I’m going to do my best to be… pleasant.” He grimaces as he says the word, and I grin.

“What about swearing?” I tease when I finally recover my voice.

“Fuck no, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He pulls out a chair and I take it, holding the sword hesitantly until a rope slips down from the rafters above us and tugs it gently free of my hand.

“What brought this on?” I ask as he tucks me in and moves to take his own seat.

Val bites his lip. “I’m regretting promising to be truthful already,” he mutters. “I don’t do emotional shit, but several people have pointed out that means I’m fucking awful at expressing my feelings for you. I didn’t… I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you like the others, just because I’m no good at fawning over you, night and day, like they do.”

The poor captain looks almost as nervous as I felt before coming down here, and I take pity on him, changing the subject. “The sword was a beautiful gift.”

His relief is almost palpable. “I figured if I haven’t pissed you off by the end of our meal, we can spar together. I won’t hold back like the others will, so you’ll have someone to put it to good use against. I added a crystal to the hilt that will give you a quick getaway if you need it. Tap it twice and it’ll unleash a ton of smoke. But don’t use it on my ship. It leaves a sticky residue I couldn’t quite get rid of.”

“You made it?”

I’m genuinely surprised. I knew he made the bombs we used on the facility at Ignira, but I had no idea he was capable of this kind of work.

“Mages like tinkering and forging things,” he says, shrugging. “My workshop is full of projects like that.”

He’s never mentioned a workshop before, and I find myself suddenly interested in what it’s like. His study is dusty and abandoned, and I’m willing to bet the workshop is the one place on the ship where the captain actually spends his time.

My curiosity must show on my face because he smirks. “Workshop tours are only given to witches who grant their mate a second date.”

I grin, spearing a perfectly cooked piece of broccoli with my fork. “Earn it.”

ChapterTwenty-Three

NILSA

Ican tell we’re getting close to Coveton because the sea has turned an ominous grey. It’s been getting murkier the further north we travel, and the sky is similar. There were barely any clouds while we were sailing through Mirna’s warm, tropical waters, but now they cover the sky in a thick grey woolly blanket, hiding the sun from view.

“Can you make out the shoreline?” Cas asks me.

The shifter is sitting behind me at the stern of the ship with his legs on either side of mine as we watch the world go by. His fingers are busy weaving small braids into my hair while I’ve been busy carving sigils into tiny bone charms.

At his words, I glance up, but I can’t make out much beyond the horizon.

“No?” There’s a greyish blur on the edge of the world, but I’ve imagined land so many times in the last week that I don’t trust my own eyes.

“I forget your vision is practically human,” he hums.

I huff in frustration, and he chuckles. “We’ll be there in an hour, maybe less.”