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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

IRENE

I rene walked slowly across the deck of the StormBreaker . Night had fallen, the air heavy with tension. She stopped by the railing, her gaze fixed on the shoreline faintly illuminated by the flickering glow of fire. In the distance, near the edge of the beach, her crew mingled with the Amorian company. Faint snatches of laughter drifted toward her, carried on the night wind.

She felt a flicker of relief knowing they had taken a break tonight, gathered by the fire on the beach to ease their nerves. They all needed it. And anyway, they could all feel it: these might be their last peaceful moments. At dawn, under Zahra’s direction, they would set sail for the island of Nehalennia. Fionnir and Sorcha passed by, their steps light despite the fatigue etched into their faces. Both wore rare, quiet smiles. “We’ll take the first watch, Captain,” Fionnir called, nodding respectfully.

She was tired, her eyes heavy, her body aching. Turning away, she climbed down the ship’s ladder, her hands gripping the worn rungs. The small boat rocked below as she stepped into it. Reaching for the oars, she froze at the sound of a noise behind her and looked up. Irene looked up and spotted Edwina on the upper deck. Her body stiffened. Edwina descended the ladder, her hands gripping the rungs.

Irene suppressed a flicker of frustration, saying nothing as the Amorian climbed into the small boat, her movements deliberate. Edwina sat across from her, folding her arms over her chest. The silence between them was sharp, weighted.

Gripping the oars, Irene began to row. The rhythmic splash of water against wood echoed through the tension. “I thought you’d be with the others,” Irene said at last.

Edwina cleared her throat, visibly uneasy. “Apparently not. I’m here, aren’t I, Captain?”

Irene rolled her eyes. “Captain, huh?” she muttered, her tone dripping with mockery.

Silence returned, thick and unyielding. Irene kept rowing, stealing quick glances at Edwina, who sat unusually still, her expression unreadable. Just as Irene began to think she wouldn’t say anything, Edwina shifted slightly and broke the silence.

“The reason I’m not over there… is because I’m scared,” she said quietly.

Irene raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering in her eyes. A bitter laugh slipped out. “The great Edwina, scared? That’s a first.”

Edwina didn’t respond right away. She clenched her jaw, her hands knotting on her lap. When she finally looked at Irene, her face was more vulnerable than Irene had ever seen in all the years she'd known her for.

“I’m scared to tell him the truth,” she murmured.

Irene slowed her rowing, the oars hovering just above the water. Her brow furrowed. “What truth?”

Edwina turned her gaze to the sea surrounding them, her eyes distant. Her hand moved to rest on her stomach.

“That soon, Egobor and I… won’t be alone anymore.”

Irene’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes followed Edwina’s hand, realization crashing over her like a cold wave.

“What? You’re… quitting the company?” Irene asked.

Edwina shook her head, a faint, tired smile tugging at her lips. “No. I’m pregnant. Irene's mouth opened, but no words came. “There’ll be a little Egobor running around soon,” Edwina said softly, her smile laced with sadness. “Or a little Edwina.” A faint twitch pulled at the corner of Irene’s lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The weight of understanding settled over her. An Amorian child was a rarity—a miracle. And they were in the middle of a quest where Irene couldn’t even promise her own survival, let alone anyone else’s. “Egobor would be overjoyed,” Irene murmured.

Edwina nodded. “That’s why I can’t tell him. I don’t want him distracted. I don’t want him afraid.”

Irene looked away. “What would you do if you were in my place?” Edwina asked, her voice trembling.

Irene scoffed. "Since when does my opinion matter to you?" Egobor had always been close to Irene, and Edwina to Dax.

Edwina straightened, defiance sparking in her eyes. “Your opinion, no. But Egobor’s? Yes. He listens to you. He thinks of you as family. So? What would you do?”

Irene drew a deep breath, letting the quiet linger before answering. “I’d wait. Until we’ve won. When we have the Sapphire… tell him then. Let it be a moment of victory. A reason to celebrate twice more.”

Edwina tilted her head, considering. Slowly, she nodded. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmured.

The silence softened, and Irene started rowing again. This time, Edwina reached for an oar, her strokes steady alongside Irene’s. After a while, Irene spoke, her eyes fixed on the beach. “Egobor will make a good father.”

Edwina glanced up. “I know.” Irene hesitated, but added, “And you… you’ll make a great mother.” Edwina turned away, visibly moved, and for the first time, a quiet understanding settled between them. When they reached the shore, the sounds of music and laughter drifted toward them, carried on the salty breeze. Irene and Edwina stepped out of the small boat, their boots sinking into the sand.

Around the fire, the Amorians and the Stormbreaker’s crew were gathered, their voices rising into the night. Improvised drums and crates thumped to the beat of a song, while Javier stood atop a barrel, rasping out a tune with a surprising edge of melody.

Lan sat by the fire, fingers deftly weaving Hezra’s hair into intricate braids. Hezra, in turn, was braiding Zahra’s hair, who was still perched protectively over the newly found fragment. Nearby, Baelor and Jace stumbled through a clumsy dance, the prince grinning crookedly as Baelor half-dragged him along to the rhythm.

Irene stopped and let herself take it in. For a fleeting moment, she thought if she’d been a painter, she might’ve captured this—a single moment of peace stolen from a world that gave them none. The flickering firelight painted soft, golden streaks on their faces, smoothing the sharp edges of weariness and war.

Edwina settled onto a log near the fire, throwing Irene a knowing glance. Irene hesitated, then let herself sink down beside her, shoulders heavy with the weight of exhaustion. The flames crackled, shadows flickering over laughing faces, and the distant sea hummed like a lullaby.

Tonight, at least, there was no fighting. No blood. No chaos. Just this, a brief and fragile stillness.

Laughter rang out, mingled with off-key songs and stories of battles they barely escaped. They clapped along to the beat, slapping wooden crates like drums. They passed around food and drinks. Irene watched, her gaze drifting from one face to another. Irene leaned back on her elbows, her legs stretched out in front of her, watching the scene unfold by the fire. Her gaze lingered on Jace, sitting a little apart from the others, his timid smile flickering as Baelor clumsily tried to teach him the steps of an Amorian dance. She shook her head with a quiet, bitter laugh, exhaling slowly before her attention drifted to Edwina, who was doubled over in laughter at something Javier had said.

Every so often, Zahra would raise her hand, grumbling under her breath, “If you could all just try to be quieter…” Her words were met with more roaring laughter, the sound rising into the night like a defiance of the looming chaos waiting on the horizon.

Irene let her head tilt back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she tried to soak in the fleeting peace. The laughter, the firelight, the rhythmic hum of the waves—it all felt so fragile, like glass stretched too thin. But just as the stillness began to settle in her bones, a sharp nudge on her arm jolted her back.

Egobor had appeared beside her, his weathered face cracked into a crooked grin. “Can I ask you something?” he said, his tone laced with both teasing and something heavier.

Irene arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Since when do you bother asking?”

Egobor chuckled softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I saw you earlier, on the beach… with Dax.”

At the mention of his name, Irene’s mouth curved into a sharp, mocking grin. “Ah, my apologies for the false alarm—he’s not dead,” she said dryly.

Egobor huffed a short laugh, but his expression darkened, his gaze fixed on the fire as if searching its depths for answers. “I can’t believe how much he’s changed. That he’s working for them. After everything we’ve been through—after everything you two shared.” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “You and him were unstoppable for so many years, no matter how fierce the rivalry. But today…” He paused, glancing at her. “What I saw between you two wasn’t just rivalry. It was… hatred. And hatred among pirates in the same guild? That’s a dark omen, Irene. Believe me.”

Irene stiffened slightly but didn’t interrupt, her gaze sharp and unwavering as she studied his face.

Egobor hesitated, his jaw tightening before he finally pushed forward. “The company and I… we’ve been talking. It’s been weighing on us. And we… we were thinking that if we cross paths with him again, and those wretched Eldorians…” He faltered, briefly looking away before continuing. “We want to sit you both down. Get it all out. Say your truths. Try to reconcile before it’s too late.”

Irene’s eyes flashed with irritation, but before she could cut him off, Egobor leaned closer, his voice low and insistent. “I have a feeling, Irene. I feel it in my bones. The sea whispers it to me. There’s more to this story than either of you is letting on. You have to talk?—”

“No.” Irene’s voice was cold and cutting. Her jaw clenched as she turned back to the fire, its flickering light reflecting in her eyes like molten gold. “How many more words could we even say to each other, Egobor? Every conversation between us ends the same way—with venom, with lies. It’s too late. He made his choice. He turned his back on us for power.”

Her voice wavered slightly, the anger in her words undercut by something rawer, something unspoken. Irene inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay composed.

The silence stretched for a long, heavy moment. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, laced with quiet bitterness. “People will praise you when they need you, curse you when they lose you, and show you kindness only if it serves them. That’s the truth of it. No matter how much you give, they’ll always take more.” She paused, her hands curling into fists against her sides. “Dax took everything from me—all the blood, the years, everything I’ve fought for—and he didn’t even look back. He turned his back on all of us, for what? To climb his way to the top of their wretched wheel, alongside the nobles and the kings of this world.” Her voice cracked, and she bit down hard on her words, forcing them into silence.

Egobor watched her carefully, his face drawn and weary. He sighed, a sound full of resignation, and stood. Before leaving, he glanced down at her one last time. “Yeah, well… promise me one thing, Irene,” he said quietly.

Irene tilted her head up to look at him.

“Don’t forget who the real enemy is,” he said.

And then he walked away, leaving Irene alone by the fire. She didn’t call after him. Her gaze stayed fixed on the flames, her thoughts churning like the tide. The firelight danced in her eyes as her fists clenched tighter. Egobor turned to Edwina, extending a hand with exaggerated elegance. “And now, my dearest wife, would you grant me the honor of a dance?” he said, bowing slightly.

Edwina laughed, shaking her head but taking his hand nonetheless, letting him pull her to her feet. Irene watched them.

Jace sat down next to her, his shoulder brushing lightly against hers. “You don’t dance?” he asked.

Irene shrugged, leaning back slightly, her fingers curling into the cool sand. “If I start dancing, they’ll never listen to me or take my orders seriously.”

Jace chuckled. “I would still listen,” he murmured. Then, with a faint smile, “And I’d even dance with you.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Pirate dances aren’t exactly like the gilded waltzes you nobles twirl around to in your castles.”

“Then promise me something. Someday, you’ll dance with me. I’ll show you that even nobles can have fun.”

She tilted her head, and her tone was light. “We’ll see.”

The fire crackled between them, and silence settled again, though this time it felt different. Irene caught herself stealing glances at him. The firelight softened the edges of his face, bathing him in a warm, golden glow. He looked… quieter. Almost too perfect, as if carved by some cruel god to stand apart from the rest of them. But here, in this moment, he seemed less untouchable, almost within reach.

After a moment, Jace broke the silence again. “Spending this time with you… it’s made me realize how small my world was.”

Irene turned her head slightly, frowning at his unexpected confession. He kept his eyes on the flames as he continued. “My father always said everything beyond Eldoria’s walls was filled with savages. That greed and destruction consumed people out here. But he was wrong.” Finally, he turned to look at her, his gaze steady, piercing. “You’re not any of those things.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You’re either blind, or insane.”

“You could have killed me. You could have tortured me. But you didn’t. Why?”

Her throat tightened, and she glanced back at the fire. She had no answer for him, or none she was willing to give.

He shifted slightly. “When I die… if I make it to heaven?—”

“You will go to heaven,” she interrupted, her voice sharp, almost urgent.

He hesitated, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “If,” he repeated, his tone quieter, “if I ever go to heaven… I think I’d find you there.”

She stared at him, her chest tightening, her heart twisting painfully. “If you found me there,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with steel, “then you’d know it was hell.”

For a moment, the fire seemed to hold its breath. So did she. But Jace didn’t look away, and neither did she.