Page 12

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A fter returning from the Harvest Moon Festival, Vivienne had scribbled down every fragment of the sailors' shanty she could recall, cross-referencing the lyrics against her mother’s journal until exhaustion claimed her. She had woken before dawn, the remnants of sleep fading quickly under the weight of her restless mind.

She had bathed, braided her hair, and now sat at the dining table, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the sides of her coffee mug. The steam curled into the cool morning air. The thought of eating made her stomach churn. Hunger tangled with nausea in a tight knot.

Her traveling trunk sat in the middle of the room, packed and waiting for pickup. A smaller tote rested beside it, filled with essentials—her mother’s journal, a mirrored compact, a few hygiene items. Everything was ready. There was nothing left to do but wait.

Vivienne tugged at the loose strings on her cream-colored tunic, her gaze flicking toward the clock on the mantel. Eight o’clock. She sighed, moving her jaw from side to side.

The chancellor’s cart won’t be here until nine.

She had been standing there when Lewis received the instructions, but the words had blurred in the aftermath of the King’s decree, drowned beneath the roar of her own panic.

A thought struck her. I could see Briar.

It was a risk, but maybe her cousin would let her say goodbye. Before doubt could catch up with her, she grabbed her tote and slipped out the front door. The brisk September air bit at her skin, and she immediately regretted burying her cloak at the bottom of her trunk. She quickened her pace, letting the motion warm her limbs. The streets of Vantner were quieter than usual, the remnants of last night’s revelry lingering in the form of discarded ribbons and the faint scent of spiced cider in the air.

As she reached the bakery, the tinkling of a spoon against porcelain carried through the crisp morning.

"Vivienne!"

Johanna sat at a small café table, stirring her tea in a delicate, porcelain teacup. Her full cheeks rounded as she smiled, warmth spreading through her hazel eyes but couldn’t mask the undertone of sadness in her expression.

"I wasn’t sure I’d see you again before you left," Johanna said, rising from her chair.

Vivienne lowered her gaze, her throat tightening. "I wasn’t either."

Johanna didn’t hesitate. She pulled her into a firm embrace, arms strong, comforting, familiar. The scent of honey and warm bread wrapped around Vivienne, stirring twenty years of memories. She clung to the moment, trying to stretch every second, as if holding on would keep her tethered to safety.

As they pulled apart, Vivienne forced herself to steady her voice. "I was hoping to talk to Briar."

Johanna sighed, her smile softening. She reached out, squeezing Vivienne’s arm. "She cried herself to sleep only a few hours ago." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I don’t think you two should speak right now. It might do more harm than good."

The ache in Vivienne’s chest sharpened, but she nodded. She understood.

Before she could speak, Johanna waved a hand and disappeared into the bakery. "Stay right there," she called over her shoulder.

Vivienne exhaled deeply, running her fingers over the curved wrought-iron chair back. The bakery’s warm scent filled her lungs, yeast, cinnamon, and fresh pastries just out of the oven. She wanted to memorize it, to carry it with her across the sea.

The shop bell chimed, pulling her from her thoughts. Johanna strode back outside, carrying a large bag that smelled heavenly. "Here you are," she said, pressing it into Vivienne’s hands.

Vivienne’s eyes widened at the weight. It was filled with pastries and bread still warm from baking. "Johanna, I can’t accept this… this is too much."

"You can, and you will," Johanna planted her hands on her hips, her expression leaving no room for argument. "At least now I won’t have to worry about you starving to death on that ship." She gestured toward the distant sea, her mouth curling into a sad smile.

Vivienne let out a breathless laugh, fighting the sting behind her eyes. Then, before she could stop herself, she pulled Johanna into another embrace, holding on tight.

"Thank you," she whispered. For the food. For the love. For being here.

Johanna’s hand rubbed small, soothing circles on her back. "You’ll come back to us, won’t you?" she murmured.

Vivienne closed her eyes. "I will," she answered, trying to convince herself more than Johanna.

* * *

Vivienne hurried home, the morning sun casting golden light over the city streets. She’d barely stashed the pastries in her trunk when the clatter of hooves and the groan of cart wheels sounded outside. She swung the door open. Lewis was already seated on the wooden bench at the back, flanked by two men she didn’t recognize.

The driver tipped his hat. "Miss Banner, I presume?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

"These men will load your trunk." He waved, and the two muscular men climbed down.

Vivienne stepped aside as they hauled her luggage to the cart. She turned, running her fingertips over the carved wood of the front door, committing every detail to memory. With a deep breath, she locked the house and walked away.

She climbed into the cart, settling beside Lewis. The driver clicked his tongue, and the dapple-gray horses trotted forward, the cart swaying with each bump in the road. Vivienne stole a final glance at the house, stone walls, terracotta shingles, sage shutters, before facing forward. No looking back.

For half the ride, silence hung between them. Vivienne clutched her canvas tote, trying to tamp down the creeping unease curling in her stomach.

Lewis finally spoke, voice steady. "I know this isn’t what you wanted."

Vivienne swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "No, it’s not. But the King didn’t leave us much choice."

Lewis nodded. "We’ll find them, Viv. Or at least figure out what happened." Then, a teasing glint flashed in his eyes. "Maybe we break a curse and save a kingdom while we’re at it."

Vivienne let out a breath, her chest loosening. She turned, searching his face for doubt, but found only determined resolve. For all his jokes, Lewis had always been there when it mattered.

"Thank you," she murmured, squeezing his forearm. "You didn’t plan for this either, but I’m glad you’ll be with me."

His gaze softened. "Where else would I be?"

The cart rumbled through the waking city, past familiar buildings and bustling shopkeepers. A wave of nostalgia washed over her, this was her home. This is where her parents built their lives and where she’d always felt safe. Leaving meant stepping into the unknown.

Vivienne forced a light tone. "How was the rest of your night at the festival? Glad to see Bianca left you in one piece."

Lewis huffed a laugh. "Hah, hah. We danced, had a few drinks, and I walked her home."

Vivienne smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. That’s a suspicious lack of detail.

"I told her we were leaving today," Lewis added. “She was more upset than I thought she’d be.”

Not rolling her eyes took every ounce of Vivienne’s discipline. Who cares what Bianca feels? Does she even have feelings?

"How was your night?" he asked.

Vivienne hesitated. She wanted to tell him about the sailors' song, how it tied to her mother’s journal, but not in front of an audience. Instead, she shrugged. "Went to a few storytelling circles. Nothing too exciting."

Lewis arched a brow, catching the evasion.

The scent of salt thickened as they neared the docks, mingling with the cries of seagulls overhead. The harbor bustled with life. Fishermen haggled over their morning catch, merchants prepared to set sail, and sailors shouted orders as crates of goods were loaded. Beyond the civilian vessels, the Royal Navy were moored, their sails furled beneath the watchful gaze of the Vantner lighthouse.

The driver tugged the reins. The cart rolled to a stop near the docks. "This is as far as we go."

Two muscular men jumped down, unloading their trunks.

Lewis stretched, then held out a hand. "Ready?"

Vivienne clasped it, steadying herself as she stepped onto the sturdy oak planks. "As I'll ever be."

Before she could take another breath, Bianca’s voice rang through the morning air. "Lewis!"

Vivienne turned just as Bianca glided toward them, a vision of cascading curls and a plunging neckline that defied gravity.

"I was afraid I’d miss you," Bianca cooed, looping her arms around Lewis’ neck in a tight embrace.

Vivienne watched as she pressed a small parcel into his palm, whispering something that made him nod before tucking it away. Then came the kiss. It was long, slow, and intense enough that Vivienne averted her gaze. That doesn’t look like an ‘I only walked her home’ kind of kiss.

"Well, hello there," A voice like splinters and rust rumbled behind her.

Vivienne turned, her stomach tightening.

"Miss Banner," Enyo drawled, his crooked smile tugging at his scarred cheek. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Captain Enyo," she said, forcing her shoulders square.

He leaned in, his breath a rancid mix of liquor and decay. "Just so we’re clear, you’re standing in the way of my very comfortable retirement. I’ve already been screwed over by the Banner family once, and I don’t intend for it to happen again. I won’t lose to a library brat who is completely out of her depth.”

Vivienne didn’t flinch, despite the way her stomach churned. "If I’m so out of my depth, why bother with threats?"

Enyo chuckled, low and oily. "Oh, I’ll enjoy this." His fingers drummed against his belt, where a curved dagger gleamed. "Out on the open sea or on one of the isles, there won’t be so many witnesses. No one will be around to hear your screams."

Her blood ran ice cold. She clenched her fists, hoping Enyo wouldn’t see her shaking hands.

Satisfied, Enyo swaggered off, heading for his ship. The Thanatos looked more pirate than crown-sanctioned. His crew of mercenaries and cutthroats lounged along the railing, watching like wolves waiting for the kill.

"Shit." Lewis appeared at her side, his voice sharp. "Was Enyo talking to you just now?"

Vivienne forced a casual shrug though her pulse pounded. "Mind games. That’s all."

Lewis frowned. "Are you sure?—"

"You have lipstick on your face," she cut in, nudging his sleeve. "You might want to clean up before we meet a bunch of Royal Navy sailors."

His ears burned red as he wiped at his cheek. "Oh. Thanks. Where do we even go?"

Before she could answer, a crisp baritone cut through the dockside din.

"Miss Banner. Mr. Blume?"

They turned toward the voice.

"That’s us," Lewis confirmed.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a pristine navy uniform approached, dark eyes scanning them with cool indifference. His very presence commanded attention. Polished brass buttons gleamed against the deep navy doublet, and a sword hung from his belt, its hilt gleaming in the sunlight.

"Commander Thorne," he introduced, giving a curt nod that did nothing to stir his coif of black, wavy hair. "I’m here to escort you to the ship."

Vivienne swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how small she felt under his sharp gaze.

Thorne gestured to their luggage. "These are yours?"

"Yes," Vivienne managed, her voice drier than the sunbaked pier.

At his firm blink, the dockworkers hoisted their trunks and carried them toward the ships.

"Three trunks?" Thorne arched a thick brow. "Trouble packing light, Miss Banner?"

"Oh, two of those are mine," Lewis chimed in, "but one of them is all books."

Thorne’s dark eyes glinted with faint amusement. "I assumed it wasn’t your petticoat collection, Mr. Blume."

Lewis stared in challenge, donning a sardonic grin. "No, those are in my other trunk."

Thorne’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing them both. "I was told you were unserious and inexperienced." His gaze raked over them, unimpressed. "Thank you for confirming."

Vivienne bristled. "Excuse me?"

Thorne turned sharply, already walking. "This way. Don’t dawdle."

Vivienne and Lewis scrambled to keep up, dodging dockworkers hauling crates and weaving through stacks of cargo as they trailed behind Commander Thorne.

Lewis leaned in, muttering under his breath, "Well, isn't he a ray of sunshine."

Vivienne bit back a grin. "I don’t know." She shrugged. "I think he’s trying to?—"

Thorne came to an abrupt stop, forcing them to halt just short of colliding with his back. He turned, posture rigid, and gestured to the towering ship before them.

"Allow me to introduce our lady, the Zephyrus."

Vivienne’s inhale stalled mid-breath.

The Zephyrus was both intimidating and breathtaking. A twenty-gun galleon, its three towering masts bore expansive sails, waiting to be unfurled and capture the morning breeze. The dark oak hull, reinforced with iron bands along the waterline, gleamed with the colors of mythical creatures and crashing waves painted around the gun ports. At the bow, a majestic figurehead of Zephyra, the winged goddess of the winds, storms and seas, stretched her arms forward, ready to guide the crew into unknown waters.

Vivienne slowly exhaled, feeling smaller than ever.

Commander Thorne turned sharply on his heel. "Follow me."

They clutched the ropes lining the gangplank, steadying themselves as the Zephyrus swayed beneath their feet. The motion was subtle but foreign, a preview of the world they were about to step into.

"Stay here," Thorne ordered once they reached the main deck, his voice crisp. "I’ll notify the captain of your arrival. Afterward, we’ll review crew assignments."

Vivienne gave a stiff nod, though she doubted she could focus on anything beyond the organized chaos around her.

Sailors moved with the kind of precision only years of experience can hone, hauling cargo below deck, coiling thick ropes, and checking the sails with practiced hands. The air buzzed with purpose, the hum of orders exchanged and boots scuffing against the wooden planks filling every inch of space.

She and Lewis shuffled in the throng, uncertain where to stand without getting in the way.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, followed immediately by Thorne’s commanding bark. "Officers, report!"

Vivienne and Lewis followed him up the quarterdeck steps, the elevated space granting a clear view of the ship and its bustling crew. At the ship’s massive, spoked wheel, a broad-shouldered man stood with an air of comfortable authority.

"Captain Garrett," Thorne dipped his chin. "May I introduce Mr. Blume and Miss Banner?"

"You may!" the captain boomed, arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture.

Vivienne took him in. He was tall, well-built, and weathered by the sea, his silvered beard neatly trimmed. The remnants of auburn still streaked through his thick hair, overshadowed by sea-green eyes that locked onto hers.

"I’ve been waiting years to meet you, Vivienne," he said, his gruff voice warm. His calloused hand engulfed hers, his grip firm but not overbearing. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled, genuine and knowing.

Vivienne stiffened a bit. Years? He must know my parents.

Captain Garrett released her hand and turned to Lewis. "And you, Mr. Blume. Don’t think we’ve ever had a botanist on board before. I imagine you can teach us a thing or two."

Lewis adjusted his spectacles, suddenly self-conscious under the captain’s gaze. "Uh, thank you, sir. Captain, sir."

The captain threw back his head with a hearty laugh. "No need for all that, Blume! ‘Captain’ will do just fine. Percival Garrett, at your service." He tipped the brim of his worn captain’s hat. "Now, let’s get you introduced to the rest of the group. You’ve already met Commander Owen Thorne, my first officer."

Vivienne and Lewis stood at attention, mirroring the row of assembled officers. Their crisp uniforms and rigid postures an outward declaration they were seasoned, disciplined, and not to be taken lightly.

Captain Garrett surveyed the line with a familiar warmth. "My fine officers," he greeted, his voice carrying easily over the deck. "Glad to be sailin’ with you again. It’s rare that I have a crew where I’ve worked with all of the officers before." He signaled toward Vivienne and Lewis with a broad, calloused hand. "These two are our new specialists, experts in a few things we’ll be needing. For the purposes of this voyage, they are honorary officers." Garrett angled his head at the commander.

Commander Thorne, standing tall with arms clasped behind his back, gave a sharp nod. "Proceeding with introductions and assignments, Captain."

With that, he stepped to the first officer in line. "Doctor Melodie Mercer, Surgeon. Oversees the health and wellbeing of the crew."

Vivienne barely stopped herself from staring. Doctor Mercer was stunningly beautiful. She stood with a graceful confidence, her rich, midnight-black skin shimmering with a cool blue hue in the morning light. Long, black braids cascaded over her shoulders, adorned with tiny beads and charms that clinked with her movements.

The doctor’s full lips curved into a radiant smile, her sable eyes gleaming. "What the Commander meant to say," she said, voice as smooth as silk, "is that I take great pleasure in making grown men cry."

A chuckle rippled through the officers, but Thorne’s expression remained stony as he continued.

"Purser, Laverna Omphrey. She handles all the ship's business, provisions, pay, inventory. You’ll go through her for anything you need."

Laverna’s white hair gleamed like frost, contrasting with her umber skin and sharp, assessing stare. She stood with the confidence of someone who had seen it all and had no patience for nonsense. Her deep set wrinkles spoke to her years of experience.

Her voice cut rasped like the warning of a rattlesnake. "Don’t touch anything you didn’t bring aboard without my say-so."

Vivienne made a mental note to never cross her.

Thorne moved past an empty spot and a scowl surfaced before he masked it. "Our Sailing Master is running behind schedule, so we’ll return to that later." He stopped before the next officer. "Augustus ‘Skull Crusher’ Conway, boatswain. In charge of small boats, sails, rigging, colors, anchors, and cables."

Vivienne gulped, the sound audible as her stomach somersaulted.

Conway was a walking mountain, towering easily past six and a half feet, his shoulders as broad as a doorframe. The intricate sailor tattoos wrapping his massive arms extended up his neck and onto his shaved head, marking every visible inch of skin. Chestnut-brown mustache curls, waxed to perfection, did little to soften the menace of his sheer size.

His deep, rumbling voice vibrated through the deck like distant thunder. "You can call me Gus."

Vivienne offered a small, cautious smile, while Lewis blinked rapidly behind his spectacles, looking like he might faint.

"Florence Solandis, Gunner," Thorne announced next. "She manages the ship’s guns, small arms, gunpowder, and all related equipment."

If Gus was a fortress, Florence was a dagger, small and sharp. Barely five feet tall, her lean muscles and squared stance made her look anything but helpless. A wild halo of dark, spiraled curls framed her round-featured face, and her hazelnut brown skin was offset by hazel eyes.

"Nice to be meeting you," she said in a thick, rolling accent before spitting a wad of chewing tobacco and saliva over the ship’s side.

Thorne’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Charming as ever, Ms. Solandis."

Before he could move on, a voice cut through the introductions, like warm honey but all too familiar.

"Apologies for the delay, Captain."

Vivienne’s stomach jumped into her throat as Lewis’ frame locked beside her. No, it can’t be. What are the odds that it’s ? —

Commander Thorne’s square jaw tightened. "Don’t make a habit of it, Theodosia." He turned to Vivienne and Lewis, his voice flat. "Cirrus Theodosia, our Sailing Master and Navigator."

Cirrus stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back in a mocking, perfect imitation of Thorne’s posture. His ice-blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. "Oh, we’ve already met."

Vivienne felt heat flood her cheeks. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she locked eyes with her ex-fiancé.