Page 11 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)
“Speaking boldly to someone who’s bound isn’t an indicator of courage,” he answered as best he could with a dry mouth.
She tipped back her head and laughed. It was a husky, plush sound, resonating with far more maturity than someone of her young
years usually held.
“Provoking me into freeing you is a strategy that might work with a less secure person.” She placed her fingertip beneath
his chin and lifted it, so that their gazes met. “I’ve nothing to prove—to you or anyone.”
“A woman in command of her own ship has much to prove.”
“Men think women need to show how much they deserve something.” Her finger stroked back and forth along his jaw. “When they
themselves take whatever they want without considering whether or not they merit it. Most of the time, they don’t.”
Their gazes held, and a peculiar shiver moved through him, hot and cold at the same time. It must be some kind of enchantment
she’d tried to place on him.
She leaned down, her warm rum-scented breath feathering over him, before she grabbed his manacles and hauled him up to standing.
“Time to earn your keep, Sailing Master. Tell me about Little George.”
“All I know of George Partridge is what’s found in any broadsheet.” He tried to follow as best he could as she pulled him toward a table laden with charts. “As a fellow pirate, surely you have a better familiarity with him than I.”
He glanced around the cabin. It wasn’t as large as Admiral Strickland’s quarters on the Jupiter , but it was sizeable enough to hold a carved dresser of walnut, a rosewood desk inlaid with mother of pearl that had surely
been taken off a captured ship, a mahogany table laden with charts, and a narrow berth that was covered with gold-and-blue-patterned
silk. There was a slight dent in the pillow, where Alys Tanner laid her head every night.
He ripped his gaze away from the bed to stare at the table full of maps.
“I’m giving you an opportunity,” she said, “which men seldom deserve. Otherwise, we’ll see how well you swim in irons.”
Ben kept silent.
She tipped her head toward a chart that showed the whole of the known Caribbean. “The Weeping Princess.”
He widened his eyes before checking his response and putting an impassive mask in place. Hardly anyone knew about the Weeping
Princess. It was seldom spoken of anymore. Alys Tanner had been in the Caribbean for only a year, and if she spoke the name
of it now, she’d learned of it, somehow.
Whatever she wanted, he wouldn’t give her.
“A fanciful name,” he said. “Whatever could it mean?”
She grabbed the front of his neckcloth firmly. Her face was tight with anger. “None of your hedging, Sailing Master, or I
won’t waste time with the brig. My cutlass can carve a neat path that’ll spill your innards all over the deck.”
“Messy.”
“Call my bluff, handsome.”
He blinked. “You think me handsome?”
Her lips curled into a smirk. “That’s male perspective for you.” Still staring at him, she said over her shoulder to the Greek
corsair, “I’m threatening him with ripping out his guts, yet his attention snags on whether or not I’ve taken a liking to
his face.”
“Be done with it and split him open,” the other woman growled. The magpie on her shoulder made a noise that sounded suspiciously like agreement.
“In time, Stasia.” Softly, Alys Tanner asked him, “Will you tell me more about the Weeping Princess, or shall I satisfy my
quartermaster’s desire to see your intestines?”
“I couldn’t answer that question,” he replied. “Not without more information.”
Her brow furrowed and she appeared torn. Then, after a moment, she released her grip on him.
He reached up and did his best to straighten the folds of his neckcloth. Without the free use of his hands, though, or benefit
of a looking glass, it was a futile attempt to repair his appearance. At the least, his markings on his skin had disappeared.
“All you need to know is that I’m in search of it.”
He studied her. “This has something to do with whatever was written on that glass in the tavern window. A riddle of some kind.”
Her expression went opaque.
“So, I’ve the right of it,” he surmised. “You saw something on the window, and then destroyed it to leave no trace behind
for anyone else to follow. Something that has to do with that fail-safe George Partridge created, the one that severs the
tie with the leviathan. The Weeping Princess might be the location of that fail-safe.”
“I don’t know that,” she answered at once.
“But you suspect it.”
When she said nothing, he knew he had his answer.
He raised his brows. “Surely your magic can tell you what you want to know.”
Captain Tanner took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. Which had the unfortunate result in drawing his attention
to her breasts, the upper curves just visible above the low neckline of her shirt.
His last actual shore leave had been some time ago, along with the feminine company that could be found there. Clearly, it had been a long while, if he was contemplating the physical charms of someone he wanted to see clapped in irons.
She cleared her throat, and he dragged his gaze back to hers. Fortunately, the sun had deeply bronzed his face, or else he
was certain she’d see his cheeks redden.
“I want the information from you ,” she said levelly.
“It appears there are limits to the scope of your magical power.”
Her brow lowered. So, he was right. She did possess supernatural ability, but it wasn’t as developed as he’d initially believed, if she couldn’t suss out the whereabouts
of the Weeping Princess with it.
“If the Weeping Princess is a location,” she pressed, “you’ll tell our sailing master where to find it.”
“And have my throat cut for my service, while leading you exactly to the place where you could eliminate the Royal Navy’s
advantage over you.” He would say nothing about Warne’s intimations that more sea creatures might soon be added to the navy’s
arsenal. Giving her any information would only fuel her desire to find the fail-safe, and she could easily spread the knowledge
amongst the Brethren of the Coast, undercutting the Royal Navy’s advantage. “There’s no upshot to this scenario.”
“It’ll mean preserving your life for a little longer.” She studied him thoroughly, as if he could be read like the waves or
the stars. “Are you so proud, Sailing Master, that you won’t try to stay alive for as long as you can?”
He held up his manacled wrists. “I’m your captive, but my pride belongs to me alone.”
Something like respect shone in her hazel eyes when he said nothing more. “Very well, Sailing Master. I’ll spare you tonight.
But by morning, I may change my mind and heave you overboard for the reef sharks.”
“I am not reassured.”
She stepped forward to weave her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. It was almost, almost like a lover’s embrace.
“I don’t care if you are or not,” she murmured, tightening her grip so that tingling pain crept down his neck and along his
shoulders. “Have faith when I tell you that I won’t hesitate to end your life the moment you endanger me or my company. Understand that. Understand me .”
In the whole of his life, he’d never met a woman with as much lethal confidence, as much power , as Captain Alys Tanner. A thrill of something ran the length of his spine, and it wasn’t entirely fear or disgust or anger.
“Understood,” he replied.
She didn’t let go of him right away. Her grip on him lingered, and the narrow space between them seemed to grow vibrant and
alive. Was she beautiful? All he knew was that he was profoundly aware of her, from the freckles scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose to the unexpectedly rosy hue of her lips
and the hollow of her throat, where a few pearls of sweat collected.
Her gaze dipped to his mouth.
“Alys,” the quartermaster said loudly. The magpie also twittered.
The captain released him so abruptly that he had to fight to regain his footing. She took a jagged breath.
“Tell Faith to bring me a hammock,” she finally said to Stasia.
“Your berth seems fine enough,” the quartermaster replied.
“It’s not for me,” Captain Tanner answered. “It’s for him.”
Ben started. “Me?”
She regarded him with a smile that could only be called predatory. “You may yet prove useful to us, Sailing Master. I’m keeping
you close. You aren’t to set foot outside my cabin.”
“I’m unarmed,” he answered. “Manacled, shackled. Without magic, when many of your company are witches. Surely you can trust
me with your crew.”
“This is for your protection more than theirs. If you’re in the brig, it’d be an easy enough thing for a member of my company to slip into
your cage and slide a dagger between your ribs or cast a spell to turn you inside out.” One of her brows arched up. “The safest
place for you is beside me.”
He stared at her. Trapped inside the captain’s quarters... with the captain herself.
Safe? Hardly. Not with uncertainty and menace thick about him, like sharks circling bleeding prey.