Page 24 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

Even with the sailing master quietly going about the work Alys had made him do, her gaze kept returning to him like following

the North Star.

Going to her quarters was one option. But, having been above deck for most of the morning, finally heading below would look

as if she was avoiding him. He’d notice it, too. Little escaped his attention.

A dangerous combination, looks and intelligence. It meant he was clever, and the only thing more dangerous than a stupid man

was a cunning one.

As the morning had gone on and he’d been interviewing her crew about his father, his growing frustration had been a palpable

thing within her. It was tied around her belly in a knot. She hadn’t truly needed to ask him how his questioning had gone—she

already knew, because she knew him .

“Is he trustworthy here, above deck?” Stasia asked, stepping onto the quarterdeck.

“I trust his sense of keeping his hide intact. He won’t do anything stupid. And I’m not doing anything stupid,” she added before her second-in-command could make a remark. “He has a value, but it’s a temporary

one. I’m counting the bells until that value is gone, and then he will be, too.”

“Hua is worried you will not give her the helm back.” There was warm humor in Stasia’s voice.

“She’s got nothing to fear. The wheel will be hers again. Before I came to the Caribbean, I’d only used a tiller to steer

a boat.”

“When I met you, you had already taken to the wheel well enough.”

“Sailing down here from Massachusetts, that was my schoolroom. And a terrifying one at that. We’d set sail full of so much

anger, and still half afraid that they’d come for us. Even so, none of us knew how little we knew. When I tried to cast a

spell to bring strong breezes to speed us on our way, I stranded us in the doldrums for three days. Only pure luck had me

stumbling across the right spell to set us moving again.”

From a pouch hanging from her belt, Stasia produced an orange, which she deftly peeled. She handed Alys a segment. “By the

time we crossed paths in Tortuga, I saw no outward signs of your fear.”

“But you knew.” Alys popped the piece of orange into her mouth and savored the tart and sweet taste.

“You are not afraid any longer. Not of sailing or captaining a ship, at any rate.” Stasia glanced toward where Ben bent over

the sail, making neat stitches in the canvas.

“He’s one man, and a shackled and manacled one at that.”

“The dreamwalking left its mark.”

“The effects’ll lessen with time. Won’t they?”

Stasia spread her hands. “My understanding of the spell is not much more than what you know. Will it last a few days, a month,

or the rest of your lives? Only our foremothers know, and if they wrote down that lore, it has vanished.”

“Or been destroyed.” Even as Alys spoke with Stasia on the quarterdeck, Ben’s energy thrummed through her. There was a warm

and soft kind of contentment in him now, as he repaired sails. To him, idleness was torture.

She nodded toward the deck, where a number of the company had enchanted scrubbing brushes to swab the wooden planks. The brushes moved of their own accord, spreading suds across the deck, but they required supervision, and so the crew kept a close eye on the proceedings.

“Enough chatter,” Alys said. “They always sing when they work, and yet they’re silent.” Louder, to her crew, she called, “I’ve

a mind to hear a good tune.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” came their answer.

As the three women charged with washing the deck watched over the brushes moving rhythmically back and forth across the wood,

they joined their voices into a well-loved song.

“Come all you gallant seamen bold,

All you that march to drum,

Let’s go and look for Captain Ward,

Far on the sea he roams.

He is the biggest robber

That ever you did hear,

There’s not been such a robber found

For above this hundred year.”

Alys hummed along, tapping her foot on the quarterdeck planks as the crew sang. Others on the deck who were whittling or simply

enjoying the afternoon joined their voices. Susannah created a swirling cloud of energy that showed them an illuminated moving

image of the legendary Captain Ward on his ship, sailing back and forth across the deck as he committed miniature acts of

piracy—much to the delight of the familiars. The black cat and the orange cat, as well as Eris and a long-tailed, long-fingered

lizard chased the illusion.

Unfortunately, the animals all scrabbled across the freshly-washed deck, to the annoyance of the crew charged with cleaning

it. Yet no one seemed to begrudge a bit of play for the familiars.

As the crew continued on to the next verse, a new tone sounded in the harmony, far deeper than the women’s voices.

The illusion of Captain Ward faded and, one by one, the crew stopped singing. Until one voice remained.

Ben’s.

Concentrating on his work of mending sails, he continued on with the tune.

“A ship was sailing from the east

And going to the west,

Loaded with silks and satins

And velvets of the best;

But meeting there with Captain Ward,

It was a bad meeting;

He robbed them of all their wealth,

And bid them tell their king.”

His voice was a little rough, not in perfect tune. Yet it strummed along Alys’s skin and through her, both unsettling and

soothing in equal measure.

She’d always heard that sirens were female.

He glanced up, and seemed suddenly aware that he was the only person singing. Even from her place on the quarterdeck, she

could see the redness that filled his cheeks, and how his hands hovered over the canvas sail spread across his lap.

Yet he kept on singing. It was almost a dare, to continue, when everyone gaped at him and his was the lone voice being lifted

up.

Stasia looked at her with curiosity, and that curiosity turned to astonishment when Alys sang.

“O then the King proved a ship of noble fame,

She’s call’d the Royal Rainbow

If you would have her name;

She was as well provided for

As any ship can be,

Full thirteen hundred men on board

To bear her company.”

Ben’s gaze shot to her. The rest of the company stared, as well, but Alys didn’t stop. She went right on singing.

Slowly, members of the crew joined in. One and then another and yet more, until everyone above deck sang—even Stasia. Susannah

resumed her moving illusion, showing the pirate captain’s ship in combat with the Royal Rainbow .

They reached the rousing conclusion:

“Go home, go home, says Captain Ward

And tell your king for me,

If he reigns king on all the land,

Ward will reign king on the sea.”

The last few words were shouted, less of a song and more of a battle cry bellowed by many women and one lone man. Susannah’s

illusion ended in a tiny burst of celebratory fireworks.

When the final echo died down, the illusion fading away, Alys’s ship went back to its business, the decks being swabbed, the

sails mended, and crew up in the rigging.

Ben’s attention pinned to her. The blue heat of his gaze danced over her like St. Elmo’s fire.

He nodded at her, a brief, clipped movement that was still respectful and appreciative.

She returned the nod before giving her attention back once more to the horizon, steering her ship.

“Here I thought men of the Royal Navy wouldn’t know how to sing ‘Ward the Pirate.’?” Alys reached across the table in her cabin to break off a sizable chunk of bread, then dunked it into her mutton stew. “Either I’ve misjudged the navy—or you.”

“It’s a common enough song.” Ben dipped his spoon into his bowl, yet he didn’t hunch over his food, the way she did, and kept

his elbows off the table. When he’d helped himself to bread, he’d used only the tips of his fingers and spilled a minimum

of crumbs. All his movements were economical but graceful, belying the fact that breakfast had been served many hours ago,

and he was likely just as hungry as she was.

Alys started to straighten her posture, then planted her elbows firmly on either side of her bowl and made a show of tearing

another piece of bread and scattering crumbs across the table.

Yet there wasn’t any distaste or displeasure in his crystal blue eyes. If her table manners offended him, he hid it behind

a bright and interested gaze.

“A pirate king defeating the English monarch’s ship seems an unlikely subject for a British naval warrant officer to know

by heart.” She took a deep drink of ale and dragged her sleeve across her mouth like a proper pirate.

He still wore a faint smile as he looked at her.

“When you’ve been at sea for as long as I have,” he replied, “it serves you admirably to listen well.” He was silent for a

moment, then, “My thanks... I’m grateful you sang with me.”

“My voice is passable.” She shrugged. “Hardly worth praise.”

“You’ve a fine alto.” His gaze held hers and she stilled.

Perhaps she should have taken her supper with Stasia and the others, rather than be alone with him in her quarters. Yet his

loneliness had been a tangible thing within her.

She gave another small shrug. “You’d have looked damned foolish, bellowing on your own.”

“I would’ve thought you’d relish any opportunity to make me appear the fool,” he said gruffly. “Even small victories are victories.”

“My best triumphs are at the end of my cutlass or from a broadside—or summoning a blinding smoke that stuns and weakens my enemies. And the sound of a lone voice chafes against my hearing.” Her fingers were suddenly restless, making her reach for more bread.

His broad hand covered hers.

Against her own, his skin was warm and callused. Her heart leapt like a dolphin. At that moment, there was nothing in the

whole of the realm of the ocean that could make her pull away from his touch.

“Accepting gratitude for your decency isn’t a weakness,” he said lowly.

For a moment, she simply looked into his eyes and let him touch her. It was astonishing, how blue his eyes were, like the

waters lapping in the bay of a Caribbean island, and just now they were as warm as the waters, too.