Page 32 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

Yet now that his usefulness on the island of the Weeping Princess was over, she might send him back down to the brig. And then he’d have no chance to destroy the fail-safe.

“The clue that Partridge left behind,” he said. “You’ll need my assistance in deciphering it.”

She raised a brow. “Very kind of you, Sailing Master, offering your services.”

Back to Sailing Master . As though the manacles around his wrists weren’t proof enough that they stood at opposite ends of the law, and their kiss

was a momentary madness never to be repeated.

“It’s a foolish man who doesn’t search for any opportunity to prolong his life.”

Her eyes narrowed. He held motionless beneath her regard, her skepticism scouring him. He smoothed out the convolutions of

his mind, his emotions, becoming a pond on a windless day. Glassy and reflective, giving away nothing beneath the surface.

At last, she jerked her chin toward the companionway. “To my quarters.”

“Aye,” he said, then added, “Captain.”

She nodded, as if calling her by her official rank was her due.

He followed her down from the upper deck. The markings had faded from his skin. Thank God. Talking about them was the very

last thing he desired. Not with her crew present, at least.

They didn’t speak on the way to her cabin. His gaze stayed on her back and the glossy fall of her russet hair. He rubbed the

pads of his fingers together, evoking the memory of the heavy strands he’d felt only hours ago.

Pain pulsed in his chest. He shoved it aside. Selfish and reckless desires had no place. Not here, not now. Not ever.

Reaching her cabin, she pushed open the door.

The quartermaster and Susannah stood in the middle of her cabin, embracing.

“They’ll want some privacy,” Ben muttered.

Instead, Alys walked up to the two women and wrapped her arms around them both. She laid her head down on Susannah’s back,

closing her eyes as she inhaled deeply. The three women seemed to melt into each other, gently caressing one another, breathing

together.

“I’ll step out...” Ben started to pull the door shut.

“Belay that, Sailing Master.” Alys didn’t open her eyes as she spoke. “Drop anchor.”

“You’re—”

“Balancing.”

“Ah. Yes. I see.” Ben didn’t see at all, but she’d commanded him to stay, and he wouldn’t disobey her.

He stood awkwardly in a corner, trying not to watch them, and yet unable to stop his gaze from wandering to the trio of women.

A golden glow began emanating from the three witches. Dimly at first, surrounding their bodies in a soft haze, before strengthening.

In gradual increments, the light gained potency, engulfing them in a brightness that forced Ben to shield his eyes from its

intensity.

A single musical note rose up, the combination of their three voices in a low sweet tone. The music shivered through the air

and along Ben’s skin, the hairs on his nape and forearms standing up as an unseen energy charged him.

And then they stepped apart. The light faded, yet that energy continued to reverberate throughout the cabin. The three witches

stood taller, no longer strained and faded with weariness. Alys’s eyes were bright as she nodded at Stasia and Susannah, just

as their gazes seemed sharper, clearer than he’d ever seen before.

Ben could only stare at them, mystified.

Tingling danced along his skin. The quarters brimmed with energy, and invisible waves spilled from the open window to whirl across the sea.

Where it would stop... there was no knowing.

Out to the farthest corners of the known world, perhaps even into the unknown world.

A tap sounded on the door and Luna the navigator as well as Polly poked their heads in when Alys bid them enter. They were

followed by the crew member Faith and another woman with olive skin, braided brown hair, and capable hands, whose apron proclaimed

her to be the ship’s cook.

“Gather round, little birds,” the cook urged as she and Faith set bowls brimming with stew on the table. They also laid out

loaves of fresh crusty bread—a true luxury at sea—a plate laden with cheerful oranges, and bottles of rum and jugs of ale.

The cook and her mate filed out, leaving them with a true feast.

Everyone collected around the table. His mouth watered at the sight and smell of so much hot food that carried the scent of

browned meat combined with herbs, but Ben hesitated. Yet Alys tipped her head in his direction, indicating that he, too, should

join them for the meal.

Wordlessly, ravenously, they began to eat. Cups were filled, drained, and filled again.

Though Ben was hungry, and the food proved once again that the ship’s cook was excellent, he ate slowly. To this point, all

his meals had either been taken on his own or with only Alys for company. Yet here he was, breaking bread with members of

a pirate crew.

Damn, more buttons were missing from the front of his coat. The remaining buttons had dulled, too. The cuffs were frayed and

much of the braided trim was gone. Could he ask for a sewing needle to make a few repairs? The chain between his manacles

swung every time he reached for his cup.

His coat wasn’t a sail that was necessary to make the ship function. No needle, then. Not unless he was supervised. And she

wouldn’t spare a member of her crew to watch him mend his unravelling clothes.

His metal cup held his reflection, and he fought a grimace at the sight of his beard growing thickly on his jaw.

Not shipshape. Not by a league.

He maintained his rigid posture as he ate, while Alys, Stasia, and the other women hunched or leaned over their food. A few

wiped their mouths on their sleeves. Crumbs were scattered and droplets of ale and rum landed on the table, soaking into the

wood. Someone belched audibly. They would all have been disciplined by Admiral Strickland for lack of decorum.

As they ate and drank, Alys, Stasia, and Susannah grew even more alert and animated. It was as though the long exhausting

and terrifying day on the island of the Weeping Princess had never happened. Impossible not to grow bolstered from Alys and

her crew’s energy. Moments earlier, Ben had been certain he’d fall asleep the moment he climbed back into his hammock. Now,

he felt he could climb the rigging and barely tire.

“No complaints about the quality of our food aboard a pirate ship, Sailing Master?” Alys asked.

He looked down at his hand, swiping a piece of bread through the last of the gravy at the bottom of his bowl.

The other women chuckled.

“Women aren’t much tolerated on naval ships,” he said, “but your cook would be welcome, and heartily.”

“Josephine would be flattered by such praise,” Alys answered, “to be so graciously tolerated .”

She stood from the table and walked to the window running along the back of her quarters, where the dark sea rose and fell.

Everyone’s attention was on her, and not the reflection of the moon upon the waves.

“A crafty scoundrel, that Little George,” she said thoughtfully. “Made us work to find what we sought.”

“A clue to the fail-safe,” Susannah said.

“?‘Find what you seek in the shelter of Sir Fenfield’s nephew’s cousin’s daughter’s son’s table,’?” Alys recited.

Looks were shared around the cabin.

“I have no knowledge of this Sir Fenfield,” the quartermaster said darkly.

“A landowner,” Ben said quickly.

“What else do you know of him?” Alys demanded.

“He lives well from investments, in Bermuda, and has no truck with pirates.”

“That you are aware of .” Stasia crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s not Sir Fenfield that interests me,” Alys interjected. “But his nephew’s cousin’s daughter’s son.”

“Whoever that is.” Luna the navigator threw up her hands.

“He had a nephew by marriage, a man called John Abernathy,” Ben mused. “Abernathy had another uncle... Samuel Wyle. And

two sons. One died... Cholera, I think, but the other lives, Ralph Dunwood. He dwells on an estate located on an island

off the coast of Tortola.”

“Did he have children?”

“I believe so,” Ben said slowly.

“Their names,” Alys demanded.

Ben could only shrug.

“Tell me more about Dunwood and this island he lives on. Have he and his kind dwelt on there long?”

“His grandfather came to the Caribbean around 1660. Him and his offspring, they’ve kept close to the area.”

“There’ll be a parish record, then,” Alys said.

Ben slowly rose. “To learn exactly who his nephew’s daughter’s son would be.” He turned to Luna. “We’ll review the charts together and I can show you which island

he lives on, and the location of the town and church that would have the parish records.”

“Go, both of you,” Alys said with a jerk of her head. “To the chart room and set a course.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ben answered.

Only when she smirked at him did he realize that this was the second time tonight he’d ceded to her authority.

He quickly left her quarters, following Luna to the chart room.

Stay useful. Help her find the fail-safe. And then demolish it.

With each step, he recited his objectives like a refrain in a hymn. Reminding himself. Shutting away the memory of the kiss

as if stowing it in a heavy iron lockbox. Yet the safe couldn’t contain the recollection of her mouth against his, no matter

how hard he tried to imprison it.